7

Killing an angel wasn’t an easy feat. So many doses of gods’ Nectar, so much magic, so much training—altogether it made angels nearly unkillable. It was scary to think there was a weapon that could kill an angel in a single strike. It was even scarier to know that weapon was out there now, just waiting to be found.

It all made sense now, why the gods had granted the Pilgrims’ special assistance from the Legion, including that of an angel like Nero. But the gods had still left Nero in charge of this mission, and he was right. There might be a weapon beneath the Lost City with the power to kill angels, but there definitely were monsters out there right now on the Black Plains with more than enough power to kill anyone crazy enough to be caught outside at night.

The magic tides of the world were changing. We’d just been through more monster attacks during the day than I’d ever experienced, even at night. Going out there right now was suicide and I said it.

Nero nodded in approval, but Valiant frowned at me like I’d just fallen a few notches in his esteem.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” I told him. “I’ve lived out here at the edge of the Black Plains my whole life, and I’ve never seen so many monsters. This is bad. Really bad.”

Nero looked worried. Well, at least as worried as he could look. There was a tiny crinkle between his eyes, but the rest of his face was as hard as marble, as unfeeling as stone. Perhaps it was that hard, unfeeling expression that told me he was worried, that he wanted to go back out there and secure the Lost Relics as much as Valiant did.

“We will depart at first light,” Nero told us. “I’m ordering you all to eat and then go to bed. I expect tomorrow will be at least as eventful as today, and I need you all fed and rested so you’ll be at full power.”

My stomach rumbled, and I wondered what Calli was making for dinner. I hoped she’d cooked enough to feed an army because I was famished.

“Leda,” Nero said.

Everyone else had left while I’d been standing there, fantasizing about dinner. Nero closed the door. Uh-oh.

“Is this about the fire swords? I know I didn’t exactly ask permission to use them. Are Captain Somerset and Lieutenant Lawrence upset?”

“Lieutenant Lawrence detailed her grievances to me on the drive back to town.”

Figured. She was probably happy to have an excuse to talk to him—and to complain about me.

“Captain Somerset was amused.”

“Amused?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“She did express her concern that if your technique did not improve, next time you might set your hair on fire.”

“She was laughing when she said that, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “But this isn’t about the fire swords.”

“The flare guns?”

“Those guns are not standard issue for soldiers of the Legion.”

“I know. I borrowed it from my mom. We used to bring them with us when we traveled across the Black Plains, so I thought it might be useful to carry one. The flares are made by witches, a brew of concentrated magic designed to—”

“I know what they’re used for.”

I smirked at him. “Do you? Even though they’re not standard Legion issue?”

“Careful.” He folded his arms across his chest.

I mimicked the gesture, but I had the feeling it looked less badass on me. “Always.”

He arched a single eyebrow, daring me to tease him further. For once, I behaved myself.

“Next time you wish to bring along an unsanctioned weapon, discuss it with me first. Flare guns are a fire hazard.”

I nearly laughed in his face. “Almost every weapon in the Legion’s armory is a fire hazard, including each and every soldier level four or higher.”

He watched me with mild amusement.

“You’re teasing me.”

“How could you tell?”

“I don’t know. Must have been the sudden outburst of unfettered emotion,” I said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

He didn’t take the bait, even though I’d left it right out there for him.

“So about those flare guns,” he said instead of something, well, I don’t know, romantic. Only Morrows thought guns were romantic.

“We’re still talking about the flare gun?”

“You set a snap dragon’s ass on fire with a magic flare, Leda. Of course we’re still talking about this.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious or amused. Probably both. I seemed to bring out conflicted emotions in people.

“Did my unorthodox battle strategy upset your prim and proper angel sensibilities?” I asked him.

“There was a strategy to that madness?”

“Sure, you just said it: to set a snap dragon’s ass on fire with a magic flare.” I smiled with satisfaction. “I bet the fiend never saw it coming.”

“Yes, that’s typically what happens when you shoot someone from behind.” He even managed to say it with a straight face.

We stared at each other for a few seconds, his hard eyes against my smiling ones. It was a real struggle not to look away from the swirling storm of gold and silver magic in his eyes.

“So, I take it from your stony silence that you want to analyze my actions in the snap dragon fight,” I finally said.

“You fought well.”

I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t expected that. “You always deconstruct my fights.”

“Not this time.”

“Oh?”

A slight smile touched his lips. “Disappointed?”

“Of course. I love analyzing my inadequacies one-by-one after the fact.”

“Go to dinner with me,” he said suddenly.

