“What the hell?” I yelp, tumbling out of bed and onto the plush, cream carpet. I look up from my spot on the floor and frown. “How did you get in here?”
“The door,” Legion deadpans, his narrow-eyed expression as sharp as his tongue.
“Did my sister see you?” I whisper harshly. Thank God, the door is closed. Her busting in swinging a baseball bat would not be good. Sister is a beast with Brenda, the trusty Louisville Slugger she’s kept at her bedside for years.
“No. She’s asleep.” Legion rakes a hand through his tousled dark hair, a tell of his building aggravation. “You left. I woke up and you were gone. You left me.”
“Well, it’s not like I went far,” I mutter, tugging the comforter back on the bed, and trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes.
“Bullshit,” he barks, loud enough to make me glance at the bedroom door in panic. “You left me. No explanation. No goodbye. You just packed your shit and left.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Oh, really?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, causing the sleeves of his fitted thermal to stretch across his biceps. “Enlighten me.”
“L…” I release a resigning sigh. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Actually, that’s exactly why I left. I just…I need some time to get my head together. To sort out all the shit that I can’t make sense of. And I need to do that while knowing that you’re safe—that you’re all safe.”
“And what about your safety?”
I shrug. “I was in Hell, L. I lived under his roof, I drank his wine, I ate his food. If he wanted me dead, I would be. I don’t think that’s what he’s after.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Maybe I don’t. But I do know that he’ll be at your doorstep if I’m with you. You’re probably not his favorite demon right now, considering you stole me right out from under his nose.”
Legion shakes his head, mumbling something I don’t quite understand.
“Huh?”
He exhales heavily. “I said, I didn’t steal you.”
“Um, did I miss something?” I frown. “Pretty sure that’s how Lucifer will see it. I don’t think he’s expecting you to return me.”
“I didn’t steal you, Eden,” he reiterates, the tone of his voice touched with exasperation. He takes the space beside me on the bed, invading my senses with his scent and his sweltering heat. “I didn’t steal you. He let you go.”
“What?”
“He let you go,” he repeats, his gaze fixed on a spot on the floor. “If he wanted to, he could have stopped me. He had enough time. If he wanted to keep you there, he wouldn’t have sent the guards. He would have come himself.”
“What are you saying?” I whisper, my eyes wide with confusion.
“I’m saying, it was like he knew I was coming, and he did nothing to avoid it. Hell, he could have nullified Gabriella’s magic, if he wanted to. I was expecting a fight—and nothing.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Only that I didn’t get the opportunity to end him once and for all.” Legion lifts his head, pinning me with those lustrous silver eyes. Fierceness gives way to warmth…softness. “Come home, Eden. Let me take care of you.”
I bite down on the yes on my lips, fighting like mad to hold on to what little nerve I have left. “I am home. I’m with my sister. And I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing that my entire life.”
“But you don’t have to anymore. I want to protect you, the way you need to be protected. The way I should have protected you all this time. Let me do it right this time,” he urges, his voice softly pleading. “I need you with me.”
His earnest words give me pause but I soldier on. “Do you? Is it me you want? You need? I can’t be a placeholder for someone else. I’m not a consolation prize.”
“Dammit, firecracker. What can I do to make you see? It’s you. It’s been you since the first night I walked into that corner store. You think I needed to come back—night after night? You think I couldn’t have remained out of sight and let the others handle you? No, Eden. I needed to be near you. I needed to know you.” He leans forward, and presses his forehead against mine. “You. No one else.”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, his lips just an inch from mine. I could brush against them on accident. I could slide my tongue over my teeth and taste him without even trying.
“You do know, Eden. You’re just afraid. Don’t be afraid of me. I swear, on everything that I am, I could never hurt you.”
He brushes my cheek with the back of his hand, and I lean into the contact. Just his touch—tender and warm and sensual—is all it takes to reduce my resolve to rubble. I can’t fight him, and there’s no part of me that even wants to. Not when he can make me feel so good. Not when his body is so inviting in a world so cold…
“Hey, little sis, how about this dress—”
The black fabric tumbles from her grasp as Sister takes in the scene before her. Legion and I both jump to our feet and put a good two feet between us. Shit. I don’t know how to explain. And even if I did, there’s no way in hell she would ever believe me.
“Who are you?” she demands, her normally soft features painted with distrust as she looks L up and down, sizing him up. Right about now, I know she’s guesstimating how long it would take her to race back to her room and grab Brenda. Once she starts swinging, that’s all she wrote.
“Um, uh…” Think Eden, think. But how am I supposed to form coherent sentences when L’s presence literally sucks the air out of the room? My brain has been deprived of oxygen for far too long.
“Building handyman,” he replies smoothly. “Your sister called with a report of hearing something scratching inside the walls. I just came by to check it out. Probably just a raccoon seeking shelter for winter.”
“Handyman, huh?” Sister retorts, placing a hand on her hip. “Is it standard for all handymen to sit on people’s beds? People who aren’t wearing any pants?”
