Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Seraph's expression goes cold. Sharp. The warmth from moments ago vanishes like it was never there, replaced by something dangerous.
"You weren't invited," he says flatly.
"Since when has that stopped me?" Croesus settles into the chair like he owns it.
Like he owns the restaurant. Like he owns the entire city block.
His attention flicks toward me again, and I feel that familiar pull, that gravitational force that always seems to drag me toward him.
"Besides, I felt her through the bond. All that happiness, all that peace.
" His voice drops, velvet and honey. "Did you think I wouldn't want to be part of that? "
"I think you're interrupting a private evening."
"Nothing is private when she's bound to seven angels." Croesus reaches for the wine bottle, pours himself a glass without asking. "She belongs to all of us, Seraph. You don't get to hoard her."
The word lands like a slap.
Belongs.
"I don't belong to anyone," I snap, and both angels turn to look at me. "Not to you. Not to him. Not to any of the seven. I'm serving contracts, not surrendering ownership."
Croesus's mouth curves. "There she is. I was wondering when the fire would come out."
"The fire never left. It's just tired of being talked about like I'm not sitting right here."
"My apologies, little sin eater." He doesn't sound apologetic at all. "I didn't mean to imply you were property."
"And yet you used the word belong."
"A poor choice." His gold eyes glitter in the candlelight. "What I meant to say is that you're bound to all of us. Connected. And when you feel something strongly, we feel it too. So when Seraph decided to whisk you away for a romantic evening without telling anyone—"
"I don't answer to you," Seraph cuts in.
"No, but she does. She answers to all of us. That was the deal."
"The deal was service. Not surveillance."
"Gentlemen." I hold up my hand, and they both fall silent.
Which is gratifying, honestly. Two ancient, impossibly powerful beings, silenced by a gesture from a mortal woman.
"Can we not do this? I was having a nice evening.
Wine. Food. No apocalyptic conspiracies.
It was refreshing. Please don't ruin it with a dick-measuring contest."
Croesus chokes on his wine. Actually chokes, which I didn't think was possible for an immortal being.
Seraph looks like he's trying very hard not to smile.
"Did you just—" Croesus starts.
"I did. And I'll say worse if you two don't behave."
"She's feisty tonight." Croesus recovers, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. "I like it."
"She's always feisty," Seraph says. "You just don't pay attention."
"I pay attention to everything about her."
"Then you should have noticed she doesn't like being discussed in third person while she's sitting right there."
"Fair point." Croesus turns to me, and there's something almost soft in his expression.
Something that makes my chest tight. "I apologize, Raven.
Truly. I felt your happiness through the bond, and I was jealous.
Jealous that he could give you something I haven't managed to.
Jealous that you were smiling, and I wasn't the cause. "
The honesty catches me off guard.
"You could have just asked to join," I say quietly.
"Would you have said yes?"
I think about it. About the peace I was feeling. About whether adding Croesus would have enhanced it or shattered it.
"Maybe," I admit. "I don't know."
"Then I took the coward's way." He spreads his hands. "Showed up uninvited rather than risk rejection."
"The Angel of Greed, afraid of rejection?" Seraph's voice is dry. "How very human of you."
"We're all becoming more human these days." Croesus's gold eyes shift my way. "She's doing that to us. Whether she means to or not."
Before I can respond to that unsettling statement, the door opens again.
And the evening gets significantly more complicated.
Kael enters first, and the temperature in the room rises immediately.
Not metaphorically. Actually rises. I can feel the heat radiating off him from ten feet away, like standing too close to a bonfire.
He's in a tuxedo as well, but he wears it like armor, the black fabric stretched across shoulders that look like they were built for violence.
His dark red hair is cropped short as always, slightly singed at the edges.
His red-gold eyes find me immediately, embers in the darkness of his face, and his scarred hands flex at his sides.
"You look better than the last time I saw you," he says, and his voice is gravel and smoke. "Less like death warmed over."
"Thanks. I think."
Behind him comes Lysander, and I have to look away for a moment because looking directly at him is like staring into the sun.
