Chapter Twenty-Two
“You dragged me out of bed—where I believe we were both perfectly happy—for this?” Liss dug her heels into the sidewalk, staring up at the sign. “Bacchus Wine Bar? Did you seriously bring me here to meet Bacchus?” Because she wasn’t sure she could handle meeting a god. Even an old, mostly forgotten one. Meeting Lilith had shaken her.
“What? No. I don’t know any gods.”
“Oh. New experiences have leaned toward the extreme recently. You can understand why I’d freak out.” That, and Zavier hadn’t given her any explanation. Just looked at the clock, thrown back the covers, and told her to dress up for a surprise.
“This place is supposed to be great. Romantic. Perfect for a date.”
That was harder to comprehend than meeting an ancient Roman god. “You brought me on a date ?”
Zavier put a hand at the small of her back—which she barely felt through the layers of her winter coat—and urged her inside.
A smiling attendant whisked away their coats as they were led to a table in a back corner. The restaurant was beautiful. Very atmospheric with lacework wrought iron chandeliers, buttery yellow walls, and a gleaming copper bar. The upholstery was the color of rich, loamy soil. Something Italian and dreamy crooned through the sound system.
It was romantic, all right. It was also the least Zavier-esque place she could’ve imagined.
“You don’t have a lot of experience with expensive wine, right? Rhys told me he screwed up that way with Maisy when they started out. You want something easy drinking? Or will you let me choose for us? Should I go for it and kick us off with the Belle Epoque champagne?”
Zavier was hunched over the menu. He looked lickable in a collared gray cashmere sweater that clung to his pecs. His personality might not fit the restaurant, but his suave style sure did.
“I’m no fool. You learn by doing, right? Order your favorite. You know I’m not a woman who likes to play it safe.”
“Great. Good. Okay.”
Again, that didn’t sound like Zavier. He sounded…ruffled. Unsure. Which confused Liss.
“Is there any chance you’re actually a shapeshifter, and not Zavier Carranza,” she asked in a stage whisper.
His black brows furrowed. “What the hell kind of question is that?”
“You’re being weird. As if you’re not, well, you .” It would’ve taken a very concerted effort on the part of a shapeshifter to take Zavier’s place without him 1) putting up a whopper of a fight and 2) somehow breaking past all the mega-wards on Liss and Maisy’s house in the ten minutes Liss whooshed through hair and makeup one room away from Zavier.
But…weirder things had happened.
Pretty much at least once a week since they’d been introduced to this paranormal world.
Zavier rubbed at the back of his neck. Which again tightened his sweater across all his pronounced chest and shoulder muscles, so she wasn’t complaining. “Look, I’m trying, okay?”
“Trying to do what?” Then Liss remembered the last thing he’d said before they entered. “Wait. This is really a date? Our first truly official date?”
“Yeah. Rhys and Gideon—we’re each taking one night before it’s go time while the others finish the stock of healing potions and get our messages to rally the troops.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got two hours before we’re needed back at the WatchTower.”
Hmm. It was hard deciding if she was amused or annoyed. “It would’ve been nice if you’d given me a heads-up. Or, you know, asked me out.”
“I thought we were past that,” he mumbled.
Omigosh. Men! “How can we be past a basic tenet of dating when we’ve never been on a date?”
“There was that night in London.”
Was he truly trying to wriggle out of this? “Not a date. Not stipulated ahead of time. No chance to shave, wax, put on the expensive perfume and extra-expensive lingerie.”
Zavier arched one brow. Almost pursed his lips. And positively smoldered . “There were all the times we had sex.”
“Not at all the same thing as a date.”
He pushed up his sleeves. Huffed out a frustrated breath. “Look, we can go back outside, to the car, and I can ask you if you want to go on a date, or we can stay warm in here and pretend all that already happened.”
It was fruitless to argue. The man clearly was uncomfortable enough being on the date, let alone asking about it. “Fine.”
The waitress, who’d been hovering, made her move. Zavier ordered the bottle. In melodic, swoony French. Once she left, he said, “I ordered a meat and cheese plate just to get things rolling. But I intend to slow play this night. Take our time.” He flipped over her hand and drew one finger with breath-stealing slowness from tip, across her palm, down to the wildly fluttering pulse at her wrist. “We’ll linger. So let me know anything that catches your eye on the menu and we’ll add it to the order.”
Wow. Who needed food? She was ready to crawl across the table and straddle him.
But Liss respected the effort Zavier was putting out—mysteriously—so she gulped down half of her ice water instead.
“How did you know the waitress was French?”
