Antonio didn’t seem convinced and I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t a very good actress. I really hoped he didn’t keep asking questions. If I had to guess, lying to a holy man in a place of worship in the presence of a demon who was on a secret mission for the devil was probably bad luck. “Unusual name,” he finally said. “Where did you say he was visiting from?”
“She didn’t. Would you like to fetch us some sacramental wine and delve into my lineage?” Wrath flashed a look that bordered on predatory. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better, either. Especially if you’re such a good friend of my Emilia’s.”
Wrath said the word “friend” like he thought Antonio was anything but. My mouth hung open for an entirely different reason, though. I couldn’t begin to understand why Wrath had said “my Emilia’s.” Honestly, I wasn’t sure if the demon even remembered my name since he only ever tossed around “witch.”
Antonio seemed just as stunned. “Your—”
“Apologies, Antonio.” I recovered quickly and shot Wrath a warning look as I slipped my arm through the fratello’s, swiftly angling him toward the door. I’d wager anything the Prince of Wrath was only trying to make my friend angry so he could siphon those emotions, just like Envy had done to me. “You’ll have to forgive his rudeness; his journey was long and it’s not under the most pleasant circumstances.”
Antonio’s arm had a surprising bit of muscle hidden beneath his robes, but he didn’t try and stop me as I guided him into the corridor.
“Is it all right if we stay for a few more minutes to say our prayers?”
Antonio looked down into my eyes, and his expression softened. “Of course. I’ll be in the next corridor near the colatoio if you need me.”
“Thank you.”
I exhaled as he slowly made his way down the hall toward the preparation room, waiting until his lantern could no longer be seen before I reentered the chamber. Wrath leaned against the altar and stared at me, one brow arched. It was one of the most human expressions I’d ever seen him wear. “Samael, really? That was the best name you could come up with?”
“He was a prince of Rome and an angel of death. I’d say that sounds pretty fitting. You’re more than welcome to tell me your real name. Then you won’t have to get your undergarments twisted about ones I make up.”
He strode over to me, stopping at an almost decent space. “Do not ever call me that again. I am no angel, witch. Never make that mistake.”
“You don’t say. And here I was under the impression most humans considered Samael the devil.” I brushed past him and went back to the traces of wax left from Vittoria’s summoning circle. “Do you—”
“Have you and that human ever shared a bed?”
I spun around, completely taken off guard by his question. I expected to see a smirk or sneer and wasn’t prepared for the genuine curiosity I found. I wasn’t sure which was more disturbing. “First, that’s none of your business. And second, why would you ask such an asinine thing? In case you didn’t notice, he’s a man of God.”
“He hasn’t always been.”
I clamped my mouth shut. He’d only recently become a member of the brotherhood, and it hadn’t stopped me from pining over him. Truth was, I often dreamed of him trailing kisses down my throat, knotting his fist in my hair, and choosing me instead of his holy brotherhood.
Right before he took that oath, I swore he seemed interested in pursing a romance with me. He’d stop by Sea & Vine, offer to walk me home and linger outside my door. A few times I was convinced he was working up the nerve to steal a kiss. He’d chatter nervously about his favorite books. Vittoria would waggle her brows and slip inside, leaving me alone with him, but he never closed the distance between us.
And none of that mattered now. For multiple reasons.
“Are you able to find anything useful here to help us with Vittoria’s murder?”
“Your pulse is pounding.” Wrath made to reach for the vein in my neck, but stopped shy of making contact with my skin. “Just like your human’s when I claimed you. Odd for such a pious man to get so jealous.”
His attention moved across my face, and he took his time shifting it to my eyes, my lips, tracing each curve and whirl of the tattoo my fluttering sleeves couldn’t hide. Wildflowers continued to bloom across each of our arms along with vibrant frangipani blossoms. It must have happened after the spell he’d used to save me. He studied me carefully, as if he was imagining what Antonio saw, and slid his focus down inch by inch until he’d taken in everything from my face to my sandals then dragged it back up just as slowly. I had little doubt that he’d catalogued minute details and stored them away for future analysis. Perhaps he was memorizing my size for a coffin.