“Damn it,” I snarl.
Charlie shakes her head. She’s disappointed I didn’t turn into Golden Boy following my rebirth as an angel. But I can’t help it, because deep down, I’m still a demon.
She pushes the jacket off my shoulders and folds it over her arm. The look in her eyes crushes me. It says that even though I’m not behaving like an angel, she accepts me anyway. “We should get out of here,” she says.
“Why? Because of that guy?”
“No, because…”
“Because you think I’m drunk.” I nod like I’ve nailed it. “Girl, I’m stone cold sober.”
Charlie laughs and shakes her head. Then she reaches into my jacket pocket for the keys to Elizabeth Taylor, my candy apple–red Escalade. She jiggles them in front of my face. “Come on, I’m driving.”
I pull her close and breathe warm air onto her neck. “You saying you want to take me home?”
She leans into me. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Then by all means,” I bellow. “Take me home and have your way with me.”
Charlie shushes me as people stop and stare. I flip them off nice and hard and allow my girl to drag me outside.
“Get in,” she says, pointing to Elizabeth Taylor.
I bow like she’s my queen and I her simple servant. Then I climb into the passenger seat and blast Rob Zombie as Charlie drives toward her grandmother’s house. I glance over when I notice her going for the Skittles in her pocket, and sigh with pleasure that some things never change. For the first time, I wonder if there’s a story behind those way-too-hard, way-too-brightly-colored candies.
Pulling into her driveway, she kills the music. The two-story white house is covered in red-and-white Christmas lights that I strung up, even though I insisted I don’t do such things. Grams usually does the job but couldn’t hack it this year. She’s has been sick for a while now, and though she’s tried hard to hide it from Charlie, I’m pretty sure her adopted child knows full well what’s happening, even if she won’t acknowledge it.
“Want to stay here while you sober up?” Charlie asks, taking my hand.
“Girl, I told you, I’m—”
“Stone cold sober.” She rolls her eyes. “Right.”
I form my hands into guns and fire them off in her direction. “Smart girl.”
She shakes her head. “Drunk boy.”
I hop out of Elizabeth Taylor and walk toward the house. Then I decide crawling on my hands and knees would be more convenient. I drop down and instruct Charlie to mount my back and ride me like a horse.
She does it without hesitating.
I fall in lust all over again.
Outside her grandmother’s house, Charlie pauses. “Meet me in my room, okay?”
I stand up and give her a soldier’s salute. Worrying Grams will catch my ass, I throw on shadow—my ability to become invisible thanks to the cuff on my ankle. Then I head toward the lattice beneath her window. Twice, I fall off and land in the bushes. When at last I’m victorious, I shake off my shadow, and Charlie slides the window open so I can crawl inside.
Her bed is a beacon for my drunk bones, and I stumble toward it and collapse. Sitting beside me, Charlie pushes the hair from my forehead. She leans over and blows a cool breeze across my neck. Within seconds, my entire body is on fire. I push myself up and look at her.
It’s been six weeks since hell put a target on Charlie Cooper. Five weeks since I collected her soul. Even now, I carry it with me. I place a hand to my chest, remembering. Charlie wraps her hand around mine and closes her eyes. I imagine she’s remembering, too. I wonder if she feels the same thing I do about her soul. That somehow it feels
Admitting this is hard, because one of the most esteemed parts of my old job as a collector was knowing when you’d absorbed a soul, and when you’d successfully deposited it in hell. A soul doesn’t feel like a brick inside your chest—quite the opposite, actually. A soul is feather light, and the subtle variations between how one soul feels and another can lead to confusion. But collectors take pride in sensing a soul inside their body. It’s like a surgeon guiding a blind hand toward where they know an injury lies. The sensation, that
But with all the souls I’ve carried, all the variances I’ve felt—it’s never been like this.
I often wonder why I can’t simply return her soul to her body, but Valery says it’s unsafe. That it must be stored with Big Guy where it’s untouchable. Though why we don’t do that immediately is beyond me.
Watching Charlie, my breath catches. Her blond hair falls in waves over her shoulders, and her skin has a glow only happiness brings. Someday, this girl will save the world. Her charity and her work will bring about Trelvator: a hundred years of peace. But right now, alone in this room—she’s mine.
I kiss her closed eyelids, and they open to reveal two blue gems. I take her lips in mine, slipping my tongue inside the warmth. I feel her body respond to my touch. Before she can protest, I wrap my arm around her waist and in one solid movement sweep her beneath me.
Parting her thighs with my knee, I lower myself down. Those blue eyes stay locked on my face, and I see her pulse quicken along her neck. I press my lips to that spot and hear her breath rush out.
“Charlie,” I whisper.
She responds by running her fingers through my hair and pulling me closer. They slide up and down my back like she’s tracing the lines of my dragon tattoo.
Kissing her, I lose my friggin’ mind. I yearn to be closer to her, to show her just how close we can be. But I also want it to be perfect for Charlie, because if anyone deserves a perfect first time, it’s her.
“Dante,” she says quietly, but I already know. She’s not ready, and I don’t blame her. I haven’t exactly been the ideal boyfriend these last few weeks.
I start to lift myself up but stop. I can’t help kissing her one more time. I push my mouth over hers and, reaching down, pull her thighs up and press my hips down harder. She moans, and the sound touches my lips, rousing me. I’m reconsidering my earlier conviction about being patient—when a sound crashes through the house.
Charlie grabs onto my elbow and we both listen.
It comes again, louder.
“The door,” Charlie says. “Someone’s at the door.”
I roll to my side, and Charlie jumps from the bed and leaves the room. I follow after her, watching as she
“Wait,” I yell-whisper. Though I’m fairly sure collectors wouldn’t bother knocking, it still bugs me that someone’s outside her house past midnight. I jog down the stairs and pull Charlie behind me. Only then do I open the door.
There’s a flash of red as a woman turns and faces me.
Valery.
The spitfire twenty-something with bright red hair is a liberator. She helped me rescue Charlie from Rector, head of the collectors, but would just as soon castrate me as admit we’re friends.
“Thought you said you and Max were going on vacay,” I say.
“Postponed.” Valery starts to stride into the house, but I grab her wrist.
“No,” I say, glancing upstairs, where I know Grams is sleeping. “If you want to talk, let’s go outside.”
She shrugs her slender shoulder and sashays out the door. When Charlie heads after us, Valery holds up her hand. “I’ve got to speak to Dante alone, sweetheart.”
I wrap my arm around Charlie and pull her close. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say to her.”
Valery looks at me for a long time. “Fine.”
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a long white envelope.
“Oh,
