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He knew the moment he wasn’t alone anymore.
“Go away,” he murmured. “Not that I mean to be rude.”
Eddie’s voice was full of irony. “You? Never.”
Turning his head, Lassiter looked at the other angel—and he was about to tell the guy off when it dawned on him. “You don’t need to protect me out here. I’m perfectly safe.”
“Circling the wagons seems prudent. Don’t you think?”
“Where’s Adrian?”
“Getting taken for five hundred bucks by that Butch guy.”
Lassiter whistled under his breath. “If the angel is smart, he’ll pull out now. That former human is a shark at the billiards table.”
“And here I thought the bastard was just a Red Sox fan.” Eddie leaned back against the rear of the garage, too. “God, it’s so nice out here.”
“Creator, you mean.”
“Amen.”
As they both took deep breaths at the same time, Lassiter felt a rare moment of communion with the guy. They were so different. Eddie with his rules and his reserve, him with his no rules and blaring lack of reservation. But here, standing together and drawing in the sunlight, he was reminded of everything they had in common, as opposed to all they did not share.
“So now you know,” Lassiter said.
“Know what.”
“How hard it is not to help.” When there was no response, Lassiter looked over, and he had to blink a couple of times as his eyes focused. “It also feels good. Like you’re doing something right with your immortal life.”
After a moment, Eddie said, “What can I say—I felt the Omega’s son by the Audience House. And I want to fight.”
“I’m glad you’ve come around and joined the team.”
Eddie shrugged. “You know what, me, too. We’ve been on ice for far too long.”
They went back to sunning themselves…
And as was the way, what felt like no time at all was actually—
“Five o’clock,” Eddie exclaimed. “What the hell?”
Lassiter looked over again. The angel was staring at his phone—and then texting madly.
“Nah, it’s not late.” Except Lassiter checked the angle of the sun and frowned. “Holy crap.”
“They’re saying it’s time for you to go in and get ready.” Eddie stood up off the wall. “I’m supposed to tell you that there’s a traditional robe for you if you want it? That’s what the Butch guy just texted to the loop. But everyone… they seem to think you’re putting an Elvis suit back on? What the hell?”
“You’re on a text loop with them now?” Lassiter put his arms over his head and stretched his back. “Look at you, with your new buddies. And no, I already used that getup for Wrath’s marriage ceremony. I don’t want to wear it twice.”
Eddie’s brows lifted. “What are you doing with an Elvis suit in the first place?”
“There are things you don’t know about me, angel.”
“Yeah, and I’m comfortable with it staying that way. So what do you want to wear?”
“The traditional robe is great.”
Besides, he didn’t want to be a jackass. Not in front of Rahvyn, not during their mating ceremony. But for sure he wasn’t giving up his zebra-print tights altogether.
Eddie opened the side door of the garage. “Are you really going through the whole deal? Like… what vampire males do in this kind of thing?”
“Yup.” He stepped into the cool interior and smelled the faint mix of oil and gas he hadn’t noticed before—proof that the recharge had been necessary. “So yeah, the robe’s great.”
“Wow. Intense.”
“It’s her tradition and she’s my mate. I want her to know I’m embracing the way things are done for her people—I will say, it’s a damn shame I don’t have my jesses, though.”
They walked across the concrete floor together, sidestepping a John Deere mower the size of a car.
“You never did find them, huh.”
He thought of that lovely Indian couple, from the shelter. “No, I didn’t.”
“Pity.”
This time, he got the door for Eddie, standing aside so the other angel could enter the mudroom first. “What am I going to do? They should technically be given, not bought—and anyway, I threw away all my gold.”
The kitchen smelled even better now, the roasts out and resting, doggen mashing potatoes at the stove, green bean casseroles everywhere.
“Butch says the fighters are all waiting for you in the billiards room,” Eddie murmured as he held up his phone.
“Let’s do this.”
They wandered out through the dining room—and what a spread, crystal and china on everything, arrangements of imported roses and peonies down the center of the highway-long table, a forest of candles ready to be lit. In the foyer, he glanced at the table that had been set up. Draped in black and red cloth, there was a sterling silver pitcher of water and a large sterling silver bowl of salt on it. And there were more candelabras on stanchions set up all around—and other preparations, with music, too.
Someone was playing an acoustic guitar.
Following the gentle strains of notes, he went into the billiards room.
