“I’ll take care of it,” Killian says. He embraces Maddox, slides his fingers into the half-breed’s hair, and kisses him for so long, I wonder if Maddox is breathing. Angels do notneedto breathe, but with a human mother, Maddox’s angelic powers are surely muted.
I let my senses blanket the room. Desire. Arousal. Love. An undercurrent of annoyance—with me—and much worry. Sinclair is half angel, half incubus demon. He left his body in the earthen realm when he traveled to the Underworld, so he was not physically injured. But Zoe had been beaten, starved, and branded by the demon Thorn. Though she is the daughter of Seraphim, her body is outwardly human. She will heal, but it will take some time. The strength of Sin’s fear—along with the love he has for his mate—causes a physical ache inside me.
The two lovers part, and Killian tosses a glance at me over his shoulder. “If you leave looking like that, angel, you will regret it. Stay here until I return.”
Seconds later, he closes his eyes and disappears. Impressive. He can teleport without an incantation. Not many witches and warlocks are that powerful.
Maddox strides into the kitchen of Sinclair’s apartment, finds the coffee pot, and pours himself a cup. “You want one, Gabriel?” he asks. “I need the caffeine hit, and Sinclair has terrible taste in tea.”
“I do not require food or drink,” I say, returning my focus to the glittering lights of the city outside the windows. “Or caffeine.”
“For fuck’s sake. Coffee is delicious. Try some.” He sets two cups on the glass table in the center of the living room, then sinks onto one of the black leather sofas. “And sit down. You look knackered.”
I fold my damaged wings, banishing them from view with a wince. Pain is a new experience for me—one I do not enjoy. Perhaps sitting would be wise. The cushions are soft, and the rich scent of the leather comforting.
I do not care for how the warmth from the mug makes my burned fingers ache. I almost spill some of the dark liquid when I switch from holding it in two hands to gripping the handle.
I choke on the first sip. Disgusting. “Humans drink thiswillingly?”
“Millions of gallons of the stuff,” Mad says with a smile. “Trust me. It gets better.”
I am skeptical, but to my chagrin, the second taste is much different. “Interesting. You are certain I need…new clothes?”
“Yes, mate. Absolutely. You want to blend in. Robes won’t cut it.”
Straightening, I set the coffee down and narrow my eyes at Maddox. “I do not plan oncuttinganything. I am an angel—an archangel, to be precise—and I can hide myself anywhere I choose.”
“Really? You’re an archangel? Younevermention it.” Mad runs a hand through his light brown hair and sighs. “Hiding won’t let you experience the world, Gabriel. You need to talk to people. Listen to them.Have real conversations.”
“As opposed to…?” I pick up the mug again, and this time, the taste is pleasant. With a subtle jolt I find…odd. Azrael would enjoy this, I think. He was the one to rally the others to join us. I should call him down here for a cup before I return to the celestial realm.
Maddox drains the last of his beverage and leans back against the cushions. “All you’re doing is making excuses for why you know better. But you’ve only spent two days here. You’ve never been hot or cold. Hungry or full. You’ve neverwantedfor anything. I have. All humans have. Is it so unfathomable that Killian and Imighthave some wisdom to impart?”
I push to my feet, stifling my wince. My eyes are gritty. The scent of burned feathers grates on me. Perhaps I should avail myself of Sinclair’s bathing facilities.
A subtle power stirs the air before I can snap back at Maddox, and Killian appears with several large bags clutched in each hand.
He sways on his feet for a moment, and Maddox jumps up from the couch. “Fuck me. I should have been the one to go. Why didn’t you tell me you were so weak?”
The two hold onto one another for several seconds before Killian straightens. “I’ll be fine, luv. Nothing a solid night of sleep and a proper meal won’t cure.”
The warlock does not look fine. He looks as if he is about to fall over. “Give me those.” I take the bags from his hands and peer inside. Trousers, shirts, a jacket, two pairs of shoes, and a dozen other items I do not recognize.
Maddox points to the hallway. “Take a shower before you put on any of those clothes, Gabriel. You reek of Hell. I’ll order us some food. If you hope to survive the next week, you’re going to need it.”
“Canyou think of anything else we need to teach him?” Maddox asks. He pours his mate more wine, then offers me the bottle, but I wave him off. The rich, red liquid tastes of berries and tobacco and spice, but my head started to feel odd after the first glass. Much like my stomach.Not in an unpleasant way, though.
The meal—pasta in a heavy cream sauce—was interesting. Rich and smooth. Almost sweet, but not. I must remember to ask Azrael if he has ever partaken of a meal. If he has not, I will suggest he remedy the oversight. Quickly.
I stare at the unfamiliar items around me. A small leather pouch contains a toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. Several changes of clothes are folded neatly in a duffel bag on the floor. And a dozen bills of various denominations are spread out on the glass table. “I suppose I can always use these to pass the time should I find myself…bored.”
Across from me, the two men stare at one another, horror in their eyes. “No strip clubs,” Maddox snaps.
Lifting a brow, I pick up one of the five-dollar notes. “I was referring to origami. The Japanese art of paper folding?” Creasing the bill in half, then in half again, I spend the next few seconds creating something that almost resembles a crane.
“He knows origami, but not money.” Killian shakes his head. “He’s a lost cause.”
“I know many things, warlock.” I set the crane on the table. The new clothes feel…strange against my skin. Not unpleasant. Different. I am not accustomed to wearing pants. Or socks. Or underwear. The shoes, at least, are comfortable. Maddox called them loafers.
