He nibbled my neck, trailing hot kisses to my ear, each one causing a quake of desire to lace down my spine.

Then he entered me, slowly, so slowly, his erection filling me to exquisite totality. He pulled out until only the very tip of his cock remained inside, then he eased back in, the pace agonizingly calculated. He repeated the process, ever so slowly, until the orgasm lying in wait shivered with impatience, begging to be released.

His mouth still at my ear, he spoke, his voice deep and smooth and intoxicating. “Who am I?”

I shook my head, unable to stop what was coming. Begging it to hurry.

He pushed into me harder. “Who am I?”

“Reyes,” I said between gasps.

Bracing one of my knees with his hip, he grabbed a handful of hair in warning and said from between clenched teeth, “Who am I?”

I dug my nails into his steely buttocks, pleading with him to move faster. “Rey’aziel.”

He jerked my head back but didn’t increase his torturous speed. “Who am I?”

I grabbed handfuls of his hair as well. Squeezed tight. Jerked back. Then, refusing to give in, I said, “My husband.”

That surprised him. He tensed as his climax grew closer. I felt his as easily as I felt mine. The blood rushing through his veins. The spasmodic tightening of his muscles. The sweet sting of orgasm just over the horizon.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and locked my legs around his waist, clinging to him, encouraging him to let go. He braced his hands on the barrier behind us and tried to steady his breathing as his lower body rocked into mine.

It was enough. The slow throb pulsing through my body rushed forward and exploded inside me. I cried out as hot waves of pleasure spilled out and flowed over every inch of my skin.

Reyes wrapped his arms around me and sped up at last, increasing the euphoria already pulsating through me. I dug my fingernails into his shoulders. He sucked in a sharp breath and lost the fragile hold he’d had on his control completely.

He slammed into me, his thrusts long and hard and deep, until his body went rigid. He shook violently as his muscles strained, absorbing the crush of orgasm, the exhilaration of desire rushing through him.

The growl that escaped him, so primal and animalistic, caused another wave of elation to wash over me, and I clung to him, reveling in his climax.

When it was over, he kept me close, panting into my hair, until something changed. He tensed. Lowered me to the ground. Stepped away from me. Even the hot, acrid winds of this plane couldn’t prevent a chill from surging across my skin where his body had been.

I looked up at him in wonder. He seemed … surprised. Stunned. And a little angry.

Why? Because he’d actually enjoyed our union? That was something we’d always been good at.

He started to dematerialize, and before I could get the words Reyes and wait out, he was gone. Just like that.

I stood there swimming in confusion. At least Reyes had seemed as confused as I was. Was I just seduced by my husband or something else? Which part of Rey’azikeen craved me with such wild abandon? With such delicious debauchery? Or was that my husband making an appearance?

Then again, did it matter?

Slowly, reluctantly, I shifted back onto the cool earthly plane.

My two cohorts were leaning on Garrett’s black truck. They straightened, their expressions a combination of concern and alarm as they stared at me a solid minute. Then, coming to their senses in unison, they sprinted toward me, not slowing until they skidded to a halt barely two feet away, ignoring the clearly marked boundaries of my space bubble.

When Osh tore off his duster and hefted it around my shoulders, I realized why. I glanced down to see nary a stitch in sight. My skin, covered in black soot and a fine sheen of sweat, was still smoking. Tiny ghostlike spirals wafted off me.

I could only imagine what my hair looked like.

I should’ve been mortified as Osh draped me in his duster, but my mind was elsewhere. Too stunned to worry about my public display of indecency.

“Charles?” Garrett said, bending down until our faces were level. “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head. “He didn’t do it. He didn’t kill those people.” I looked down. “Where are my boots?”

“Come on, sweetheart.” Garrett scooped me up into his arms and carried me to his truck.

“Wait. Misery.” I held out a hand to her, possibly exposing Will Robinson in the process. “Misery.”

