Devils & Thieves (Devils & Thieves #1)(13)

“Flynn told me that’s what it was.”

“Flynn wishes that were true. But I saw my father’s body. I know different.”

I stared out the window into the night. “How could you tell it wasn’t, um… natural?”

He sighed and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it to you.”

“Why did you?”

A one-shoulder shrug was all I got for an answer. I let my vision go unfocused as I considered that Michael Medici might have been murdered—by Deathstalkers, no less. And if Old Lady Jane was right and something big and bad was going to happen, I could see why he was tense. With the Kindled Festival coming up, it was the perfect time for someone, anyone, to try to get revenge on Crowe for the pain he’d inflicted in the past year. The perfect time for someone to strike out at any of the Devils. Any of the Medicis.

“You just had me bind Alex’s magic—what if she needs to protect herself?”

“I’ll have people watching her back. Don’t worry about this, okay?” Crowe turned onto my street. “Whatever is going on, I’ll handle it.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I scooped it out, hoping it was Alex.

Crowe glanced at the phone before pulling up in front of my house. “Who’s ‘D’?”

“None of your business.”

“Girl or guy?”

“Guy.” It was true, but also, I wanted to see his reaction.

He shut the car off and leaned back in the bucket seat, his body angled toward mine. A streetlight cast half his face in shadow and half in bright, silver light. Crowe had that perfect Italian skin and bone structure. The way he lived—drinking regularly, sleeping little, high stress and anxiety—you’d think he’d look haggard and older than he was. He didn’t. He looked like he drank kale smoothies for breakfast and ran ten miles a day. I didn’t know how he did it. Maybe his appearance was doctored by Flynn. Maybe Crowe Medici’s handsomeness was just an illusion.

“This D guy a dreck?”

“Not all of us get off on dating for power.” I pushed the car door open. “Why?”

He looked away from me, out the windshield to the empty street beyond. “I just want to be sure you’re safe is all. Seeing a dreck is an unnecessary risk.”

“So you think I should date only kindled?”

A half smile turned him devilish in the light. “I think you should embrace girl power and all that and stay single for a while.”

“You’re a shitbag.” I stepped out and slammed the door shut.

“Jemmie. Wait.”

I stalked around the front of my house to the back door. On the porch, I dug in my bag for my house key but didn’t find it fast enough. Crowe caught up by the time I turned the deadbolt.

“Why are you still here?” I said as I dropped my bag on the kitchen table, giving the house a quick scan. It was dark save for the light above the stove. It cast a soft golden glow around the room. A package of thawing ribs and another of sausage were sitting out on the counter—clearly Mom was planning on making her special slow-cooked feijoada—but from what I could tell, she wasn’t home. Thank God.

“I think we’ve had enough of each other for one night,” I said.

I rummaged around inside the fridge and pulled out a takeout sandwich left over from last night. When I turned around, Crowe was standing in the middle of the kitchen, his car keys hanging from his index finger. He just stared at me.

The house seemed to shrink in size around him, and I took a step back, pressing myself into the counter so I didn’t have to crane my neck to look at him.

“You always going to treat me like this?” he asked evenly.

I set the sandwich down and propped my hands on the edge of the counter. “Treat you like what?”

“Like you hate me.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Jemmie,” he started.

I cut him off. “I should have walked home.”

I moved past him for the living room. His hand snapped out and grabbed me by the wrist. Heat spread out from his touch, engulfing me, and I wondered if he felt it, too, this volcano that erupted between us whenever we touched. Only some of it had to do with magic, but I was already breathing it in as it snaked out in amber streaks around us, dark and dangerous and pulsing.

He hadn’t touched me purposefully in a long time.

A strange smell hit my senses, not magic. It was acrid and sharp, slicing through the sweet amber haze. It was accompanied by a very distinct sound.

The ribs and sausage were sizzling, the plastic around the packages melting onto the meat, smoke curling up toward the ceiling. Crowe cursed, his eyes sliding shut.

Crowe Medici rarely ever lost control of his magic.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he finally looked at me again.

“For the meat, for following me into the house, or for something else?”

The question was baited, and he knew it. He took a step closer to me, and I stepped back until I was pressed against the doorway between the kitchen and living room and Crowe was pressed against me.

I could have sworn the earth shook.

“You don’t know the whole story,” he said, his voice low and throaty.

“I know enough of it.”

“No, you don’t. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”