Cloak of Deceit: An Alex Moore Novel by Gwen Mitchell Page B

question that came next. What if the Cloak had the same thought as the Grigori? What if they wanted me dead, really dead? What would Julian — my Undead Knight in black trench coat — do then?
    He looked me straight in the eye. “I don’t know.”
    Well, at least he’s honest.

Chapter Five

    J ulian wasn’t kidding about the nocturnal part. Despite feeling like I was waiting for an unseen jury to convene on my fate, when the sun came up, even my anxiety about my situation couldn’t keep me awake. I fell asleep curled in a ball on the sofa watching Saturday morning cartoons. At some point, Julian must have carried me to his room and tucked me into his bed.
    That good deed on his part led to a series of dreams involving Julian at various levels of undress and coated in honey. Better than the nightmares I’d been afraid of. I woke promptly at dusk to find it pouring outside. He’d left me alone in the house, but his truck was still parked out front, which I assumed meant he was busy doing something on the property.
    The TV couldn’t hold my interest for long. Mass media brain rot seems so pointless when you’re dead.
    I pulled on a sweatshirt I found in a neatly folded stack of them in the closet, bypassed the mug and heating instructions he’d left for me on the counter, and hopped barefoot along the stone pavers connecting the house to the garage out back.
    The lights were on, the windows steamed up. Pink Floyd played distantly in the background. I paused outside the door, wondering if I should interrupt, but the rain sluicing on my head made up my mind. I knocked twice, slipped in, and shut the door behind me.
    Julian had outfitted the garage like a gym, with wood floor half covered in mats. The walls were unfinished, the beams exposed, but directly across from me stretched an entire wall dedicated to displaying a collection of knives and swords.
    My host was working out with a bag hanging at the other end of the room, shirtless and barefoot. He completed a few punches and kicks before acknowledging my presence.
    “Sleep well?” He seemed to be in a better mood than when we’d last spoken. Maybe it was the workout. Did Undead still have endorphins? I’d have to look that one up later.
    I couldn't help staring as he crossed the room, admiring the cut lines of his chest and arms. Sweat glistened over his bronze skin like an Aqua di Gio ad. I’d dated a few jocks, but I’d never been so close to a naked torso of that caliber. It was a little overwhelming. I had to remind myself to close my mouth.
    He tossed me a cocky grin as he wiped his face, then sipped from a bottle of blood.
    “Breakfast of Champions?” I gave him my most dazzling smile in return.
    He scowled, looking offended as he wiped his mouth.
    “Jeez, tough crowd.”
    Mental note: keep the sarcasm to a minimum.
    It wasn’t Julian’s fault I found him utterly gorgeous and therefore a threat to my wits. I needed my wits. Making jokes was the best way I knew to create a casual rapport, but insulting him was poor repayment for his hospitality.
    I sighed, facing the Wall-o-Blades with my hands tucked behind my back. “Can you use all of these?”
    “Do you know how to fight?” His tone was light and curious as he approached. The smell of him intensified as he closed in, a salty masculine musk that gave me flashbacks to all of those wicked dreams. I decided to try not breathing for a while.
    “No, but I play soccer. I’ve given a few girls bloody noses, and I broke my Clavicle once. Is this what you do for fun, Jules?” I started to lift the biggest mama sword from its resting place.
    Julian stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm. “I’m a warrior. It’s part of my job, not a game.”
    Back to Mr. Serious again .
    “Sorry. I’m just bored. I can’t go anywhere or call anyone. What am I supposed to do, just hang out inside all day reading manuals?” I tried not to be obvious about the fact that I was checking him out, but he was so close