Finale

as a go-between, passing Blakely’s prototypes to Dante. I needed to find the go-between.
    Outside, Dante merely had to take off running into the woods, and it was my signal to follow. Right away, I could tell that the blue drink infused with devilcraft had been flushed from my
system. Dante zipped between trees at dangerous speeds, while I lagged behind, concentrating on each step to minimize injury. But even though I was relying on my own strengths, and mine alone, I
could tell I was improving. Rapidly. A large boulder sat in my path directly ahead, and rather than veer around it, I made the split-second decision to vault it. I planted my foot halfway up the
curved surface, propelled myself up, and soared over the boulder. Upon landing, I immediately slid under a brambly tree with low branches, and without missing a beat, sprang to my feet on the other
side and kept running.
    At the end of the fifteen-mile loop, I was plastered in sweat and breathing hard. I leaned back against a tree and tilted my face up to catch the breeze.
    “You’re getting better,” Dante said, sounding surprised. I glanced sideways. He, of course, still looked freshly showered, not a hair out of place.
    “And without the help of devilcraft,” I pointed out.
    “You’d see even bigger results if you’d agree to take the super-drink.”
    I pushed up from the tree and windmilled my arms, stretching my shoulder muscles. “What’s on the docket? More strength training?”
    “Mind-tricks.”
    That caught me off guard. “Invading minds?”
    “Making people, especially fallen angels, see what isn’t really there.”
    I didn’t need a definition. I’d had mind-tricks performed on me, and never once had the experience been enjoyable. The whole point of a mind-trick was to deceive a victim.
    “I’m not sure about this,” I hedged. “Is it really necessary?”
    “It’s a powerful weapon. Especially for you. If you can make your faster, stronger, larger opponent believe you’re invisible, or that they’re about to walk off a cliff,
the few extra seconds might be what saves you.”
    “All right, show me how it’s done,” I said reluctantly.
    “Step one: Invade your opponent’s mind. This is just like using mind-speak. Try it on me.”
    “That’s easy,” I said, casting my mental nets toward Dante, ensnaring his mind, and pushing words into his conscious thought.
I’m in your mind, having a look around,
and it’s awfully empty in here.
    Wiseacre,
Dante returned.
    Nobody says that anymore. Speaking of which, how old are you in Nephilim years?
I’d never thought to ask.
    I swore fealty during Napoleon’s invasion of Italy—my homeland.
    And that was in what year . . . ? Help me out. I’m not a history buff.
    Dante smiled.
1796.
    Wow. You’re old.
    No, I’m experienced. Next step: Tease apart the threads forming your opponent’s thoughts. Break them down, scramble them, snap them in half, whatever works for you. The means of
carrying out this step varies among Nephilim. For me, breaking down my victim’s thoughts works best. I take the wall in their mind, the one that guards the very center where every thought is
formed, and I tear it down. Like this.
    Before I even realized what was happening, Dante had me backed up against a tree, gently stroking a few stray hairs off my forehead. He tipped my chin up to look in my eyes, and I couldn’t
have pulled away from his penetrating gaze if I’d wanted. I drank in his gorgeous features. Deep brown eyes set an even distance from his strong, straight nose. Lush lips that bowed into a
confident smile. Thick brown hair that fell over his forehead. His jawline was wide and chiseled, and smooth from a fresh shave. And all this set against a backdrop of creamy, olive-toned skin.
    I could think of nothing but how good it would feel to kiss him. Every other thought in my head had been stripped away, and I didn’t mind. I was lost in a heavenly dream, and if I never
woke up, I wouldn’t care.
Kiss Dante.
Yes, that’s exactly what I wanted. I reached up on my tiptoes, closing the distance between our mouths, a thrilling flutter beating like
wings in my chest.
    Wings. Angels.
Patch.
    Impulsively, I threw up a new wall in my head. And suddenly I saw the situation for what it really was. Dante had me backed up against a tree, all right, but I did
not
want to make out
with him.
    “Demonstration finished,” Dante said, his smile a bit too cocky for my liking.
    “Next