9

“There’s blood all over you, Leda.”

Nero and I were back where we’d started this morning: in my apartment inside the Legion’s Purgatory building.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not even my blood,” I told him as I followed him into the kitchen.

“I know.” He grabbed a washcloth off the towel rack and held it under running water. “But it’s going to get on your dress.”

By the time we’d returned from our demon errand, the sun had already set and it was nearly dinnertime. Nero had insisted I put on my midnight-blue evening gown, the one that was covered all over in tiny sparkling stones. He’d been very specific that I wear that exact dress. When I’d asked him why, he’d replied that the gown made me look elegant and refined. So I’d put it on. It was hard to argue with a compliment, especially when Nero was the one giving it.

“I noticed you didn’t dress up,” I commented as he washed the splashes of dried monster blood off my arm.

“I’m not the one who has to make a good first impression.”

I laughed. “Your parents are coming over for dinner. Since they’ve already been to hell and back with me, I fear that any chance of a good first impression is long lost.”

“This isn’t about my parents.” He tossed the washcloth into the used towel bin.

“Then who is it about? Who else did you invite tonight?” I pressed my hand against the hard leather wall of his chest. “You didn’t dress up. That means you’ve already made a good impression.”

“Or I have no hope of making a good impression.”

That wasn’t it. Nero wasn’t a quitter, and he didn’t let anyone else give up either.

“Come on, Nero. Just tell me who’s coming to dinner. I’m bursting with curiosity.” I planted my feet firmly on the ground so I didn’t start bouncing with impatience.

Nero glanced down at my feet, clearly not fooled. “Patience is a virtue, Pandora.”

“But sinning is so much more fun than virtue.”

“Those are not the words of an angel.”

“Maybe not in public, but all the angels are totally thinking it, and you know it.”

He chuckled deep in his throat. “Maybe so.”

I looped my arms over his shoulders and slid in closer to him. “Tell me. Please,” I whispered against his lips.

“My resolve will not falter.”

I looked at him through lowered lashes. “It might falter just a little.”

Temptation flashed in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. “No. It won’t.”

I pouted out my lips—and gently nipped his. “You’re no fun.”

His hands locked on to my hips. “I’m very fun.” His mouth dipped to my throat.

“Perhaps,” I said as he exhaled, his hot breath tingling my skin. “But I think I require a demonstration.”

His fingers slipped the thin strap off my shoulder. “That can be arranged.”

My body arched toward him. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

His eyes swirled with magic, and his fangs had descended. Right now, they were teasing the pulsing vein in my throat. My fingers raked his sides, then, finding them armored in leather, began probing for the metal clasps that held his clothes on.

I gasped from the sudden flash of pain that pierced me as one of his fangs penetrated my skin. The pain was short-lived, however. It was quickly drowned under a deluge of sensations—none of them pain. Pleasure chased joy, which chased lust. His tongue flicked across the tiny drop of blood that his fang had coaxed out of me. My whole body quivered with deep, desperate hunger.

“Take off your clothes,” I growled in fervent command.

His eyes slid over me, clearly torn between propriety and passion.

The doorbell rang before he could choose a side. He kissed me once, roughly, then went off to answer the door. Sighing, I tapped my finger to my neck to heal the mark he’d left, then I joined him in the living room.

Damiel and Cadence were just coming through the front door. Cadence was wearing a knee-length black dress that, while not as sparkly as mine, was still very nice. She’d paired it with a pearl necklace and a pair of heels. Damiel, on the other hand, was dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. His mouth curled into a smile when he saw me.

“Oh, you needn’t have stopped on our account, Leda,” he said.

I frowned in confusion. “Stopped what?”

“Having sex.”

A flush of heat reddened my cheeks, but it only deepened my scowl. I folded my arms over my chest and hit him with a long, hard angel glower.

“Not bad,” he said. “But you should try practicing in front of the mirror some more. Compulsion is a subtle art, whether it involves glowering at other angels…” He glanced at Nero. “…or convincing others to part with their clothing.”

I upgraded my glower to a death stare. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop on people’s private conversations.”

“And you shouldn’t have dessert before dinner.” He clicked his tongue in apparent disapproval.

“You’re being rude, Damiel,” Cadence told him.

“Not at all, Princess,” he replied with a smile. “If I were being rude, I would have insisted that they do stop on our account.”

“Get in before I throw you out, old man,” Nero told his father brusquely.

Damiel took a step forward and closed the door behind him. “Do you plan on speaking to your grandfather in that distasteful manner?”

“My grandfather doesn’t try to manipulate everyone around him.”

Damiel laughed. “Oh, Nero, I could tell you stories about Rhydian Silverstar.”

“Stop fighting,” Cadence cut in. “We’re going to have a nice, civil family dinner.” She fired a warning look at Damiel. “For once.”

“I promise to behave myself in a manner befitting an archangel.”

