Wicked Kiss Page 12

  The room was stifling. I’d cranked the heat when I got home and despite my constant chills, I desperately needed some fresh air. I went to the window and pushed it open, inhaling deeply. It made me shiver, but the cold October air helped clear some of the fog from my head.

  Then I turned to my bed and grabbed the sheets—but I froze in midpull.

  After staying at a low level ever since getting back home from the mall, my hunger suddenly surged to the forefront. My breath caught and held as I sensed his presence.

  “You shouldn’t leave your window open,” Bishop said. “Anyone might be able to get in.”

  I spun to face him, my eyes wide with shock at what I was seeing. But there he stood, framed by moonlight near the open window.

  A gorgeous, blue-eyed, six-foot tall angel of death was standing in my bedroom.

  I grappled for something to say, anything at all. My pulse raced. “How did you...” I gestured at the window behind him, my gauzy curtains fluttering with the cool breeze. “This is the second floor and there’s no ladder or tree out there.”

  My flustered reaction made him smile, an expression that shot right to my heart. “I have a few hidden talents.”

  His gaze lowered to my clothes—or, rather, lack of them. My cheeks started to burn. I certainly wasn’t naked, but a snug tank top and a loose pair of sleeping shorts weren’t exactly modest.

  I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest. It wasn’t like I had that much to cover. “Why are you here?”

  It sounded much ruder than I meant it. Seeing him gave me a wild inner thrill that I tried to cover, especially after my conversation—or warning—with Cassandra earlier. Seeing Bishop alone like this was dangerous. It triggered my hunger like nothing else in the world.

  He shouldn’t be here and he knew it, too.

  But here he was anyway.

  Bishop wrenched his gaze back up to my face. It took him a moment to say something, and the weighted silence stretched between us. “I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re all right.”

  I sent a quick glance over my shoulder at my closed bedroom door. “Be quiet or Cassandra will hear us.”

  He didn’t come any closer to me. He stayed by the window, which helped me keep most of my head together. “She knows what happened...between us. Did she tell you?”

  I nodded. “But I already knew.”

  His gaze met mine directly as he studied me, frowning. Then clarity crossed his expression. “You know, I’m really not thrilled with this handy eavesdropping skill of yours.”

  I bit my bottom lip. I was so cold that goose bumps had broken out over my bare skin. I crossed them, shivering. “I can’t control it. It just happens.”

  He turned to the window and closed it. “What did you hear?”

  A thousand different emotions bubbled inside me and I wanted to force them down and keep my game face on. Pretend that nothing affected me. Too bad everything affected me lately. My analytical and detached view of the world around me had dropped away, leaving me completely raw and vulnerable.

  Bishop affected me. Sometimes I forgot how much, when he wasn’t this close to me, but he did. His scent, his presence, his warmth—everything called to me across the six tiny feet separating us right now. I wanted to close that distance, throw my arms around him and kiss him passionately. It was a need like eating, sleeping—a primal drive I couldn’t ignore.

  I gripped the baseboard of my bed, digging my short fingernails into the smooth wood, and tried to stay calm. “You said that this...what you feel for me...it’s an inconvenient addiction.” I looked at him directly. “And yet here you are at midnight in my bedroom. Not smart.”

  His expression tightened. “I wish you hadn’t heard that.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I lied. “Today—it’s put a lot of things into perspective for me.” I took a deep breath. “I talked to Stephen.”

  Bishop was next to me in a heartbeat, taking hold of my arms. Electricity sparked between us, making me gasp. Making him gasp.

  He swore, and let go of me, taking a shaky step back. “You talked to Stephen. When? Where?”

  “He called me. I met him at the mall.”

  “Why didn’t you find me?”

  “Because I knew if he saw you he’d bolt.” I tried to maintain my control, but it was difficult. “I wanted to convince him to give me back my soul.”

  His expression was tense. “And did you?”

  “I think it was possible, but...we were interrupted. He told me stuff, Bishop.” I’d kept this from Cassandra, but Bishop needed to know. “He says that super-gray yesterday—that’s what’s happening to everyone. That grays go through a stasis—they turn zombie, but it isn’t permanent like we thought. It’s just a stage. When they come out of it they’re stronger, smarter and totally sociopathic. If they don’t come out of it...they die.” Panic clawed at my chest as I related this horrible information. “It’s one or the other. Stephen wanted to warn me.”

  I studied his reaction to this. It wasn’t filled with surprise, more like grim acceptance. “You already knew this, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know for sure.”

  “Well, now you do.” Another tremble went through me, and not just from being cold this time. “It’s going to happen to me.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

  I let out a small snort. “You sound so certain I almost believe you.”

  He raised his fierce gaze to mine. His eyes glowed with a soft blue light in the darkness of my room. “You’re different, Samantha. You’re not like the others.”

  “I don’t know if who my birth mother and father is will have much to do with this particular outcome.”