Shit.
I awkwardly tug my t-shirt down to my thighs.
“We were just waiting to hear the scratching again,” I lie, trying like hell to school my expression. She could always tell when I was lying. Most times she wouldn’t call me on it, but it was evident that she knew.
“Well, Mr. Handyman, I’m sure we can take it from here. We’ll let you know if there are any more problems.”
She steps aside, giving Legion full access of the doorway. He looks at me one last time and nods before exiting. When we hear the front door close, she snatches up the dropped garment and strides over to me.
“Who was that, Eden?”
“I told you,” I reply diverting my guilty gaze. “Handyman.”
When I look back at my sister, there’s a knowing smirk on her face. “That’s funny. I didn’t see any tools.” She hands me the dress and turns to leave. “Be ready at six,” she calls over her shoulder. “And your handyman is hot as fuckin’ Hades.”
Per her request, I am primped and ready at six on the dot, anxious to get this night over with. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I should be rocking in a corner somewhere, pulling out my eyelashes and talking to myself after what I went through. Less than forty eight hours ago, I was in Hell. Not in the figurative sense. I was in fucking Hell. With the fucking Devil. And I was dancing with him…smiling at him. Allowing myself to fall into the beautiful façade he had created for me. Now I’m going on a quasi blind date with some nice (translation: lame) guy from Ben’s job. Either I’m screwed in the head, or I really love my sister. Any guy that her boyfriend is friends with is not my cup of tea. No offense to Ben—he’s nice. Which is exactly the problem. I don’t do nice. Or easy. Or comfortable. Probably explains my current predicament, but at least I’m consistent.
I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been surrounded by chaos your entire life. Even before I had taken my first lungful of oxygen, I had lived through more horror than most. So I acquired a taste for the harsher things in life. I gravitated towards the outcasts, the troublemakers, the derelicts, because I saw myself in them. And when people are just as bad off as you are, they tend to reserve judgment. Plus it was easier to keep my head down and blend in with the rest of the freaks.
Now here I am, standing in a gorgeous, luxury apartment that I couldn’t afford even if I worked 24/7 at my old job at the corner store. No plan, no direction. I don’t even know if I’ll live to see tomorrow. But I know that I can’t exist in a constant state of fear, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe Lucifer was right. Maybe it’s time that I start embracing who and what I am. Maybe I should just accept the hand fate has dealt me.
“Ready?” my sister, Mary, asks, pulling me out of my reverie.
“Yeah,” I reply with a forced grin. This is honestly the last thing I feel like doing, but I put on a brave face for her. “You look really pretty.”
“You think?” she beams, spinning around flamboyantly. The silver sequin leggings and black blazer compliment her petite, curvaceous frame perfectly. I would kill for her hips and ass. “Just a little something I treated myself to. That dress looks amazing on you too, little sis.”
“Thanks.” I don’t shy away from the compliment—a rarity for me. Considering the last few days—hell, the last week—I should look like hungover death. But the fitted, black sweater dress and thigh high boots she loaned me actually make me look halfway decent. Nothing like the gorgeous midnight blue ball gown adorned with black gems that currently resides in a cardboard box in L’s bedroom, but it’ll do. “So should we head out or…”
Right on cue, there’s a knock at the door. With an exuberance that I had missed, Mary all but skips to answer it and nearly attacks her boyfriend with a kiss.
“Wait until you see her,” she comments, stepping aside to let him in. Well, them in.
“Christian, this is my sister, Eden. Eden this is Christian. He works with Ben.”
He smiles warmly and holds out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Eden. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
The first thing I notice is that he’s blonde, with wavy locks that hit right below his ears. Tan skin, a bit over six feet, moss green eyes, and a light dusting of hair on his strong, angular jaw and above his bowed lips. He looks like he just sauntered off some sandy, California beach, and it’s hard for me not to wonder if the body underneath the navy sweater and jeans is comparable to one of a surfer. Still, he’s not my type, but he’ll be nice to look at for the evening. And even if he was my type, there is no way in hell I could look at him as anything more than just some dude Ben works with. My life is complicated enough.
“You too,” I reply, reaching to shake his hand. But the moment our hands touch, something happens. Not a jolt of electricity. Not a weird, tingling sensation. Just something odd. But it’s enough to make an alarm sound inside my head and take a step back.
I’d gotten so used to being around supernatural creatures that I had been forced to avoid using my gifts. But now that I don’t have the Se7en around to have my back, I’m more than thankful for my secret ability.
It takes a little concentration, but after a few seconds, I feel that invisible hand reaching out from my body. Just a gentle caress. If I push too hard, I could hurt myself, or worse—an innocent, unsuspecting guy that just wants to buy me a drink. I narrow my eyes, all my focus going into penetrating his frontal lobe. The very second I’m in, I get that odd feeling again. But there’s no debilitating pain. No bloody nose or nausea.
