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Not yet.
Casziel’s been suffering for a millennium, but it’s not yet enough. I sneer. I’ve suffered plenty too, but there is no angel for me to turn to as Casziel does now, his black eyes full of hope.
“Tell me what to do, priest,” he pleads. “How does it end?”
“With your death, of course.”
And suddenly the celestial creature is in front of me, just on the other side of the Veil. I feel the full force of his power—benevolent but strong. Stronger than anything I’ve felt from my kind. His eyes pierce me, as if flaying me open—every cell and sinew, both demonic and human.
“Yours too, Ambrosius.”
I swarm in the bedroom window of my flat in Chelsea and reform as my human self. I flop onto my stomach on my enormous bed to let the weariness of Crossing Over pass.
“That’s not what bloody happened,” I mutter into the pillow.
That’s the problem with angels and their ability to be anywhen—mind games and tricks. I’ve already died, and it wasn’t an end. It was the beginning of a new existence in which I was free from wanting human love or affection.
Ashtaroth promised.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. “I’m beginning to suspect demons don’t always tell the truth.”
The night passes slowly, and the following morning, I find Cole in the living room at dawn. He’s already set up an easel and canvas and is using one of my one-hundred-year-old end tables as a place to lay out his paint, palette, and brushes. But because he’s Cole, he’s thoughtfully covered it with a small tarp. The carpet too. He’s wearing jeans and an undershirt only. Barefoot, hair unbrushed, glasses sliding down his nose as he mixes paint.
If I kissed him, those glasses would fly off with the force of our passion.
The thought sneaks into my mind like a crack of light. I haven’t kissed a human since Armand. I’m beginning to forget what it feels like.
“You’re up early,” I say. “Busy bee gets the worm and all that.”
“That’s not how that saying goes, but yeah. I want to get in as much as possible.” He searches me for signs of pain. “You okay?”
“Never better. I trust you slept well? Breakfast? Coffee? I can ring Jerome.”
“No. And on that note…” He sets a brush down. “We need to make a few more ground rules if I’m going to be staying here.”
I roll my eyes and flounce onto my settee, one leg dangling off. “Here we go again.”
“You have to stop buying me things. I don’t care if you’re richer than the King. You have to let me contribute somehow.”
I wave a hand. “Fine.”
“Secondly, under no circumstances are you allowed to look at the portrait until it’s finished.”
“You intend to keep me in a perpetual state of suspense? Cruel, Cole Matheson.”
“It’s just how I work. You can’t look at it until I say it’s done. Promise me.”
“Shall I pinky swear?”
“I’m serious, Ambri.”
“So am I.”
I haul myself off the couch and move to Cole. He’s showered using the scented soaps I bought for him. His hair is soft and shining, that lock falling over his brow like a dare. I offer him my little finger and tell myself it’s just because I’m a brat and not because I need to touch him.
“I swear I will not peek at your masterpiece until it’s finished.”
He hesitates, then hooks his pinky with mine. “Thank you.”
