Finale

going to sit on until I meet you at the studio. Go to Delphic and do exactly as I told you. One more thing. Stop crying. You’re giving archangels everywhere a bad name.”

Patch hung up and handed the phone back to me. “Keep your fingers crossed that this works.”

“Do you think Pepper will stay with the feathers?”

He dragged his hands down his face, a sound escaping his throat that sounded half harsh laugh, half groan. “We’re going to have to split up, Angel. If we hunt down Dante together, we risk leaving the feathers unguarded.”

“Go find Dante. I’ll take care of Pepper and the feathers.”

Patch studied me. “I know you will. But I still don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll guard the feathers, and I’ll call Lisa Martin right away. I tell her what I have, and she’ll help me execute our plan. We’re going to end the war and free Nephilim.” I squeezed Patch’s hand reassuringly. “This is it. The end’s in sight.”

Patch rubbed his jaw, clearly unhappy, thinking deeply. “For my own peace of mind, take Scott with you.”

An ironic smile crept to my mouth. “You trust Scott?”

“I trust you,” he answered in a husky voice that made me feel warm and slippery inside.

Patch backed me into a tree and kissed me, hard.

I regained my breath. “Boys everywhere take note: That was a kiss.”

Patch didn’t smile. His eyes darkened with something I couldn’t name, but it put a weight in my stomach. His jaw locked, the muscles along his arms tensing just as visibly. “We’re going to be together at the end of this.” A cloud of uneasiness passed over his expression.

“If I have anything to say about it, yes.”

“Whatever happens tonight, I love you.”

“Don’t talk that way, Patch,” I whispered, emotion catching my voice. “You’re scaring me. We are going to be together. You’ll find Dante, then meet me at the studio, where we’ll end this war together. Doesn’t get any more straightforward.”

He kissed me again, delicately on each eyelid, then each cheek, and at last, a soft seal across my lips. “I’ll never be the same,” he said in a gravelly tone. “You’ve transformed me.”

I folded my arms around his neck and pressed my body hard to his. I clung to him, trying to cast out the chill that tapped in my bones. “Kiss me in a way I’ll never forget.” I drew his eyes toward mine. “Kiss me in a way that will stay with me until I see you again.” Because we will Ӏause we see each other soon.

Patch’s eyes grazed me with silent heat. My reflection swirled in them, red hair and lips aflame. I was connected to him by a force I couldn’t control, a tiny thread that tethered my soul to his. With the moon at his back, shadows painted the faint hollows beneath his eyes and cheekbones, making him look breathtakingly handsome and equally diabolical.

His hands steadied my face, holding me still before him. The wind tangled my hair around his wrists, twining us together. His thumbs moved across my cheekbones in a slow, intimate caress. Despite the cold, a steady burn coiled up inside me, vulnerable to his touch. His fingers traced lower, lower, leaving behind a hot, delicious ache. I closed my eyes, my joints melting. He lit me up like a flame, light and heat burning at a depth I’d never fathomed.

His thumb stroked my lip, a soft, seductive tease. I gave a sharp sigh of pleasure.

Kiss you now? he asked.

I couldn’t speak; a wilted nod was my reply.

His mouth, hot and daring, met mine. All play had left him, and he kissed me with his own black fire, deep and possessive, consuming my body, my soul, and laying waste to all past notions of what it meant to be kissed.

CHAPTER 37

I HEARD SCOTT’S BARRACUDA RUMBLE DOWN THE road toward me long before the headlights flashed through the murky darkness. I flagged him down and swung into the passenger seat.

“Thanks for coming.”

He shoved the car in reverse and floored it the same way he’d approached. “You kept your call short. Tell me what I need to know.”

I explained the situation as quickly, yet comprehensively, as possible. When I finished, Scott let out a low whistle of astonishment. “Pepper’s got every fallen angel feather, ever?”

“Surreal, right? He is supposed to meet us at Patch’s studio. He’d better not leave the feathers unguarded,” I muttered mostly to myself.

“I can get you safely beneath Delphic. The park gates are closed, so we’ll go into the tunnels using the cargo elevators. After that, we’ll have to use my map. I’ve never been to Patch’s place.”

The “tunnels” referred to an underground network of convoluted, mazelike passageways that operated like streets and neighborhoods beneath Delphic. I’d had no idea they existed until I met Patch. They served as the primary residence for fallen angels living in Maine, and until recently, Patch had lived among them.

Scott steered the Barracuda down an access road short of the park’s main entrance. The road opened to a loading dock with truck ramps, and a warehouse. We entered the warehouse through a side door, crossed an open space stacked wall to wall with boxes, and at last reached the cargo elevators. Once inside, Scott ignored the normal buttons indicating floors one, two, and three, and pressed a small, unmarked yellow button at the bottom of the panel. րlI’d known there were entrances to the tunnels all over Delphic, but this was my first time using this particular one.

The elevator, which was almost as large as my bedroom, clanged lower and lower, at last grinding to a stop. The heavy steel door rose, and Scott and I walked out onto a loading dock. The ground and walls were dirt, and the only light came from the single bulb swinging like a pendulum overhead.

“Which way?” I asked, peering into the tunnel ahead.

I was grateful to have Scott as a guide through the underbelly of Delphic Amusement Park. It was immediately clear that he traversed the tunnels regularly; he led at a hurried pace, sweeping down the dank corridors as though they had long ago been committed to memory. We referenced the map, using it to make our way beneath the Archangel, Delphic’s newest roller coaster. From there, I took over, glancing down corridors randomly, until at last we came to what I recognized as the entrance to Patch’s old living quarters.

The door was locked from the inside.

I rapped on it. “Pepper, it’s Nora Grey. Open up.” I gave him a few moments, then tried again. “If you’re not opening because you sense someone else, it’s Scott. He’s not going to beat you up. Now open the door.”

“Is he alone?” Scott asked quietly.

I nodded. “Should be.”

“I don’t sense anybody,” Scott said skeptically, bending his ear toward the door.

“Hurry up, Pepper,” I called.

Still no response.

“We’re going to have to break down the door,” I told Scott. “On the count of three. One, two—three.”

In unison, Scott and I landed forceful kicks to the door.

“Again,” I grunted.

We continued to drive our soles into the wood, striking it until it splintered and the door slammed inward. I strode across the foyer and into the living room, looking for Pepper.

The sofa had been knifed multiple times, stuffing spewing from each incision. Picture frames that had once decorated the walls now lay shattered on the ground. The glass coffee table was tipped on its side, with an ominous crack down the center. Clothes from Patch’s wardrobe had been dragged out and thrown like confetti. I