Caught up in the moment, I ran my hands under his shirt, thinking only of how I loved the feel of his body heat spreading into my hands. As soon as my fingers brushed the place on his back where his wing scars used to be, a distant light exploded at the back of my mind. Perfect darkness, ruptured by one burst of blinding light. It was like watching a cosmic phenomenon in space from millions of miles away. I felt my mind being sucked inside Patch’s, into all the thousands of private memories stored there, when suddenly he took my hand and slid it lower, away from the place where his wings joined with his back, and everything spun sharply back to normal.
“Nice try,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine as he spoke.
I nibbled his lower lip. “If you could see into my past just by touching my back, you’d have a hard time resisting the temptation too.”
“I have a hard time keeping my hands off you without that
“I have a hard time keeping my hands off you without that added bonus.”
I laughed, but my expression quickly turned serious. Even with considerable concentration, I could hardly remember what life had been like without Patch. At night, when I lay in bed, I could remember with perfect clarity the low timbre of his laugh, the way his smile curved slightly higher on the right, the touch of his hands—hot, smooth, and delicious on my skin. But it was only with serious effort that I could pick up memories from the previous sixteen years. Maybe because those memories paled in comparison to Patch. Or maybe because there was nothing good there at all.
“Don’t ever leave me,” I told Patch, hooking a finger in the collar of his shirt and pulling him close.
“You’re mine, Angel,” he murmured, brushing the words across my jawbone as I arched my neck higher, inviting him to kiss everywhere. “You have me forever.”
“Show me you mean it,” I said solemnly.
He studied me a moment, then reached behind his neck and unclasped the plain silver chain he’d worn since the day I met him. I had no idea where the chain had come from, or the significance behind it, but I sensed it was important to him. It was the only piece of jewelry he wore, and he kept it tucked under his shirt, next to his skin. I’d never seen him take it off.
His hands slid to the nape of my neck, where he fastened the chain. The metal fell on my skin, still warm from him.
“I was given this when I was an archangel,” he said. “To help me discern truth from deception.”
I fingered it gently, in awe of its importance. “Does it still work?”
“Not for me.” He interlaced our fingers and turned my hand over to kiss my knuckles. “Your turn.”
I twisted a small copper ring off the middle finger of my left hand and held it out to him. A heart was hand-carved into the smooth underside of the ring.
Patch held the ring between his fingers, silently examining it.
“My dad gave it to me the week before he was killed,” I said.
Patch’s eyes flicked up. “I can’t take this.”
“It’s the most important thing in the world to me. I want you to have it.” I bent his fingers, folding them around the ring.
“Nora.” He hesitated. “I can’t take this.”
“Promise me you’ll keep it. Promise me nothing will ever come between us.” I held his eyes, refusing to let him turn away.
“I don’t want to be without you. I don’t want this to ever end.” Patch’s eyes were slate black, darker than a million secrets stacked on top of each other. He dropped his gaze to the ring in his hand, turning it over slowly.
“Swear you’ll never stop loving me,” I whispered.
Ever so slightly, he nodded.
I gripped his collar and pulled him against me, kissing him more fervently, sealing the promise between us. I locked my fingers between his, the sharp edge of the ring biting into our palms. Nothing I did seemed to bring me close enough to him, no amount of him was enough. The ring ground deeper into my hand, until I was certain it had broken skin. A blood promise.
When I thought my chest might collapse without air, I pulled When I thought my chest might collapse without air, I pulled away, resting my forehead against his. My eyes were shut, my breathing causing my shoulders to rise and fall. “I love you,” I murmured. “More than I think I should.”
I waited for him to answer, but instead his hold on me tightened, almost protectively. He turned his head toward the woods across the road.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I heard something.”
“That was me saying I love you,” I said, smiling as I traced his mouth with my finger.
I expected him to return the smile, but his eyes were still fixed on the trees, which cast shifting shadows as their branches nodded in the breeze.
“What’s out there?” I asked, following his gaze. “A coyote?”
“Something isn’t right.”
My blood chilled, and I slid off his lap. “You’re starting to scare me. Is it a bear?” We hadn’t seen bears in years, but the farmhouse was pushed out on the very edge of town, and bears were known to wander closer to town after hibernation, when they were hungry and searching for food.
“Turn the headlights on and honk the horn,” I said. Training my eyes on the woods, I watched for movement. My heart edged up a little, remembering the time my parents and I had watched from the farmhouse windows as a bear rocked our car, smelling food inside.
Behind me, the porch lights flashed. I didn’t need to turn back to know my mom was standing in the doorway, frowning and tapping her foot.
“What is it?” I asked Patch once more. “My mom’s coming out. Is she safe?”
He turned on the engine and put the Jeep in drive. “Go inside. There’s something I need to do.”
“Go inside? Are you kidding? What’s going on?”
“Nora!” my mom called, coming down the steps, her tone aggravated. She stopped five feet from the Jeep and motioned for me to lower the window.
“Patch?” I tried again.
“I’ll call you later.”
My mom hauled the door open. “Patch,” she acknowledged curtly.
“Blythe.” He gave a distracted nod.
She turned to me. “You’re four minutes late.”
“I was four minutes early yesterday.”
“Roll over minutes don’t work with curfews. Inside. Now.” Not wanting to leave until Patch answered me, but not seeing much of a choice, I told him, “Call me.”
He nodded once, but the singular focus to his eyes told me his thoughts were elsewhere. As soon as I was out of the car and on solid ground, the Jeep revved forward, not wasting time accelerating. Wherever Patch was going, it was in a hurry.
“When I give you a curfew, I expect you to keep it,” Mom said.
“Four minutes late,” I said, my tone suggesting she might be overreacting.
That earned me a stare that had disapproval stamped all over it. “Last year your dad was killed. A couple months ago, you had your own brush with death. I think I’ve earned the right to be over-protective.” She walked stiffly back to the house, arms clamped over her chest.
Okay, I was an unfeeling, insensitive daughter. Point taken.