I tried to picture Jev playing Frisbee at the beach or lathering up in sunscreen. I tried to imagine him buying Marcie ice cream on the boardwalk and patiently listening to her endless chatter. Any way I tried it, the image brought a smile to my face. “Point taken,” I said. “So spill.”
“Marcie was an assignment. I hadn’t gone rogue yet; I still had my wings, which made me a guardian angel, taking orders from the archangels, and they wanted me to keep an eye on her.
She’s Hank’s daughter, which equates to danger by association. I kept her safe, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience. I’ve done my best to put the memory behind me.”
“So nothing happened?”
His mouth tipped up slightly. “I almost shot her once or twice, but the excitement ends there.”
“Missed opportunity.”
He shrugged. “There’s always next time. still want to talk about Marcie?” I held his steady gaze, shaking my head no. “I don’t feel like talking,” I confessed quietly.
I rose to my feet, pulling him up with me, a little dizzy from the audacity of what I was about to do. I was all slippery emotions inside, able to grasp only two of them. Curiosity, and desire.
He held perfectly still. “Angel,” he said roughly. He stroked his thumb across my cheek, but I pulled back slightly.
“Don’t rush this. If there’s any memory of being with you left inside me, I can’t force it.” That was half the truth. The other half I kept to myself. I’d been secretly fantasizing about this moment since I’d first seen Jev. I’d created a hundred variations of it in my head since then, but my imagination had never come close to making me feel the way I did right now. I felt an irresistible draw, luring me closer, closer.
No matter what happened, I didn’t ever want to forget how it felt with Jev. I wanted to imprint his touch, his taste, event the scent of him so solidly inside me that no one—no one—could take them away from me.
I slid my hands up his torso, memorizing every ripple of muscle. I inhaled the same scents I had that first night in the Tahoe. Leather, spice, mint. I traced the planes of his face with my fingers, curiously exploring his sharp, almost Italian features. All through this Jev didn’t move, enduring my touch with his eyes closed. “Angel,” he repeated in a strained voice.
“Not yet.”
I spread my fingers through his hair, feeling it flutter through them. I committed every last detail to memory. The bronzed shade of his skin, the confident line of his posture, the seductive length of his eyelashes. He wasn’t clean lines and perfect symmetries, and I found him even more interesting for it.
Done stalling, I told myself at last. Leaning in, I closed my eyes. His mouth opened under mine, his tightly reined control shuddering through his body. His arms wrapped around me, securing me against him. He kissed me harder, and the depth of my response unnerved me.
My legs felt wobbly and heavy. I sank into Jev, and he backed us slowly down the wall until I came to straddle his lap. Brightness lit up inside me, and the heat of it consumed every hollow corner. A hidden world opened between us, one that was as frightening as it was familiar. I knew it was real.
I’d kissed like this before. I’d kissed Patch like this before. I couldn’t remember calling him anything but Jev, but somehow Patch just felt … right. The hot deliciousness of being with him came roaring back, threatening to swallow me whole.
I pulled away first, trailing my tongue along my lower lip.
Patch made a low, questioning sound. “Not bad?”
I bent my head toward his. “Practice makes perfect.”
CHAPTER 21
MY EYES FLUTTERED OPEN AND THE ROOM took shape. The lights were off. The air was cool. The most luxurious and delicious fabric caressed my skin. The memory of last night came back to me in a whirlwind. Patch and I had made out… . I vaguely recol ected muttering something to him about being too exhausted to drive….
I’d fall en asleep at Patch’s.
I wrestled myself up to sitting. “My mom is going to kill me!” I blurted to no one in particular. For one thing, it was a school night. For another, I’d missed curfew by a mile and never bothered to call and explain why.
Patch sat in a chair in the corner, his chin propped on his fist. “Already taken care of. I called Vee.
She agreed to vouch for you. The story she gave your mom is that the two of you were at her house watching the five-hour version of Pride and Prejudice, you lost track of time, you fell asleep first, and rather than wake you up, Vee’s mom agreed to let you sleep over.”
“You called Vee? And she agreed, no questions asked?” It didn’t sound like Vee at all. Especially the new Vee, who’d developed a death wish for the male race in general.
“It might have been slightly more difficult than that.”
His enigmatic tone clicked in my brain. “You mind-tricked her?”
“Between asking permission and begging forgiveness, I lean toward the latter.”
“She’s my best friend. You can’t mind-trick her!” Even though I was still angry at Vee for lying about Patch, she must have had her reasons. And while I didn’t approve, and intended to get to the bottom of it very, very soon, she meant the world to me. Patch had crossed a line.
“You were exhausted. And you looked peaceful sleeping in my bed.”
“That’s because your bed has some kind of spell on it,” I said, less testily than I intended. “I could sleep here forever. Satin sheets?” I guessed.
“Silk.”
