“Ploy for what?”
“Well, the Book of Revelation states that when the Apocalypse is triggered, Lucifer’s side will lose. Our friend Gabe thought Lucifer was trying to even the playing field by recruiting men, to give Hell a chance of winning in the Final War.”
“So he asked you to spy for him?” I say, starting to understand. “Like he has with me?”
“Aye. He took a bit of a shine to me, I suppose. Took me under his wing. Said he could save my soul if I worked for him.”
“And what? You told Devils Inc. about him? That’s why he feels betrayed?”
“No. I did what he asked. And, to give him credit, it turned out he was right. Devils Inc. was planning for a War. I reported it all back to Gabe. And Gabe got me out of my contract with Devils Inc.”
“So it’s possible?” I say, momentarily distracted. “To get your soul back?”
“Aye. In some cases.”
“How?”
A flicker of darkness crosses Crow’s face. The light above blinks on and off.
“Well, in my case, Gabe found out the accident that killed me was no accident at all. Devils Inc. orchestrated the whole thing to get me into their ranks quicker.”
“They murdered you?”
“Aye.” He absently twists at his finger. “And that’s against the rules.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“’S okay, little Demon. Not your fault.”
There’s a heavy silence, and I shift in my seat.
“And then what?” I ask, taking a sip of beer.
“I started working for Halo Corp.”
“You worked at Halo Corp!”
He chuckles. “Aye. But it wasn’t really my scene. Broke some rules, worked on some stuff behind Gabriel’s back, did some stuff I shouldn’t have. . .” He shrugs. “Hence the betrayal. When I was thrown out of Halo Corp., I took him down with me. The higher-ups blamed him for bringing someone like me in; for letting our friendship cloud his judgement.”
He holds my gaze a little too steadily, his expression carefree. But his grip on the beer bottle tightens.
I shake my head. “There’s more to it than that.”
“Gabe takes his job pretty seriously, little Demon.”
“I know. But he seemed . . . hurt.”
Crow exhales. “Gabe took it personally. Said he stuck his neck out for me.” He moves back a little. “I never meant to hurt the lad.”
I frown, thinking back to the weird tension in the room. “Did anything ever . . . happen between you two?”
“Like what?”
“You know.”
He holds my gaze then. “I know what you’re asking. I never had feelings for Gabriel, little Demon,” he says, putting his bottle on the counter. “I’m going for a piss. Help yourself to more beer.”
He heads out of the kitchenette and into a door beside his bedroom. As it clicks shuts behind him, it occurs to me that he didn’t exactly answer my question.
Nor did he say Gabriel never had feelings for him.
My Devils Inc. cell buzzes in my pocket.
“Shit,” I mutter as I read the message from Adalind.
How long does it take to get a cup of coffee?
Chapter Twenty-Four
As I’m wondering how to respond, my phone starts to ring.
Adalind. She’s actually calling me now. Shit.
The clock tells me it’s eleven. I’ve been gone for hours, and I’ve no idea what to say to her.
I would have died if Gabriel hadn’t done something against the rules. I don’t want to go back to an office of Demons when Demons just tried to kill me. And Adalind hates me. Even if she believed me, I wouldn’t expect any sympathy.
But if I don’t get through this internship, I’m bound for Hell.
The bathroom door clicks open just as I make a decision.
“Hi, Adalind,” I say.
“Where the Hell are you? I’ve been calling you for hours! How hard is it to pick up some coffees?”
“Yeah, about that . . . There was a slight problem—”
Crow swipes the cell out of my hand, leaning over me from behind.
“Adalind,” he says. “So nice to hear your beautiful voice.”
I hear an irate hissing on the other side of the line but am unable to distinguish anything but a few choice words describing Crow. I feel his chest vibrate against my back as he chuckles. The proximity of his body causes an unwelcome lick of heat in the pit of my stomach.
“You want to know where Rachel is?” he says. “Bad news, Adalind. She’s dead.”
I twist to better frown up at him. What the hell are you doing? I mouth.
He raises his eyebrows at me but ignores the question. I hear another round of hissing from Adalind.
“Aye,” he says. “Terrible business. Dead. Dead as a doornail. Croaked it. Sleeping with the fishes and all that. You didn’t see the hit on Afterlife?”
There’s more chattering.
“Aye. They must have forgotten to log the kill. But she’s dead, all right. Saw it with my own eyes.” Pause. “Aye. Bringing her in to Devils Inc. to be processed would be the proper thing to do.”
Adalind’s voice raises.
“Wow. Sounds like there’ll be a lot of paperwork to do when she gets there to reassign her from Live to Dead.” He studies the microwave on the other side of the kitchen. “I guess you’ll be stuck with that. I don’t envy you that—not one little bit, Adalind. Not one bit . . . Although . . .” He looks down and winks at me, his chin momentarily brushing against my forehead. “I suppose I could keep her out of your hair for a little while. Give you the weekend to yourself at least.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line. Then a slightly less aggressive muttering.
“Aye. Aye, I’ll keep her safe. No . . . no, I won’t kill her again for the money.” The corner of his lip quirks up. “Aye . . . I know that would cause you more paperwork . . . Aye, I’ll bring her in on Monday. Okay, Adalind. Always a pleasure!”
