Wicked Kiss
Page 25

“We seem to be.”
The pieces were already in play, not all lined up at the edges. Bishop was playing the white pieces, and I was playing the black ones. He’d already taken one of my pawns. “But I don’t even know how to play chess.”
“Then you need to learn. And you need to learn fast.”
The next moment, he stood up and swept the board off the table. The pieces went flying in every direction.
I got to my feet, alarmed. “Bishop, what are you—?”
He didn’t let me finish my sentence. He grabbed the front of my dress and pulled me toward him, crushing his mouth against mine.
My thoughts fell away as he kissed me—and I kissed him back. Now this was more like my normal dreams about Bishop. Passionate, reckless, total abandon. Incredible.
No hunger to ruin the moment. No ravenous need to devour his soul.
Just his lips against mine with no consequences. No punishment. Only pleasure.
When our lips finally parted and I opened my eyes, there was a coldness in his gaze that betrayed the scorching heat of the kiss.
Cold as ice. It was the look he normally got just before he—
I gasped as he sliced the dagger into my chest. I scrambled back from him, collapsing to the ground. Grasping for the hilt, I pulled it out with a pained cry. My blood was difficult to see against the red dress, but it flowed, pulsing out with every beat of my heart.
I gasped for breath. “I trusted you.”
“No, you didn’t.” He stared down at me sprawled on the cracked, dry ground. His dark brows were drawn tightly together. “You never did.”
I fell all the way backward, struggling to keep breathing. All I could manage was a small shriek when Cassandra appeared behind Bishop. He didn’t see her.
He didn’t see the golden dagger in her hand.
She slashed it across his throat in one smooth, violent motion. His hands flew to the wound as the blood began to gush. A moment later, he fell to my side.
The roaring vortex of the Hollow opened up—even here. It was the last thing I saw before I died.
And the last thing I felt was Bishop grasping hold of my hand.
* * *
I woke up, gasping for breath. My sheets were soaked with sweat. I felt the strong urge to bolt from my bed and start running as fast as I could somewhere, anywhere. But I forced myself to stay right where I was.
Bishop was an angel of death. One of Heaven’s assassins.
Cassandra hadn’t been lying when she’d told me this. I believed her. This piece of the puzzle fit really well, even if it revealed a terrifying picture.
He’d killed me in my dream tonight.
It was what I feared would happen in reality, no matter how much I tried to deny it, even to myself.
But I was different. Bishop and me—we were connected on a deeper level. Even though I didn’t know anything about his life before he became an angel, or his life as an angel, I had to trust my gut when it came to him. And my heart.
Because I did trust him.
Heart and gut didn’t lie—at least, not at the same time.
They didn’t.
Chapter 8
I might be seventeen years old, but watching my mother leave for the airport in a taxi still made me choke up like a little kid.
“Call me if there are any problems.” She gave me a big hug in the driveway. I clung tight to her before finally letting go. “I’m sure you and Cassandra will be fine here without me, but no parties, okay?”
I just nodded, my throat tight.
I hadn’t said a word to try to stop her. Even though I hated how Cassandra had magically coerced her to leave town, I knew it was for the best. She’d be safer away from here for a week. And she was so excited about the trip, how could I spoil it for her?
There had always been something stopping her from taking this dream vacation. A husband who didn’t like to travel (unless it was permanent, and in the direction of his new girlfriend), a kid who always had anxiety attacks on airplanes (that was me—I hate being trapped in small spaces, especially three miles above the ground), and then a job that barely allowed her any time off.
So I was happy for her. Really.
But standing there, watching the taxi drive away down the street, the realization that I was really alone sank in deep. Even though we didn’t always get along so well, she represented my normal life. And soon she’d be five thousand miles away.
“I need to go,” Cassandra told me after I went back inside, out of the cold, and ate a big breakfast of eggs, toast and Pop-Tarts. She gleefully had some cold Chinese food and more red goo.
She wore clothes she’d borrowed from me this morning. Just because an angel arrived ready to do her mission—whatever that mission really was—didn’t mean she packed a bag. Even though she was a few inches taller than me, and had a bigger chest, my clothes looked good on her. It was annoying how good they looked, really.
“To the church?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll come with you.” I had to get out of here. I couldn’t keep dwelling on what was wrong with my life—I had to do something to fix it. Also, I needed to see Bishop. I wanted to ask him about what Cassandra told me—him being an angel of death. I wanted to know why he’d never told me this before. Maybe that could help stop nightmares like the one last night.
“No, I think it’s best that you stay here.” She put her dishes in the sink. “Let the professionals handle this problem.”
I blanched. “You think I’d get in the way?”