CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The thin, lightweight phone Tamatsu acquired the following day seemed excessively fragile in his large hand. He was afraid to tap the glass screen, fearing it would shatter, but knew that was unreasonable. Tarik hadn’t yet broken his phone.

Writing with pen and paper would have almost certainly been more expedient, but those things weren’t always convenient. He’d avoided the siren call of smartphone technology for more than a decade. The convenience of them was too compelling for him to disparage any longer.

And he had a lot he wanted to say.

he texted to Tarik, who crouched on the roof of Maria Middle School, resembling a gargoyle come to life.

He wasn’t there for decoration, however. He was watching Lola, AKA She of Many Jobs. In one of her numerous false faces, she was sometimes a school social worker. At the moment, Lola was seated primly on the school’s boundary wall, chatting with a smallish sixth-grader.

Tarik worked his phone out of his pocket, read the screen, grunted, and then resumed his stalking work.

Tarik read and grunted again, but also added, “I am thinking. A moment, please.”

Tamatsu huffed, and paced.

He dug his fingers into his hair against his scalp and walked a small section of the roof. They were above the cafeteria/auditorium, and it was lunchtime. The noise level would be loud enough that the students within wouldn’t have heard the sounds of their footsteps.

After a few minutes, Tarik straightened up.

Lola and her young charge were gone.

He retreated to the rear of the roof and stepped down, flapping his wings once to buffer his landing.

Tamatsu did the same, and they walked.

He was hungry. He’d have to separate from Tarik soon if his plans put him in a place far from easily acquirable food, but he really did require his friend’s counsel.

Tarik moved silently toward the town square and, fortunately, nearer the taco truck. Lately, it always seemed to be parked in front of the mobile burrito cart. The proprietors were having a turf war, but Tiny already knew Tamatsu’s signals. He didn’t make him have to work so hard to place an order, so tacos always won.

Daryl Gutierrez scoffed as Tamatsu got in line. “Come on, man. Don’t you get sick of eating that shit all the time? I ain’t even sure he’s using real meat. Looks a little stringy to me, but what do I know?” He shrugged.

Tamatsu blinked at him and turned to Tiny. Tiny happened to be one of Tito’s good friends and a lieutenant in the Were-cougar glaring.

Tamatsu held up three fingers, and then five.

“Good choice. Give me five minutes.” Tiny disappeared from the order window.

Had Tamatsu been anyone else, Tiny might have tried to talk him out of the order. He’d seen Tiny do that before, counseling customers on what they could or couldn’t finish with size or heat intensity in mind.

Tiny knew what Tamatsu was. Daryl didn’t. Daryl was human and clueless about the paranormal happenings around him.

“Free sample?” Daryl offered, holding out a chunk of chicken speared on a little two-pronged wooden fork.

Tamatsu shook his head.

“How ’bout you?” Daryl asked Tarik.

“I am not in need of sustenance at the current time.”

“Man, you guys are buzzkills. Move. You’re also scaring away my customers.”

Both angels looked around. There was no one on the street but them. Only schoolchildren in Maria ate lunch at eleven-fifteen.

Tamatsu and Tarik settled onto a bench out of earshot of Daryl, but not so far Tamatsu wouldn’t be able to see Tiny gesturing at him.

Tamatsu texted, “AM I WRONG?”

Tarik read his phone’s screen, and then grimaced. “I do not know if there is a right or wrong, only easy choices and hard ones. While I certainly would not advise you to ignite that particular hunger again, you doing so would be your prerogative. You know best what you are able to cope with. Do I think the experiment is worth the risk?” His grimace, however fleeting, proved his concern. “I understand why you would do it, though. I might do the same if I were in your predicament.”

Tamatsu slouched a bit lower in the seat and settled his wings over the top of the bench.

 “You seek advice from the wrong creature. If you want guidance, you should speak to Gulielmus.”

