Celestial (Angels of Elysium Book 2) by Olivia Wildenstein

Author:Olivia Wildenstein [Wildenstein, Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-01-04T16:00:00+00:00

36

The rebel I was took a sip of her wine after the seraphim left, but the sweet liquid tasted sour, so I poured it out and then I upended the bottle right into the sink. Instead of tossing it though, I brought it back into the living room and plopped it onto the coffee table. It was a teeny bit childish, but I didn’t want to tarnish my impervious persona by letting him think he’d gotten to me.

Damn him and his guilt-trip.

Poor Naya was in for a no-fun adolescence.

As I settled back into the couch with my legging-clad legs bent underneath me, I seethed mutely. After a few minutes, pouting got boring. Plus my stomach growled, so I picked up my phone and ordered Indian takeout.

I’d just relieved Stanley of the bagged food when the archangel landed on my terrace, my jacket draped over his forearm.

He was simmering, and I almost took pity on him until he said, “I’m surprised you can even walk straight.”

So his bad mood wasn’t Jase-induced . . . it was me-induced. “And I’m surprised you still think anything about me is surprising.” I sidestepped him, and since he’d pulled his wings out of the way, there was no awkward feather-bender. “Thanks for retrieving my jacket. Just toss it anywhere.”

“What did you do with the wine?”

“Why . . . I drank it.” Since I had drank some, I didn’t lose a feather.

“I know the sound of inebriated-you. You don’t sound inebriated.”

I arranged all the containers around the empty bottle. “Fine, I didn’t drink it, but not because of anything you said.” My wings tingled but didn’t eject a feather. Thank you, Ishim.

I assumed he’d ask why I’d kept the empty bottle when he nodded toward the laden table. “Are you expecting company?”

I sucked a drop of green curry off my fingertip. “I lost my last friend today, so no.”

He crushed my poor jacket against his torso. “Jason Marros wasn’t your friend.”

“He used to be.”

“A true friend would never have taken advantage of you.”

It was silly, so silly, but the reminder of my poor lack of judgment made me bitter and defensive. “Fine. You win. Jase wasn’t my friend.”

Annoyance chiseled his features.

“Does my unpopularity and guilelessness please you?” A tremor built in my feet, rose up my shins, my thighs, my torso, spread to my clenched fists. To keep Asher from spotting the trembling, I crossed my arms. “Just tell me who I have the pleasure of reforming tomorrow and go.”

“No.”

“What, no? It wasn’t a suggestion.”

“I’m not leaving when you’re on the verge of”—he waved his hand in my general direction—“of breaking down.”

“I’m not on the verge of breaking down; I’m on the verge of breaking something. Maybe your nose, if you don’t get yourself and your giant savior-complex out of my house.” I gathered the loose collar of my sweater, yanked on it, but it just puddled right back down my shoulder. “So. Who?”

His lips grew thinner than the distance between the cartons of takeout, and there was zero distance between any of the pleated foil containers.

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