Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said blandly. “I’ve sent you the address, too. I’ll be waiting in a—”

“Red Honda Accord,” I finished for him. He’d been driving them since he’d gotten his license, and I very much doubted it had changed.

He laughed again. “Yeah. See you soon.”

I tossed the phone back onto the bedside table, then sat up and hugged my knees close to my chest. “Just what sort of memory did you give Jak, exactly?”

Azriel shrugged. “You said to give him all the appropriate memories.”

“Meaning not just the dance, but the kiss?”

He eyed me. “Yes. That is what you wanted; is it not?”

“Well, yes. I mean, no.” I frowned. “I hadn’t actually expected you to go that far.”

“Then say what you actually mean.”

I snorted softly and climbed off the bed. “You’re a fine one to be telling me that, Azriel.”

He shrugged again, and walked across to the window to resume his usual position. The intimacies of the last few hours would have seemed like a distant memory if not for the ache in my body.

I studied the muscular planes of his back—planes I knew intimately now—for several minutes, then said, “So, we’re back to being formal, are we?”

“It is safer.”

“Safer for who?”

He glanced at me, blue eyes calm. Yet there was turbulence in him—I could feel it. “For you. If I am distracted, it could prove fatal—to both yourself and to my quest.”

“And the quest is all-important,” I snapped. Which wasn’t fair, but it wasn’t exactly fair of him to retreat like this, either.

Though why I was getting upset when I had been expecting it, I had no idea.

He didn’t answer. No surprise there. I grabbed some clothes and headed into the bathroom to shower. Once I was dressed, I closed my eyes and imagined a face with freckles and brown hair, but left my eyes their natural color. The magic swirled around me with far less enthusiasm than ever before, which could only mean that I was near the end of my reserves. I needed a break from it, and I needed some decent sleep—not that I regretted the lack of it last night, even if this morning’s remoteness took some of the shine off it. Grimacing, I headed out of the bathroom, picked up my phone and purse, and said, “I’m guessing I’ll meet you there?”

“You will.”

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t kiss me good-bye. I flexed my fingers, resisting the urge to smack some sense into his thick head, then swung around and headed downstairs to arrange for a rental car.

In less than twenty minutes I was on the road. There wasn’t that much traffic around, so it didn’t take me long to get to Williamstown. Once there, I parked the little Daihatsu on one of the side streets just down from Blake’s and climbed out.

The day was hot, and the sun shining with a ferocity that had me sweating in an instant. I pulled off my light sweater and shoved it back into the car, suddenly glad I’d put on a tank top underneath it. It didn’t take me long to find Jak—the red Honda stood out like a sore thumb on a street lined with demurely colored Mercs, Volvos, and Audis. While the relatively small size of the surrounding houses gave no hint that this wasn’t one of your more run-of-the-mill neighborhoods, the lineup of cars on the street certainly did.

Jak climbed out of the Honda and gave me a decidedly leisurely once-over. His gaze, when it finally rose to meet mine, was heated and hungry. My hormones thought about doing a little quickstep, then decided it involved too much effort.

“You,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that was easy on the ears, “look mighty damn fine. I do prefer your normal hair color, though.”

“I’m only wearing blue jeans and a white tank,” I said dryly, stopping several feet away from him. Even so, his hunger washed over me, warm and enticing. “And what you prefer is not something I ever consider when I change my look.”

“A sad but true statement. But just to let you know, a tank with no bra underneath is eminently exciting to any male.”

Except if he’s a reaper, I thought snippily. I motioned to the white weatherboard house a few doors down from where he’d parked. “Shall we proceed?”

“If you’re intent on being all business, then I guess I have no choice.” He stepped back and waved me forward. “Which does not mean I cannot enjoy the view from behind. Those jeans are fetchingly tight around your ass.”

I snorted softly and just kept on walking. The picket gate creaked as I opened it, and the garden beyond was filled with ornamental grasses and purple flax plants rather than flowers—what I’d call a man’s garden rather than a woman’s.

I walked up the steps, scanning the entrance for some sort of doorbell. There was nothing, so I rapped my knuckles on the glass door.