Cadence sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I hadn’t spent much time with Cadence, but the more that I did, the more I liked her.

“Your grandfather is coming to visit?” I asked Nero.

“Yes.”

“And your grandfather is General Silverstar?”

“Yes.”

That explained the fancy dress Nero had asked me to wear. I’d never met General Silverstar, but I knew he was one of the oldest, most-respected angels at the Legion. He’d been around as long as there had been a Legion of Angels.

The doorbell rang.

“Speak of the archangel,” Cadence muttered.

“I believe the word you’re looking for there is ‘devil’, love, not ‘archangel’.”

“You see, Damiel, this is why you and my father don’t get along.”

“No, your father and I get along splendidly. We just show it differently than you do.”

“By fighting,” she said drily.

“Precisely,” he replied with a smile.

I moved past them to open the door. On the other side stood an angel with forest-green eyes and a stern face that looked like it had been carved out of a mountain. His dark hair was as short as the enormous two-handed sword on his back was long. And he was dressed in the same all-leather, all-black, all-battle armor that Nero liked to wear.

The angel looked at me, but he said nothing. Clearly, he was waiting for me to speak first.

“Welcome to Purgatory, General Silverstar. I’m Leda Pandora, the Angel of Chaos.”

Only after the words had left my mouth did I realize how unsavory they might be to an ancient archangel like Silverstar, but if my greeting bothered him, his face didn’t show it. It remained as unreadable as stone.

“I have heard much about you, Leda Pandora,” he said.

His voice was as stern as everything else about him, and something about it made me feel suddenly very guilty. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling guilty about, but whatever it was, I was very sorry about it.

“Don’t let him spook you, Leda,” Damiel told me. “He’s this way with everyone.”

“Dragonsire.” Silverstar’s stony stare released me and locked on to Damiel. “There’s no need to ask how long you’ve already been here. The trail of bodies to this building was still fresh.”

I was pretty sure Silverstar was exaggerating, but maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.

“You didn’t kill anyone on your way here, Damiel, did you?” I asked him.

“Of course not.” He set his hand over his chest. “I didn’t want to stain my outfit.”

That comment drew Silverstar’s attention to Damiel’s t-shirt and jeans, and this time, a hint of agitation seeped through the stony facade. Silverstar clearly didn’t like that Damiel had dared come before him in street clothes. It was equally clear that Damiel had put on those clothes for exactly that reason.

“Cadence.” Silverstar’s face seemed to soften a tad when he clasped his daughter’s hands, and something almost resembling a smile flashed across it when he came to Nero. “It’s been too long.” He patted Nero on the back.

“I should have visited you sooner,” Nero said.

“You’ve been busy.” Silverstar’s gaze slid to me, and he just…stared.

Nero?

Yes?

General Silverstar is the angel who raised you after your parents were gone, isn’t he?

Nero had mentioned to me that an angel had taken care of him, though he hadn’t said which one. The answer was obvious now.

Yes, Nero confirmed. My grandfather made me the angel I am today.

Which meant that under all that steel and ice, General Silverstar had to be ok. Otherwise, Nero wouldn’t have turned out so amazing.

How long has it been since you’ve seen him? I asked Nero.

About two years.

That was about the time Nero and I had met.

So basically he thinks I am the reason you haven’t been to see him.

He might think that. But I’m sure he understands.

From what I’ve heard about General Silverstar, he doesn’t accept excuses when it comes to doing your duty. And I’m sure he considers it your duty to check in with him from time to time.

Leda, the man is centuries old. Two years isn’t that long for him.

I hope you’re right.

Of course I’m right. I’m always right. His mouth didn’t smile, but his words in my mind did.

“I am glad you escaped the demons unscathed,” Silverstar said as Nero walked with him into the dining room.

A few minutes later, we were all seated at the table. The kitchen staff had delivered our food, and it seemed like despite the bumpy start, this dinner would turn out all right after all.

“We missed you at Nero’s wedding, Silverstar,” Damiel said.

General Silverstar’s eyes iced over. “I was on a mission. Running a territory requires so much more of an angel’s attention than torturing prisoners, Dragonsire.”

“But surely not a well-ordered territory like yours, Silverstar. Why, it must almost run itself by now.” Damiel smile was casual and unbothered, an angel in his element.

“Hardly.”

“Is that so? Then perhaps you should ask Leda for tips. Her territory is the plains of monsters, and she seems to have them all in order. She even has time to serve as the gods’ emissary to hell.”

“Why do you want General Silverstar to hate me?” I demanded of Damiel.

“This isn’t about making my father hate you,” Cadence told me. “Actually, I think my father and my husband both rather like you. This is about the two of them fighting for the sheer fun of it.” She sighed. “All I wanted was the whole family together for a pleasant evening.”

There was a flash of magic, then Faris, the God of Heaven’s Army, was suddenly sitting at the table with us.