The first thing I get from him is a touch of nervousness, as if he was looking forward to tonight. Then excitement…physical attraction. He seems anxious, but not overly so, as if he has something to hide. No malice or evil lurking in the dark, dusty corners of his mind.
And after being immersed in a world of hidden agendas and omissions, that worries me. I don’t know how to take it. He’s just human. A regular, All-American human man who is looking forward to our date. Fucking weird, yo.
“Good to meet you, Christian.” I pull myself from his mind and feign a smile.
“We’ve got reservations,” Ben pipes up. “We should get going if we want to grab a drink first.”
I nod. “Sure. Let me just grab my purse.”
I scurry to my room and pull the large duffle bag from under my bed. I’d already unpacked, but I didn’t know where to stash the Glock Cain left for me without Sister finding it. After carefully placing it in my purse, I take a deep breath and try to mentally prepare for the evening. Nice guy or no, there’s no way I’m stepping foot out of this apartment unarmed.
I stay mum when the guys oooh and ahhh over the Jag parked a few spaces down from Ben’s Ford Focus. I have no way to explain it to Sister, and it’s not like she would believe that some dude just handed it over. That, or she’d think I’d fallen in with some drug dealer and would make it her personal mission to scrub him out of my life.
“So, Eden,” Christian begins. We’re in the backseat, and you could cut the awkwardness with a knife. “Mary tells me that you have a real ear for music. What kinda stuff do you like to listen to?”
So we’re doing the small talk thing. Great. I’ve never been good at it, not that I’ve wanted to be. Resting Bitch Face can be a beautiful thing.
“Uh, yeah. Hip Hop, mostly. Some Alt Rock and RnB. Not really into anything you hear on a Top 40 radio station.”
“Oh, that’s cool. I don’t really listen to music much, but Drake is pretty good.”
The urge to roll my eyes is too strong to resist. “Yeah. Sure.”
I don’t bother to engage for the rest of the ride. Free drinks, I mentally remind myself. I’m going to need several.
The restaurant we arrive at is your run-of-the-mill ultra hipster spot downtown that all the business professionals and pretty people frequent. So basically, I feel like a fish out of water. Even after experiencing the lavishness of Lucifer’s home, or even the Se7en’s super sleek apartment, I still don’t feel like I belong. Honestly, I probably felt more comfortable hanging around demons and warlocks than I do around all these pretentious, petty people.
“What do you want to drink?” Christian shouts. With the music and dueling conversations, this place is obnoxiously loud. How the hell is anyone supposed to talk like normal people?
“Something with vodka? Nothing too fruity.”
He gives me a thumbs up and heads to the bar with Ben. By some stroke of luck, we’re able to snag a small lounge table while we wait to be seated. When the guys return several minutes later, I gratefully receive the Cosmo that Christian hands me. Typical, but whatever.
Surprisingly (ok, not really), I down two before the hostess informs us that our table is ready. And after wine with our shellfish and steak dinner, my tongue begins to loosen up and the stress of the past week starts to melt away. I haven’t felt this oblivious—this free—since being on the dance floor at the Watcher’s house. With my hands up in the air and eyes closed, nothing existed but me and the music. There was no impending doom of the Calling or demon assassins. I was buoyant and beautiful for that space of time. Then that high carried me to that bathroom on a cloud of fizzy, pink ecstasy, only intensifying the urge to sate my inner desires. I didn’t even feel bad about it. Instead, I felt liberated.
“Eden?”
I blink out of my trance and turn back to Christian, a lazy, alcohol-fueled smile on my face. “Yes?”
“I said, this has been great and we should do it again some time. You know, hang out…just the two of us.”
I nod. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
“Wanna get outta here? There’s a cool bar a block or so down; we could play pool. Plus I think your sister and Ben are pretty much…occupied.”
He nods towards the other side of the table where Mary and Ben are damn near making out. A few cocktails and two shared bottles of wine will do that to you. Good for her. She’s always taken my feelings into account, and never wanted to flaunt their love in my face. So sure, I’ll hang out with Christian. He’s sweet, and generous. And truth be told, he is pretty hot, even with the whole surfer dude look. And after actually talking to him, I find that he’s smart too. No bad boy edge, but I have my hands full of bad boys. I’m not looking for another. Just some friendly conversation with a normal guy.
“Yeah, let me just hit the ladies room, and we’ll go.”
He even stands when I do, and I feel just a touch of heat in my cheeks. He’s a gentleman. That can’t be a bad thing, right?
I’m too tipsy and too distracted that I don’t bother to ask Sister to come with me, a rule we adopted years ago. I’ve got this, despite my track record for bathroom run-ins. And after I relieve myself, wash my hands and reapply my lipgloss, I feel pretty damn satisfied with myself.
That is, until I turn around and run smack dab into a chest carved from granite and burning hot steel snakes around my waist.
Seriously?
Seriously?
Can’t a girl pee in peace?