Wicked Kiss. Michelle Rowen

really wished I knew what it was.

      * * *

      It took me hours before I finally drifted off to sleep. My head was a horrific mass of nightmares about evil grays and dead girls, before they finally parted for something much more pleasant.

      A dream about Bishop.

      He was seated across from me at a small wooden table in the middle of a wasteland—a cracked, dry desert that stretched as far as the eye could see. There was nothing in sight to the horizons all around us. The sky was a flat, pale gray, like a coating of paint.

      “Where are we?” I asked.

      “Good question.” He wore black. Black jeans, black T-shirt. The darkness only made the color of his eyes stand out more—like sapphires.

      What Cassandra had told me about his job in Heaven was so far in the distance now I couldn’t remember the details. I knew it had disturbed me, but at the moment it was the last thing on my mind. All I felt was happy. Happy to see him. Happy we were alone—no matter where this was. “I’m dreaming right now, aren’t I?”

      “You are.” He smiled—an easy smile that made my heart do an automatic flip.

      “So this isn’t real? Not some sort of mind meld?”

      “No. Just a dream. Your dream.”

      I looked down at myself to see I wore a fancy red dress, gauzy and big and silky, like a ball gown. I’d never worn anything so extravagant in my entire life.

      “You’re beautiful,” Bishop said.

      My gaze snapped to his. “It’s just the dress. It’s not me.”

      “You’re wrong. It is you.” There was something in his eyes that made me believe he meant it. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

      “You can kiss me here.” If this was just a dream, then nothing I said or did counted. I liked the idea of that—total freedom. “Normally in my dreams...we do more than just kiss.”

      His brows went up. “Really.”

      I nodded, fighting a smile.

      “You want to do more than just kiss me, Samantha?”

      “Maybe I do.” My heart pounded. The endless bravery I normally had in my dreams seemed to be escaping like sand sliding through my fingers. “But there’s a problem.”

      “What?”

      “There’s a severe balance of power missing in this...whatever this is between us. I know hardly anything about you. You know everything about me. I have no power over you at all.”

      “Wrong. You took part of my soul. You know I’m drawn to you like nothing I can control, which is why I’ve tried—and failed—to stay away. Even when I do keep my distance you can still see through my eyes whenever you want to.”

      This was another little skill I had. After I’d kissed Bishop and taken part of his soul, there were the odd times I got flashes of what he saw—even if we were nowhere close to each other. I couldn’t read his mind or feel his emotions, but I could see through his eyes.

      “It’s not whenever I want to,” I said. “It’s totally random.”

      “You underestimate yourself. Your power. But I’m not surprised. This game has barely begun.”

      “Game?” I frowned. But then my gaze moved to the table between us. I hadn’t even noticed what was on it before. It was a chess board with white and black pieces. “Are we playing a game?”

      “We seem to be.”

      The pieces were already in play, not all lined up at the edges. Bishop was playing the white pieces, and I was playing the black ones. He’d already taken one of my pawns. “But I don’t even know how to play chess.”

      “Then you need to learn. And you need to learn fast.”

      The next moment, he stood up and swept the board off the table. The pieces went flying in every direction.

      I got to my feet, alarmed. “Bishop, what are you—?”

      He didn’t let me finish my sentence. He grabbed the front of my dress and pulled me toward him, crushing his mouth against mine.

      My thoughts fell away as he kissed me—and I kissed him back. Now this was more like my normal dreams about Bishop. Passionate, reckless, total abandon. Incredible.

      No hunger to ruin the moment. No ravenous need to devour his soul.

      Just his lips against mine with no consequences. No punishment. Only pleasure.

      When our lips finally parted and I opened my eyes, there was a coldness in his gaze that betrayed the scorching heat of the kiss.

      Cold as ice. It was the look he normally got just before he—

      I gasped as he sliced the dagger into my chest. I scrambled back from him, collapsing to the ground. Grasping for the hilt, I pulled it out with a pained cry. My blood was difficult to see against the red dress, but it flowed, pulsing out with every beat of my heart.

      I gasped for breath. “I trusted you.”

      “No, you didn’t.” He stared down at me sprawled on the cracked, dry ground. His dark brows were drawn tightly together. “You never did.”

      I fell all the way backward, struggling to keep breathing. All I could manage was a small shriek when Cassandra appeared behind Bishop. He didn’t see her.

      He didn’t see the golden dagger in her hand.

      She slashed it across his throat in one smooth, violent motion. His hands flew to the wound as the blood began to gush. A moment later, he fell to my side.

      The roaring vortex of the Hollow opened up—even here. It was the last thing I saw before I died.

      And the last thing I felt was Bishop grasping hold of my hand.

      * * *

      I woke up, gasping for breath. My sheets were soaked with sweat. I felt the strong urge to bolt from my bed and start running as fast as I could somewhere, anywhere. But I forced myself to stay right where I was.

      Bishop was an angel of death. One of Heaven’s assassins.

      Cassandra hadn’t been lying when she’d told me this. I believed her. This piece of the puzzle fit really well, even if it revealed a terrifying picture.

      He’d killed me in my dream tonight.

      It was what I feared would happen in reality, no matter how much I tried to deny it, even to myself.

      But I was different. Bishop and me—we were connected on a deeper level. Even though I didn’t know anything about his life before he became an angel, or his life as an angel, I had to trust my gut when it came to him. And my heart.

      Because I did trust him.

      Heart and gut didn’t lie—at least, not at the same time.

      They didn’t.

      Chapter 8

      I might be seventeen years old, but watching my mother leave for the airport in a taxi still made me choke up like a little kid.

      “Call me if there are any problems.” She gave me a big hug in the driveway. I clung tight to her before finally letting go. “I’m sure you and Cassandra will be fine here without me, but no parties, okay?”

      I just nodded, my throat tight.

      I hadn’t said a word to try to stop her. Even though I hated how Cassandra had magically coerced her to leave town, I knew it was for the best. She’d be safer away from here for a week. And she was so excited about the trip, how could I spoil it for her?

      There had always been something stopping her