I shouldn’t have wanted to wrap my wings, arms, and legs around him like some celestial moth and never let go.
But that didn’t change the fact that Iwantedto.
I knew I needed to be careful.I needed to tread lightly where the demon was concerned, if only because I could not afford to take my eye off the prize.
Mercy’s soul.
The vial Matthew had given me burned a hole in my pocket, calling me like a ghost.
Could I really do such a thing?
Could I poison Endor?
The thought of doing so made my chest tighten.
I knew I should not trust Endor as far as I could throw him, but everything he’d done up to that point had been to help us—Mercy and I—in some way or another.
Perhaps it was stupid of me to trust a demon, but as I took in the sight of him—plum sleeves rolled up to expose those sinful tattoos and toned forearms, dark hair falling in his captivating eyes—I had the feeling I couldn’t help but fall victim to his charm.
Without thinking, I shifted closer to him.His body moved just the slightest as he turned to face me, his thigh brushing against mine.His gaze fell to my lips, then rose once more to meet my gaze.
“And I did not sign up to be a camp counselor for demons, but here we are,” I said with a half-smile.
Endor’s lips tugged up in the corner for a moment, and there was the hint of a smile.
“Please.You couldn’t handle my trauma, angel.Or my version of arts and crafts.”
It was my turn to smile at his attempt at dissuading me, but the words that fell out of my mouth surprised even me.
“I was a devout Christian who died without ever reallyliving, Endor.Trauma is something I know very well.”
His faint smile disappeared.
“Do you regret it?”he asked softly.“Living your life in service to Him, I mean?”
His hand softly settled on my thigh, but he didn’t press or squeeze or stroke.He just settled his palm, like a warm blanket, almost as if he was afraidto touch me.
The truth was refreshing but also startling.
Of course he’s afraid of me.I’m his celestial enemy.We’re in competition, after all.
“I don’t regret my faith, no,” I said.
He nodded.“I see,” he said, but his voice was far away.
“But...”I said as I settled my hand on his thigh.I didn’t move it; instead, I let my palm warm against him.
“I regret the shots I didn’t take,” I said.
“Because you were afraid of judgment?”he asked, his voice steady.“Because you were afraid you’d end up in Hell?”
His dark gaze captured mine and I could see the faintest glimmer in his near black irises.
His words were paralyzing as I thought of all the times Ifoughttemptation.
All the moments I wanted to kiss someone or give in to my desires in the darkness of my own bedroom, or all the shots at love I refused.
I was a good girl because I was raised to be so, but being good felt more like a mask than it felt like my life.