Black silk sheets. Who knew how much they’d cost? One thing was certain, they had a hypnotic quality I found very distracting. “Swear you won’t ever mind-trick Vee again.”
“Done,” he said easily, now that he’d gotten away with it. Beg forgiveness sounded about right.
“I don’t suppose you have an explanation for why both Vee and my mom have consistently denied knowing you exist? In fact, the only two people who’ve confessed to remembering you at all are Marcie and Scott.”
“Vee dated Rixon. After Hank kidnapped you, I erased her memory of Rixon. He used her and put her through a lot of pain. He put everyone through a lot of pain. It was easier in the long run if I did my best to make everyone forget him. The alternative was letting your friends and family hang their hopes on an arrest that was never going to happen. When I went to wipe Vee’s mind, she put up a fight. To this day, she’s angry. She doesn’t know why, but it’s rooted inside her. Erasing someone’s memory isn’t as easy as it sounds. It’s like trying to pick all the chocolate chips out of a cookie. It’s never going to be perfect. Pieces get left behind. Unexplainable beliefs that feel compelling and familiar. Vee can’t remember what I did to her, but she knows not to trust me. She can’t remember Rixon, but she knows there’s a guy out there who caused her a lot of grief.” It explained Vee’s suspicion toward guys and my instant aversion to Hank. Our minds might have been wiped clean, but a few crumbs got left behind.
“Might want to cut her some slack,” Patch suggested. “She has your back. Honesty is a good thing, but so is loyalty.”
“In other words, let her off the hook.”
He shrugged. “Your call.”
Vee had looked me in the eye and lied without reservation. It wasn’t a light offense. But the thing was, I knew how she felt. She’d had her memory tampered with, and it wasn’t a good feeling.
Vulnerable didn’t begin to describe it. Vee lied to protect me. Was I that different? I hadn’t told her a thing about fall en angels or Nephilim, and I’d used the same excuse. I could either hold Vee to a double standard, or I could take Patch’s advice and let it go.
“And my mom? Going to vouch for her, too?” I asked.
“She thinks I had something to do with your abduction. Better me than Hank,” he said, his tone cooling. “If Hank thought she knew the truth, he’d do something about it.” He was putting it lightly. I wouldn’t put it past Hank to hurt her if it meant getting what he wanted. All the more reason to keep her in the dark … for the time being.
I didn’t want to feel a shred of empathy for Hank, to humanize him in any way, but I found myself wondering what kind of man he’d been when he first fell in love with my mom. Had he always been evil? Or, in the beginning, had he cared about us … and over time, he’d built his entire world around his Nephilim mission, and it had taken precedence?
I abruptly ended my speculations. Hank was evil now, and that was what mattered. He’d kidnapped me, and I was going to make certain he was held accountable.
I said, “You mean the arrest was never going to happen because Rixon’s in hell now.” Literally in hell, by the sound of it.
He confirmed this with a nod, but his eyes darkened a shade. I supposed Patch didn’t like to talk about hell. I doubted any fall en angel did.
“In your memory, I saw you agree to spy on fall en angels for Hank,” I said.
Patch nodded. “What they’re planning and when. I meet weekly with Hank to share information.”
“What if fall en angels find out you’re selling secrets behind their backs?”
“I’m hoping they don’t.”
I wasn’t comforted by his casual attitude. “What would they do to you?”
“I’ve been in worse situations and managed to pull through.” The edges of his mouth tilted higher.
“All this time and you still don’t have any faith in me.”
“Could you be serious for two seconds?”
He leaned over and kissed my hand, and spoke to me with sincerity. “They’d cast me into hell.
They’re supposed to let the archangels handle that, but it doesn’t always work that way.”
“Explain,” I said firmly.
He slouched back with a certain lazy arrogance. “Humans are forbidden from killing each other; it’s the law. But people are murdered every day. My world isn’t much different. For every law, there’s someone out there willing to break it. I won’t pretend to be innocent. Three months ago I chained Rixon in hell, even though I had no authority other than my own sense of justice.”
“You chained Rixon in hell?”
Patch eyed me with curiosity. “He had to pay. He tried to kill you.”
“Scott told me about Rixon, but he didn’t know who chained him in hell, or how it was done. I’ll let him know he has you to thank.”
“I’m not interested in the half-breed’s gratitude. But I can tell you how it’s done. When the archangels banish a fall en angel from heaven and rip out his wings, they keep one feather for themselves. The feather is meticulously filed and preserved. If the occasion arises where a fall en angel needs to be chained in hell, the arch-angels retrieve his feather and burn it. It’s a symbolic act with inescapable results. The term ‘burn in hell ’ isn’t a figure of speech.”
“You had one of Rixon’s feathers?”
“Before he went behind my back, he was the closest thing I had to a brother. I knew he had a feather, and I knew where he kept it. I knew everything about him. And because of it, I didn’t give him an impersonal send-off.” Though I suspected he meant to remain impassive, Patch’s jaw contracted.