“Her nametag. Noémie, with l’accent aigu.” He slashed diagonally through the air with a finger. “An American wouldn’t bother with that. And her accent—it was strongly southwestern. I’d bet she’s from Toulouse.”
Comments like that reminded her of just how many more years he’d lived. How many experiences amassed, countries visited. And with everything he’d seen, everything he’d suffered through and survived, the man still got up every single day with one goal: to protect humanity.
His selfless driv e astounded her. All that brusqueness? Well, it was real, but it wasn’t the whole story of Zavier. He had layers. He tried to hide them from the world—and himself—but they were there.
Liss slid off her shoe and ran a toe up along his calf. “You probably made her night. Giving her a little taste of home. It was kind of you.”
“It was nothing.”
“Don’t brush me off. You do little kindnesses like that. The ones that can make a difference but aren’t big and showy. Yet they show that you pay attention. That’s a much-desired, hard-to-find trait in a man.”
He smirked. “I thought you were yelling at me for not paying attention and not asking you on a date?”
Why defile this gorgeous restaurant with pouting? A night out of this caliber was rare. “I moved on.”
“That’s one of the things I like about you.” Zavier tipped an imaginary hat. Which would be weird, if Liss didn’t remember that he’d lived through proper hat-wearing decades. “You bobble when something unexpected happens, but you don’t let it drag you down.”
“Not always. You should’ve seen my week-long funk when Panic! at the Disco announced their breakup.”
“Please,” he said mockingly, leaning in. “You should’ve seen the entire world go into a funk when Elvis died.”
“Did he? Really? Or did he move to Brazil? You know the truth, don’t you?”
“Just because I was alive back then? No. I can tell you whether or not he’s a demon. That’s it.”
Liss didn’t buy it. Somebody knew. The information had to be out there. “Maybe I’ll just go hunting for the answer in the Order’s library.”
“I’m sticking with don’t ask, don’t tell when it comes to the truth of Elvis’s death.”
Okay, he was in a great mood. This had all the hallmarks of an epic night. But she still needed to know, why now ? Why the candles and wine and the wooing when they’d literally been in bed together an hour ago?
“Zavier.” Liss paused when the waitress returned with their Belle Epoque. And a veritable flood of very fast French that spurted out of her like the bubbles from the neck of the bottle. Once she’d poured, Liss asked, “Did she ask for your number? Because that would be tacky. And I’d insist on you tipping her less than twenty percent.”
“Jealous?”
“Uh, definitely. You’re a catch.”
“I told her that my partner’s from Provence. Same accent, more or less. She told me that she moved here after falling in love with an American grad student at the University of Buffalo. If they’re still together when he graduates, they’ll get married. Because that’s when her work visa runs out.”
“Ouch. Pragmatic. And a little romantic, I guess.”
“That’s the French in a nutshell.” He lifted his glass. “To you, Liss. Thank you for prodding me into believing that there could be an us .”
“You’re saying I was right? I’ll drink to that.” As soon as the bubbles hit her tongue, Liss realized that she’d only had sparkling wine before. That champagne—expensive champagne—was, indeed, different. And that now she was hooked. “You’re ruining me for the twelve-dollar prosecco we keep in the fridge for special occasions. This is divine.”
“It’s what you deserve.”
“I plan to remind you of that on a weekly basis.”
Now he didn’t look flustered. Or nervous. Zavier was, however, smoldering again. It was a wonder steam wasn’t curling up from his flute. “I brought you out tonight because I want to give you all the things, Liss.”
“This champagne’s enough, trust me. It more than covers the last seventy times you were grumpy and curt.”
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “To thank you for bringing me back to life. For burning through the scar tissue around my heart with that incandescent smile of yours.”
Wow. If Liss weren’t already sitting down, her knees would’ve wobbled at his declaration. “You are downright poetic tonight. It’s freaking me out.”
“I want to do this right. I told you that there wasn’t a future for us. Because I was all dark and messy on the inside. Probably more of the truth is that I was scared.” Zavier thumped his knuckles against his sternum. “When I was taken by the demons, I lost my life. My friends. So I know that it could happen again.”
“Not likely. Especially not if our plan works.” She really didn’t want him spiraling into a mood. Oh, she’d understand it, for sure. But hadn’t he been sad and bitter for long enough already? Didn’t he deserve joy?
With a flat hand, Zavier jerked an imaginary line through the air. “Everything good can be snatched away. Losing it all? Sucks beyond all telling. The emptiness that devours you when everything good disappears—it’s…well, I can’t describe it.”
“You don’t have to.” Liss gently placed her hand on the crisp black hairs covering his forearm. “You don’t ever have to talk about your time in the dungeon if it’s too painful.”
