losing it here. Too much weird info at one time—cats talking in my head, cosmic troublemakers, and now a demon.” She widened her eyes, injecting lots of panic into her expression.
Edge didn’t believe her I’m–just–a–poor-confused-human act. She was faking it. He might not allow himself any real emotions anymore other than the inconvenient lust he was feeling now—not that lust really counted because it was merely a physical reaction—but he recognized true emotion in others. “I’ve answered your questions, now I have one of my own.”
“What?” Wariness replaced panic in her gaze.
“I heard your conversation with Ganymede a few minutes ago. So what are
you
?”
“I’m not an angel. I. Am. Human. Ganymede is deranged.” She breathed deeply and then took a sharp right turn in the conversation. “So you’ve killed people for thousands of years?”
“Yes.”
Silence. She seemed to be waiting for him to soften his “yes,” drop in a few qualifiers. He didn’t.
Something moved in her gaze. Disappointment? Horror? Disgust? All of the above? He didn’t give a damn what she thought of him.
“Let’s get back to you and the angel thing. I might not be a Ganymede fan, but if he thinks you’re not human, then you’re not. He doesn’t make mistakes like that.”
“Why don’t you like Ganymede?”
“He’s an arrogant dickhead.”
“Got it.” She stood. “You can leave now.”
He noticed that she wasn’t already on her way down to the registration desk to check out. That would be the normal reaction for a human. And Ganymede was right. Over the thousands of years of his existence, he’d met a few angels. They’d all recognized him for what he was and tried to destroy him. They’d all failed. He smiled at the memories.
“You think this is funny? A normal person pays to stay at your hotel and then they’re assaulted by…talking cats and accused of being angels? This is a hoot to you?” Anger colored her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. “I think you and your fiends, uh, friends, need to make a group appointment at the nearest mental health facility.”
He couldn’t help it, he grinned. How long had it been since a human really amused and fascinated him? Edge couldn’t remember. “An angry angel. Love it. You should stay mad. It’s hot.”
She blinked. “What?”
He waved his comment away. “Never mind.” He stood. “I’ll let you get some sleep.” He allowed himself the pleasure of imagining her in her bed, her long pale hair spread over her pillow, her hand stroking his…
Okay, moment of pleasure over. He headed for the door. “I’ll send someone right up with a new key.”
His last glimpse of her before he closed the door behind him was of her watching him from those beautiful eyes. However, the calculating gleam in those eyes wasn’t quite so gorgeous. He smiled. That was fine with him. He liked scheming women. They were never boring.
He’d only taken a few steps toward the stairs when it hit him.
The killing cold dropped him to his knees, tore at his mind with clawed fingers.
Kill Ganymede.
Each word was a steel spike pounded into his brain. This wasn’t hot rage. This was an icy compulsion that froze all thought. He gasped for breath as he felt his control oozing out through the holes in his head. There had to be holes. Nothing could hurt this much unless there were holes.
Edge fought to hold on to all that he’d become over the centuries. He wouldn’t regress to the ravenous beast he’d been in his early years, a mindless killer. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. But this time he couldn’t stop the force driving him to kill, couldn’t hold on to the last few strands of reason slipping away.
“Are you sick, dear?”
The woman’s voice wavered with age, trembling with concern. He opened his eyes.
Very old, with a halo of white hair surrounding a face creased with wrinkles. Her eyes were shadowed by worry.
“Can I get someone to
Edge didn’t believe her I’m–just–a–poor-confused-human act. She was faking it. He might not allow himself any real emotions anymore other than the inconvenient lust he was feeling now—not that lust really counted because it was merely a physical reaction—but he recognized true emotion in others. “I’ve answered your questions, now I have one of my own.”
“What?” Wariness replaced panic in her gaze.
“I heard your conversation with Ganymede a few minutes ago. So what are
you
?”
“I’m not an angel. I. Am. Human. Ganymede is deranged.” She breathed deeply and then took a sharp right turn in the conversation. “So you’ve killed people for thousands of years?”
“Yes.”
Silence. She seemed to be waiting for him to soften his “yes,” drop in a few qualifiers. He didn’t.
Something moved in her gaze. Disappointment? Horror? Disgust? All of the above? He didn’t give a damn what she thought of him.
“Let’s get back to you and the angel thing. I might not be a Ganymede fan, but if he thinks you’re not human, then you’re not. He doesn’t make mistakes like that.”
“Why don’t you like Ganymede?”
“He’s an arrogant dickhead.”
“Got it.” She stood. “You can leave now.”
He noticed that she wasn’t already on her way down to the registration desk to check out. That would be the normal reaction for a human. And Ganymede was right. Over the thousands of years of his existence, he’d met a few angels. They’d all recognized him for what he was and tried to destroy him. They’d all failed. He smiled at the memories.
“You think this is funny? A normal person pays to stay at your hotel and then they’re assaulted by…talking cats and accused of being angels? This is a hoot to you?” Anger colored her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. “I think you and your fiends, uh, friends, need to make a group appointment at the nearest mental health facility.”
He couldn’t help it, he grinned. How long had it been since a human really amused and fascinated him? Edge couldn’t remember. “An angry angel. Love it. You should stay mad. It’s hot.”
She blinked. “What?”
He waved his comment away. “Never mind.” He stood. “I’ll let you get some sleep.” He allowed himself the pleasure of imagining her in her bed, her long pale hair spread over her pillow, her hand stroking his…
Okay, moment of pleasure over. He headed for the door. “I’ll send someone right up with a new key.”
His last glimpse of her before he closed the door behind him was of her watching him from those beautiful eyes. However, the calculating gleam in those eyes wasn’t quite so gorgeous. He smiled. That was fine with him. He liked scheming women. They were never boring.
He’d only taken a few steps toward the stairs when it hit him.
The killing cold dropped him to his knees, tore at his mind with clawed fingers.
Kill Ganymede.
Each word was a steel spike pounded into his brain. This wasn’t hot rage. This was an icy compulsion that froze all thought. He gasped for breath as he felt his control oozing out through the holes in his head. There had to be holes. Nothing could hurt this much unless there were holes.
Edge fought to hold on to all that he’d become over the centuries. He wouldn’t regress to the ravenous beast he’d been in his early years, a mindless killer. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. But this time he couldn’t stop the force driving him to kill, couldn’t hold on to the last few strands of reason slipping away.
“Are you sick, dear?”
The woman’s voice wavered with age, trembling with concern. He opened his eyes.
Very old, with a halo of white hair surrounding a face creased with wrinkles. Her eyes were shadowed by worry.
“Can I get someone to
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