  He clenched his teeth, anger brightening the celestial energy in his eyes that held an edge of madness. “It has everything to do with it. And you need to keep fighting, keep resisting. You’re not like the other grays.”

  “Is that why you came here? To test me? To see how controlled I am?” My voice trembled. “Because I hate to break it to you, but I’m not. Not when you’re this close to me.”

  “I had to come here.”

  “You had to?”

  “Yes.”

  I looked at him directly, raising my chin. “Then remember, when I attack you, you’ve only got yourself to blame.”

  Chapter 11

  My words of warning didn’t seem to panic him. “Are you planning on attacking me, Samantha?”

  My cheeks burned to admit it, but it was the truth. I shrugged. “Think it, say it. That’s how I’ve always been. Maybe I should keep more of my thoughts to myself.”

  Despite the intense gravity of our discussion, there was now a small smile playing at Bishop’s lips, which only worked to draw my attention there. “You’re very honest. Very open. I like that.”

  “One more thing we don’t have in common. I’m an open book. You’re...closed with a lock and key.”

  The smile disappeared completely. “What else did Stephen tell you?”

  I’d hit a sore point. We could discuss grays and death and souls all night long, but any mention of his secrets and he shut down. Typical. “Not much. Like I said, we were interrupted.” My voice caught. “A girl killed herself at the mall. Right in front of me.”

  His dark brows drew together. “What? Who?”

  I shook my head. “It’s not related to Stephen or anything. She was fine, then she got really depressed, like zero to s
ixty. Then she...” I drew in a ragged breath. “It was horrible.”

  His expression was grave. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “Life and death, Bishop. It can change in a heartbeat. Any second. Any moment. It can all be taken away. I never realized that before, but it’s true.”

  He drew closer again. “Not to you. You’re going to have a very long and very happy life. I swear you will.”

  The fierce way he said it nearly made me smile again. “Money-back guarantee?”

  “Absolutely.” He searched my face. “There’s something else troubling you tonight. What is it?”

  I was an open book. I might as well not close the cover just yet. I looked up at him, taking in his height, feeling his very overwhelming presence filling this room. He studied me as if both fascinated and wary of what I might say next.

  “You didn’t tell me you’re an angel of death,” I whispered, my voice suddenly hoarse.

  His gaze darkened. “Cassandra told you.”

  I nodded. “I should have guessed. I mean, the way you handle that dagger...”

  “She shouldn’t have scared you.”

  “Scared? Me? To find out you’re one of Heaven’s assassins?” I turned to face my vanity. I could see him behind me in the shadows, watching my reaction. “I did have a dream you killed me last night.”

  “Stupid dream.”

  I shrugged a shoulder, studying my reflection. Loose, my hair was long enough to reach my waist, and hung over my shoulders. “Maybe it was a vision of the future. I have those, you know. Sometimes.”

  “It was just a nightmare. Nothing more.”

  “So it’s true. You’re not denying it. You are an angel of death.”

  There was a short pause. “I am.”

  My heart skipped a beat at the confirmation. “And if they pull you back to Heaven and reverse your fallen status, that’s what you’ll continue to be. An angel given the task to assassinate threats against the human world, against Heaven itself—threats like my aunt.”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Or...like a gray you have an inconvenient addiction to.”

  This was met by silence for so long that I wasn’t sure if he’d answer me. But then, “You say whatever’s on your mind, but sometimes you need to listen with more than just your ears. Words aren’t always that reliable.”

  He’d succeeded again in confusing me. “What does that mean?”

  Bishop held my gaze for a moment in the surface of the mirror without speaking. “I came here tonight to give you something. A gift.”

  I blinked at the sudden change in subject, my heart pounding. I turned to face him directly. “What is it?”

  He reached under his shirt and pulled out an object wrapped in leather. He unwrapped it slowly to reveal the contents.

  I tentatively drew a little closer to see it. It was a gold dagger, smaller than the one he had, which was the better part of a foot including the hilt. This was more the size of a steak knife, but with a wavy blade tapering to a sharp tip. A ruby was set into the ornately carved hilt.

  “It’s absolutely beautiful,” I breathed.

  He nodded. “It’s something I got at the Trinity museum. They have no idea what it’s really for or how rare it is. The metal—it’s gold infused with steel, but it has an old spell on it.”

  My gaze shot to his. “Like a magic spell?”

  “Yeah.” His lips curved at my amazement. “There is magic in this world, Samantha. You must realize that by now.”

  “I’ve been trying to enjoy what little denial I still have left.”

  He held the small dagger in his hand, and I couldn’t resist reaching toward it to run my index finger along the hilt, the carving rough against my touch. When I touched his warm skin, that familiar shiver of energy sparked between us, making my breath catch.

  “This dagger can do damage to a supernatural. It won’t kill an angel or a demon, but it will hurt them more than a regular knife would.”