I stared at him.

“You aren’t inadequate, not even a bit,” he added.

“You’re just saying that so I’ll go out with you.”

“You already agreed to go out with me.”

“I guess you’ve got me there.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied, his voice seductive, possessive.

“Go easy on the compulsion there, angel,” I said against the heat rising under my skin.

He shrugged. “You’re immune.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine as he said, “As your continued resistance to following orders proves.”

Not completely immune. “Hey, I’ll have you know that I haven’t disobeyed an order in at least a week.”

“Somehow, I seriously doubt that, Pandora.”

“Ok, so maybe I did disobey Lieutenant Ripley last week when he told me to use Saintly Suds to wash the truck, but in my defense, that was a really stupid idea. Everyone knows that Blessed Bubbles are the superior product. Anyway, I didn’t see it as an order so much as a suggestion.”

“How many times do you tell yourself that before you get ready to disobey something I’ve ordered you to do?”

“Hardly ever. I typically only think about that afterwards.”

“Stop.” His hands slid down my cheeks in a gentle caress. “Don’t confess your sins to me, or I’ll be forced to discipline you.”

“Are you really sure you want me to stop? I know how much you love assigning me pushups.”

“And how much you enjoy doing them, especially when I’m on top of you.”

Of course, he’d meant sitting on me as he sometimes did to make the pushups harder, but he’d chosen the words purposefully. He always chose his words carefully, every one placed exactly as he wanted. The innuendo was as thick as heavy whipping cream—and just as deliciously unhealthy. That’s one of the benefits of leveling up your magic in the Legion. You could survive all kinds of deliciously unhealthy things. Like angels.

I took a moment to collect myself so that when I did speak, I didn’t stutter like a fool. “I’m surprised that you want to have our date now of all times.”

“It will never be the right time, so it might as well be now.”

I liked that argument. I liked it a lot.

* * *

As Nero and I walked through the town, I listened to the night. The Black Plains were wailing tonight. The moon was nearly full, and magic was in full bloom. Dark, sinister magic that made me want to curl up in my bed until morning.

“It isn’t safe out there,” I said quietly.

“The monsters are hungry tonight. Restless.”

“So are the thugs,” I commented, glancing at the two men in trench coats who’d been following us from the other side of the street for the last two blocks.

Nero turned to face them. “Leave,” he said, that single word chilling the humid evening air.

The thugs spun around and ran the other way.

“Now, I am hungry.”

“You used a lot of magic today,” I said.

“As did you.”

“Nah, I mostly just shot off my flare gun and stole other people’s fire swords off the ground.” I stopped in front of the restaurant. “We’re here.”

“The Jolly Joint?” Nero read the sign with a dubious slant to his mouth. “Is that Frontier humor?”

“Trust me. It’s awesome.” I reached for the door, but he got there first.

“Allow me.” He held the door for me.

“Oh, so this is like a real date?” I grinned at him as I entered the restaurant.

He slid into step beside me, glancing around at the rustic interior. “We’ll manage the best we can.”

The Jolly Joint wasn’t a fancy place, but it had some of the best food in town. The furniture looked like it was from the last century, antique as in ‘old’, not as in overpriced collectibles. The tables were small, nicked, and in dire need of a good sanding. The fabric of the seats was stained, and some of the stitching was unraveling. They smelled like they’d absorbed the scents of all the meals that had come before this one. I loved every popped stitch and wobbly leg because they meant this place had a history, a personality that hadn’t been scrubbed, sanded, and whitewashed away.

Arlo, our waiter, set down a large bread basket between us, his gaze lowered to Nero’s jacket. The reverence in his eyes said he knew what Nero’s rank meant—that there was an angel in their midst. His back still bowed over, the waiter left us alone at our table. Nero took a bite of a roll. He quickly finished it off.

“I knew you would like this place,” I said as he started on his second roll.

“The place is rough around the edges, but it only makes it more charming.”

From the way he was looking at me, he wasn’t talking about just the food. He was talking about me too.

“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “And at least it’s away from the prying eyes of the Legion.”

“You shouldn’t allow yourself to be bothered by their gossip.”

I traced my finger across marks in the table, where someone had carved ‘Heather loves James’ into the wood with a steak knife.

“To which gossip are you referring?” I asked him, abandoning the table graffiti to take a sesame roll from the basket. “Perhaps the rumor that you decided to make me your lover the moment I sped off across the Black Plains to save you from a nest of nasty vampires? Or everyone’s insistence that I don’t even have a choice in the matter because Nero Windstriker always gets what he wants?”

