by G. A. Rael
Darren rolled his eyes. Before he was done, Hermes was gone. Darren scanned the crowd for any sign of the statuesque demon to no avail. He spotted Jordan immediately, though. It didn't matter that half her face was covered. He'd know those eyes anywhere.
They walked toward each other as if magnetized through the sea of townsfolk, council members and friends of Chase’s parents from the country club.
"You came." The gladness in Jordan’s voice chased away any lingering doubts that Darren's presence had been one more thing that Chase hadn't cleared with her.
"Of course I did," he said, managing a smile that wasn't nearly as wide as it felt. "It's not every day one of your best friends gets married."
Some emotion flickered across the delicate features exposed by her mask, but it was gone before Darren could decipher it. When she took his hand in hers, her warmth started a chain reaction that crept up his arm and spread all the way through his chest. It would have been tempting to think it had something to do with the fact that she was wearing his soul, but the truth was, her touch had made him feel that way ever since the beginning.
Even if he had only recently remembered it.
"I'm so glad you're here," she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before she let it fall to his side. "You look incredible. I don't think I've ever seen you in anything more formal than a blazer."
"Thanks. I feel good," he said. It was true now that she was there. "Listen, I know this is your engagement party and all, but would it be completely inappropriate if I asked for a dance? For old time's sake," he clarified.
Jordan smiled and mischief danced in her eyes. "It might be, but I'm a modern woman now," she said, puffing her chest out in mock pride. "I wait for no man's permission."
"Is that so?" Darren grinned, offering his arm. He led her out onto the dance floor, settling his hands on her waist just above her hips. It took more of a conscious effort than it should have to keep them from roaming as he reminded himself that her curves weren't his to explore any longer. The fact that her gown covered so much and yet clung to her so greedily was enough to drive him crazy with the thought of what was underneath.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked, her hands resting on his chest. Her touch was doing things to his mind that he couldn't blame on being undead.
"Just that now I understand why they call it bewitching someone," he murmured.
Jordan's cheeks reddened. "At least you haven't lost your knack for bad jokes."
"Jordan," he said, whisking her away to a less crowded part of the dance floor, taking her hand in his as the tempo picked up to a waltz. "There's something I need to tell you, but first, there's something I need you to tell me."
"Of course." He could tell she was frowning behind the mask. "Anything. No more secrets, right?"
He felt a pang of guilt. "Yeah. No more secrets."
She watched him expectantly.
"I need to know if you love Chase, Jordan. I mean really love him."
"Darren, we've talked about this," she said, looking away as they spun around the floor.
"I know. Call me stubborn, but I need to hear it again," he said. "One last time and I swear I'll never bother you again, but I have to know. Do you love Chase enough to live the rest of your life with him, without any regrets, no matter what secrets he's keeping or what he's done in the past?"
"How is that a fair question, Darren?" she asked, her tone turning dangerous. "How could anyone know that?"
He could. "You're right. Let me rephrase. Do you love Chase more than you loved me?"
The mask did nothing to hide her shock. "Darren..."
"Like I said, answer me and I'll never ask you again," he promised quietly. "If the answer is yes, I'll buy you a nice set of glassware as a wedding gift, shake his hand and congratulate him on being the luckiest S.O.B. in the world. I'll even do my damnedest not to eat anyone while you're off honeymooning in Jamaica."
She flinched. "And if the answer is no?"
For a moment, he could feel his heart beating a little faster. It hadn't done that in a long time, not even after he fed. When he hadn't eaten, his heart was still and at best it picked up to only the faintest rhythm.
"If the answer is no, we'll go from there," he said, doing his best not to sound as hopeful as he was.
The tears in her eyes glowed as they swept past the fire pit. "Darren, this is cruel."
"A single word, Jordan. Either way, the ball is in your court, but I think I deserve to know."
She took a deep breath and, as her flush lips parted to give him an answer, he realized Hermes had been partially right. There was an answer Darren wasn't sure he was prepared to hear, but it was Jordan's, not Chase’s.
"May I cut in?"
The tap on Darren’s shoulder instantly filled him with rage, but the slow drawl didn't belong to Chase. Darren turned to find an overgrown farm boy disguised in a black tux standing in front of them of the dance floor. The toothpick poking out from the man's lips and his open jacket betrayed the fact that he was more country than country club. Tousled brown hair framed his absurdly chiseled face and he wore a plain black mask that Darren was fairly sure he had seen as part of a Lone Ranger costume at the Halloween store in town.
"Listen, we were in the middle of an important conversation," Darren began, agitated.
"It's you,” Jordan breathed. She was staring at the guy like he'd just hung the moon.
Darren frowned. "You two know each other?"
"We're old friends," said the masked cowboy.
"If that's true, then you'll understand why I don't find that comforting."
"It's fine, Darren," Jordan said, touching his arm. She had already moved to stand beside the stranger. "I promise. Is it okay if we talk later?"
"Yeah, sure," said Darren. Whether it was a few hours or a few minutes, he knew his narrow window of opportunity to get a straight answer from her had long since closed.
Jordan and her friend were on the dance floor almost before he had finished speaking. Darren sighed and set about finding another face in the crowd. She wasn't the only one he needed to have a talk with.
