Eleventh Grave in Moonlight (Charley Davidson #11)(65)

“Like a glowworm?”

He grinned. “Why not?”

“You look different when I shift, too.”

He lowered his head.

“Reyes,” I said, readying to tease him, “give it up already. I know all about the darkness. Being created in hell—”

“You don’t remember, do you?”

I ran my fingers over his sensual mouth even as he spoke. “Remember?”

“Before you convinced Jehovah to send me to your hell dimension instead of locking me up in the one He created, you knew me.”

We turned and walked down the street hand in hand. Only we were both incorporeal, so people kept walking through us. Mostly college students cramming for finals. Poor kids. That, I remembered.

“I was dark even then. I was dark before Satan got ahold of me.”

I stopped and faced him. “I don’t remember that.”

“I think my Brother, for some reason, has altered your memories. Taken some away.”

“Do you know why?”

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry.” He reached down and slid his fingers along my abdomen.

“Oh, just so you know,” I said, my muscles tensing with his touch, “I’m paying you back for that little stunt you pulled today.”

His expression softened. “Are you?”

“Yes. I’ve been doing research. You are so screwed.”

“I can hardly wait.”

I snorted. “I suggest you adopt a more concerned attitude than that, Mister Man. Payback is a bitch, and her name is Charley Davidson.”

He pressed his mouth together in an attempt to hide his reaction. Apparently I was funny.

“Good to know I can bring humor to any situation. I’m not even going to feel sorry for you while I torture you.”

He raised a brow. “Torture? You sure you got it in you?”

“Oh, I got it and then some.”

He turned his most sensual gaze toward me. “Be still my beating heart.”

Part of me believed he wanted me to torture him.





16

Some days, the supply of available curse words is insufficient to meet my needs.





—T-SHIRT


I dreamed of starless nights and planets colliding. Of nebulae drifting too close to black holes and galaxies spinning out of control. And I dreamed of angel wings. Of their feathers brushing against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

Then I awoke to the hushed sound of Angel. He’d shaken me gently, but there had been an urgency in his whispered voice. Either that or …

My eyes flew open. Reyes had Angel pinned to the floor, choking him out. If a departed could be choked out. I had no idea.

I scrambled out of bed and tapped Reyes on the shoulder. “Hon, what are you doing?”

He looked up at me, his face the picture of joy. “Wrestling.”

Angel made strange gagging sounds and shook his head.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think Angel wants to wrestle.”

“His problem. He was standing over our bed, staring down at you. Figured he needed a lesson.”

“Wait. What?” I ripped Reyes’s arm from around Angel’s throat. Or, well, Reyes let me rip his arm away. “Angel, what’s going on?”

Now free, Angel doubled over, coughing and choking and being generally pissed off.

I knelt beside him. Patted his back. That’d help. “Rey’aziel, he probably had something to tell me. Now we’ll never know. I think you crushed his larynx.”

“Sorry.” Reyes stood and headed for the bathroom. He wasn’t sorry. Poor Angel.

Angel tried to make it to a chair in the corner. I half helped and half dragged him toward it. He tried to push me away. I slapped at his hands and helped, anyway.

“What’s wrong?” I asked when he could breathe again. No idea why he’d need to. I figured it was out of habit.

He sat holding his throat and glaring toward the bathroom.

“Angel, what? Is it Beep?”

Reyes was at the door in an instant, suddenly as curious as I was.

When Angel didn’t answer as quickly as he’d have liked, he stalked toward him.

I held up a hand and cast him a warning glare. “I think you’ve done enough, Mr. Farrow.”

He stood back, every muscle in his body coiled, ready to spring into action should anything have happened.

“It’s your uncle,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Alarm rocketed through me. “What about him? Did he find Guerin?” Grant Guerin. The lowlife slated to kill Ubie. The whole reason we had eyes on the curmudgeonly man.

Angel shook his head. Coughed again. “No, he’s at a hotel room. Some dive a few blocks from here. He’s been watching one particular room all evening. Some guys just pulled up in a rental, and now your uncle is gearing up like he’s preparing for World War III.”

“What? Show me.”

I rushed to throw on some clothes. Reyes did the same.

“You’d better hurry. When I left, he was headed for the door. If Captain America hadn’t tried to kill me.”

“If I’d have wanted you dead—”

“Seriously, guys?” Then I glared at Reyes again for good measure.