At his comment, she stilled, and he was pretty sure that she was probably very aware of what was digging into her stomach. And it wasn’t his collar.
Clearing her throat, she smacked his chest and stood quickly. “Right. Steaks. Dinner. Then talk.” As he stood, she kept her eyes on his face. “You, pants, and a shirt.” Whirling around, she marched back into thekitchen and finished prepping the potatoes. Her eyes caught his through the window, and she jerked her head, gesturing for him to come inside.
Slowly, he slipped through the door and waited.
“You like red wine? Wasn’t sure if you were a beer or wine guy. Or maybe you prefer the blood of your enemies?” She didn’t look at him when she said it, but he could see a small smile playing over her lips.
“Definitely the latter,” he intoned in a deep rumbling voice. “But since we’re short on enemies around here, wine is great.” He pointed towards his room. “I’m gonna…”
“And I’m gonna…” She gestured at the steaks.
Rolling his eyes, he turned and sauntered off towards his room, chuckling at her choked squeak. He had not forgotten he was only wearing the apron. But she had.
Trust Me, I've Been Lying
“Should I be concerned about that?” Chuck asked, pointing her fork at Reena. The chuglet menace was sitting at Malachi’s feet, growling and grumbling as she gnawed at the chunk of steak he had slipped her.
“Nah,” he replied lazily as he cut another bite of the perfectly cooked meat. Slipping it into his mouth, he closed his eyes in bliss while he chewed. Swallowing, he gazed adoringly at Chuck. “Man, I love a woman who knows how to grill a damn good steak. But no, don’t worry about Reena. She’s just killing her prey, so she doesn’t feel as weak about it being given to her.”
Reena raised her head and snarled at him lightly, her opinion clear about his words.
He chuckled. “Don’t give me that Re-re. You have little dog syndrome, and you know it.”
Snorting in amusement, Chuck shook her head. “Weirdos. Both of you. Anyway, time to come clean. You don’t need to eat, but you can and seem to enjoy it. And what was with the disappearing act this morning and allthat stuff about them being after me? Who’s after me? Do they know I carry a gun?”
Pausing with a bite halfway to his lips, he stared at her. The visual of her in uniform with her gun was always a favorite. At her humming noise, he blinked and shoved the fork in his mouth, chewing slowly as he prepared himself to disclose the shock of her life. Finally, he set the utensils down and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair.
“Chuck,” he sighed. “I’m going to tell you some things that are going to be hard to believe and are probably going to upset you. Please remember, I’m here for you, and I will help you through this, the same way you helped me.”
“You. Dog. Glenda. Witch. I’m good,” she replied, reminding him that her suspension of belief was in full effect.
Leaning his head back, he briefly closed his eyes. With an even heavier sigh, he opened them and locked his gaze with hers. “Okay, Chuck. Do you believe in Hell? H-Heaven? Angels and demons?”
“I think it’s a little late to be discussing our religious preferences.” She smirked. When his expression remained steady, her gaze grew wary, and she lowered her elbows from the table, now gripping the edge of the wooden surface tightly. “You mean like, literal Heaven and Hell? Real angels and demons? As in they exist, not just as a construct or metaphor?”
He nodded silently.
Blowing air steadily between her pursed lips, she dipped her head slowly. “I mean, I guess I didn’t before, but these last few months have really thrown a wrench into things. Alright, let’s say on the surface I do. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything,” he murmured. He reached across the table and took her hands, squeezing her fingers lightly. “Chuck, yourdad—”
She snatched her hands back before he got any further and stood quickly. Rushing around the table, she crouched next to him, digging her fingers into his thigh. “My dad?” her voice waivered. “What do you know?”
Shaking his head, he stood and pulled her up with him. “You need to sit, Chuck. This isn’t going to be easy to hear.”
Her head whipped side to side in denial. “No. You tell me!” Her finger stabbed into his chest. “You tell me right now, Malachi! Was my father targeted? Was it premeditated murder?”
Unable to stop himself as her eyes filled with tears, he wrapped her against his body and placed his cheek on hers. Whispering in her ear, his breath hitched as he simply gave her the one word that would change it all. “Yes.”
Malachi had expected wails and sobs, harsh crying and pleas to Heaven for answers. He should have known better. Chuck’s hands gripped him tightly for a moment, and a shudder rippled over her smaller frame. Then she straightened and met his gaze. Her eyes were liquid pools of chocolate as she stared at him, then she nodded once, blinked away her tears, and, through clenched teeth, demanded, “Tell me the rest.”
Leading her to the couch, their dinner forgotten, he motioned for her to sit while he retrieved the bag with the files and then their wine glasses. When he returned, he gently lowered himself next to her with the tote on his lap. “Okay, Chuck, you remember when you were telling me… well, the furry me before you realized I was a man in a… anyway, you were telling me about your father and how you were suspicious of how he died. You mentioned the feathers and the ring of soot. Remember?” He eyed her warily, watching for any signs she’d reached the decision he was crazy. Her gaze remained firmly locked on his.
“I remember,” she offered steadily.
“Well, I’ve seen that before,” he admitted, scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. “The feathers were part of him. The ring of soot happens when… well… when grace leaves the body.”
“Grace? Part of him how?”
