Page 63 of Angel's Temper

“Holy fucking shit,” Chrome commented, accenting his observation of the destruction with a low whistle that hinted at him being equal parts impressed and terrified.

Bronze stormed in on Chrome’s heels, followed by Titan, a dark and bearded badass and second-in-command to the prime sentinel.

Molly deliberately kept his eyes on her while she whispered, “It didn’t work, did it?”

“What didn’t work?” Titan asked, turning over a gutted armchair.

“The soul bond,” Brass confirmed through heavy breaths. “Now that I have my full fire back, I thought I could use it to beat back the rage. To beat the curse.”

Three sets of worried eyes met each other before looking decidedly elsewhere. The pity party had returned, with more concern than ever. Wonderful.

Bronze lifted a scrap of fabric that had once been a . . . fuck if he knew. Carpet? Comforter? “Yeah, I’m going to have to go with a no on that one, big guy.”

“It’s okay,” Molly assured him, still bright and cheerful despite the shitstorm he’d ushered into his room and her life. “She can’t stop us from living.”

“No, she can’t.” He breathed a vow into the words that was as unbreakable as the sea. “This ends. One way or another, this fucking ends. But until then, we live.”

Molly nodded, a worried mist clouding her eyes. “We live.”

If one could bottle up an entire week’s worth of euphoria, cork that sucker, and sip its nectar whenever a gray cloud threatened to show its ass, Molly would have invested in home bottling equipment, complete with a label maker and cut crystal decanters for extra-fancy indulgences.

Turned out, when one wasn’t so intently focused on preventing her soul bond from going all scorched earth every waking second, she got a lot of shit done. Of course, it didn’t hurt business to have a rugby team’s worth of fallen angels running regular rotations at the restaurant. Post-preschool drop-off breakfasts had never been so bumpin’.

And speaking of which . . .

At some point between when she’d closed the place and when she’d flipped back over the Open sign, balance had been restored to the universe. That or someone had left their golden goose parked under one of her tables and Benny must have scrambled that egg and put it into the quiches because holy hotcakes, business was booming. Things had gotten so crazy that one of Brass’s brothers, Steel, bless that angel, even volunteered to work under Benny and bang things out in the kitchen. Brass, as always, had also been there for her, doing everything she needed front-of-house wise before she even had the wherewithal to ask for it.

Fine by her. During their more idle times together, they’d also learned that having intentional tasks for him to complete helped keep the rage at bay. Currently, he was set up in the boiler room, the only place with a floor big enough to spread out and work, nailing together the final pieces of her event displays. The Winter Whimsy Festival was tomorrow, and after spending all of freaking ever boxing up her supplies and prepping what she could in advance, she had nothing left in the tank other than whatever dark roast coffee Brass had handed her an hour ago.

“Be right back!” she called to Benny, who was instructing Steel on the finer arts of the perfect reverse sear. “Going to the dumpster. Final cardboard box run.”

When all she got was a two-fingered salute from both parties for her efforts, she rolled her eyes, hefted her cargo beneath her arm, and headed out to the alley. She’d made it ten feet out the door before four russet paws pitter-pattered over to her.

“Churro! Oh my gosh, I didn’t think I’d see you again! I’ve been leaving bowls of food and water out for you. Have you noticed? I hope you noticed. I’d hate to think those dry-aged steak tips were being snuffled up by some random alley cat or, worse, a trash panda who wouldn’t appreciate the tenderized funk of all that meat, you know?” Molly crouched down and gave the scratches of all scratches behind the hound dog’s gloriously floppy ears. “What, no licks this time? Can’t say I blame you. Tongue is a very personal boundary. Oops, hang on. Let me toss these in the recycling bin real quick.”

Molly hefted her cargo up and over, then yanked out the two-by-four Benny used to hold the lid open for her. Once the plastic slab slammed shut, she tossed the hunk of wood in between the garbage and recycling dumpsters and started turning back to Churro.

“I was thinking, since you don’t have a collar or anything, how would you feel about— Oh, hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Are you, uh, looking for someone?”

Standing right where Churro had been was a woman, and boy, did she take the ancient Yule celebration vibe very seriously. Rich crimson robes draped her shapely figure in fur-lined elegance before expanding to her wrists in wide bell sleeves. Mahogany hair fell in loose waves around alabaster skin that would have rivaled the moon for its reflected glow.

The woman’s forest-green eyes pegged Molly with a strange insistence. “I have found who I’m looking for.” Then she took a step closer.

Whatever shit luck that had been on Molly’s side since she slid out of the womb regretfully decided to show up for work that day. “I think you have me confused with someone else,” she offered, retreating a step toward the door.

The woman mimicked Molly’s movements, inching closer. “I don’t get confused. You are who I came to see.”

Warning flared within Molly’s chest.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Another step back. Something about the woman had her instincts recoiling, and Molly had always made it a habit of trusting those puppies. She slid her eyes around and quickly examined her surroundings. Would it be better to run for the open end of the alley where there were more people, or should she fumble for the back door knowing she could lock it behind her?

Keep her talking. Keep her talking.

“You have been making things rather difficult for me,” the woman crooned.

“Oh?” Another step.

“Yes. You see, I have an arrangement with someone who, tomorrow, shall be joining me for a”—she pursed her garnet lips—“long-term contract. Your involvement with my protege has impacted his training.”

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