Shayne grunted in response.
Arch looked over at the suddenly busy bartender. The man was shaking and watching them from the corner of his eye. “Good thing I don’t need a drink,” Arch added sardonically. “Otherwise my feelings might have been hurt.”
Nothing ever seemed to faze the dark-haired angel. He rubbed his goatee and stared at the bartender for a moment. The balding area on top of the bartender's head went from white to bright red. “Have you ever seen a human change colors like that? Next thing you know he’s going to piss his pants.”
Shayne laughed, without humor. “You should be used to it by now, Arch.” To the average modern man they were big, bad, and scary. People left them alone unless they had a death wish. Most of them didn't.
Looking over at Shayne, Arch rested his elbows on the bar. “You don’t ever get used to it,” Arch said, suddenly serious. “Just like you never get used to the pain and desperation that evil leaves behind.”
Shayne could feel his piercing gaze on him, and he knew that Arch was seeing every thought he’d ever had. Even after hundreds of years, Shayne still wasn’t used to having his mind read. Too bad it wasn't one of his skills.
Arch continued on. “Humans. What a funny breed they are. They are so obsessed with how they look. It’s amazing how many lives are defined by something they can’t even control. They haven’t evolved enough to realize that in the end looks has no importance. True evil comes in the prettiest of packages.”
He drummed his fingers on the glossy surface of the bar. “The demons have learned they can convince them to do just about anything they want, as long as they make themselves look good.”
Shayne took a long swallow from the mug to buy himself some time to think of a reply. Arch was getting too deep for him. It was time to change the subject. Raising a brow, he said, “Tell me, Arch. Is that really your name or someone's idea of a really bad joke?”
Arch glared at him in response before slowly perusing the bar patrons. He spoke softly, and Shayne had to strain to hear his words. “Armageddon is coming, and all these people can think about is sex. Tonight, seventeen women under this roof will allow a man they’ve never seen before into their beds. Then when the sex is over, each woman will lie awake wondering if the man will still be there in the morning.”
Shayne rolled his eyes and shook his head. What could he say? Arch was getting in touch with his feminine side.
With a long-suffering expression upon his face, Shayne glared at the angel. “Really, Arch. Really? You look like some kind of wrestler, but you sound like a freakin' woman. What's next? Painting our toenails and shaving our legs while we talk about boys?”
Arch frowned, his own expression dark with irritation. “How many times do I have to tell you? The wrestler looks like me,” he ground out, slowly. “And didn't your mom ever teach you it's rude to interrupt your elders?”
Shayne laughed, feeling extremely satisfied with himself. He loved getting Arch riled up.
The angel just shrugged it off. “As I was saying, fifteen of these women will never be nothing more than a distant memory and another notch on the belt. Two months from now, one of them will be married to the man she went home with tonight. The last one will end up with a venereal disease that will kill her quicker than Armageddon ever could.”
Arch was on a roll. He took a deep breath to continue, but Shayne choked on his beer. “What the fuck, Arch!” Shayne growled, coughing to clear his airways. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and slammed his mug down on the bar, glaring indignantly at Arch.
It set off a chain of events that neither one of them would have anticipated. At the noise, the bartender squealed loudly as he jerked around. The beer he was holding fell out of his frozen hand and busted on the tile beneath him. His eyes widened impossibly, and he released a high-pitch scream as his foot slid on the wet floor. Afraid to take his eyes off of the intimidating pair, even for a second, he reached out blindly for something, anything, to save him from the fall.
Unfortunately for the short, nerdy bartender, it was a woman’s breast. A very large breast, belonging to an equally large woman, and she wasn't enjoying the contact. Hanging on for dear life, he hyperventilated and wheezed as he tried to get back to better footing. The woman glared at him for a moment before raising her massive arm and slapping him across his bony face—as hard as she could. It was more than he could take.
His glasses flew off of his face as he hit the floor, knocking himself completely unconscious. A collective gasp went through the crowd, as well as a few laughs, before business went back to usual. With a self-righteous huff, the woman turned back to her friends, ignoring her offender as she drank her beer.
Shayne watched it all with a droll look on his face. That had to hurt, he mused, fighting back the urge to laugh. In the end, the laugh won. He doubled over, holding his sides, as tears of mirth ran down his face.
By the time he was finally able to control himself, the bartender was conscious again. Someone had helped him to a bar stool, and he was holding a rag filled with ice against his face. He shot Shayne a dirty look with his one good eye. Shayne smirked at him and held his glass up to him in a salute. He had to give the bartender credit where credit was due. It took balls to survive a slap like that.
Turning back to Arch, Shayne picked up where they left off. “Maybe