“I was so angry. At all demons. At the Order for not making a rescue attempt. For letting me suffer longer. I didn’t trust anyone except for Rhys and Gideon. Trust was just another word for risk, to me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Zavier lifted his flute in a toast. “But then you and Maisy fell ass-backward into our lives. You two gifted us with such immense trust as we brought you into this world. I didn’t have any choice but to trust you back.”
She clinked her glass and sipped. “We’re pretty irresistible. Also, feel free to refer to us as a powerhouse duo. Whenever you’re at a loss for a description.”
Wow. That didn’t even net her Zavier’s ubiquitous side-eye. He simply took a sip, then kept going with that oddly fervent intensity.
“Since the Order didn’t deem me worth saving, I believed that I wasn’t enough. That being a kick-ass warrior machine wasn’t enough. I was sure of it. Until you.”
Oh. Ohhhhh. His comment thrilled her…and made her heart ache for all he’d suffered. “You don’t have to believe me. What you need to do is believe in yourself.”
“You’re the one who held the mirror up to me so I could . I can’t express my gratitude enough. So I added you to my will.” Zavier leaned back, sipping his champagne. He nodded at Noémie as she set down bread and a trio of dipping sauces.
Meanwhile, his utterly random non sequitur set her blood pumping and her temper flaring. “You what ?”
“There’s a strong chance we won’t all survive this coming battle. We’ve beaten the odds time and time again. But this is the big one. I want to show my gratitude by taking care of you. If anything happens, you’ll inherit. My shares in Metafora, as well as all my savings.”
Liss had been able to stave off the pout the first time Zavier insulted her. After all, it had been an accident. But she was in no way going to tamp down her anger this time. Not at this egregious insult.
“You think buying me off is the way to go? You just wrap a bow on your piles of money stashed around the globe and you figure we’re even?”
He barely waited half a beat before replying. “Yes.”
“You think that’s what I want from you?”
“Yes…” Zavier’s surety had waned. His voice tapered off and his head cocked.
Men—even half-angelic ones—were idiots . “I don’t want your money. I don’t want your shares. I want you. Your fight first, talk never attitude. Your grumpiness. Your bravery. Your snark. Your stupid, scarred heart.”
“But the money—”
Liss shot her hand out to dig her nails into the underside of his wrist. It wouldn’t hurt the big, bad Nephilim . It would get his attention. “I swear, if you mention that money one more time, my foot’s going right between your legs so hard that your chair will hit the opposite wall.”
“You want to be removed from the will?”
Omigod. Eighty-eight years old and still utterly clueless when it came to women.
Wait.
That was the problem, wasn’t it?
Zavier wasn’t just making decisions based on what he wanted. He wasn’t being self-centered. He genuinely believed this would help her. That it would give her security. He didn’t know any better.
Her anger poofed away, like a blown head off of a dandelion. It was up to her to explain where his marvelous intent had gone so very wrong.
Liss got up to kneel in front of him. All the while hoping her fuchsia bandage skirt didn’t ride up to her hips.
“Do whatever you want with the will. If it gives you peace, put me in it. As long as you truly hear me now, when I say that I don’t give a flying fuck about what happens to your things if you die. All I care about is you. Now. With me. Because I’m in love with you.”
Zavier cradled her face in his palms. “Finally,” he exhaled.
She jerked back, out of his grasp. “What do you mean, finally ? Was this a test? Was there an expiration date on my saying those three little words?”
“I mean I’ve been waiting for you to say it. For weeks now. I couldn’t pressure you—trap you—guilt you—by saying it first.”
When Liss told Maisy this story, it’d have to be turned into a drinking game. Every time Zavier said something clueless, they’d do a shot.
They’d be incoherent in five minutes.
“The woman never says it first.”
“Why not?”
She sat back in her chair. Tucked her hair behind her ears. “We don’t want to push. To make fools of ourselves. The man is usually the slower to own up to their emotions. So we wait, in order not to scare you off.”
The frown taking over his face made it look like Zavier was trying to work out the square root of pi. “But you ask men out on dates.”
“Well, yes.”
“You all but ordered me to have sex with you.”
“You needed the bump.” His teenaged years were the 1950s. This concept shouldn’t be so hard for him to accept.
“Women today are finally realized as equals to men. But you still cling to this archaic custom?”
“Damn straight.” Protecting her heart would always be a priority. Which was why Liss waited. Silently. Dipping the bread in a delicious balsamic and oil mixture, but not saying anything more.
It got awkward. The Italian aria overhead switched to Sinatra. Their meat and cheese plate was delivered.
And Liss waited.