He hangs up midway through her stream of cursing.
“There, sorted,” he says. “She’ll be pretty pissed when she finds out you’re not actually dead, but she’s pretty pissed-off most of the time, so what’s the damage?”
I look up at him, still feeling a little buzzy from having his chest against my back. “What actually happens? When we, you know, die?”
“Well. Anyone who has a contract in place with either of the organizations essentially gets one free pass at death. But if we suffer a mortal injury on the job, we’re shipped upstairs or downstairs for the rest of eternity. It’s a law intended to stop us from fighting each other.”
“So I can die once?”
“Aye. In theory. Although you’d have to give up everything from your mortal life. And then, if you died again . . .” He pulls a face and points to the floor.
I know I should be thinking about how close I came to having to cut off all ties with my friends and family, but enveloped within his body heat, the smell of him surrounding me, I’m thinking more about what it would feel like to run my hands over his annoyingly well-sculpted chest.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me for the night, little Demon.”
As I process his words, I hear my own accelerating heartbeat. He stands too close, yet somehow not close enough. I don’t know what the Hell is wrong with me.
A slow smile spreads across his face as his gaze drops to my lips. “So . . . what shall we do now?”
The warmth in the pit of my stomach licks through my entire body.
“You’re in my personal space,” I say, tearing my gaze away.
“Not moving, though, are you, little Demon?” he says, dipping his head to whisper in my ear.
Slowly, he runs his hands down my arms, leaving a trail of prickling energy in his wake. My pulse thrums.
And it’s madness. This feeling. This desire. It has to be the aftermath of the fight; adrenaline needing to be released. I don’t wan
t Crow. I don’t want to rip off his top and bite his bottom lip and force my tongue against his. I don’t want him to lift me up onto the counter and take me roughly while I dig my fingers into the muscles of his back.
But if I did want that . . . it would be so easy to take it from him.
Oh, God.
Something clenches in the pit of my stomach as he slides his hands over mine. His chest rises and falls against my back—and I feel his mirrored desire for something violent; for some kind of release.
I steady my breathing.
I’m wound up. Frustrated. Because I lost the fight.
Not because Crow’s breath is tickling the skin behind my ear.
“So?” he whispers. “What do you want to do?”
What do I want to do?
I want to exorcise this pent-up frustration. I want to take it out on the guy who got me into this mess in the first place. I want to use him like he is using me. I want to put my hands on his body and pound into him and make him cry out.
I want a release.
“You said you used to be a boxer?” I say, forcing the breathlessness out of my voice.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he chuckles, his chest vibrating against my back.
“Aye,” he says, his tone one of understanding. “It wouldn’t be a fair fight, little Demon. But I’ll happily throw you around the gym for a bit.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“I would. You’re no match for me.” He circles his rough thumb across the skin of my hand, and it’s hard not to let it distract me. “Not until you learn to use your Demonic powers, anyway.”
I frown. “Demonic powers?”
“Aye. Part of the compensation for working for Devils Inc. It’s all in the contract you signed.” There’s amusement in his tone. “You’re going to make a shit lawyer, you know?”
A laugh escapes my lips, breaking some of the tension. “Yeah, I know.”
The admission might have stung a few months ago, but I’m finding the impending Apocalypse puts things into perspective. Plus, I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of enjoying the danger that comes with this new world of Angels, Demons, and Omens.
Pulling my hands from his, I swivel around to face him. He moves back so I can fit within his arms, but not so much that I don’t have to spread my legs to make us fit. From the mischievous glint in his eyes, I know that’s intentional.
“So you’re saying I have access to some freaky superpowers?” I say. “Like yours?”
“Not like mine, no,” he replies. “But similar.”
Smiling, I lean forward until our lips are only inches apart.
“Teach me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Half an hour later, Crow and I are standing barefoot on the black mats of the Trinity Falls Gym.
It’s deathly quiet. The gym closed over an hour ago, and Crow picked the lock so we could get inside. Now, he stands in front of me, shrouded in the shadows he seems to wear like a cloak. The ones from the tree branches outside stretch toward him.
His eyes are bright and watchful, though never moving from mine.
He’s still wearing his gray sweats and black top, but I’ve changed out of my bloodstained clothes into some borrowed ones: a plain white T-shirt and a pair of navy-blue sports shorts, the cord of which I’ve had to tie around my waist to stop them from falling to my ankles. I can smell him on me: smoke, and outdoors, and a trace of sweat. It agitates me. Which is good, I guess.
Seeing as I’m planning on kicking his ass.
His lips quirk as if he knows what I’m thinking. I can’t wait to wipe the smirk off his face.
“So?” I say. “How do I use my powers?”
“Try and hit me first, little Demon.” His grin widens. “I want to see how good you are.”
Neither of us move for a moment. Then I run at him.
I throw a right hook at his face, which he blocks and counters with a jab to my stomach. After narrowly avoiding it, I go on the full offensive, throwing a series of jabs. He blocks them all but doesn’t manage to get a hit on me either as we dance a violent circle around the mats.
He’s good. His moves are effortless. So why can’t he hit me?
