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His smile wasn’t friendly. It was a smile that spelled trouble. With a promise.
“Call me Patch. I mean it. Call me.”
And those black eyes were getting to me. They were like magnets clinging to my every move.
“Religion?” I asked more firmly. Patch dragged a hand thoughtfully along the line of his jaw. “Not religion . . . cult.” “You belong to a cult?” I realized too late that while I sounded surprised, I shouldn’t have. “As it turns out, I’m in need of a healthy female sacrifice. I’d planned on luring her into trusting me first, but if you’re ready now . . .” Any smile left on my face slid away. “You’re not impressing me.” “I haven’t started trying yet.”
Tell her there’s this new club called civilization and you guys should join.”
“You smell good too,” said Patch. “It’s called a shower.” I was staring straight ahead. When he didn’t answer, I turned sideways. “Soap. Shampoo. Hot water.” “Naked. I know the drill.”
A slow grin spread over his face. “Baseball. Think maybe you could stand behind me and give me a few pointers?”
Rain battered the colorful awnings of the shops along the pier and spilled to the sidewalk below. The antique gas lamps that were staggered down both sides of the street glowed to life.
I closed my eyes and replayed our night together. The touch of Patch’s hand on my thigh, his lips tasting my neck . . .
“Before I forget, I brought your homework. Where do you want me to put it?” She pointed at the trash can. “Right there will be fine.”
His eyes looked like they didn’t play by the rules. His smile was a little too cunning for comfort.
“I don’t go out with strangers,” I said. “Good thing I do. I’ll pick you up at five.”
“You’re a tiny bit off,” I said. I felt him smile. “How much you want to bet?” “Five dollars.” I felt him give a soft shake of his head. “Your jacket.” “You want my jacket?” “I want it off.”
His eyes were as black as a midnight ocean,
Patch wasn’t the kind of guy mothers smiled on. He was the kind of guy they changed the house locks for.
The trouble was, my feelings for Patch weren’t harmless.
I crammed everything I’d read into a mental folder and filed it away. And stamped SCARY on the outside of the folder.
Haunting words like “fallen angel,” “human possession,” and “Nephilim” danced me off to sleep.
The whole night felt unbalanced. It was hard to have a showdown with someone as indifferent as Patch. No, not indifferent. Perfectly controlled. Down to the last cell in his body.
Because other angels were good. And Patch was not.
“Keep in mind that people change, but the past doesn’t.”
“This is why I keep you around, Rixon. Always seeing things from the bright side.”
“Thinking.” “Thinking?” “A process by which I use my brain to make a rational decision.”
“The Book of Enoch is a bedtime story. And a good one, by the looks of it. Sent you straight to dreamland.”
“Do you want to possess my body?” “I want to do a lot of things to your body, but that’s not one of them.”
“But if I hadn’t fallen, I wouldn’t have met you.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Nora. I don’t kill people who are important to me. And you top the list.”
“Let’s be honest, Nora. You’ve got it bad for me.” His eyes held a lot of depth. “And I’ve got it bad for you.” He leaned into me and put his mouth on mine. A lot of him was on me, actually. We touched base at several strategic locations down our bodies, and it took all my willpower to break away.
His approach wasn’t all that different from a cloud eclipsing the sun, subtly darkening the landscape, hinting of a storm.
“I’m your guardian angel,” he said.
I looked to the window. Patch was gone, but a single black feather was pressed to the outer pane, held in place by last night’s rain. Or angel magic.