“They’re bored and need a way to fill the time between battles and getting high. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“So it’s not true?”

“No. Of course not,” he said. “I didn’t decide I would make you my lover after you rescued me from the Black Ruins. That only reenforced what I knew about you.”

“Meaning?”

“I decided I would make you my lover the moment I met you.” Danger sparked in his eyes—danger that tasted like cherries dripped in dark chocolate. “And you always had a choice, Leda. I’m just making it my mission to convince you. Because, yes, I do usually get what I want.”

Our waiter chose that moment to return to take our orders. He turned to Nero. Usually, it went ladies first, but it was angels first above all.

“You will take my lovely companion’s order first,” Nero said.

Surprise flashed in Arlo’s eyes. Angels enjoyed privileges, and they always came first.

“Of course,” Arlo said, recovering. “What can I get you, my lady?”

My lady? I thought about reminding him that we’d gone to school together, but what was the fun in that?

“I’ll have the Jolly Platter and a pineapple juice,” I told him.

Nero peered over his menu at me. The table was so small that as he turned the page, his hand brushed past mine. Then it retreated, so close and yet so far away. Nero was playing with me. Or was he? Maybe I was getting myself wound up over nothing. He was just flipping through a menu, for crying out loud. And yet he’d been looking at me the whole time, not at the menu

“The Spring Chicken and an Angelfire spring water.” His eyes didn’t leave me even as he placed his order.

I braided my fingers together, looking into his eyes, wondering what secrets lay beneath his armor. A shadow hovered over my shoulder.

“What is it, Arlo?” I asked him impatiently, keeping my eyes on Nero.

“Your menu, Leda,” he whispered.

I slid my elbow off my closed menu. “Take it.”

I heard the rustle of leather and pressed cotton, and then he was gone with the menus. Nero’s hand slid over mine, and though his touch only brushed the surface, a river of liquid fire burned through my veins, enveloping my entire body, consuming me. I didn’t want to lose this staring contest, whatever game it was that angels played. But I just couldn’t look anymore. The look in Nero’s eyes should have scared me, but it didn’t. It excited me. And that scared me.

I could feel everyone’s eyes on us. When I turned to meet their stares, they hastily looked away. But I knew they were still watching us out of the corner of their eyes.

“We might be away from the prying eyes and gossiping mouths of the Legion, but we are under the spotlight of the town,” I said, taking a sip of the pineapple juice Arlo had just set down. “And the denizens of Purgatory don’t have monster battles and getting high on Nectar to fill the boring hours. We are their entertainment.”

“You sure are worrying a lot about others. The only eyes you should be thinking about right now are mine. The only mouth that you need to worry about is mine.”

Another innuendo. This had to be some kind of record for him.

“This is our date,” he continued. “Not theirs.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“If it makes this easier…” He gave his hand a little wave, and as if by magic, the people in the room all looked away.

“You compelled them?”

“Every single one of them,” he said without a shred of shame.

I chuckled. “So, do you really think those relics are under the city?”

He gave me a hard look.

“What? You’ve got them all oblivious to us, right?”

“All but the waiter. He’s been compelled to bring us our dinner as soon as possible.”

“I don’t think you needed to do that. Your wings are a pretty compelling argument on their own.”

“I haven’t shown my wings here.”

“It doesn’t matter. Arlo knows they’re there.”

“How do you know our waiter?”

“We went to school together,” I said with a shrug. “We didn’t hang out in the same circles, though.”

“And what circles did you hang out in?”

“Just with my sister Bella mostly—when I wasn’t hunting down criminals to turn in for cash.”

“You’ve led an interesting life.”

“It’s gotten more interesting recently,” I said, stirring my juice.

His hand closed over mine. “So has mine. For better or for worse.”

“Do you think we’ll find the relics?”

“Nyx thinks we will.” His thumb traced small, slow circles into my hand. “I called her on the drive back. She confirmed that she’d known all along about what the Pilgrims were after. She’s keeping too many secrets.”

“Well, she is an angel.”

“What do you think I am keeping from you?”

“A lot, I’m sure. The Legion guards its secrets well.”

Disappointment flickered in his eyes, and he dropped his hand.

“I’m not asking you to tell me,” I said.

He watched me for a long, silent second, then he replied, “You are too good.”

“For the Legion?”

“To survive this world.” He brushed his hand against mine. The spark of heat returned, taking on a life of its own, waking me up as though from a dream, from a life I’d never truly been living.

Arlo came with our dinner, and we unlinked hands.