“Did you invite him?” I asked Cadence.

“No.”

“So, how did your meeting with the demons go?” Faris asked me very casually as he helped himself to a glass of Nectar.

“Well, they didn’t say no,” I replied. “But they also didn’t say yes.”

Faris did not look pleased. “Go on.”

“I delivered your offer, then demon soldiers chased us out of the council chamber.”

“You need to try again.”

“I was just there, and the demons are still thinking about it. Give them time.” I smiled. “Be patient.”

The King of the Gods didn’t look pleased that the Angel of Chaos was lecturing him about patience.

“My patience only extends so far, Leda,” he told me.

“Then I’m sure you appreciate this opportunity to better yourself.”

I could see the inner conflict playing out in his eyes. He was wondering if he really needed me that much. The answer, of course, was yes. He did need me. Otherwise I’d already be dead. I knew this, and Faris knew it too. Still, it was a good idea to remind him of it every so often, if only by provoking him.

“You are very bold with a god, Leda Pandora,” Silverstar observed.

“She is indeed,” Faris agreed. “And that is not wise.”

“She knows you won’t harm her. You need her.” Damiel scooped a mound of mashed potatoes onto his plate, then offered the bowl to Faris.

The god waved away the offering like it wasn’t even worth his attention. “How astute of you, Dragonsire.”

Damiel glanced at Silverstar. “Leda is Faris’s daughter, in case you hadn’t realized.”

Shock flashed in Silverstar’s eyes. Shock and annoyance. Annoyance that obviously stemmed from the fact that Damiel had known this before he had.

“It was supposed to be a secret, Damiel,” I told him.

“It’s too late for that, Leda. Scandals such as this can’t stay secret for long.”

“Careful, Damiel.” I glanced at Faris. “You’re going to embarrass my daddy.”

“I am not embarrassed,” Faris said serenely as he braided his fingers together.

I smirked at him. “How touching.”

“To be embarrassed by you would suggest that I had erred.” Faris leveled a commanding stare on me. “And I do not err. I made you for a reason, Leda.”

“Speaking of making children, just when can I expect grandchildren, Leda?” Damiel changed the subject with an easy smile.

I almost choked on my wine. I’d already refilled my glass twice since this ill-fated family dinner had begun. This really was a wine kind of day.

“I, too, would like to know the answer to that question,” said Faris. “When can I expect grandchildren?”

“Why?” I demanded. “So you can use them as weapons?”

He set his immortal hand over his dead, black heart. “You wound me, daughter.”

I rolled my eyes. “If only I could.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Leda,” Damiel said.

“And I’m not going to, Damiel.”

Faris picked up his glass and took a sip of Nectar. “I don’t know why you’re being so squeamish about this, Leda. That is, after all, the purpose of the Fever.”

“I’m declaring this conversation dead, right here and now.”

Fairs’s brows drew together. “Why?”

“Because I’m not having the sex talk with you, Faris.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s just weird,” I told him. “And you’re about a decade too late.”

“Did you speak to the demons’ council this way?” Impatience weighed on his voice.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Pretty much.”

He frowned.

“Don’t give me that face, cupcake. You are the one who gave me the job. I didn’t ask for it.”

“You will do as you’re told, child, and I’m telling you to convince the demons to ally with us.”

“You see, Pops, right now, I’m focusing on convincing them not to kill me, and I’ll work my way up from there.”

“Don’t be absurd,” replied Faris. “Your mother is on the council. She is not going to kill you.”

“Yes, she would, and so would you if it advanced your agenda.”

“But it does not advance my agenda.”

“Lucky me.”

Damiel looked at Cadence. “If it’s the council’s agreement we need, then we could put the squeeze on Asteria.”

“I’m sure she would enjoy that.”

The humor had drained from Damiel’s face. “Asteria’s way of repaying us almost did more harm than good. She still owes us. She can tell us what the demons are up to, and which way they are leaning.”

“How exactly did you two manage to earn a favor from a demon?” I asked.

“We were just in the right place at the right time,” replied Cadence.

“Must have been one hell of a time,” I said. “Deities all just want to exploit me or kill me.”

“I’d think about why that is, if I were you,” said Faris.

“You are not me.”

“If only you’d inherited my common sense.”

I snorted.

There was another flash of magic, and then two more people arrived in my dining room. The woman had platinum-blonde hair and big, brown eyes. The man had gold eyes, a ponytail of black hair, and the tall and muscular body of a combat soldier. I’d never seen either one of them in my life.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” I demanded, my hands sizzling with magic.

“Wait, Leda,” Cadence said. “I invited them. They’re family.”

“More family?”

“They’re Immortals,” Faris said, completely unbothered.

Well, that did explain how they could just pop up in my dining room. Teleportation was one of the Immortals’ many powers.