Chapter Nine
Jordan
Earlier That Evening
"Jordan, darling!" Lilian Wylde called, pushing her way through the crowd. It was only the second time Jordan had been at the same location with Lilian for more than five minutes, but her posh accent was impossible not to recognize.
Jordan smiled and waved, meeting the woman halfway. "You're looking lovely as always, Lilian." She did, too. Lilian had to be in her mid-fifties at least, but she had that timeless beauty that refined with age rather than withering under it. Chase might have inherited his work ethic and tolerance for tedium from his father, who had become a partner of his law firm at the age of twenty-nine, but everyone knew where his looks came from.
"You're so sweet," said Lilian, leaning in to kiss Jordan's cheek. Jordan still found the greeting awkward to navigate, like she did so many other high-society customs. The little things were what reminded her that she and Chase were from different worlds and made it even more puzzling to understand what he saw in her. Lilian took Jordan's hands and held her at arm's length, appraising her gown. "You look exactly how I imagined you would."
"I'm sorry?"
Lilian chuckled. "Oh, I just mean you're exactly the kind of woman I've hoped my Chase would marry ever since he was a little boy."
"That's very kind of you," Jordan said, even though she doubted it was true. She glanced over Lilian's shoulder. "Where is Mr. Wylde?”
"Oh, he's terribly sorry he couldn't make it, but he had a meeting that just wouldn't budge," she said, taking on a stiff tone. Jordan could tell Lilian was embarrassed and she could understand why. She resisted the urge to ask what kind of meeting could be important enough to miss your own son's engagement party. Colton Wylde had seemed a cold and distant man to Jordan the one time they had met briefly, but not that cold.
"Oh, that's too bad."
>
"Where is your prince?" Lilian asked, seemingly eager to change the subject.
"He was being dragged off by some hot-shot lawyer from New York the last I saw him," Jordan said as Lilian took a couple of glasses of champagne from a waiter.
"Oh?" It was impossible to miss the hopeful tone in Lilian's voice. "Did he say anything about the partnership?"
"Partnership?"
Lilian's face fell. "He didn't even tell you?" She sighed. "And here I was hoping you could be my partner in crime."
"I don't follow," said Jordan.
“Chase got an offer to be made full partner at one of the most prestigious firms in Manhattan," said Lilian, lowering her voice as she offered Jordan one of the glasses. "They're ousting one of the blue hairs who's been there since the McCarthy era. The one who offered him the job is here tonight, so mum's the word," she said, motioning like she was zipping up her mouth.
Jordan took a gulp of champagne. "I'll be careful not to say anything, but I doubt Chase will want to leave Cold Creek. He loves this town and so do I," she admitted, hoping that would be enough of a hint to Lilian.
"Yes, but New York is so glamorous. Besides, Chase can only go so far working in Cold Creek and consulting in the City. If he's ever going to make a name for himself in this world, he has to be willing to go outside his comfort zone."
"And that's where I come in?"
Lilian gave her an entreating smile. "Behind every great man is a woman pushing him up all the hills he doesn't want to climb. Look, you don't have to say anything to him tonight. Just give him a little nudge in the right direction."
"I'll try," Jordan said reluctantly.
"Thatta girl," Lilian said, giving Jordan a pat on the arm that made her feel not unlike a golden retriever that had just learned to sit.
"Mrs. Wylde," Jordan began suddenly. "Can I ask you a really strange question?"
"Please, dear, call me Lilian."
"Lilian, has Chase ever--" She broke off for a moment to consider the fact that she was actually about to ask her future mother-in-law if there were ever any indicators that her son might have murdered someone. "Does he seem different to you?"
Hopefully that was a bit less inflammatory.
"Different?" Lilian asked with a slight frown. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow."
"Everyone is just always talking about how different Chase was in high school, so I thought maybe you could tell me why."
"Ah," Lilian murmured. As recognition dawned in the woman's eyes, Jordan wished words were as easy to rewind as videotape. "You're talking about Jessica, aren't you?"
The ease with which Lilian spoke the dead girl's name startled Jordan more than the anger she was expecting. "No, I--"
"It's fine. I've been waiting for it to come up," she said, reaching into her clutch for a cigarette. Jordan followed her over to a more secluded area of the garden where a few smokers were gathered. "I'm surprised you haven't asked sooner with the way people in this town flap their gums."
She lit up and offered a cigarette to Jordan.
"No, thank you. I'm sorry, but you seem a bit..."
"Casual? I suppose that's to be expected when your child has been the brunt of town gossip for the last sixteen years," she said bitterly. "Well, go ahead. Ask."
"Ask what?" Jordan's voice suddenly trembled as much as her hands.
"Ask me if he killed that girl. I'd feel a lot better if folks would just come out and ask."
"That really isn't what I wanted to know," Jordan said quietly.
"No?"
She hesitated. "No. I know Chase isn't capable of something like that."
Lilian watched her for a long moment before taking a long drag. "You'd be the first to say that and mean it. Even Colton looks at him like he's going to snap at any moment.”
"Is that the real reason he isn't here tonight?" Jordan asked warily.
