around us, three streaks of lightning exploded so close that my skin buzzed with the power. 'Make it stop!'
'I can't!'
'You have to believe, Portia. You have to have faith!' he yelled in my face, his voice barely audible over the roar of thunder immediately overhead. My skin tingled, heralding another round of lightning.
'I lost that years ago,' I screamed, giving in to the horror and frustration that were roiling inside me. I threw myself into his arms, clinging to his rain-slicked body and wishing I could hide from it all.
'Believe!' he bellowed as lightning danced around us in a circle of blue light. 'I know you can do this!'
His heartbeat was as wild as mine, and I knew instinctively that, about this, he was telling the truth. He believed I could stop this freak storm. For a moment, for the time between seconds, I considered the possibility that he was right. What if I could control the weather?
The storm overhead dissipated into nothing.
Theo peeled me off his chest, his black eyes unreadable. 'That was very well done,' he said slowly. 'We'll make a virtue of you yet.'
Water dripped down my face, down my soggy clothing, to fall with soft little patting noises at my feet. 'I didn't just…no. It's impossible. It can't possibly happen.'
He laughed and turned me toward the door of the pub. 'Let's have that drink and we can talk about it, all right?'
My legs were shaking so hard Theo thought it wise to help me up the stairs to my room first. 'Change into something dry. I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes.'
'You're just as soaked as I am. You'll catch pneumonia or something if you sit around in wet clothes.' I wondered why I cared whether or not the man who had tried to kidnap me got sick, but I did, and since I didn't seem to be able to change that, I decided it wasn't worth angsting over. There would be time enough later, when I had life in control again, to worry over the fact that I found my kidnapper incredibly attractive.
'My things are in my car. I'll bring them up here and change.' He bent forward, his lips brushing mine for a moment in a caress that promised so much. I clutched the door frame to keep upright. 'I'll see you downstairs in a few minutes.'
I peeled off my wet clothing, towel dried my hair, which was hanging to my shoulders in limp strings, and hesitated at the wardrobe over what to put on to meet Theo. It was inconceivable that I should be dithering over what to wear to meet a man I had tried to have arrested practically since the moment I'd met him, but dither I did. I selected and discarded a few pairs of pants, finally settling on a long crushed-velvet dress that I'd bought for visits to the theater and any publishing parties Sarah would drag me to. I twisted my hair up into an untidy French twist, wishing that it was a more attractive color than walnut. My hazel eyes peered back at me in the mirror with acknowledgment that they would never inspire anyone to write sonnets.
'You've never found yourself lacking in the looks department until now,' I told my reflection with a grimace. 'So let's just not go overboard, shall we?'
I tried, I really tried not to care what Theo thought about me, but in the end I broke down and dug out my bag of cosmetics, quickly applying mascara, eye shadow, and lipstick before telling myself I was completely insane.
'Sarah? You there?' I stopped at her door and gave a soft knock, in case she'd gone to bed early.
'Come on in. I'm just making some notes. I've had the most brilliant idea for a book.'
I poked my head in through the door. 'You OK?'
She looked up from her laptop, her face distracted. 'Of course I am. Did you see Theo?'
His kiss still burned my lips. I licked them, tasting once again his masculine, woodsy taste, my nether regions throbbing heavily. 'Yeah, I saw him. I'm…this is going to sound silly, but I've agreed to have a drink with him. Downstairs, in full view of everyone, I'd like to add.'
'Silly?' Sarah wrinkled her nose at me. 'Why on earth would you having a drink with him be silly?'
'Is the English water affecting your memory or something? Did you forget that we've been trying to have him arrested for assault and kidnapping?'
'You've been trying to have him arrested. I haven't done anything other than try to reason with you. He's your champion, Portia. You need him.' Sarah turned back to her laptop and continued to type.
I shook my head, too tired to try to reason with her. 'I'll be downstairs if you need me.'
'Enjoy yourself for a change. And kiss Theo for me.'
I shot her a piercing look, but her face was devoid of emotion, her eyes on the laptop screen as she tapped away.
Theo was waiting for me by the time I arrived at the pub proper. He had claimed a corner table, the one farthest away from the music videos. He had changed into black pants and a silky-looking crimson shirt that set off his dark skin, hair, and eyes. For one wild moment, he reminded me of a stereotypical pirate: deadly, dangerous, and
'There is a private room, if you would prefer to be away from all this noise,' he said, standing up as I approached the table.
'No thank you. I'd rather be in full view of everyone in case you get any ideas about attacking me again.' I sat in the chair he pulled out for me, the skin on my back tightening when his hand brushed the bare flesh of my neck.
He sighed. 'Portia, I have told you repeatedly—'
'I know, I know, you didn't know I was mortal. But you haven't said what you expected me to be if not mortal.'
'That will make up a good part of the discussion. What would you like to drink?'
'Gin and tonic, please.' I sat primly while he went to the bar to place our drink orders, trying not to notice how wonderfully tight his pants were over his derriere. I didn't win the battle, but felt somewhat proud of the fact that I made the attempt.
'The opposite of a mortal would be an immortal, something that doesn't exist,' I said as he returned with our drinks and took his seat. 'Unless there is some definition to immortality that I'm not aware of.'
'There are many concepts I suspect you are not aware of, and will probably resist accepting, but time is limited, so we will have to do this as quickly as possible. You recall the discussion we had about the Court of Divine Blood?'
'Yes. You claimed that Hope was something called a virtue, a person who controlled the weather, and that members of the Court couldn't be killed.'
'They can be killed; it's just incredibly difficult,' he said, sipping a glass of whisky. 'More so than most immortals, and yes, Virginia, Santa Claus does exist. Or rather, immortality does. Would you care to hazard a guess as to how old I am?'
Since I was being offered the opportunity to examine him freely, I did so. Although his black hair was untouched by grey, there were faint laugh lines around his eyes that made me believe he might be older than he first appeared. 'I would say somewhere in the mid to late thirties.'
'If you add approximately seventeen hundred years to that, you would be correct.'
I goggled at him. It's not a pretty expression, nor one I cultivate, but when someone tells you they are older than a millennium, a goggle is called for. 'That's…very, very unbelievable. You do realize that, don't you?'
'I am a nephilim,' he said simply, and went on to explain before I could ask him what that was. 'A nephilim is the name given to products of the mating between members of the Court of Divine Blood and mortals. We are considered fallen because our immortal parent more or less breached the laws of the Court in order to reproduce with mortals. In the eyes of the Court, we are damned, non-beings, immortal, but not allowed any of the benefits of Court membership.'
'So, you're seventeen hundred years old, but you know about Santa Claus and things like that?'
The look on his face was vaguely offended. 'I'm long-lived, not an idiot. Of course I know about Santa Claus. I also know about iPods, the Hubble Telescope, and nanotechnology.'
'My apologies. I didn't mean to imply…oh man, this is a bit hard to get a handle on. Let me see if I have it straight,' I said, setting down my drink. 'I'm some kind of a weather angel, and you're a fallen angel? A kind of mixed-race fallen angel?'
'I've told you—the concept of an angel is something Christianity and other religions formed based on the Court, but it is not an accurate representation. My father was a power, one of the members of the Court. Seventeen