  I pulled my hand back, alarmed. I sat down on the edge of my bed. “Why would I need something like that?”

  “For protection.”

  I searched for the right words. “But we already know I can zap them if anyone threatens me.”

  “You need to be touching them to do that and they can’t be actively blocking you. There are too many factors in play. A good sharp dagger, however, doesn’t need anything but the right opportunity to use it. I’m not saying you’ll need it, but I’d rather know you have it just in case.”

  I tried to process all of this. “You said it’s from the museum. You mean, you—you stole it?”

  He looked down at it before looking at me again. “Borrowed. Without permission.”

  That earned a full smile from me, albeit a shaky one. “Bad angel.”

  He laughed softly. “Sometimes rules need to be bent. So will you accept it?”

  I studied the small dagger again. It was so incredible. And I swear I could feel a hum of otherworldly energy coming off it—much like I did with Bishop’s Hallowed Blade. “I’ll accept it.”

  “Good. Then stand up.” When I did as he asked, he knelt down in front of me. “The sheath can be strapped to your thigh. It’s the best way for you to conceal it.”

  “Awesome,” I managed. “I’m going to have a concealed weapon at the ready. I could work for the mob.”

  I inhaled sharply as he attached the sheath to my bare right thigh, and pulled the straps tight. His fingers slid over my skin, sending an uncontrollable shiver racing through me.

  He glanced up at me, his gaze darkening. He had to be able to hear how loud and fast my heart was beating.

  I cleared my throat. “Thanks, I think?”

  “You’re welcome.” He didn’t pull away from me immediately, keeping his hands pressed against my skin, circling the leather sheath. “Try not to lose it, though. It’s kind of priceless.”

  “Noted.” I struggled to breathe normally.

  As he rose slowly to his feet, he trailed his hands along my sides, stopping at my waist, an inch of bare skin between my shorts and top. The shiver of energy raced between us.

  This was different than him being close to me in public. This—all alone with no one watching us. It felt even more dangerous.

  At this point, I couldn’t have pushed him away even if I’d wanted to. And I definitely didn’t want to. His spicy scent sank into me. The warmth of his touch, normally enough to chase the cold away, burned right into my skin.

  His expression tensed as he looked down to where his hands grasped my waist. “Touching you...even knowing you’re a nexus...I still don’t understand why it helps bring such clarity to my mind. Why it feels...”

  “Feels?” I could only manage a whisper.

  His gaze met mine. “So good.”

  I let out a hoarse laugh, throaty and nervous. “Maybe for you.”

  He let go of me abruptly and stepped back. The cold returned like a bucket of ice water had just been poured on me.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

  “Of course you did. It is a bad thing.” He raked his hand through his messy hair. “I forget too easily. I’m making this worse for you. Cassandra’s right—so are the others. It’s better if I stay away. I don’t know why I can’t.”

  “Inconvenient addiction,” I reminded him shakily. My hunger raged like a caged beast inside me, even with him now more than an arm’s reach away from me.
I fought hard to keep it locked up.

  “Yeah.” He watched me from the shadows of my room. “Very inconvenient.”

  I sat down heavily on the side of my bed and touched the leather sheath of the dagger. It was light in weight, barely noticeable. I focused on the carved hilt, running my fingers over the ruby, feeling its tingling power across my skin—its magic. It was a pure magic. It had no darkness in it. That much was reassuring.

  Bishop stayed silent. My only indication that he hadn’t left was my ever-present hunger pains, currently holding steady at a level eight. And a half.

  “How long have you been an angel of death?” I asked quietly.

  “Long enough.”

  Frustration rippled through me and I looked directly at him. I couldn’t hold it in any longer, all the questions that rose up in my throat. “How long since you died? Since Kraven died? Did you die at the same time? Why is he a demon and you’re an angel? You said you killed him and sent him to Hell. Did you know that would happen? Is that what made you an angel? Was it some sort of Heavenly test?”

  He turned to the window, placing his hands flat on the pane as he looked outside to the street. His shoulders were tense. “I can’t talk about these things.”

  “In general? Or just with me? I don’t understand why you refuse to tell me anything about yourself that might help me understand you better. No wonder I have nightmares about you.” Then I was the one who swore, before covering my face with my hands.

  Bishop was beside me in a moment, kneeling down on the floor next to my bed and taking my hands in his to pull them away from my face. His expression held deep torment.

  “I don’t keep truths from you to hurt you.”

  “Then why?”

  His brows drew together. “I just can’t talk about it. You need to trust me.”

  “I want to.”

  “I know you rely on your head a lot of the time. You’re smart. You look at things from that standpoint. That studying and getting good grades is the only way there is to understand things. But some things can’t be spoken aloud. Can’t be studied. The truth won’t tell you about me.” He swallowed hard. “Trust your heart.”