But it was her place, her little piece of the world, and she didn’t have to share it with anyone. It was she who remodeled the studio apartment, carving it into something uniquely hers. The small garden on the balcony she painstakingly worked on whenever she had time was her personal treasure. It was where she went to be at peace, and where she escaped to when she needed to be normal.
There she could blend in. Leave her apartment through the door, walk down the stairs and out into the ordinary world where angels just existed in the bible and on paintings. Outside her place, there were movie theaters, restaurants, and cafés. The busy hustle warmed her in a way the Sanctuary never could.
She wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not for Luke, not for Nathaniel.
“I thought you didn’t give a shit what Nathaniel wants,” she reminded him.
His lips curved into a genuine smile. “When it comes to you I do.”
And Anna, but she wasn’t ignorant enough to mention that. “Luke, I’m not going to cave.”
Jaw tensing, he let her hand slip free. “Be careful.”
She stood on the tips of her toes, and he leaned down. She placed a chaste kiss on his cheek and murmured, “As always.”
“I mean it.”
“You know you’re my favorite. Right?”
He blew out a breath. “Whatever. Go.”
Grinning, she pivoted and took off. A lot of the Nephilim preferred more normal modes of traveling, like taking the subway, but she favored the more solitary route to get to where she was going, which was not home like Luke expected. Instead, she went in the opposite direction. Hunting the minion and her subsequent kill had her blood all fired up. And okay, the run-in with Julian also had her wound up. She was antsy. There was no way she’d be going home like the good little Nephilim Nathaniel and Luke expected of her.
She darted between two apartment buildings. Making sure no one was watching, she crouched and pushed off the ground. She made it onto the fire escape on the seventh floor. From there, she easily jumped to the other building. Hopscotching across the old steel staircases, she reached the roof quickly.
Leaping from one shadowed rooftop to the next, she exhaled deeply. She loved the rush of air, the uncertainty of the fall, and the way the night reached down to her. As close to flying as possible, she was at her best. This is what a full-blooded angel must feel—weightless and free.
Here, Lily didn’t think about Anna. In the air, she didn’t worry about Nathaniel or Luke. As she flew over the buildings, she didn’t think of Michael and how hard it would be for him. It was just her.
Hopping rooftops like the people on the ground hopped trains, it took her fifteen minutes to scamper down the fire escape next to the club frequented by humans and Nephilim alike. Straightening her skirt, she rounded the squat, two-story brick building and gave the bouncer at Deuces Wild a saucy grin.
Bruno—probably not his real name—parted the rope, letting her dip past the very pissed-off patrons waiting in line.
The heavy beat of techno music infiltrated her blood immediately, adding to the agitation pooling inside her. People converged before an S-shaped stage, dancing together in something that loosely resembled a fully clothed orgy. On the stage, scantily clad club girls danced, though the ones dancing in the cages hanging from the vaulted ceilings fascinated her the most. How did those girls dance like that in six-inch platform heels?
Heading straight to the bar, she grabbed the first empty seat. Sammy, the bartender, came to her spot. Even in the dim lighting he recognized her immediately. She really needed to get a life. Or a hobby.
“The usual?” he asked, flipping a white towel over his shoulder with a heavily tattooed hand. Hell, every exposed piece of flesh—including his face—was tattooed.
“Yep. Rough night.” She propped her elbows on the bar as Sammy gave her a dubious grin, which looked funny considering there was a dragon on his cheek.
“Can’t be that bad, hon.”
“It’s always that bad.” It was the same conversation they exchanged whenever she came here. Sammy never asked what made her nights so bad. He probably thought she was a prostitute, for all she knew. Funny, but she doubted the truth would faze him.
She people-watched until Sammy returned. Mostly college-age kids filled the club, getting wasted, hoping to get screwed in one form or another. So was she…in a way. As her gaze flitted over them, she wondered how many would actually make it home tonight. And how many she’d be facing in the near future, shoving a blade into their chest. Shit. Now she was depressing herself.
“Here you go,” Sammy announced.
She whirled in her seat, clasping her hands together. “You’re the best, you know that?”
He slid the single-serving carton of Ben & Jerry’s and the Diet Coke toward her. Pitfall of being a Nephilim: no amount of alcohol in this world could get her drunk. A plant, when cooked and stewed correctly, could do the trick, but it was highly addictive. Nathaniel would have her ass if he caught her with Angel’s Triumphant…again.
Sammy ran a hand over his bald head as his gaze slid behind her. “One of your boys just arrived. Try not to destroy the laundry room this time.”
A fierce flush crossed her cheeks as she pried open the lid and dug in, waiting for the familiar sensation of another Nephilim to trickle down her spine. One of her boys really meant one person. Gabe. And they hadn’t destroyed the laundry room last time. Not really.
The chunky-chocolate goodness was almost gone by the time Gabe decided to acknowledge her, which was fine. If she was here, and he was here, it only meant one thing.
Gabe stopped behind the occupied bar chair beside her. It took one glower from him, and the drunk dude nearly fell out of the seat. Gabe slid into it, completely unrepentant, his full lips curving into a wicked, knowing smile. He was a twin, hot damn. Tall and with a crop of curly brown hair, muscular, and wildly mischievous, he was way more laid back than his silent and moody brother, Damon. He was also one of the few trusted to be in the circle, along with his brother.
“Hey,” she said, dropping her spoon into the empty carton. She faced him, letting her knee push into his. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” He leaned in, his knee slowly pushing her legs apart until his leather-clad thigh pressed against her bare one. “I expected you’d be here after the night you had.”
She sighed. It figured all the Nephilim would know about her and the cop. It was like there was some kind of secret-squirrel message board she was unaware of. “If I’d known what he was, I wouldn’t have knocked him out.”
“Yes, you would’ve.” He grinned. “I ran into Remy. He said you guys showed him the…nightlife. Heard it wasn’t pretty.”
“He freaked.” She sipped her Coke, loving the way it fizzed on her tongue. “But what can you expect? The guy had no clue what he was. He’s going to be prime pickings.”
“Can’t believe Nate’s going to try to train him.” His large hand dropped to her knee, and his thumb slipped where the skin creased, smoothing back and forth idly. “It’s going to be a waste of time.”
“A waste of my time,” she corrected. “I have to train him.”
She got the momentary satisfaction of seeing his normally bored expression fade to surprise. “You’re shitting me,” he said.
“Afraid not.”
“You’re so going to break him.” He laughed.
“Or kill him accidentally, but we’ll see.” She placed her hand over his, sliding his hand up her thigh. Taking one last sip of her Coke, she stood, threading her fingers through his calloused ones.
Gabe bent his head to her ear, voice low and already thick. “Going fast tonight?”
Her insides tightened, and liquid heat replaced some of the agitation. She leaned into him, pressing her body against his. “You have a problem with that?”