Page 34 of Indecent

Transforming as his wing finally healed, leaving only the ghost of pain in his shoulder blade, he looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

Headstones. Soft earth. Gently swaying trees and carefully maintained grass. He was in a cemetery. The sound of the city was alive in the distance, whooshing cars moving quickly down a highway and the muted wail of a police siren.

They made it to the surface, and there was no sign of the angel. They would have to track him down, but first, he needed to find Daniel.

He grabbed the nearest headstone and pulled himself to his feet, turning a slow circle. He’d held onto Daniel until right there at the end. Surely he hadn’t gone far.

“Danny!”

The whispering wind carried no sign of Daniel. He turned again—and stopped, his gaze falling on the headstone under his palm.

Daniel Joaquin Garcia

Right. He’d died, and just like a halfling, he’d wake up where his body was last located.

Which meant Chaol needed to dig.

Chapter 11

Daniel

Dark.

Cold.

Cramped.

Alone.

A guttural sound left him. He raised his hands, but they brushed something buttery soft. Where was he? Why was he alone?

His hands lit up, flickers of hellfire dancing painlessly over his skin. It alarmed him. Fire was supposed to hurt, but this didn’t. He was in a casket—a soft, white satin tomb. No. Wrong. Escape.

He ripped the satin, beating on the casket until the wood cracked and rained dirt down on his chest. Dirt. Six feet of dirt. How did he know it was six feet? It was always six feet. That was the tradition. He didn’t know how he knew that, either.

The hellfire burned brighter as he thrust both hands out again, snapping the wood and shoving it up into the dirt above him. He took a deep breath as clumps of it poured in, clawing at it, ripping the wood to pieces until he could sit up, forcing his body up, up, up through the dirt with his eyes squeezed shut and desperation clawing up his throat.

He moved easier through the dirt than expected, his body strong despite his strange circumstances. When his hand broke through the surface and felt cool air, it was quickly seized by another, hauling him up and out of the hole with relative ease.

His savior fell back as Daniel came free, and they collapsed in a tangle of limbs.

Daniel braced his hands on either side of the man’s—the demon’s—head. Windswept black hair that seemed to defy gravity; glittering, night-dark eyes.

Chaol. The name came to him at once.

Mine.

It was the only word that mattered, rising like the tide and sweeping away everything else. Not who he was or how he got here or what he needed to do next.

Chaol beamed up at him, using Daniel’s own jacket lapel—he was wearing a suit, apparently—to wipe the dirt from his face. “There you are, darkling.”

He grabbed Chaol’s head and crushed their mouths together. Chaol opened for him at once, and Daniel pressed his tongue inside the hot cavern of his mouth, gripping Chaol’s jaw like he could peel him open and sink all the way inside. That was what he wanted—he wanted to join their bodies in every way possible.

All too soon, Chaol tried to break their kiss, arching away to free his mouth. Daniel chased him, his grip tightening, and Chaol laughed, grabbing a fistful of Daniel’s hair and yanking until pain sparkled across his scalp and he had to relent or gain a bald spot.

He growled at being denied what he wanted, fire licking up his forearms, reflecting in Chaol’s eyes.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Chaol said.