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Sucker for Pain
Two days have goneby and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Zeke. When he left the loft the other day, he said he was going to round up his humans and get them caught up on the newest demons we encountered. He’d explained that he thought, given the events of the last time we were all together, the news would be better received if I wasn’t there.
Two days is getting a bit excessive, and I can’t help but feel like he’s actually avoiding me. I trusted him with my secret—at least a good portion of it—because he asked me to. He can’t be mad now. He fell too, and that means there isn’t anything I’ve done that he can’t rival. Liar.
I’ve spent the past two days taking my frustration out on the punching bag hanging from the barn rafters. Without knowing what else is roaming around out there, I haven’t hunted. Fear isn’t the issue. It’s knowing when more training is needed. I have to be prepared, and storing energy is my preparation. Sure, I’ll conjure another storm before we fight, but that’s not something I can do every day. At some point, even in New Orleans, people would get suspicious.
In the meantime, I’ve been working on my strength. Starting by kicking the shit out of the bag again. I’m thirty minutes into my boxing workout when the sound of tires on the gravel alerts me to someone’s approach—multiple someones. I grab a towel and wipe the sweat from my forehead, slinging the wet cloth onto a nearby chair.
Zeke saunters in, two hundred pounds of well-muscled angel. If he had shown up two days ago looking like this, I might’ve jumped him, but today... not a chance.
“Hey, baby,” he croons, but I turn my back, effectively ignoring him.
He doesn’t get to disregard me for two days and then show up here like everything is fine. Doesn’t he know I’ve been questioning everything in his absence?
“Victoria,” he calls, sounding mildly peeved at my less-than-hospitable behavior. “You’re the one who chose a physical-only relationship.”
Ass. Hole.
Throwing my own damn words back at me is low. Or fair. But that’s something I won’t admit out loud.
“You can’t just ignore me.”
“Wrong,” I seethe.
I’m just about ready to tell him where he can go when I feel him at my back. His large hands come to my hips, pulling me back into his chest. His warm breath tickles my ears, and I try to repress the shiver it causes.
“You missed me that much?” he murmurs, and I turn to slap his chest.
“Don’t try to be cute, Zeke. I’m pissed,” I say, stalking off toward the loft stairs.
He catches me by the elbow, swinging me back toward him.
“Victoria, stop,” he begs. “Let me speak.”
I yank out of his grip, crossing my arms over my chest. It’s as much permission as he’s going to get.
“I did what we discussed. I rounded up the troops. They’re here, ready to start training,” he says, motioning toward the open barn door. “You don’t get to have it both ways. This is either a friends-with-benefits situation or it’s more. You choose, but you don’t get both.”
I hate him in this moment. Or more accurately, I hate his wise words and these damn human emotions swirling through me. It’s confusing. Maddening. Awful.
Instead of acknowledging either choice, I turn back to the present situation. Humans are here and ready to fight.
“They’re not going to get in my way?”
“Can’t promise that. But they are trainable,” Zeke says.
I suck my teeth before heading toward the driveway. Sure enough, a group of eager humans congregate around two additional trucks parked in the drive. Twice as many as Blaine’s original group.
“Guys, meet Tori,” Zeke says, saddling up beside me.
Names are rattled off in succession, but I hardly pay attention. I don’t need to know their names; I need to know if they can fight. More importantly, I need to know if they can be trusted.
Humans are easily swayed by dark forces. If their lives are offered in exchange for their abandonment of our cause, they’ll likely take it without a second thought. That doesn’t make them evil; it makes them human. Which is exactly why I’ve never agreed to fight alongside them before.
“What are you fighting with?” I ask, hoping like hell none of them say their fists. If that’s the answer, I’m going it alone.
A redhead with a face full of freckles steps forward. “Chad, ma’am. We’ve all worked with a coven—Dubai Coven of Savannah—to have blades, enchanted with angel rock, created.”