Tarik grimaced again. “Best to not query him on the matter, then. Who knows which of his suppressed memories will surface first? I suppose, also, that Clarissa would not appreciate him regaling you with tales of his past exploits.”

 “That is true. The man has more offspring than certain patriarchs in the book of Genesis. Extraordinarily fecund, that one.”

Tarik furrowed his brow. “About what?”

And truth be told, Tamatsu was suddenly more than a little annoyed that she hadn’t. Children were a natural consequence of certain kinds of relationships, for people who wanted them, and he didn’t even know if she did. They’d never been settled enough for her to ask, or perhaps he hadn’t cared about such things then.

“She likely didn’t broach the topic because elves find the subject of family planning tiresome.” Idly, Tarik twisted a button on his sleeve before angling his narrowed gaze toward Tamatsu. “Can you, though?”

Tarik shrugged. “I’ve always taken precautions, the best I could. There are modern ways of learning yay or nay, but I’m not willing to submit to any test conducted by humans.”

Making a huh of curiosity, Tarik rubbed his chin.

Now that the thought had been planted in his mind, his curiosity was going to needle constantly at him. He would always wonder what his children would look like. Black-haired, of course. Pale. But would their eyes slant like his? Would they be as blue as their mother’s? Would they be tiny, bossy Napoleons, or tall and strong? Would they have magic? Or wings? None of Gulielmus’s children did. Tamatsu preferred that any of his wouldn’t. They were of little use in the world of men.

He’d want them to fit in and be normal.

To feel things the way normal people did.

Tarik gave him a nudge. “Tiny is waving at you. What distracts you?”

What-ifs, friend.

Tamatsu fetched his food, paid Tiny his due, and ignored Daryl’s heckling as he passed.

Back at the bench, Tarik said, “After she woke this morning, Noelle asked if I would teleport her to Clarissa’s tonight. Should I?”

Tamatsu texted

 “So you have plans, then?”

Tamatsu shoved half a stewed pork taco into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Then he typed:

 “Something or someone?”

Tamatsu made a waffling gesture. There was really no need to be precise.

“For business or for pleasure?”

Tamatsu wiped his fingertips on a paper napkin and typed:

 “You’re not targeting any weather gods, I hope. Risky with them clustering as they are.”

 “Good luck, friend.”

Tamatsu nodded. If Tarik was referring to Noelle, Tamatsu was sure he’d need it.

• • •

Noelle stepped into her house, set her computer bag against the doorway between the garage and the kitchen, and watched the man at the stove work.

The angel at the stove, rather.

He was barefooted, as seemed to be his custom whenever he was indoors. He wore low-slung dark jeans that had to have been custom-made, and a black shirt nearly the same color as his wings, which actually weren’t out at the moment.

“Why bother with glamour with me?”

He turned, holding a rice paddle, and pulled an earbud from his ear. He shrugged.

“I saw them last night. When you were …” She dragged her tongue over her dry lips and let her gaze fall to his feet. “Well, you know what you were doing. Is Tarik here? He was supposed to take me to Clarissa’s.”

He shook his head.

“Do you know where he is? Jenny and I were going to make some inquiries about what happens when elf magic clashes with angel energy.”

He gestured her forward with the crook of his finger.

“No.”

He did it again.

“Why? Also, you should care about the research. I’m trying to find your voice. Don’t you want it?”

And if she got near him, she’d touch him, and her entire world would go to hell.

Giving his head a skeptical shake, he turned back to the stove.

“Tamatsu, I will find it. I promised.”

That earned her a solemn nod.

But a moment later, he spun on his heel, fork in hand, walked across the kitchen, and thrust the contents of said fork between her lips.

Fish.

He raised a brow in query.

She pushed the morsel around her tongue. Salmon. A bit salty, a bit sweet. Perfectly balanced, and oh so flaky. She swallowed and sighed.

“That is unbelievably good. Where’d you get the fish? I don’t trust fish in the desert.”

He tilted his head in one of those “Really, Noelle?” kind of ways she’d once been used to.

