The Second Death by T. Frohock

Author:T. Frohock
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 5

Guillermo stopped the truck at the intersection near La Sagrada Família’s impressive eastern façade. An attractive woman wearing a fox stole sauntered toward a group of construction workers. She paused and spoke to one of the men. He pointed at the church’s entrance as five of his coworkers came to offer their assistance as well. She gave them all a dazzling smile and left them gaping in her wake.

“Why are we sitting here?” Miquel asked.

“It’s a stop sign,” Guillermo said as he gave the woman’s ass a lingering gaze. As Solomon, he would have found a way to justify the pursuit of a woman like that. Guillermo, on the other hand, might give her beauty an appreciative glance, but he wanted no one other than his Juanita. She filled his days and understood him better than any of his Nefilim. He would do nothing to jeopardize his life with her.

Diago is right. Our incarnations do change us, he mused as he eased the truck across the intersection. Now if he could just get the rest of his Nefilim to accept Diago the same way Guillermo did, he might have some peace within his ranks.

Miquel noticed the woman, too. “You were looking at her ass.”

Guillermo drove past the church’s western façade, which was nothing more than a construction site. “Are you jealous?”

Miquel snorted.

“You’re not so innocent,” Guillermo said as they reached the industrial district. “I’ve seen you giving other men that look. Diago notices, too.”

“Diago doesn’t get jealous.”

“Diago doesn’t say anything. He gets this”—­Guillermo flicked his finger next to his temple—­“spark in his eye when you do that.”

Another snort.

“You watch him next time. I’m warning you. One of these days, he’s going to say something when he catches you ogling another man.”

“Do you think he’ll ever be that comfortable with our relationship?”

Guillermo sighed at the note of hope in Miquel’s voice. “Little steps, Miquel, little steps. He’s wearing his ring.” He slowed the truck in front of his warehouse. “For Diago, that’s a leap.”

The observation won him a wan smile. “You’re right.”

“Business, my friend. Focus on the business at hand.” Guillermo parked beside the curb. “What do you see?”

Miquel leaned forward and looked through the windshield. In the distance, the vibrations of a domed song encompassed the asylum.

“Was that here yesterday?” Miquel asked.

“No.” Guillermo reached into his pocket and withdrew his lighter. He rubbed his thumb over the protective sigil Juanita had burned into the metal before she’d given it to him. “And it takes more than five Nephilim to make a web like that.”

Before they could examine the song more closely, a woman emerged from the warehouse. She wore a white blouse beneath her jacket. Her trousers were loose, and her shoes were soft soled and made for stealth. Dark brown curls escaped her bun and clung to her pale forehead, framing a face that projected the cunning of a cat. When she recognized the truck, she withdrew her hand from her coat pocket—­no doubt where she kept her gun.

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