Vowed in Shadows by Jessa Slade

Author:Jessa Slade
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group USA, Inc.
Published: 2011-03-21T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

She was going to be the death of him. Unlike his wife, with whom he should have grown happily old and who had instead inadvertently fated him to eternal life, Nim—his intended salvation—would be his doom.

Jonah just hadn’t thought it would be so soon. And against an angelic host, not even the tenebrae, who were supposed to be his prey.

She sauntered toward him. The snug black pants clung so low, he caught a glimpse of the reven gleaming at her hip bone under the hitched-up hem of her skimpy tank top. She stopped in front of him and handed him his wallet.

His pulse spiked, and he tucked the wallet into his back pocket, refusing to wince when the angry thrust yanked his jeans taut across his suddenly attentive shaft. At least he could die happy, his body reminded him.

His tone was harsher than he intended when he asked, “What are you doing here?”

Before she could answer—and he could see her shuffling through the various possibilities in her head—the man across the garage raised his voice. “What are you doing in my house, talya?”

“I knocked,” Jonah said. “No one answered. The door was unlocked.”

“Because no one else in this neighborhood would have dared test it.”

“Just as well you don’t live in my neighborhood.” Jonah didn’t bother mentioning that the door had been unlocked after he got through with it. “We lock our doors. We keep our pants on too.”

Nanette shuddered. “Jonah, may I introduce you to my warden, Cyril Fane?”

With the tenebraeternum providing entirely enough difficulties, the league kept little more than haphazard records on the angelic host. They were secretive even among their own, and downright hostile toward the talyan. Jonah knew only that the wardens were highly placed among the spheres.

But he recognized a challenge when he saw one. “Nanette, Nim, perhaps you should wait outside.”

“Don’t presume to order the host from any sphere,” Fane growled.

“Or me either,” Nim said.

The chill that spread through the garage was tinged with feminine ire . . . and the arid, metallic tang of the demon realm.

Fane stiffened. “Talya, take your feral symballein and leave before I’m forced to torch my house to rid the defilement—with you inside.”

“Please, Jonah,” Nanette whispered. “Mr. Fane has been a friend to the league in ways you can’t understand.”

“With friends like these . . .” Nim muttered, just loud enough.

“I’d make a worse enemy,” Fane said.

Jonah looked at Nanette, who stared back with imploring eyes. She trusted Fane enough to let him minister to the haints she’d taken on. And Jonah trusted her. But Fane . . .

Jonah slapped the hook against the garage door button on the wall beside him with a crack of metal on plastic. The door grumbled up in a wash of late-summer light and heat.

Fane squinted his annoyance. The host, Jonah knew, hated revelation—the public kind, not the end-of-the-Bible kind—almost as much as they hated demons. He could hope that being exposed before the neighborhood Joneses would prevent the angelic possessed from recreating any scenes from The Exorcist.

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