Page 55 of Bitter Spirits

But they weren’t enough to hold the darkness at bay as more memories spun out, bringing Kelly’s traumatized shock, Leo’s maddened fury, Owen’s guilt-ridden anguish, and Nova’s anxiety, all chased by the eager predatory light in Angel’s face as he watched her. The chaotic mix spun tighter and tighter, threatening to pull her under, when something brushed along her neck, just under her ear, and a low, masculine hum brought her mental world to a jolting stop. It was chillingly familiar.

“And you are…?” The question asked by the arrogant, entitled, hated voice echoed in her aching head.

“Hers.”

She held tight to Locke’s unshakable response and reached for more fragmented memories. They came in ragged bits, but faster now. Receiving the inventory delivery, putting it away, the noise from the front of the bar, the looming figure, her swing of the bottle, then…

A groan escaped her as the final pieces fell into place. Knockout spell. Angel.

She sensed something plucking at her emotions, examining them as if searching for the perfect piece of fruit. Her pulse kicked up. Asshole.

She reached for her magic but came up short. The pain in her head built. The magic hadn’t gone far. She could feel it just… there. She dug deep and stretched her metaphysical hand out, power teasing her fingertips.

“I know you’re awake, chiquita,” the asshole crooned as he set her down.

There was a sense of weight settling close to her, then something brushed against her face. Her skin crawled with instant revulsion stronger than the ache reverberating through her muscles and bouncing in her skull. It was hard, but she got her arm up and feebly batted away the unwelcome touch.

“Don’t.” It came out slurred.

“Now, don’t be like that.”

The patronizing tone grated on her nerves. She forced her lashes to rise, and light stabbed into her brain, eliciting another groan. Her lashes fluttered back down as she tried to turn away, but fingers dug into her chin, forcing her still. Faced with the choice of jerking out of the hold or opening her eyes—either of which would add to the pounding in her head—she went with the less violent option and forced her lashes up to find Angel sitting next to her, a calculating light in his dark eyes as he studied her face. Dressed in a button-down shirt, a loose tie, and linen pants, he was the epitome of a charming businessman. But the hunger in his gaze revealed his true nature.

Unease rippled as phantom power whispered around her, circling her like a shark scenting blood in the emotional waters. Doubts she’d thought long buried rose, rippling outward from the darkest recesses. She slammed up a wall, holding them back. For now.

“Let go,” she said, stronger and clearer this time.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure he would, but then his lips curved with a familiar cruel amusement, and he slowly let her go. “You left so quickly last night that I didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation.” He braced his hand above her, trapping her against what she realized was a couch.

Not keen about being on her back with him, she dug her heels into the cushions and pushed herself up, careful not to touch him. The movement didn’t come easy, and a thin line of sweat broke out along her hairline, but between her shaky arms and leaden legs, she managed to sit up, her back to the couch’s arm. She dug her nails into the cushion under her hips. Her head spun, but she breathed through it.

When the dizziness finally settled, she lifted her head. “There was nothing left to say.”

Angel’s arm bent as he leaned in close enough that she couldn’t avoid the dark, spicy bite of his cologne. “Now, that’s a lie, Isa.”

He’s too close. Her pulse skittered as she suppressed a flinch. Barely. “Believe what you want, Angel. You always do.”

His gaze sharpened. “So bitter, chiquita. It’s almost as if you’re the injured party.”

The implication that she was in any way to blame for this current situation had fury, honed and bright, searing away the cloying vestiges of old fears until the only thing that remained was the vow she’d made years before: Never fucking again.

An unholy light gleamed in Angel’s eyes as he dragged in a deep breath and straightened as if catching some delicious scent. “Oh, you don’t like that, do you?”

The taunting reminder of who she was dealing with had her lunging for her power. The essence that made her a Reaper swept through her, freezing out every emotion until all that was left was a ruthless practicality.

“I don’t like you.” Her voice came out colder than the ice wrapping around her soul. She pulled the Reaper’s magic closer and cocked her head without breaking their staring contest. “Is that a lie?”

“No.” His malicious satisfaction was replaced by a smoldering ember of something darker as their powers rode the air between them. “Yet you still came into my territory.” Without moving the hand braced against the back of the couch, he crowded her, his voice dropping, the circling predator tightening the noose. “Asking questions of my people. Interesting questions that make me wonder what games you’re playing.” He raised his hand and trailed his finger along the side of her face.

Underneath the Reaper’s mantle, Isa was repulsed. Her skin crawled at the unwelcome touch, but strategies she’d learned years before came back with a vengeance, and she buried that which made her Isa deep, deep inside. Ignore the bait. It was hard not to slap his hand away.

Her nails dug into the couch even as her voice remained flat and empty. “Your games never interested me.”

He stilled. A hint of rage flickered before he made a mocking pout. “But you played them so well.” He dropped his hands to either side of her, caging her against the cushions, his voice sliding into that insidious tone he used like a scalpel. “With your dear papá, my lovely mamá, and me. Playing us against each other with your pretty crocodile tears and pitiful accusations.” He leaned a little deeper, the darkness inside spilling out to erase the charming businessman, revealing the insatiable Harvester. “Pobrecita, no one believed you, and instead, you ended up all on your own. Just like you always wanted.”

Rage, bright and deep, rose in her, but it remained distant, as if it belonged to someone else.

It does.