“You meant it, though?” Zavier drove his finger against the cream tablecloth. “When you said you love me?”
“I did. At the time,” she said archly. “My feelings on the matter could be swayed by how long it takes you to get your head out of your ass.”
Zavier barked out a laugh. “If you ask Rhys, he’d tell you that it’ll never happen.”
This one was going to be work . But oh, he was worth it. Liss abandoned her bread and planted her elbows on the table, leaning forward. “You’ve waited weeks to hear me say that I love you.”
“Yes.”
“So why I am still going through that torture, waiting to hear you say it?”
His eyelids slammed shut. He groaned.
At least he clearly got it. Now .
But then Zavier grimaced. “I should wait. How about I get back to you in a couple of days?”
So he didn’t get it? “We could both be dead in a couple of days.”
“That’s why I want to wait. No risk of you thinking I said it out of last-minute desperation. One happy memory before I sacrifice myself. Like a sailor kissing every woman on shore leave.”
If teaching high school hadn’t drained her of patience, then this man would finish sucking it out of her faster than the Loogaroo had drained most of her blood. “Do you want to tell every woman in this restaurant that you love her?”
“Of course not.”
“Then how about—if you truly feel it—you tell me now and after we prevent the apocalypse? All bases covered.”
“Right now? You don’t want to maybe wait until dessert?”
“Zavier, I swear to every god that exists or ever did that if you don’t tell me how you feel in the next two seconds, you’ll be eating dessert alone.”
“I was going for dramatic impact. But you asked for it.” Zavier dropped to one knee. Enveloped her hand with his. “I adore you, Liss Jamison. I’m in awe at how you were stronger without powers than many creatures are with them. I respect your stubbornness, even when it annoys me. I’m driven wild by your beautiful face, your voice, your laugh, your humor. I’m so grateful at how you managed to grow us into a unit.”
“That’s really, really good.”
He pulled a purple velvet box from his pants pocket. Popped it open to reveal a stunning princess cut black diamond ring. “Will you marry me?”
It was impossible to answer through laughing so hard. “You had the ring in your pocket. You were going to propose before I uttered those three vitally important words? Before you did?”
“I wanted to be prepared. In case you fought being included in my will. I’d planned to appeal to your practicality and convince you to marry me. Then you’d automatically inherit everything.”
“What happened to not coming off as last-minute desperate? A ring’s pretty much a big old swing to take.”
“You forced me into it, woman! Same as you’ve coerced and lured me into every step of this relationship. You don’t have to take my money or my shares in Metafora. Will you promise to take my heart? To hold it as your own, forever?”
“Obviously!” She slid off her chair to kneel with him. They kissed as the restaurant burst into applause. Liss poured her whole heart into that kiss. She wanted it to be a promise to him.
Plus, Zavier was a sensational kisser.
It was only when her knees started to hurt that they took their seats again. Liss took a better look at the stunning ring. The center stone—which had to be four carats—was surrounded with a halo of white diamonds. “This is gorgeous. So unique.”
“Recognize the color combination?”
Oh. The whole thing made sense now. Which made it incredibly meaningful. “Your wings—they’re black and silver.”
“I wanted you to have a reminder of me every time you look at it.”
“Damn it, Zavier, is that because you’re still convinced you might die tomorrow? You are not in a growth mindset. A little positivity can be game-changing.” She snapped the box shut. “I’m not putting this on. Not until you say you love me. Which apparently will be after we vanquish Evil.”
“I don’t want to jinx the mission with out-of-control happiness.”
“Too bad, so sad.” It would take a lot of patience to get her hardened warrior to a place of understanding that love didn’t ruin things. That trust wasn’t a risk, but a gift.
He was worth however much time—and undoubtedly arguing—as it would take.
“The whole restaurant’s watching us.”
“Now? After almost ninety years, you suddenly care what other people think of you?” The man really did have a heart as soft as a half-melted Peep. He was wonderful. “Fine. Slide it on me. But it is coming off in the car and nothing’s official yet.”
“Except that you love me,” he said as he slid the ring on her finger. Smugness dripped from his lips worse than drool from a bulldog.
No. Liss refused to let him get away with that. “And equally official is that you don’t want to jinx our happily ever forever by admitting that you love me.”
“Correct.”
“We’re very lucky we found each other, aren’t we?” But even as Zavier laced his fingers through hers and raised his glass for a toast, Liss couldn’t wholly commit to celebrating.
Zavier didn’t see their plan as just a souped-up mission. Maybe 20 percent more dangerous than any other.
No, he thought a sacrifice would have to be made tomorrow.
He was willing to do it.
How was she supposed to choose between letting him save the world—and saving him for herself?