Page 4 of Phantom’s Mate

The one-eyed head bobbled as her chin jerked up. Underneath the giant Kraken eye was a hole in the fabric, surrounding the face of a woman with dark green eyes, spitting fire.

“Do I look okay?” she snapped. “I’m dead, for fuck’s sake. And I’m soaking wet. Again. So unless you’re my guardian angel, here to escort me to an eternity of margaritas served by hot pool boys, where I’m not—and will never ever be—wearing a Kraken costume, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Chapter 3

Oh, hell, Brittany thought. Her angel guide had finally shown up, and now she’d mouthed off to him. What if he got pissed off and left her here—a Kraken for eternity?

She wiped the rain out of her eyes with a tentacle and opened her mouth to apologize, and then it just stayed open.

Because… dayum. He was goooorgeous. Tall, with curly dark brown hair and deep blue eyes like expensive sapphires. And he was totally ripped, which she could tell because his Henley was soaked with rain and it clung to every single muscle. Of which there were many.

He looked more delicious than a platter of ribs after a weekend at a vegan spa. Except, dammit. She was dead, and he was an angel.

Everybody knew angels were the Ken dolls of the afterlife. Nothin’ between the legs at all, because why would they need it?

He said, “Now, is that any way to talk to your guardian and guide?”

Oh, shit. “You really are an angel? Fuck. I mean, oh, dear. I’m sorry I was disrespectful.”

Although, surely an angel wouldn’t laugh at her? Because he was obviously trying very hard—and fairly unsuccessfully—not to do that.

And, wait. His jeans-covered crotch was right at eye level, and holy hell this was no Ken doll. He had a package worthy of Satan.

“You are totally bullshitting me!” She smacked his rock-hard thigh with her tentacle. “You’re no angel.”

“Darlin’, you’re the first person who ever thought I was.”

“Then what are you? Just another fucking dead person, like me?”

She clapped her hand over her mouth. Oh, hell. What if he was a new ghost? Like maybe from right now? That was a really bad stretch of road—had there been another accident?

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Are you—I mean, did you just—oh, fuck.”

That made him laugh out loud. His laugh was as sexy as the rest of him. Damn, she’d been here a long time. She was about ready to jump on the first ghost who came along, and rip his jeans off.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I shouldn’t have been messing with you. I am another ‘fucking dead person,’ but it didn’t just happen.”

He crouched down so their faces were at the same level. He was even more gorgeous, now that she could see him without getting rain in her eyes. Why didn’t she meet guys like this when she was alive? Then she wouldn’t have stayed with Chaz for so long. The douche.

But… this man wasa ghost, just like her. The first one—the first sentient creature of any kind—to come by since she’d been here. Part of her wanted to jump on him like a puppy when its owner comes home, just because he was someone to talk to. A human face.

Except that would be inappropriate. Probably? Yes.

More important, an even bigger part of her wanted to know how he could be out wandering around, when she was stuck here. If he could point her on the way towards heaven, or at least someplace where it wasn’t effing raining. If there were any kind of GPS to get there, or even a yellow brick road.

How all this worked.

“Um, I don’t suppose I could get you to hang out for a little while?” she asked. “Have a drink? Answer some questions?” The wind had died down, and the rain was nothing but a drizzle.

He hesitated. “I was actually… on my way somewhere. There’s something in the living world that needs my attention.”

“Oh.” The disappointment hit her like a blow. Surely he wouldn’t just go off and leave her alone again, after only thirty seconds of conversation? “Is it life or death? Like, you have to save someone from a burning building or do a ghostly visitation that keeps them from accidentally driving off a cliff? Because I’ve heard of ghosts doing that.”

He looked off into the distance, like he was seeing something far down the road. “No,” he said softly. “I have to kill someone.”

Whoa. “Get out,” she said. That was kind of extreme. And also, could ghosts do that? Because it upended the whole idea of ‘The serial killer is dead, he can’t hurt anyone anymore.’ You’d think a lot more ghosts would be killing people, if it were possible. So maybe he really couldn’t?

She asked tentatively, “Is that, like, your unfinished business? So you can move on?”