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I nodded. Angel knew some healing spells. She’d at least be able to dull the pain and maybe reduce the number of scars I’d have in the morning. No doubt, I’d be in for one of her raging lectures in broken English. Angel tended to revert to her native tongue in the rare moments she was angry.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” Gideon leaned forward, his stony expression hardening into something like anger. “You could’ve killed yourself.”
“Ah, but I didn’t.” I tried to push myself up into more of a sitting position, but the pain in my back reared its ugly head.
He saw me wince and rushed forward to help. “You nearly did,” he said, positioning a throw pillow behind me.
“Yes, and you would’ve died if I hadn’t intervened. You owe me one, sport.”
A grin tugged at the left corner of his mouth. He looked away, the smile disappearing as he stared at the empty kitchen. “Why didn’t you call me when your brother took Johnny?”
I had the distinct feeling Gideon’s question was more weighted than he let
on. He was hurt that I hadn’t trusted him, although he’d never say. I’d wounded his pride.
“Nicky said to come alone.”
“You should’ve called me, anyway. What you did was stupid. You could’ve gotten him killed. You could’ve been killed.”
The venom in Gideon’s voice surprised me. I leaned back into the couch, feeling the force of his anger. Nicky had left me no choice. I went there alone to save my roommate. He couldn’t see that. All he saw was a ditzy selfish girl. Even if I had saved his life.
“Well, I’m sorry,” I said while Gideon smirked.
I wasn’t sincere about my apology and he knew it.
“I thought I could reason with my brother, but I was wrong. He’s not the kid I grew up with.” A well of emotion overtook me. Repressed feelings of betrayal reared their ugly heads, clogging my throat with the threat of tears.
Nicky was a monster. He killed without remorse and maimed without thought. Even if he wasn’t the one that took the Yonas family, he was just as bad. I didn’t know him at all. Not anymore.
Gideon watched me struggle through the emotions. I blinked away the tears, but they kept coming. Nothing frustrated me more than crying in front of someone. Especially him.
Suddenly, he leaned in close. His mouth parted, as if he wanted to say something. I stared at his lips, hating myself for wishing that he’d close the distance.
All it would take was a few more inches. His eyes trailed over my face. Reaching out a hand, he trailed his fingertips over my temple where a bruise was forming. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the warmth of his hand. I could fall into that warmth and never wake up.
“Aya, I want to…”
The sound of his voice snapped me back into reality. I opened my eyes to look at him.
“I mean, I have to…”
The door of my apartment burst open. A barefoot Angel came roaring through, her trench coat unbuttoned and Prada purse swinging haphazardly at her side. Underneath her jacket was a barely there silky black negligee that wasn’t quite long enough to cover the black lacy bottoms.
Without saying hello, she ran to my side, cursing in Spanish the whole way, while she pulled out an old leather-bound book the size of her hand. Flipping through the pages, she laid the book on the ground and grabbed our Zippo from the coffee table, lighting the candles sitting next to it.
“Let me see the wound.” Angel’s usual bubbly self was gone, replaced with someone much more rigid. She definitely meant business.
I rolled toward the back of the couch, just enough to show her the burns. She hissed as she surveyed my injuries, mumbling to herself in languages I couldn’t understand.
“I’ve never healed injuries this severe.” She pulled the remainder of my t-shirt away, exposing my entire back. “But I’ll give it my best shot.”
“Just make me pretty again,” I joked through the pain.
Johnny came in and Gideon got up to meet him. They began whispering in the kitchen. I could catch the occasional names like Nicolo and Theo and Yonas. Johnny was probably filling Gideon in on everything he’d heard before he showed up. It was for the best. At least, I wouldn’t have to relive that again.
Angel began to chant in a foreign language. She brushed her hands along my body, pausing at the particularly painful spots. Little by little, I could feel my skin begin to mend. The cuts stretched back together, the burns shedding their charred flesh.
Life force streamed through Angel like a hole in a dam, while her breathing grew heavy from the effort of the spell. She finished up with the nicks and bruises on my front, her chanting dying to a whisper, and eventually choking off when she couldn’t go on any longer.
