Bittersweet Seraphim (34 page)

Violent and Nero wanted no less than to become angels one day.

With the tree finally decorated, Kate watched as Jason and Dean played cards with their mother. Jason was amazing. He was devoted to her and so kind, so generous. All her time waiting in the cabin had been lonely. Her mother had set such a solid example of being in love with mostly a memory, Kate often thought she’d be broken when it came to connecting with a partner. She hadn’t been herself for a long time after freeing her father, so it had taken some work to get here, but finding this little unconventional family was everything she wished for. And Jason was so patient. All these years later, they were still just dating. He liked to take her to the movies and bring her flowers. She saved the stubs from the tickets and pressed at least one bloom from every bouquet. She was almost positive their love would make it. They’d be fine.

Kate smiled and left them to their game, going into the backyard for some fresh air. In the dark she turned over her palm. Its glow was subdued now. She’d told herself over and over again that she’d done what she had to to free her father, but on this side of Hell, having a tiny bit of Lucifer inside her body was alarming. It seemed to have slowed her aging—the years were liquid now—but she sometimes felt it had exacerbated her quick temper, which she was always working to control.

The screen door squeaked behind her, and she smiled as Jason came out to visit.

“Hello, gorgeous. Have any plans tonight?” He slipped his arms around her.

Kate tilted his palm up and compared their glows. His was diminishing more quickly.

“You know, maybe it clears out of my system faster,” he said, as if he’d read her mind.

“Mmm…” Her fears were a little too real.

“That doesn’t sound encouraging. Tell me what’s going on up here.” He kissed the top of her head.

“If it stays in me longer, does that mean I’m a better host?” She leaned back against his chest, looking up through the leaves to see the stars.

“I’d stay inside you as long as I could.” He leaned down and nibbled her ear.

She squirmed away and rolled her eyes. “You’re so comforting.”

He spun her around and tilted her chin with his finger so she was forced to look at him. “We’re going to get through this. I know we will. Together. I’d take all that glow if I could. I know it bothers you.”

“I know. I wish I wasn’t such a baby about it. Those first few years…” She trailed off thinking about the dreadful arguments she’d had with Jason. She’d said things she’d regretted. Jason had too.

Nero had pointed out their trouble one evening. “You’ve brought Hell to Earth in your hands,” he said. “To stay here, you must fight against the seven deadly sins. For they will always try to gain hold.”

Kate still didn’t really see a correlation with the seven deadly sins, but these days when she was being a bitch, she tried to step outside herself and calm down.

Jason hugged her close. “You know that was Lucifer and posttraumatic stress all rolled up together. We’re both doing better now.”

She shrugged and sighed. When he took to his knee and turned over her hand, Kate had thought he was just getting a better look at her palm.

“I had a romantic plan—you know me—but you look so sad, and this thing is burning a hole in my pocket so…” Jason reached in and pulled out a pretty little box.

“What?” Kate’s mouth dropped open.

Jason looked nervous then, but he soldiered on. “Kate, would you do me the tremendous honor of becoming my wife?”

He used his leg to help him pop open the box. Inside, a gorgeous diamond sat in the center of black velvet, looking a whole lot like the stars in the sky she’d just been looking at.

Her palm illuminated his knee as he slipped the ring on her forsaken hand. She lifted it to her face. “Maybe we can put this on my other hand?”

He shook his head. “No, your hand reminds me of our first kiss. I’m proud of it.”

She curled her bejeweled hand into a fist.

“Is that a yes? I’m kind of dying here.” His eyes were wide, and his smile tentative.

“Of course. Of course.” Kate pulled him into a deep kiss. She hated the dread that settled into her chest as she agreed to marry Jason. She hadn’t yet told him she thought she was pregnant.

“I expected a bit more happiness. I mean, I’m not too bad, am I?”

He knew her so well. She put more effort into the smile. But with her fairly pure linage, she feared the twentieth generation might actually be what the old coot had wanted. She hugged Jason hard, maybe a little too hard because she was afraid of what kind of life they would bring into the world.

Chapter 38

Emma petted her horse, Feisty, in the barn. It was shimmery cold out, so she slipped into the stall to adjust the horse’s blanket and make sure her window was locked tight. Feisty nuzzled her and almost knocked her over.

“Silly.” She laughed as the horse lipped her pocket, looking for treats.

She loved this animal so much. Her foster parents had bought her the pony years ago, giving in to her constant pining. She’d worn horse T-shirts as a child and plastered her walls with pictures of bay-colored ones, in particular.

The birthday she’d woken up to find a saddle at the end of her bed was her happiest childhood memory. She’d discovered a corresponding horse, named Feisty, in the barn. The name stuck, as did the excitement. Together they’d won ribbons at all the county fairs, and Feisty had listened to Emma’s deepest fears and most horrible dreams. Nightmares of a torturous hallway woke her up in a cold sweat so many nights. But she’d make her way to Feisty in the dark and cuddle with her until her heart stopped pounding.

Emma’s cell phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. She smiled, knowing her friends were on their way to pick her up. Tonight, Christmas Eve, was her twenty-third birthday. She’d spent the day with her parents, and they’d given her a silver angel pendant. She smoothed her fingers over it and smiled. Soon she heard honking outside the barn, and Shannon and Karen started right in when she got in the passenger side.

