Misfortune Cookie by Casey Wyatt Page B

the large, clomping hikers.
    Heavy pants. Another howl. So close. Darkness.
    “Did he make it?” I gripped Luca’s shirtfront. “Did he?”
    Luca chuckled and patted my hands. “We’re watching this, aren’t we?”
    I thumped his chest. “Don’t be an asshole.” Belatedly, I realized we were back in the dining room. “That’s it?”
    “For now.”
    “What was the point of that? And what does it have to do with the murders?”
    “That is what we have to determine.” Luca sat at the table, fingers tracing the stone.
    “There has to be more to it than that? A year? Place? Does it say who the man was?”
    He sifted through the files. “No on all counts.”
    I threw my hands up in frustration. “Pointless.”
    Luca rubbed his temples. I didn’t like the gray pallor of his skin. Or his lack of a reprimand for my sour attitude. Definitely not his normal self.
    “You okay?” I touched his shoulder. Cool under my fingers, as if the warmth had been leeched out his skin.
    He took a long drink of wine, placing his palm over mine. “Yes.”
    I wasn’t buying it. Obstinate to the core, he refused to discuss it further.
    “Fine. Be stubborn. What’s the Welsh word for ass?”
    He never did tell me and I was too lazy to look it up on Google. Instead, we finished lunch then called for a car.
    “Is this really necessary?” I groused.
    Luca tapped the tinted glass. “You really have to ask?”
    Outside the main gate was my worst nightmare. An army of paparazzi. We’d already discussed why we couldn’t use a portal. Too much risk of being seen during the day and I got the impression it drained Luca. Not that he would admit weakness of any kind to me.
    “Vultures. It didn’t take them long to start camping out.” No doubt to catch me in some compromising position. This was my fault. My excursion to the café had only whetted their appetite. “They’re barking up the wrong tree. The person they’re looking for is gone. No more parties. No more indiscreet fashion choices. No sex in public places.”
    “You’re blushing.”
    “Shut it, please.” Bright flashes popped outside the windows. Even though the glass was blackened, I shimmied closer to the center of the seat, skin crawling.
    “You have nothing to regret.”
    “Easy for you to say. You obviously missed my wild youth.” While I’d barely escaped the advent of social media, the video, unfortunately, continued to crop up from time to time.
    “Worry not.” His face grew somber. “I ensured all copies of your escapades were destroyed.”
    I paled. “Y-you . . . did what? Why?” Lord I wanted to disintegrate. The thought of him watching that tape was mortifying.
    He smiled wickedly and said, “Because I know it continues to vex you. No more fretting about the past. From now on, I am the only male who will watch your lovely face while you come. And I’ll do a right better job of it.”
    “Oh. My. God.” What else could I say to that?
    He smiled. “Believe me, you were tame compared to some of my Alkhari counterparts.”
    “ Alkhari. What’s that?”
    “My race. We’re a species of the Hereafter.”
    “You look human.” I remembered that day in my kitchen. I’d thought the wings were my imagination. Maybe not.
    “We are all children of the Higher Power.”
    “So you’re an angel?”
    “Not exactly. Angels are a mortal construct.” He shifted to face me. Not a dark hair out of place, suit perfect and unwrinkled. Tie perfectly aligned under his throat.
    An urge to touch that smooth skin rippled over me, drawing me toward him. Again, that knowing smile appeared on his face.
    I flexed my fingers instead, pretending to examine my nails.
    “You should not deny how you feel about me.”
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “Yes, you do. You want to touch me.” He slid across the seat stopping when our thighs touched.
    The heat from his limbs seeped into my skin. He moved my hair, tucked the strands behind my ear, exposing the lobe to