“Eva is Lightbringer’s aunt, her mother’s sister,” Faris continued. “And Jiro is Dragonsire’s cousin.”

“How do you know that?” I asked him.

“As I’ve told you many times before, child, I know everything.”

Ok, so I’d actually walked right into that one. Stupid me.

“Well, now that everyone’s been introduced, let’s eat,” Eva said cheerfully and grabbed the bowl of mashed potatoes.

After dinner, Cadence decided to start a game of charades ‘to break the ice’. I could see how much she really wanted our family dinner night to be a success, so I was the first to volunteer. About five seconds into my pantomime of ‘godly’, Faris bailed on us, declaring that he had ‘far more important things to do than play games’.

Then he vanished in a puff of magic smoke. As the smoke dissipated, I wondered if Faris recognized the irony in his words. He only ever played games.

“I’m hungry,” I announced as Cadence completed her dramatization of a vampire feast.

“For blood?” Nero asked.

The reminder of our private, pre-dinner dalliance in the kitchen sent a sudden, but not altogether unwelcome, flush of heat through my body.

“Right now, my heart is set on chocolate,” I said.

He smoothly rose from the sofa we shared. “Then, my angel, I will bring you some chocolate.”

I held back a giddy giggle; Nero was so sweet, it made me love sick. I didn’t giggle, but I did jump up and give him a long, deep kiss before plopping back down in a lazy heap of supreme happiness.

Eva followed Nero to the kitchen.

“Try not to make a pass at him,” Jiro called out after her.

Eva spun around and hit him with a look of pure shock. “Nero is my nephew. I would never make a pass at family.”

“Never say never,” laughed Jiro. “I’m remembering a certain cousin of yours named Haron and your family reunion a few millennia ago.”

I wasn’t sure which disturbed me more: the fact that Eva had hit on her own cousin, or that her husband Jiro was laughing about it.

Eva laughed it off too. “Haron was a very, very distant cousin. We were hardly related.”

Jiro and Eva were such a weird couple.

Damiel waited until they were gone, then he said to me, “I’ve heard about your issue.”

“I have a lot of issues, Damiel. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

I tried to keep one eye on Jiro. Right now, he was impersonating some kind of…bomb? Oven? Ice skater? The Immortals had many gifts, but the art of charades was clearly not one of them. I had no idea what he was supposed to be.

“The issue of having gods inside your head,” Damiel said to me.

“Nero told you about that?”

“He didn’t have to. I can read your mind.”

I glowered at him.

“A joke. I swear.” He lifted his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Yes, Nero told me. He’s worried about you.”

He must have been really worried if he’d asked Damiel for help. The two of them didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye.

“Faris intrudes on your dreams?” he asked me.

“Yes.”

Damiel nodded. “That makes sense. Your mind is weaker when you’re asleep. If you want to keep Faris out of your dreams, you’ll need to fortify your mental defenses. If you do that, even your unconscious mind will be strong enough to keep him out.”

“What about Grace?”

“Has she invaded your dreams too?”

“No,” I said. “But she’s supposed to be a very powerful telepath, so I’d like to keep her out too, just in case she decides to trek all over my personal space.”

“It’s easier to defend than to attack. That’s why the Legion trains a soldier’s defense against a magical ability before they teach the ability’s offensive spells,” replied Damiel. “If you train hard enough, you should be able to keep out even Grace.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

“It is good news. And so is this: I’m offering to train your mental defenses.”

“You?”

“Of course. I was once the Master Interrogator. I’m the best mind-breaker the Legion has. Who better to train you?” He smiled brightly. “So, when shall we begin?”

I considered his idea.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Well, to be honest, I’m not overly excited about the idea of you rummaging around in my head, Damiel.”

He laughed. “That’s because you’re a clever girl, Leda.”

“If you allow Dragonsire into your mind, you will regret it,” Silverstar said in his usual monotone.

Nero returned from his excursion to the kitchen, and he came bearing gifts of the chocolate variety.

I looked down at the bowl full of mint chocolate pieces and declared, “Now I love you even more.” I took a bite of chocolate. “Your father has offered to help me train my mental defenses.”

Nero looked at his father, then declared, “That sounds like a prudent idea.”

His response was unexpected. Nero had always told me to be suspicious of Damiel. So often, he’d reminded me that Damiel’s proposals were never offered out of the goodness of his own heart. If Nero was saying now that I should accept Damiel’s offer, that meant he was more worried about what Faris and Grace would do in my mind than what Damiel might do.

Maybe Nero was right. And, besides, a little extra mental fortitude would anyway be good training for Ghost’s Whisper.

“I’ll think about it,” I told Damiel.

He nodded, then we returned to charades. Five rounds later, the game came to a spectacular end when I tripped over my cat and fell so hard onto the coffee table that it shattered. That’s when everyone decided to call it a night—and I decided to call a doctor.