Not because he's bright, but because he's magnetic.
Everything about him pulls, draws, demands attention.
His violet eyes are half-lidded, lazy, bedroom eyes that promise things I shouldn't be thinking about.
His dark hair with its red undertones is artfully tousled, and his tuxedo is partially undone, shirt open at the collar, like he couldn't be bothered with propriety.
His warm skin seems to glow in the candlelight, touchable, inviting.
"There's our favorite sin eater," Lysander breathes, and even his voice is seduction. Low and warm and intimate, like he's whispering secrets directly into my ear. "Seraph, you've been monopolizing her shamefully."
"She's serving my house. Monopolizing is the point."
"Doesn't mean we can't visit." Lysander's violet gaze traces over me slowly. "That dress is stunning on you, by the way. Silver suits you."
"Careful," Croesus says mildly. "That sounds dangerously close to flirting."
"Everything I say sounds like flirting. It's a curse."
Idris is next, moving silently, and looking at them makes my eyes ache.
They’re beautiful in a way that's hard to pin down, androgynous and ethereal, their features seeming to blur and shift if I stare too long.
Their hair is black but catches the candlelight strangely, reflecting colors like oil on water, rainbows shimmering through the dark strands.
Their eyes are the most unsettling part, changing color even as I watch, shifting from deep blue to green to gold to something darker.
Their skin is pale, almost translucent, cool even from a distance.
Their tuxedo is perfectly tailored, dark and elegant, though somehow it looks borrowed, like they're wearing someone else's skin.
Their lips move, forming words from habit, but no sound comes out.
Instead, their voice slides directly into my mind, smooth and impossible to assign a gender.
You've been busy since I saw you last. Absorbing sins, solving mysteries, keeping secrets from all of us.
"Stay out of my head," I say aloud.
Their mouth curves slightly. Not quite a smile. Make me.
And finally, Dorian. He sweeps in like he's arriving at his own party, arms laden with wine bottles, grinning broadly.
He's tall and soft around the edges in a way that's unusual for angels, comfortable rather than carved, and it makes him seem more approachable than the others.
His skin is fair and dusted with freckles, warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine pleasure.
His golden-brown hair is wavy and slightly messy despite what was clearly an attempt to tame it for the evening.
His tuxedo strains slightly across his broad shoulders, the bow tie already loosened, and he looks like a man who prioritizes enjoyment over appearance.
"I brought supplies!" he announces, setting the bottles on the table with a clatter. "Seraph always orders the most boring wines. No offense."
"Offense taken," Seraph says flatly.
Dorian ignores him, signaling to the manager who has appeared in the doorway. The poor man looks shell-shocked, staring at the collection of beings now crowding his private dining room.
"We'll need more food," Dorian tells him cheerfully. "Everything on the menu. And more chairs. And possibly a bigger table."
The manager bows and practically flees.
I look around at the assembled angels. Six of seven, minus Caspian. Each of them devastating in their own way. Each of them watching me with varying degrees of interest, hunger, and something I can't quite name.
I tighten my shields until they're ironclad. Lock every emotion down behind walls so thick even Croesus can't sense what I'm feeling.
"Well," I say, because someone has to break the silence. "This is a party now, apparently."
"Everything's better with company." Dorian is already opening wine bottles, pouring with generous abandon. "Besides, Croesus and Seraph have been insufferably smug about having you to themselves. It's only fair the rest of us get some time."
"We have not been smug," Seraph says.
"You have absolutely been smug," Lysander counters. "Every time one of us asks about her, you get this look. Like a cat with a canary."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He knows exactly what we're talking about, Idris's voice slides into my mind. He's been insufferable for weeks.
"I said stay out," I warn them.
Their eyes, currently a shifting green-gold, glitter with amusement. But the mental presence withdraws.
More chairs appear, conjured or fetched, I'm not sure. The angels arrange themselves around the table, and suddenly what was an intimate dinner for two has become something else entirely. A council. A gathering. An interrogation dressed up in candlelight and expensive wine.