“Of course. Teleporting angel. You can get fish at the snap of your fingers.”

He turned his hands over in concession, and returned to the stove.

The table had already been set with two places, adjacent, not across from each other.

Bold move, my stōr.

Black tablecloth. Pure white dishes. Black lacquered chopsticks angled along the tops of the plates.

She pulled back the chair nearest the door and settled onto the seat, kicking off her high heels beneath the table. That small movement made her bump her left shin against the neighboring chair.

She’d need to move, or she’d touch him, but that could wait. Her body was weary after having climbed an inordinate amount of stairs in three hours. She’d been showing high-rise condo listings to a couple that were either very fitness-minded or who had odd phobias to elevators.

Groaning and curling the toes of her cramping feet, she put her forehead against the table. “I should fire them. I don’t need new clients. Maybe I should go ahead and take the winter off, starting now. I’ve got money in savings that should get me through my poorly period.”

At the soft clink near her ear, she sat up.

There was wine, and in good stemware. She normally poured her booze into whatever mug was the closest in the cupboard. That was partially due to the fact that her stemware was stored on a higher shelf. At over seven feet tall, Tamatsu didn’t have to climb on counters to reach things.

“You shouldn’t spoil me,” she said, grabbing the glass. “I might get used to it, and then you’ll have a standard to maintain.”

He shrugged.

“You’re opening Pandora’s box, my stōr.”

Again, he shrugged, and lifted the mouth of his beer bottle to his lips.

“I really can’t imagine you stalking the aisles of a grocery store.” She stuck her wineglass’s bowl to her nose and inhaled deeply.

Mmm.

All fruit, no acid. She hated tart wine.

“The image in my mind is pretty comical. Big guy like you pushing a shopping cart. Probably looks like a toy.”

He grinned before setting down his beer and turning back to the stove. He grabbed plates from the table and got to work dishing up fish and sides.

“This must have taken you hours.”

He shook his head.

“Okay. Would have taken me hours. I’m that dimwit who needs ninety minutes to make one of those thirty-minute meals you see on foodie television shows. I get too distracted by all the things I’m supposed to be doing and have to keep taking little breaks.”

He set her dinner in front of her and held out the chopsticks.

Groaning, she reached and gingerly took them. When it was just her and Jenny eating takeout in front of the television, their chopstick technique didn’t matter. They didn’t judge each other for their gaucheness or the fact that most of the time, they gave up and ate with forks or fingers. Tamatsu was an expert. He’d want to correct her, and she’d be ashamed.

Fortunately, before she could make the first valiant attempt at the food, he retreated to dish up his own meal, and likely in massive quantities.

Quietly, she scooted her chair rightward, and then a bit more upon remembering how long his legs were.

Although the food smelled wonderful, and she already knew the fish was to die for, her stomach was too unsettled for her to eat. His proximity was so jarring, especially after the request he’d made the night before.

“LET ME TOUCH YOU, NOELLE.”

Gods, how she’d wanted him to. She’d thought about nothing else all day. Only climbing those stairs had distracted her any from the ache of want that had kept crashing back periodically.

She groaned quietly, and brought the wine to her lips.

He sat, picked up his chopsticks, and leaned sideways, staring at the floor where her chair had been.

She made herself very busy with her chopsticks, trying to fix them in her grip in the same relaxed way as him, and not in the clumsy way of the peasant she was. “I suppose … if we were normal people, I’d ask you what you did today,” she said, trying to distract him. She managed to get some rice into her mouth.

Success!

“But I’m not sure I want to know.” She risked a glance over at him.

He chewed, watching her dispassionately.

“And I think I’m far less interesting than I used to be. Real estate really isn’t all that fun to talk about unless you’re selling the high-ticket stuff, but I guess mine is a respectable enough job. Who would have ever thought that I’d be respectable?” She scoffed.

He was still staring at her in that inscrutable way. Still chewing.