“You old whore!” Karen greeted her.

“Finally time you caught up to our asses,” Shannon added.

Emma gave them the finger.

They cranked the radio as they headed to the only bar in town. At school, they had a selection of drinking joints, but here, when the girls converged for the holidays in their hometown, they had to settle for Hades.

At least they were all legal now, and Karen had agreed to be the designated driver, but the bar was going to be lame and sad on Christmas Eve. They’d taken bets on how many actual people would be there. None of the guesses topped out over ten. Nevertheless, Emma wore the gift she’d received in the mail yesterday: a soft white sweater with silver wings threaded in the back. There’d been no card, which was odd, but the top was a perfect fit.

They spilled into the bar, laughing as they decided to use their fake stripper names tonight. An online quiz had revealed Shannon to be Lola, Karen to be Marilyn, and Emma to be Butch. A glitch in the test had mistaken her for a man, which doubled them over giggling all over again. When they stopped laughing long enough to find seats, Emma realized the bar contained more than ten people, which was shocking. Most looked liked regulars, and some were townies they recognized. The music was anything but Christmassy, and it was loud.

The girls screamed back and forth, insulting each other and cracking up. Emma was to be treated to drinks, but she insisted on buying the first round. She headed for the bar and turned back to give her friends the finger when they loudly suggested she was wearing her lucky granny panties. “Well, I borrowed them from your extensive collection,
Shannon
—I mean Lola!” she screeched. Shannon/Lola stuck her tongue out in return.

Smoke covered her shoulders like a shawl from behind her. A low, sexy voice sent shivers of recognition across her skin. “Nice sweater.”

She whirled to stare at the bartender’s chest, taking in a leather jacket before reaching his long brown hair, high cheekbones, and smirky white smile. By the time she found out his eyes were deep brown, she had the distinct feeling she knew him, but from where? Suddenly she remembered her manners. “Thanks.”

He bit his lip and seemed to be waiting for her to say more, make a connection.

“Do I know you?” She had to sit on her hand on a barstool so she wouldn’t touch his face.

He took a long, slow pull on his cigarette and exhaled in her direction, making a circle with the smoke.

“Look, now the angel has a halo.” He gestured to the mirror behind him, and sure enough, for a split second the smoke ring hung above her head.

“I guess I don’t know you. I don’t hang around with smokers.” She teased him as if they were old friends. His face danced just on the edge of her consciousness, frustrating her.

“ID?” He took a defiant inhale of his drug.

She had to think hard to remember how to show him her driver’s license. She pulled it out of her back pocket and handed it over. His finger brushed hers as he took the card. It was like touching a live wire to her lady business. He watched her instead of looking at the license, as if he knew what was happening to her body.

“Heard your friends calling you Butch. That’s a Hell of a name.”

“Butch is my stripper name.” The words were out before she could consider them, and now she wanted to throw herself under the bar. “Online. For a quiz. Oh, God, I’m not a male stripper.”

He watched her trip over her words with an eyebrow raised. “Well, Butch, what can I get you?”

Emma knew her cheeks were red. The bartender was so goddamn hot. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, her tongue felt like it was made of glue and cement, and she totally forgot what to order.

“Um. Three Old Fashioneds?” She tried tucking her hands into her pants. She’d meant to order a pitcher of beer and three cups. Instead she’d selected her father’s favorite cocktail.

“Old Fashioneds? Really? Did I miss the part where you turned into a fifty-five-year-old dude?” He flipped three glasses onto the bar.

“We like them,” she insisted.

He looked her over knowingly. “I don’t believe you, Butch.”

She was backed into a corner now. “No, really. We guzzle them like cowboys.”

One side of his mouth lifted in a smile. He put his cigarette in his mouth and began filling the glasses with a healthy dose of whiskey.

“Okay, tell you what, you drink this glass in front of me right now and drinks for all you fine-looking ladies are on me.” He added the bitters.

She futzed with her hair and glanced back at Karen and Shannon. They pretended to fan themselves and made obscene hand gestures. No help at all. “No problem. That’s a bet you’ll lose.” How bad could it be? It had cherries. As he slapped a very full glass in front of her, Emma tried not to look alarmed.

He set his elbows on the bar and smiled. “Bottoms up, Butch the stripper.”

She tried to seem nonchalant as she lifted the glass to her lips, keeping her gaze on his. He exhaled his smoke and licked his lips distractingly.

She took a healthy mouthful and pulled the glass away, covering her mouth and willing herself to swallow. The bartender smiled like the winner of the bet. She choked it down and idly wondered if her dad had any taste buds left at all. “Water.”

He pulled out a hose attached to a nozzle. “Open up.”

She stuck her tongue out as he gave her a mouthful. She was grateful as the burning and taste subsided. She opened her mouth again, leaning toward him. He paused for a split second, eyes turning carnal, before giving her another mouthful.

“Thanks.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You do love Old Fashioneds so much. Really amazing to watch you sling that back like a pro.” He hooked the hose back under the bar where it belonged.

“I couldn’t get it down because you obviously suck at making them,” she countered, trying to save face. “That tasted like gasoline.”

Karen and Shannon were rowdy behind her, scream-singing a porno-style theme song: “Bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

She rolled her eyes at them without turning around.

“Never mind. Just give me beer in bottles. That way you can’t screw them up.” She pushed the drink in his direction.