Page 59 of Obsession

“Not your concern.”

“I told you, it’s only funny when I say it to you!” He almost smiles, although that could just be wishful thinking. I’m off the incantation bowl project now, so I’m free to wish away. “Did you have an MPD shift today?” I ask, trying to make conversation and stop thinking about a certain Cambion who broke my heart.

“Yep.”

Alright then, that got me nowhere. “What about Augustus?”

“What about him?” he counters.

“Good Goddess, it’s like pulling teeth.” I try a different tactic. “Tell me something about yourself. What do you like to do?”

“Like to do?” he repeats, as if he’s unsure what those words strung together mean.

“In your down time, when you’re not threatening to chop off angel wings. Hobbies? Interests? Hidden talents? Do you go to coffee shops and read your broody poetry? Or are you secretly a member of an improv comedy troupe? Something? Anything?” The corners of his mouth curl up ever so slightly. “Lord have mercy, I do believe Chris almost smiled. It’s a miracle.”

Our food comes out quickly and we eat in silence. No surprise there. Chris is not one for small talk. Or talk of any kind, for that matter. Unless he’s a talker in bed? I quickly banish that thought.

Chris gives me a withering look as he picks up the check, despite my protest to pay. Stepping outside, I remember my ride or die is more on the die side than the ride, having ditched me to handle a death. “Could I get a lift to my apartment, please?”

“Follow me,” he says, letting me know what a huge inconvenience this is by his tone. We enter the alley, accidentally bumping shoulders while we walk. Locking eyes, of course I’m the one to avert my gaze first. Dang it.

He holds out his hand, and I place mine in his. A zap of electricity runs between us, one that I’m going to choose to ignore. Of all the people to have chemistry with, why in the hell did it have to be this angel? He apparently feels it too if the annoyed look on his gorgeous face is any indication.

We return to the back door of the shop, and he pins me with his hard stare as he holds open the door for me. “You’d be wise to remember what I said about demons causing nothing but sorrow,” he orders.

“Sir, yes sir,” I say with a salute, trying to lighten the mood. He responds with a look I can’t interpret. “Would you like to come inside and hang out?” I ask. My mouth apparently is now possessed.

“Hang out?” he repeats again, like he doesn’t know what those two words together mean.

“Yes, hang out. As in friends spending time together.” I’m using that term “friends” loosely here.

He grunts which I interpret as a yes.

“Didn’t mean to twist your wing,” I tease. Not even a hint of a smile. Tough crowd.

We walk upstairs and I flip on the kitchen light. “You’re supposed to be good at puzzles?” He raises an eyebrow, pointing to the unfinished puzzle on the kitchen table.

“Everybody’s a critic. You go right ahead and show me your skills.” He shifts into his angelic form, his huge white feathery wings tucked into his back, his flaming sword pointed at the puzzle. I’ve seen Chris in action once when I was about to be sacrificed by the crazed angel Eiael, but standing this close to him in his full-on Dominions form? The saying “strikes fear into the heart of men” comes to mind.

Trying to stop my body from trembling, I sneak a better look at his wings. They’re so bright I have to avert my eyes. Unfortunately, my eyes land on his bare, chiseled chest. Moving my gaze to his sword seems to be the safest bet. The glowing weapon in his hand, not his… Ugh, I blame Vivian.

A few of the puzzle pieces float in the air and begin putting themselves together. “No! That’s cheating!” The pieces fall back to the table.

“Says who?” Chris almost smiles as he shifts back into his human form.

“Your sword, what is the flame made of?” I know nothing about weaponry, other than his sword looks scary as hell and glows with an incandescent flame.

“Nothing of this world.”

“Wow, you gave me an almost answer.”

His phone alerts and he checks it, a frustrated look crossing his face. “I have to go.”

“Sure. Thanks for dinner and the lift home. I owe you a meal.”

He nods curtly and then turns to leave but stops, like he’s fighting some internal battle. Turning around and stomping back to me, I worry he’s going to bowl me over. He stops just inches from me and says angrily, “If only you could see how special you are, then you wouldn’t throw your life away chasing demons.”

“I’m not chasing anything, and I’m certainly not throwing my life away,” I answer, confused at the abrupt turn in conversation.

---