Page 48 of Angels Don’t Date

“Enough. We’ve got the footage for the show, and anything else will just make you look bad for the camera. You have your duet tomorrow. Look good for it!” he snapped at Richard, who smiled back at him, looking golden and gorgeous, utterly undamaged.

I took that as my signal to head for the stairs with my face feeling weird from that werewolf kiss. I headed for the kitchen, but halfway there my wings were kind of pushing against my skin, so I abandoned that idea and went to my cottage as fast as possible. I barely got there before they burst out.

Mitt came in a few seconds later. “Everything okay?” he asked, leaning against the wall beside the door and scanning the interior for intruders.

“The werewolf kissed me. At least he called it a kiss. I think a tooth cut my lip. Do you think I’ll catch something?”

He blinked at me. “The werewolf kissed you? Why?”

I shrugged, the motion echoed by my enormous wings. It was kind of satisfying to shrug so thoroughly. “I’m supposed to know why he does something? If you kissed me, I’d think you were giving me CPR, but him?”

He studied me for another beat. “Did you kill him?”

“Moi?” I batted my lashes at him and pressed my delicate hands to my heart. “Of course not! We were on film! And also, I don’t just run around killing people.” Not that I hadn’t run around killing the assassin goblins the other day. “Richard beat him up.” I added with a twinge of satisfaction from the memory. He’d looked so good, and the werewolf was so bad at brawling compared to the angel.

The angel was so beautiful engaged in physical warfare, golden and beaming even in the moonlight.

“Marking his territory.”

“Hm?” I asked, brought back to the shadowy werewolf.

“That’s why he kissed you. Also why he licked your hand, so you’d be scented by him. You’re lucky he didn’t urinate on you.”

I shuddered. “I would have killed him.”

He smiled, big and toothy. “Me too. Werewolves can be so uncivilized. Good night, Princess. Sweet dreams.” He gave my batwings a long look before he turned and slouched out.

I didn’t go right to bed. Instead, I tried using my wings. It would be good to have them in case of emergencies. And I liked how they shrugged with me. They were pleasantly validating. And they were dark brown like chocolate or a tree trunk, not pitch black like a goth vamp. What if I painted the pointed claw bits pink? With sparkles!

It took a lot of nail polish, but the end result was rather fabulous. I wanted to send SunRae a picture, but I wasn’t quite sure if I could get back to messaging him every day, not when he was so temptingly gorgeous. I didn’t want to weird him out.

I went to his account, the one where he was himself, and there were pictures of him feeding his Pegasus a gorgeous mini cake. Was that round thing a blueberry shaped blueberry cake? So cute!

I scrolled down his wall, stopping to stare at one where he was wearing a ripped shirt after playing some kind of angel football with his buddies. Gleaming, smiling, absolutely gorgeous.

A squeal built up inside my chest until I threw myself onto my bed and screamed into my pillow. After I got that out of my system I ignored my phone and got ready for bed. We were buddies. I had to tell him the life-binding was okay, because we were such good friends, and he’d probably die without me anyway. But how could I say that to his face without getting distracted? I’d message SunRae.

I opened my phone and then quickly skipped the messages, all five hundred thousand of them instead of ogling the angel.

Your blueberry cake is to die for. Also, I guess the life-binding is okay, and you don’t have to try to undo it. But if you ever do something like that again, I’ll retaliate in some terrible way you truly hate.

I started cleaning up my messages, but had only deleted twenty when my phone dinged with another text.

Because you don’t burn your hand off when you grab my sword? I guess there are perks. Thanks for messaging me. You keep me sane.

I snorted and typed. I’m the wrong person to choose as a representative for sanity. One hundred percent would eat a pickle dipped in chocolate.

That sounds like a challenge. Weird food eating competition? You can have it in next week’s round. Way better than romantic date.

Wrong. Eating pickles dipped in chocolate is a romantic date. You clearly haven’t done much dating.

Of course not. Angels don’t date.

This was my chance to bring up an angel he could date. If only I knew one. Maybe he could tell me. I looked up the most popular angel girl on social media, found a picture and then sent it to SunRae.

What about this girl? Have you dated her?

There was a break and then he sent me a picture of a sword.