Finale

about
you
.”
    “The devilcraft—” I began.
    Patch exhaled beneath me, and my body dipped with his. His breath carried relief and raw emotion. His eyes, stripped of everything but sincerity, found mine. “My skin can be replaced. But
you can’t, Angel. When Dante left, I thought it was over. I thought I’d failed you. I’ve never prayed so hard in my life.”
    I blinked back tears glittering on my lashes. “If he had taken you from me—” I was too choked up to finish the thought.
    “He tried to take you from me, and that’s reason enough for me to mark him a dead man. He’s not getting away with this. I’ve forgiven him for several small trespasses in
the name of trying to be civil and understanding about your role as leader of his predecessor’s army, but tonight he threw out the old rules. He used devilcraft on me. I don’t owe him
any gestures of courtesy. Next time we meet, we’ll play by my rules.” Despite the exhaustion evident in every tense knot of muscle down his body, the decisiveness in his voice held no
wavering or sympathy.
    “He’s working for fallen angels, Patch. They have him in their pocket.”
    I’d never seen Patch look as surprised as at that moment. His black eyes dilated, sorting out this news. “He told you that?”
    I nodded soberly. “He said there’s no way the Nephilim are going to come out of this war on top. Despite every convincing, contradictory, and hope-filled word he’s been singing
to the Nephilim,” I added bitterly.
    “Did he name specific fallen angels?”
    “No. He’s in this to save his own skin, Patch. He said when push comes to shove, the archangels will side with fallen angels. After all, their history runs deep. It’s hard to
turn your back on blood, even if it is bad blood. There’s more.” I sucked in a sharp breath. “Dante’s next move is to steal my title as leader of the Black Hand’s
army, and march the Nephilim straight into the hands of the fallen angels.”
    Patch lay in stunned silence, but I saw thoughts shooting rapid-fire behind his black eyes, which held a sharp edge. He knew, like I did, that if Dante succeeded in stripping me of my title, my
oath to Hank would be broken. Failure meant only one thing: death.
    “Dante is also Pepper’s blackmailer,” I said.
    Patch gave a curt nod. “I made that assumption when he ambushed me. How did Scott fare?”
    “He’s in the mausoleum, with an incredibly smart stray dog watching over him.”
    Patch lifted his eyebrows. “Should I ask?”
    “I think that dog is vying for your job as my guardian angel. He scared off Dante and is the only reason I got away.”
    Patch traced the curve of my cheekbone. “I’ll have to thank him for saving my girl.”
    Despite the circumstances, I smiled. “You’re going to love him. The two of you share the same fashion sense.”
    Two hours later I parked Patch’s truck in his garage. Patch was slumped in the passenger seat, his complexion washed out, the same blue hue still radiating from his skin.
He smiled his lazy smile when he spoke, but I could tell it took effort; it was a ploy to reassure me. The devilcraft had weakened him, but for how long was anyone’s guess. I was grateful
Dante had fled when he did. I imagined I had my new dog friend to thank for that. If Dante had hung around to finish what he’d started, we’d all have been in more danger than I
suspected we could have escaped. Once again, I directed my gratitude toward the stray black dog. Scrappy and eerily smart. And loyal nearly to his own detriment.
    Patch and I had stayed at the cemetery with Scott until he’d recovered enough strength to drive himself home. As for the black dog, despite several attempts to ditch him, including
forcibly removing him from the bed of Patch’s truck, he’d persistently leaped back inside. Giving up, we’d let him tag along. I’d take him to an animal shelter
after
I’d gotten enough sleep to start thinking clearly.
    But as much as I wanted to collapse into Patch’s bed the moment I stepped foot inside his townhouse, there was still work to be done. Dante was already two steps ahead. If we rested before
taking countermeasures, we might as well start assembling a white flag of surrender.
    I paced Patch’s kitchen, clasping my hands behind my neck as though the gesture might squeeze out a brilliant next move. What was Dante thinking now? What was
his
next move?
He’d threatened to destroy me if I accused him of