“So, what was it like growing up as the only known child of two angels?” I asked Nero. “Did you always have powers, even as a child?”

“From an early age, yes. I couldn’t control those powers very well, but they were there.”

“Do the children of angels always have these powers before they join the Legion?”

He finished chewing the piece of chicken he’d cut off, then said, “You’re wondering if you are the child of two angels.”

“The thought did cross my mind. I don’t react to Nectar like other people. I react like you do.”

“In response to your question, yes. All children with an angel parent manifest at least some powers, even early on. Did you ever manifest any powers?”

“No.” And there went my theory.

“There is something different about you,” Nero said. “Something special. That’s why Nyx put you on the Legion fast track.”

“There are a lot of people on the fast track now. Why? What is the Legion gearing up to do? Fight?”

Nero took a long, slow sip from his glass. “Asking questions like these will get you into trouble.”

“So you’ve warned me before. And so has Captain Somerset. In fact, she’s warned me about more than just that.”

“What do you mean?”

“She is scary sometimes, you know. I’m getting the feeling that she’s going to skewer me with her swords if I don’t sleep with you. Or if I do sleep with you. I don’t think she’s decided yet.”

Nero’s face was impassive.

“I think you really need to teach me to use a fire sword. Just in case.”

“I take it from that statement that you don’t plan on sleeping with me.”

“Well…I…um…”

A deep, low noise rumbled in Nero’s chest.

“Are you laughing at me?” I demanded.

“Yes.”

I glowered at him. “That wasn’t funny.”

“Firstly, it was very funny. And secondly, I told you not to glare at me like that until you have the magic to back it up. You don’t, Pandora.”

“Yet.”

A slight smile touched his lips. “Yet,” he agreed.

“So about those fire swords,” I began.

“What about them?”

“I need you to teach me how to wield them. I want to be able to do more than just spin them around while trying not to burn myself.”

“Not burning yourself is an important first step.”

“I’m serious, Nero. I want to master them.”

“I’m not sure I want to help you set things on fire. You’re dangerous enough already.”

“Very funny.”

“When you gain the power of elemental magic, you’ll be able to set more than swords on fire. Clothes lines, sticks, ropes, everything in your vicinity that you want to misuse as a weapon.”

I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Very scary, Pandora.” Nero slipped a vial out of his jacket.

“Nectar?” I whispered, recognizing the liquid flowing like shimmering rainbow lava inside the tiny bottle.

“Just the drops.”

Nectar drops were the diluted form of Nectar, the drug of choice of the Legion’s soldiers. A drop or two added to a drink made us happy, high, and really relaxed, the perfect combination after a long and grueling day.

“Would you like some?” he asked me.

I hesitated, even as my tongue darted out to slide across my lips. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a very good idea.” Under the table, his leg brushed against mine, causing me to jump a little in my seat. “You’re way too tense.” He poured a drop into each of our drinks. “Here, we’ll do it together.”

“How can I refuse an offer like that?”

We lifted our glasses and drank. The Nectar danced across the pineapple flavor, enhancing it. Making it richer, sweeter. The hot river of magic poured down my throat, setting off a cascade reaction, a dozen tiny explosions of ecstasy. My muscles, tense from a day of fighting monsters and hiking through ruins, grew liquid. I hadn’t felt this relaxed since, well, the last time I’d had Nectar. The spa trip with Ivy last month, while fun, couldn’t even compete with this.

I gazed across the table at Nero. A pale ethereal light glowed around him, that soft angelic halo contrasting with the wicked fire burning in his eyes. My gaze slid across the smooth fabric of his shirt. There wasn’t a single wrinkle—or a single bead of sweat—on it. It was perfectly pristine, as though it had been ironed onto him. Or melted on. I wondered if he was as hot as I was—or if angels even sweat.

“You are making this all too easy, Pandora.”

“Making what too easy?”

He leaned in, the hard muscles of his chest shifting against his shirt. “Seducing you.”

He captured my lips with his mouth. His kiss was slow, searing—and ruthlessly erotic.

“Would you like to skip to dessert?” His words fell against my jaw, dipping to my throat.

Did he even have to ask? A hard, base hunger had taken root deep inside of me. If we didn’t get out of here now, I was going to do something that broke every rule in the Legion’s decorum rulebook.

“Yes,” I said. My top felt like a straightjacket against my swelling breasts.

His smile was pure sin, the retreating whisper of his final kiss an unspoken promise of dark delights. “We’re ready to order dessert.”

I blinked, my mind unable to process his words. I looked up to find our ever-attentive waiter standing beside our table. Oh, that dessert.