“I suppose I do want to be, and not just because Clarissa told me to be good. I think we all have to grow up at some point. Don’t you agree?”

A nod from him. Better than nothing, but the silence was killer. If she touched him, she could get into his head and hear his thoughts, and that would be better than nothing. He wouldn’t be speaking with his voice—his deep, thunderous bass that always made her squirm in good ways—but at least they’d be able to communicate.

No.

Touching him was dangerous. She’d trigger more painful neediness in him, and she’d want more, and she couldn’t have more.

Setting down her chopsticks, she grimaced. “Earlier, I got caught up in some traffic and needed three light changes to make a left turn. Gave me a chance to do some thinking.”

He made a go on gesture with his chopsticks.

“I think I’m ready to get the hell out of this place. I gave Vegas a good try, but the city’s not quite right for me.”

He pressed food into her mouth using his own utensils, and she laughed around a mouthful of fish and rice.

“Quit it. I’m not going to shrivel up and die because I ate one meal too slowly.”

Another mouthful forced in.

“Okay. Okay,” she said around the food and, conceding defeat, picked up her fork.

He nodded triumphantly once she’d managed to get some food into her mouth on her own.

“Do you badger Tarik like this? Oh, that’s right. He doesn’t eat. Must suck for him. One of my favorite pastimes is coffee ice cream. Most of the time, I can eat it without sobbing into it.”

Tamatsu stopped chewing.

“I’m joking.”

Only because she didn’t let herself cry. There’d been a lot of cold, lonely nights. While there were people she could have called over to share her bed for a few hours, she couldn’t let them into her heart. Her heart may as well have been empty. She always felt so hollow.

He pushed more food into her mouth as if chewing would solve her problems. It wouldn’t, but she had to admit she did feel a bit better at the fact that there was someone doting on her. Someone who should have been very angry with her still for stealing an irreplaceable thing.

He leaned back in his seat and wriggled a shiny black something out of the pocket of his jeans.

A shiny black something with a familiar fruit silhouette on the back.

“A phone? You got a phone?”

His eyebrows danced and a moment later, from within her tote, a chime sounded.

She practically dove for the bag and her phone within, and had read his missive twice before standing.

 “Oh, yes,” she said as she retook her seat. She noticed her chair seemed suspiciously closer to him than it had been before her phone had chimed. “I was curious, but then your mouth became occupied with things other than talking.”

Smirking, he worked his thumbs slowly over the screen. He probably needed to develop muscle memory for the motions and learn where all the letters were.

While he tapped, she sipped wine and squirmed a bit in her seat. She could practically feel the heat radiating off of his legs, but didn’t think she could get away with moving her chair again. He’d notice.

He set his phone on the table, picked up his chopsticks, and her phone displayed the text.

Noelle had never been the prudish sort, but there was something about seeing her past actions come back to haunt her in print that made them seem so much more salacious.

She turned her phone facedown on the table and, clearing her throat, nudged it away.

A minute later, the device chimed again. She was afraid to pick it up.

She looked at him. He tipped his chin toward the phone.

“Ugh. Fine, if I must.” She read:

Oh shit.

Pinching the bridge of her nose and tittering reflexively, she wished for liquefaction. She hoped that the goop she became would evaporate, never to congeal again. That would eliminate her mortification once and for all.

Another chime.

 “And now I have an angel criticizing me for my inability to sixty-nine,” she muttered breathlessly to the no one at her right. “This is unbelievable.”

She looked up to find he’d narrowed his eyes at her.

“Better at it? I …” She cleared her throat and wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. “Well. I … I can’t say for sure if I have or haven’t, and besides, you should give yourself a pat on the back for being so good at distracting me. That means you were doing it right.”

 “Oh, hell. What were you saying about conversational detours?” She tugged at her collar. It suddenly seemed excessively tight. “What were we discussing before?”

 “Tamatsu,” she warned.