“Your state of existence?” Osh asked, a grin in his voice.

“We’ll come back for her,” Garrett said.

Osh ran around the truck to open the door. Garrett lifted me inside, but I threw my arms around him. My breath hitched, and I fought tears with everything in me. When Osh raised his brows—probably because the duster slipped off my shoulders—I grabbed his shirt and pulled him into the hug as well.

They let me hug them while I fought for control over my emotions. Garrett wrapped an arm around my shoulders and Osh around my waist.

I didn’t know how long that went on, but Osh finally pulled me out of my state of shock by asking, “So … threesome?”

I released them at last, pulled the duster around me the best that I could, then schooled my features to show a bravery I didn’t possess.

“I don’t know who he is,” I said, lifting my chin. “I don’t have a clue. But I do know that he’s searching for something. Hunting.”

Garrett’s forehead wrinkled. “You don’t know what?”

Shaking my head, I said, “No, but he destroyed Rocket’s asylum because he wouldn’t tell him where it was.”

“Is it bigger than a bread box?” Osh asked.

“It could actually be a bread box for all I know. Rocket called it the embers and the ashes.”

Garrett bowed his head in thought. I looked into the black distance, searching for other meanings. Embers and ashes. That certainly sounded like the god inhabiting my husband’s body. Was it the ashes from something important?

“The god glass,” I said, thinking aloud. “Maybe he wants the ashes from the pendant?”

“Glass doesn’t turn to ash when it’s burned,” Garrett said.

“True. And why would he go to Rocket?”

Osh raised his head and stabbed me with a rare serious expression.

I perked up, hoping he’d thought of an answer. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, looked in the general vicinity of Danger and Will, then said, “Can I have my jacket back?”

11

Never ask a woman who’s eating ice cream

straight from the carton how she’s doing.

—BUMPER STICKER

There was nothing like a shower to give one perspective. I turned off the water just as a dark shadow slipped past my periphery. I whirled around but saw absolutely nothing.

Stepping out of George, I wrapped myself in a towel and walked to my bedroom.

“Reyes?” I asked aloud. Of course, I didn’t get an answer. Even if he were there, he wouldn’t have answered me.

The room seemed so big without him. Cavernous and empty. Not a place I wanted to stay much longer, so I dressed in a hurry and called Garrett.

“Hey, Charles. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. What are you doing?”

“Feeding my box turtle.”

After a long pause, I asked, “Is that a metaphor for something?”

“Not especially. How are you?”

“Better. But I need you and Osh for another job.”

“Does it involve hunting down a god who abducts you out from under our noses, takes you to another plane, and incinerates your clothes in a bizarre mating ritual that only another god must understand?”

“No. It involves flirting.”

“We’ll be right there.”

I walked to Calamity’s for a quick bite before the big night out.

The place was hopping. Not literally because it wasn’t a dance club, but it was full and loud enough to drown out the noise in my head. Almost.

I’d ordered my favorite food of the week: green chile chicken enchiladas. Sustenance should help the gurgling sound my stomach insisted on making when I didn’t eat for a few days. And maybe it would help me think better. I gave my brain a good racking, but still nothing. What could Rey’azikeen be searching for? What would he need on Earth and why? The questions wouldn’t stop, and now we had a time limit.

Oddly enough, the dull roar of conversation soothed me into a more relaxed state. I watched a woman flirt with a guy at the bar who was more interested in the bartender than her. The male bartender.

I looked on as a table of men watched a server’s ass so blatantly, all their heads tilted at the same time as she passed.

I caught a woman pour half her drink into her date’s glass when he got up to go to the restroom. And I saw—

God. I straightened in my chair. I needed to talk to God. He was the one putting a time limit on everything. He was the only one threatening to cast His brother from the plane. I just needed a sit-down with the Big Guy. I could buy us more time. Me more time.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” a male voice said from behind me. A male voice that I knew better than my own.