Page 43 of The Devil's Dilemma

“I always had it. Grandpa joked it was the kiss of the angels. It’s just something he said.”

“What do you know of your mother?”

“Why do you want to know? She died when I was six.” That was the woman I remembered, her laughing as we played in the garden, picking flowers, chasing bugs. Life had been beautiful then. She’d been beautiful, and then the unthinkable had happened, and she’d died.

Dad had refused to live after that until he’d eventually decided I wasn’t worth sticking around for and left.

Dante—yes, that was his name—Dante didn’t need to know all this. These were my secrets to keep.

But now I needed to go home to Grandpa. I’d left him alone long enough.

I threw the covers back and planted my feet on the floor.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home. Let me go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, and when I explain why, you’ll understand. Anyway, it’s late. Do you think he’d like you knocking on the door at this unearthly hour?”

He’d be worried sick. I knew that. Hopefully, Amber had listened to me and, when I’d not turned up for work, would take care of him like I’d asked.

But by God, I was breaking out of here tomorrow and going home. Dante could go fuck himself.

But he was right about it being too late, so I crept back into the bed.

“Talk. Now.”

He blinked at me, those orange eyes glowing again. Was he really the devil? “Watch your tone. You seriously have no idea, do you?”

“Just tell me. Then we can get on with whatever it is you have planned for me, and I can go home.”

“This mark on your chest. It means something. Your grandpa wasn’t telling stories when he said you’d been kissed by the angels. This mark is known as being ‘angel blessed’.”

I frowned. This made no sense. Why would an angel be blessing me?

“It’s why I asked about your mother. What was her name?”

Tears threatened to fall as they did each time I thought of her. It was almost impossible to say her name, but I forced myself, as it seemed important to him.

“Calista. That was her name.” I’d always thought it was beautiful, that it suited her perfectly.

He nodded as if it meant something to him too.

“Do you know anything about her family? Her mother? Did she have any sisters?”

I knew nothing about her, now I thought about it. “No. I just remember her.”

“How did she die?”

Now that was personal and not for sharing with someone like him.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“It could be important.”

I didn’t care how vital it was. I wouldn’t tell him. The memory of that night was too painful to remember.

She’d gone to bed, saying she had a headache. I’d never known her to be ill, young as I was. Sure, Dad took to his bed when he had a cold, but she’d never once come down with anything.

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