“What would you like?” Nero asked me casually.

“I…”

“Do you need a moment?”

He was right. He really didn’t want me to gain the power to set things—and wicked angels—on fire.

“I’ll have a slice of apple pie.”

Arlo looked at Nero.

“Same,” he said.

Arlo bowed and left. Nero continued to stare at me, his eyes alight with mischievous delight.

“You enjoyed that,” I growled at him.

“I will. Dessert is an indulgence but one worth every bite.”

“Not the dessert. Confounding me.”

“I am merely upholding my promise,” he replied calmly, clearly unbothered by the looping mental fantasy of setting his hair on fire that I was broadcasting to him loud and clear. When I gained elemental magic, he was in for trouble. “You wished for us to have dinner someplace public. I get the feeling you’re still not certain you want to be involved with me.”

“I know I want to be with you. It’s the other guy I’m not sure about.”

“What other guy?”

“The angel.”

“I am the angel.”

“Not always.”

He mulled that over for a moment, then said, “If you want to be with me, the ‘other guy’ is part of the package.”

I sighed. “I know.”

“Leda, you want to be an angel. That means spending a lot of time with other angels.”

I smirked at him. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

He leaned in, capturing my lower lip between his teeth. “Careful, Pandora. There’s a fine line between foreplay and insubordination.”

His fangs broke the surface of my lip. A drop of blood rose slowly, pulsing, burning, shooting my senses into overdrive. I was suddenly hyperaware of everything. Every beat of his heart. Of mine. Every whisper, every breath. The thick, rich aroma of his scent caressed my senses, potent and pure. The taste of an angel. Of my angel. I tilted my neck, brushing my hair aside.

Nero’s eyes flickered to my naked throat. “Stop,” he whispered, his voice rough with need.

I smiled. “Stop what?”

I slid my hand down my neck, tracing the line of my pulse throbbing beneath my skin. With my other hand, I reached for his hand, but he withdrew it. I slid my leg against his, and a low, masculine noise buzzed in his throat.

“You are making it exceedingly difficult for me to hold to your conditions of this date,” he said, each word perfectly articulated, as though he were struggling to maintain control.

I arched my brows at him. “What if I were to remove those conditions?”

“Are you?” he asked cautiously.

“What would you do if I said yes?”

“The things I would do to you I cannot speak of here.”

My inner thighs clenched together, shaking, quivering. I swallowed down the rising tide of excruciating lust, and stuck a sassy smile over it. “I never took you for the modest type.”

His voice dropped to a rough, ragged whisper. “Do not challenge me, Pandora. I have no qualms about burning off all your clothes and taking you here and now on this table.” His hand traced up my thigh, teasing the bottom hem of my shorts.

My head spinning, my heart hammering like a runaway train, I arched my back in silent, sensual invitation. My entire body, head to toe, peak to valley, was burning for him like I had never truly been alive before this moment.

“In front of all these people?” My voice was a raw rasp.

“I never took you for the modest type,” he repeated my earlier words back at me. They sounded so much sexier sliding off his tongue.

“Very funny.”

“I can compel them all to leave if you wish.” His fangs traced the soft, sensitive flesh of my throat.

“Bite me,” I said, caught somewhere between desperate plea and rough demand.

He pulled back, meeting my eyes. “Do you wish to be alone with me, Leda?”

“Yes.”

A smile twisted his lips, and his hand moved up my thigh, parting my legs.

His phone buzzed against my skin. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled it out, glancing at the screen. And just like that, my dark lover vanished in front of my eyes, replaced by the cold soldier. He dropped his hand from my thigh.

“We have to go,” he said, standing.

I followed him toward the exit, my pulse pounding with unfulfilled need.

“Can you focus?” Nero asked as we stepped outside into the scorching night.

“I’m fine,” I assured him. After I have a cold shower.

“I can make it snow over you,” Nero offered.

He’d read my thoughts again. I scowled at him to let him know what I thought about that.

“I can’t really not hear your thoughts when you’re broadcasting them to me loud and clear, Pandora.”

I wasn’t broadcasting anything. Ok, maybe that wasn’t true. Back in the restaurant, I’d been broadcasting loud and clear. But whatever. I didn’t have time to be self-conscious right now. The message Nero had received was obviously bad news.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, this time without the inner monologue. “What’s going on?”

“Valiant and two of the other Pilgrims took one of our trucks and drove onto the Black Plains.”

“They’re going after the relics,” I said.

“And we’re going after them,” he told me. “Before the monsters get them.”