Death Sword. Pamela Turner

Why Louisville? Why not–”

      “Heaven?” Xariel shrugged. “I like it here.”

      They reached a Victorian in desperate need of renovation or demolition. Karla pulled a key ring from her jacket pocket.

      “My apartment’s on the second floor.” She led the way up a steep flight of stairs, stopping in a small hallway. For a moment, Karla debated inviting him inside. “It’s not much. Kitchen and living area.” She unlocked the door and placed her hand on the doorknob. “I have some instant coffee.”

      “That’s okay. I’ll be back in the morning to pick you up.” Xariel turned to leave, but looked back over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “Next time, we’re teleporting.”

      Right. Lovely.

      If Xariel read her mind, he gave no indication. Instead, he turned, heading downstairs. Karla watched until the front entry door closed behind him.

      * * * *

      Xariel wanted to kick himself. Why hadn’t he stayed? He liked Karla and she didn’t seem averse to him. No other woman since Delilah had held such sway over his emotions.

      It didn’t help that sexual frustration nipped at him like a hyper Jack Russell terrier, thanks to the upcoming new moon. Not that he’d reveal his curses to Karla.

      He closed his eyes, concentrating. Foreboding overcame him the moment he arrived in his living room. He looked over, drew a frustrated breath.

      Samael had commandeered the sofa.

      “What do you want?” The chief of satans was the last person Xariel wanted to see.

      “Since when are you a chaperone?”

      Hands trembling, Xariel poured himself a tumbler of Crown Royal. “Metatron asked me to take her home.”

      “Sure you didn’t volunteer?”

      “Yes.”

      “You would’ve.”

      Xariel shrugged. “Believe what you want.” He knocked back half the whiskey and set his glass on the fireplace mantle.

      Samael swung booted feet onto the coffee table. Xariel frowned but said nothing. “I see you still collect Louis the Fifteenth furnishings.”

      “Thanks to you.” Samael might be an ass, but Xariel gave him credit for introducing him to antiques, an area in which his boss was somewhat of an expert.

      Samael smiled. “I’m glad you still like something about me.”

      “Why’re you here?” Xariel failed to keep aggravation from his voice.

      “You know why.”

      Xariel sighed and downed more whiskey. “Karla.”

      “Right.” Samael nodded toward the bar. “Aren’t you going to fix me a drink?”

      “Scotch and soda?”

      “You remembered. I’m touched.”

      Xariel mixed Samael’s drink and handed it to him.

      Samael raised his glass. “Reminds me of old times.”

      “Whatever.” Glowering, Xariel sipped his drink.

      “You wound me.” Samael placed a hand over his heart, emitting a dramatic sigh.

      Xariel resisted saying “Bite me.” Samael enjoyed taking figures of speech literally. Instead, he wished the other would leave.

      As if he read his mind, Samael rose. “Thanks for the Scotch.”

      Xariel nodded. He took Samael’s glass, following his boss to the front door. The visit didn’t mean anything. Samael enjoyed annoying him, nothing more.

      On the porch, Samael gripped Xariel’s arm with a vise-like hold. “This is a friendly warning. Don’t become involved with her. You know what’ll happen if you do.”

      Xariel shuddered, invisible scorpions crawling under his skin. He knew Samael’s motives were insidious, but he didn’t want to believe his boss would be so cruel as to hope Karla would die if they had sex. Then again, Samael was a misogynist of the worst kind. He didn’t kill women, but he had others, including Xariel, do it for him.

      No doubt Samael wanted Karla gone. But why?

      Xariel decided he needed another drink.