Sins of the Flesh

They were a foot apart now. He reached out, closed his hand on the open car door and slowly pushed it shut. Which brought him closer still, his body flush with hers, mere inches between them.

Something stirred in her expression in the fleeting, unguarded instant before she slammed it down and corralled it. Attraction. He’d seen it. And something else. Rage. Hate. Utter and complete revulsion.

Damn.

She was attracted to him and didn’t want to be.

“You know, I find the thought of the Reverend’s naked ass on my brand-new, pristine leather pretty repulsive,” he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Pretty pink lips, full and lush, just begging to be kissed. He leaned a little closer. “You’ve killed—or at the least, forever tainted—my driving enjoyment of this vehicle.”

That earned him a dismissive snort and a flat-toned suggestion. “Then buy a new car, soul reaper.” Her gaze dipped to his mouth, and he felt a momentary thrill of success before her next words squelched it. “And if you move even a millimeter closer, I will bite you. Not merely hard enough to draw blood. Hard enough to tear a chunk of flesh from your face.”

The words were at odds with the musical sound of her voice, like water flowing over smooth rocks. For a second, he didn’t register her meaning, and when he did, he blinked, withdrew and looked into those gorgeous cat-green eyes. Cold as a glacier lake.

Like a bolt from the sky, the realization hit him that while he was sparring—flirting, really—she wasn’t. She was dead serious.

He was playing the game of approach and retreat, two steps forward, one step back.

But he was playing it alone. She genuinely despised him to the marrow of her bones.

He was mystified and more than a little offended. He’d been scathingly turned down by two women in two nights. He didn’t know quite what to make of that. He almost lifted his arm to take a sniff, just in case.

“I’m the injured party here. It isn’t as though I stabbed and fed from you,” he pointed out, sounding perfectly reasonable. When she offered no reply, he continued. “These one-way conversations are becoming tedious.”

“Then stop talking.” She looked away, her gaze slowly sweeping the parking lot. Perimeter check.

“Because my mouth is more attractive when it’s shut?”

She met his gaze and there was no hint of teasing in her eyes. “Precisely.”

He blinked. His charm invariably worked at breaking down barriers, but in this case, it seemed to be building them higher. He wasn’t accustomed to that.

Which only made him more interested.

What would it take to get past her defenses? He suspected that was a riddle he’d have no easy time solving.

Again, his gaze paused on her mouth. A taste. One taste. For the low, low price of a little more of his blood and a chunk of his flesh.

“It might be worth it,” he murmured.

Her gaze snapped back to his. Tension hummed between them.

One dark brow lifted a fraction of an inch. Her pupils dilated. Her posture stiffened.

He leaned closer and brushed his lips over hers. It was the most chaste—and the briefest—kiss he’d ever had. Barely a kiss at all. But he felt it zing through him like an electric charge.

With a gasp, she pulled back at the same instant he did, the two of them recoiling like magnets of the same charge.

For a split second, he thought he read many things in her eyes. Anger. Confusion. Perhaps a little bit of attraction.

Her expression locked down, her lips parted, and he thought she actually might bite him.

Or kiss him back.

Hard to tell.





CHAPTER NINE



He shall emerge from every fire, Nothing evil shall encircle him.

A matter a million times true.



—The Egyptian Book of the Dead, Chapter 18

THE AIR AROUND THEM began to hum, sparking like a live wire in the rain. Mal could feel the energy on his skin and deeper, in his cells. As though he’d cranked a full case of Red Bull and it’d hit all at once. He knew that energy vibe, and he knew it meant they had mere minutes before unwelcome company came calling.

Calliope stiffened and lifted her head. “You feel it?” he asked.

“I do.”

“You know what it is?”

“A threat.”

Right.

Flattening both palms against his chest, she shoved him away. Again, the sensation that he’d been through these motions before, that she’d had her hands on his chest—

“My sword?” She dipped her chin toward the black silk sheath he’d fashioned.

He raised his brows. “I think it’s safer if I say no.”

“My knives, then?” She held out her hand, palm up.

He laughed. “Don’t think so, darlin’. I’d much rather have them hanging from my belt than embedded in my gut.”

“You would leave me to face my adversaries without a weapon.” Her tone implied that she expected no different of him.