“You’re going easy on me,” I say between punches, a strand of hair from my messy ponytail sticking to my lip.
“Aye,” he says with a grin.
He’s a little breathless, but not enough. I want him on the floor, gasping. His eyes glint as if he knows it.
“Don’t,” I say.
He raises his eyebrows. “Okay.”
This time, when he goes on the offensive, I’m driven backward as I block blow after blow, my bare feet sliding across the mat. I cry out, almost stumbling, at a particularly hard swing. He grunts as I duck, shoulder-barge him, and attempt to left hook his nose.
His block is clumsy. Too clumsy. I throw my right fist at his unprotected face.
“Stop going easy on—”
The words die in my throat as the shadow of the tree erupts up from the mat, surrounding my body with cold, black energy. My fist swings at nothing just as a muscular arm hooks around my waist.
Crow pulls me back into his body, the cotton of his top damp with sweat. My breath hitches, my heart pounding so hard I think he must be able to feel it.
“What were you saying?” he murmurs into my ear, amused.
Darkness tickles my face like smoke—a cold contrast to the heat emanating from the male body behind me.
“Show me,” I say, breathless. “Show me how to do it.”
The shadows fade, but Crow doesn’t release his grip.
“An Angel’s power can be drawn from Virtue,” he says. “And a Demon’s . . . well. . . I think you can guess.”
“Sin,” I say softly, dread and excitement twisting inside my gut. “What does that mean?”
“Raise your left hand,” he says, and when I do, he traces the skin on the underside of my forearm until he’s gently holding my palm. “There are seven documented. Sloth, Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Greed,” he says. “All a little hard to access. But Wrath . . . well, that’s a little easier.”
“You want me to get angry?” I say, trying to ignore the way his breath tickles the skin behind my ear. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”
He chuckles. “We could do it that way. That’s how Demons usually access their power. Or . . .” He tugs at my damp shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of my shorts.
I tighten my grip on his wrist. “What are you doing?” My voice comes out as a whisper.
He slips his hand beneath my top, his rough thumb brushing against the bare skin of my stomach. My breathing quickens.
“You’re forgetting the other Sin,” he says.
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the fire his touch ignites. “You’re telling me Demons can get their powers from . . . what? Horniness. That’s ridicul—”
The words die in my throat as his lips brush my neck. Instinctively, I press my body closer to his.
I try again. “You’re just saying that to . . .”
Slowly, he trails his fingers down to linger at the waistband of my shorts. Energy swarms inside me. It takes everything I have not to push his hand further down.
“Think about what you want,” he says. “Think about the power building up inside you. Focus. Think about how good it would feel to get it out . . .”
He gently slides his hand further down, but not far enough. My whole body burns from the inside out. Something electric pulsates through me, racing through my veins. I feel strange. Buzzing. Aching. I lean back, tilting my head, desperate for his mouth on mine; desperate to ease this . . . fire.
When he leans in closer, I think he’s going to kiss me.
Then he moves his head to look past me. I follow his gaze to my left hand, still held upright by his gentle grip.
My eyes widen. “Holy shit!”
A ball of blue flame crackles in my palm.
Twisting out of his gra
sp, I spin around and hurl it at him. As he instinctively raises his arms, the shadows in the room rise to protect him.
When the darkness subsides, smoke curls around his imposing frame. His muscles are taut, straining the cotton of his black top as his chest rises and falls. His jaw clenches, lips absent their usual smile.
Then he crosses the space between us, forcing me back against the wall, his hands cupping the sides of my face.
And then his mouth is on mine.
I grab his shirt, pulling him closer as the crackle of blue-flame energy runs through me. Then I push.
He goes flying, landing on the mats with a hard thud. I can tell he’s truly stunned and busy catching his breath. He chuckles, eyes still on the ceiling.
“Not bad, little Demon,” he says.
He makes a movement with his fingers, and the shadows on the mat elongate, curling up and around my legs and arms.
Oh, shit.
I try to access my newfound Demonic power, but I’m yanked forward. Soon, I’m on top of Crow, my hands flat on the mat on either side of his face. Our noses almost touch, and I breathe hard, mouth hovering above his.
“But not good enough,” he says with a wicked smile.
Slowly, he sits up, forcing me upright. I grip his top, material balled in my fists as his hands slide up my back. His nose brushes against mine, and I move my mouth toward his, desperate to ease this heat. But when my lips brush against his, he doesn’t respond. So I dig my teeth into his bottom lip.
He flips me onto my back, pinning me to the mats with his body, his mouth hovering above mine. I cry out, then draw on this new energy building inside. A weak flicker of blue flame crackles in my outstretched hands.
I grab his shoulder, then roll us over again so I’m on top. The fabric of his shirt hisses as it burns. He grunts, his breathing labored, as his eyes hold mine.
Then he moves his fingers.
Darkness rises around us, thick and alive. It pulls me to my feet like a shadowy tornado, and when it clears, Crow stands in front of me. There’s a charred hole at the top of his sleeve, and his face is flushed.
I must look even more disheveled. Sweat rolls down my skin, and escaped strands of hair hang in front of my face.
We stare at each other.
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