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From the tone of his voice, this might take a while, so I stepped inside and shut the door.
The room was clean and quaint, with a carved wooden headboard and a homemade quilt for the queen-sized bed. An overstuffed flower-print love seat hugged one wall, and a thoroughly modern bathroom lay behind a recently refinished door. There was even a desk with a lamp, chair, and Internet connection.
I took the bags and set them on the floor, but Ian continued to stare out the window so intently he started to worry me. I laid my hand on his shoulder, tracing the material that covered his tattoo with one finger.
“When did you get this?” Maybe if he started talking about that, he’d segue into whatever it was he was having such a hard time telling me.
“All the Nighthawks have them.”
“You said it was to remind you to be a warrior always.”
“It is. The Nighthawks must be ready to fight against evil spirits at any time. The eagle is the bird of war. He gives us strength, sight, and power.”
“Does every Nighthawk do the same thing with their eyes?”
“We can all do something.”
“Like?”
He turned, and my hand was left hovering in the air where his shoulder had been. His fingers closed around my wrist, and he placed a kiss at the center of my palm. For just a minute I closed my eyes and let myself feel.
His mouth touched my nose, my cheekbones, my jaw. I bit my lip and tried to be strong, but I wasn’t. When he kissed me, I kissed him back. My palms framed his face, tilted his head so I could explore his mouth. Warm and hot, he tasted of wine and desire, or was that me?
I traced his shoulders, let my thumb rub beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt, learning the contours of his biceps and the smooth trail where his forearm became his elbow. I wanted to put my mouth there, lick his skin, feel his pulse beat against my tongue. Instead, I lifted my head, my hands, and stepped back.
“You’re married.”
“I’m not, Grace. I swear.”
Into the silence fell the sound of sudden raindrops— tink, tink, tink—against the glass.
“Are you saying that was a lie? You never had a wife?”
“No.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I had a wife.”
“And she disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“So until you find her and get a divorce or—” I stopped, not wanting to put into words the other scenario, but he had no such problem.
“Until I have a body. Except I do, or I did. Or I would, if there was a body left to have.”
“You’d better just tell me what you mean.”
“She was one of them.”
“Them who?”
“The ones we fight.”
“You married an evil spirit?”
“She wasn’t evil when I married her; that came later.”
“Is this a supernatural variation of ‘my wife is an emasculating fiend’?”
His lips twitched, but his expression remained sad. “I loved her. She was a soft-spoken, sweet woman who lived just for me.” I put my hand on his arm, but h