Lilian leaned on her knee and a smattering of embers hit the grass, glowing for a moment before she extinguished them with her stiletto. "No. Sometimes I think he'd have an easier time understanding Chase if he had killed Jessica."
"I don't understand," said Jordan.
"Stay married for a few decades, have a couple of kids, and then you will."
"I thought Chase was an only child," Jordan said, confused.
"He is," Lillian said quickly. "Look, all I can tell you is that my Chase would never do what that monster did to that poor girl. The way they found her body, it --" Her lips curled over her words in a kind of snarl, like it took great effort to get them out. "It just makes me sick, that's all there is to it. Yes, Chase had a rough patch in high school, but he's no killer and he cleaned up his act after all that happened. I think the whole town turning on him gave him perspective. It was a shock that people thought he was really capable of something like that. In a way, as much as we're paying for that monster's crime to this day, I thank God for what happened. It gave me the son I've always wanted."
Jordan's stomach twisted. She doubted Jessica’s mother felt the same way. “I’m so sorry. I can't even imagine what that must have been like for you as a mother."
"No," she agreed somberly. "You can't, and I hope you never will."
Jordan didn't know how to respond to that. Fortunately, Lilian didn't seem to expect her to. She sat puffing in silence until her cigarette was down to the last dregs. The strangest thing about the whole awkward situation, Jordan realized, was the fact that even though Lilian frequently wiped at her eyes and made small sniffing sounds, she had yet to shed an actual tear.
"We should get you back to the party. The people await their princess," Lilian said with an absent smile as she fussed with the curls falling around Jordan's waist. “Where did you get the extensions done?”
"Extensions?"
"There's no way your hair could have grown that quickly in a few months' time."
"Oh, right," Jordan said with a nervous laugh. "My friend did them."
“Ah. Well, you get what you pay for.”
Jordan gave her a forced smile and excused herself before she made an enemy out of her future mother-in-law. As she pushed her way into the crowd, one masked man inexplicably drew her attention amid a sea of a few hundred others.
"Darren," she whispered as their eyes met. It could have been a crowd of four-thousand people and she knew she would have been able to pick him out in an instant. It wasn't the way he looked in his crisp suit or the way his shaggy brown hair accentuated the hard cut of his jaw that made him stand out. It wasn't even the way his eyes, hard and sharp like stone, seemed capable of putting her into a trance from across the room. It was some other mystery entirely and it terrified her. If she could only put a name to what it was, maybe she would have an easier time resisting it.
As they drew closer to each other, Jordan realized that his skin was full of color. When he took her hand, his was impossibly warm to the touch. She had hardly seen him at all the past week. Maybe it was the effect of the full moon, but from what Hermes had told her, that should make him less human, if anything.
Before she knew it, they were dancing. When Darren was leading, it was impossible to worry about whether her steps were right or her timing precise. All that mattered was that she was in his arms, if only for the moment.
And then he had to go and ruin it all with that awful question. She had almost given him an answer, too, even though she wasn't quite sure what it would be.
When the masked stranger interrupted, it felt like intervention from Heaven itself. He was a stranger for only a moment and she soon realized how right her initial assessment had been.
"It's you."
Jordan knew his presence could only be a bad thing, but she couldn't help being relieved to see him. She had been sure the last time really was the last.
"You know each other?" Darren asked, making no effort to hide his agitation.
"We're old friends," said Samael.
"If that's true, then you'll understand why I don't find that comforting
."
"It's fine, Darren," she said, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze "I promise. Is it okay if we talk later?" That would buy her some time to come up with a way to answer his question without lying or plunging her life and everyone in it into even greater chaos.
"Yeah, sure."
Before she could apologize to Darren, Samael whisked her back out to the dance floor. He grabbed her waist unceremoniously and there was no question as to who was leading.
Jordan noticed the toothpick he was chewing on and frowned. "This isn't a hoedown.”
"Not with that attitude."
"What are you doing here?" She leaned to look over his shoulder. "Do I need to worry about getting smitten before the first course is served?"
"From the way you were giving doe eyes to that zombie back there, I'd say you already done got smote.”
"I'm serious, Sam. Don't think I'm not glad to see you, but you don't generally come bearing good tidings of joy. Especially after that speech you gave me last.”
"The baby announcements are really more of Gabe's thing," he said, grabbing Jordan’s hand to spin her around before she could protest.
"It's a waltz!" she cried, stumbling into his chest.
Samael pulled her closer, grinning. "Just havin' a bit of fun. This might be my last night on Earth."
"What? Why?"
He looked away, taking her hand as he slipped his other one further down her back to pull their bodies closer together. "Let's just say I'm having an existential crisis."
"Over what?"
When Samael turned back to her, his amber eyes were full of melancholy. "You."
It took Jordan a moment to recover from the shock. He took the opportunity to sweep her off her feet, leaning over her. The angel's face was so close to hers that she could feel a low current of electricity emanating from him that she most certainly hadn't noticed before.
As Samael held her in suspension and kept her enthralled in his gaze, there was something in it that she didn't quite recognize, but she knew it wasn't a look that had any place in the eyes of an angel.