Her hands had suddenly gone clumsy and she nearly dropped her cell on the very hard travertine floor. Seeing as how the phone was no longer under warranty, she would have been spending about a hundred bucks out of pocket to replace the screen. Smartphones weren’t designed with spontaneous sexting in mind.

She dropped her phone into her tote, pulled the zipper, set the bag into the garage, closed the door, locked it, and then wiped her hands on her slacks.

And he was right there in front of her, six inches away, if that, and had barely made a sound.

He grinned down at her and she realized as he pressed one hand to the doorframe and then the other, that there was nowhere for her to go but out to the garage. Unfortunately, she’d already taken her shoes off.

Brain useless and body too nervous to react, she stared at his chest and watched it rise and fall.

Where’s your courage? Where’s the warrior maiden?

In hibernation, probably. She didn’t have any fight left in her.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

He shook his head hard and pointed to her, then nodded and pointed to himself.

She thought she understood. He was saying it wasn’t her choice, but his, and that might have been true, but she didn’t have to accept. She didn’t have to let him get so caught up in lust that he’d make a decision he’d regret for too many years to come. They were bad for each other in that way. They couldn’t even ask each other simple questions like most other couples because the touching trumped all else. The physicality dominated every encounter.

With one palm still pressed to the doorframe, he gripped his phone one-handedly and typed with his thumb.

She could hear her phone chime again and again in the garage. She half wanted to fetch it and read what he’d said and half wanted to capitalize on his moment of distraction to run.

Both. I’ll do both.

She leaned into the garage for her tote, and as she closed the door behind her, she darted around him, up the stairs, and then locked herself in her room.

He teleported in after her a moment later, shaking his head.

“Shit.” She’d forgotten he could do that because she had a Swiss cheese brain and she was really losing her grip.

He held up his phone and pointed.

Taking a deep breath, she dug her own out of her bag and read.

A follow-up on his earlier statement. They got sidetracked so easily.

She tried to look away, and he gave the top of her hair bun a little bop.

Oh gods.

Another bop to the hair bun.

“Morality has nothing to do with our situation, and you know that.”

He cocked a brow.

“Ball’s in my court, then? The fault’s back on me?” She’d been repeating the same excuse again and again and he wasn’t buying it. She wasn’t certain she believed it, either. The damage had already been done. She was hoping that she wouldn’t cause more—not to be the enabler in a potentially toxic thing.

He dropped onto his knees, staring prayerfully up at her in a way she didn’t deserve, but that she couldn’t keep resisting.

He could have been asking anyone else, but he was asking her because as much as he was hers, she was his, and he was risking his comfort and sanity for her. She wanted to argue that no touch was worth that much, but she would have been lying.

There’d been far too many nights when she would have given up everything she’d acquired. She’d have given up every penny she had to her name to get him back in her life, into her bed, and into her … everything.

“I …” She slid a finger beneath her hair elastic and loosened the tight band. Her head hurt. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t—”

He fisted the bottom of her suit jacket and tugged her down to her knees, right where she belonged. She belonged on the floor, not him.

“You could probably do better if you tried,” she whispered. “There’s bound to be someone else who can …” She swallowed because she didn’t like the words, and they were acid in her mouth. “Someone who can give you what you need without all the drama and the …” Another swallow.

He held his hands up to both sides of her face, millimeters away from skin, and stared at her as if she were an experiment he wasn’t quite sure how to start. She was really quite simple to figure out.

“Tamatsu …”

His gaze fell to her lips, and she licked them nervously.

“I won’t say no to you, but I want my reservations on record.”

He leaned in closer. One large, warm hand brushed the skin of her left cheek, and then the right. His stare softened, and grin widened. His thumbs explored the ridges of her cheekbones briefly before he nudged wetness from her cheeks.

“Don’t do that,” he said into her mind. “My choice. I choose this.”

“You’re a fool,” she whispered.

“Mm-hmm.” He brushed his lips over hers and drew in a deep breath. “I most likely am.”