Page 12 of Sigils & Spells

Ivan’s voice comes over the loudspeaker again. “So much for that version of the potion.”

He sounds so careless, so nonchalant. If he were here with us, I would take Angel’s gun away and turn it on our boss.

Instead, though, Angel and I move out of the module with Q’s body, and I pull him into the one directly across the corridor.

“I had to shoot him,” he says again, and I realize he’s in shock.

“You did,” I say, hoping he’ll believe me. “Q was in pain. The formula didn’t work like Ivan hoped.”

He stares at me as if he can’t comprehend what I’m saying. “He was going to kill you,” he says.

“He was.”

Angel glances down at the gun in his hand as if he doesn’t recognize what it is. Slowly, I take it away from him and set it gingerly on the empty bed in this module.

“He was my friend.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

“I—I…” he stutters.

“You’re going to be okay,” I tell him.

He stares at me as if he doesn’t even understand the words.

I want more than anything to comfort him. My words aren’t getting through to him. So I do the only thing I can think of.

I twine my arms around Angel’s neck, running my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s thick and soft. Just exactly like I imagined it. Slowly, I raise up on my tiptoes and press my lips against his.

“You’re going to be okay,” I say again, whispering it against his lips.

He trembles under my touch for a long moment.

Then he takes over, grabbing my waist with both hands—his fingers so long they almost wrap around my waist—and hauls me up against him, holding me as if I am the source of life itself.

The muscles of his chest press against my breasts, the heat of him soaking into me, paradoxically sending a chill down my spine. His tongue teases my lips apart, and I open my mouth, moaning softly against his lips.

He responds with a growl, his tongue sweeping across mine plundering my mouth, and sparks race through me, the desire made manifest like magic itself, zinging through all parts of me, hardening my nipples, racing down to my core, and settling in my most intimate places. I ache to feel his skin under my fingertips, and I slide my hands under his shirt, tracing the muscular ridges of his abdomen and sliding up to his hard pectoral muscles.

Angel deepens the kiss, and I dig my fingernails into his chest, surprising a gasp out of him, then a moan.

I wouldn’t have thought we could get any closer—not with our clothes on, anyway—but he tightens his grip on me, his hands sliding down to cup my ass as he lifts me almost all the way off the floor until I can feel the outline of his cock, long and hard, pressing against me through our clothing.

Eventually, he pulls away, and reluctantly, I open my eyes. Neither of us lets go of the other.

“Ivan has cameras everywhere in here,” he reminds me, his voice low and rumbly. I can feel it through his chest.

“Do you care?” I ask.

He laughs, a short, harsh sound. “Under any or other circumstances, I would say no. But with Cambridge watching? Yeah. I care.” His tone turns possessive. “I don’t want that son of a bitch to see any more of you than he already has.”

The sane part of my brain knows he’s right. But my body doesn’t care. It wants Angel—all of him, and right now. I tilt my forehead forward until I’m leaning against Angel as I wait for reason to return.

Finally, I nod. “Okay. You’re right.”

And in that moment, I hate Ivan Cambridge more than I would have thought possible.

CHAPTER8

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