Before I can respond, what feels like a percussion grenade pressurizes the entire room. My heart hammers against my chest, and I’m so dizzy, I want to throw up. I can’t move until Sin pulls me against him, his fingers threading through my hair and his lips brushing my ear. “Just breathe, Zoe. I have you now.”
Fourteen
Sin
Zoe is shaken after Gabriel’s visit, and the memories the archangel stirred in me leave me desperate to see the sun. “You will feel better after you eat something,” I say as I save our research and shut down the conference room computers.
“I’ll feel better when shit like that stops surprising me,” she mutters and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Damn. I don’t suppose there’s any aspirin in this place?”
I can sense her pain, and though I do not think she will allow it, I am capable of taking it away. “My talents can help. Will you trust me?” Offering her my hand, I wait, and after a beat, she nods, but the look in her eyes is anything but certain.
“What would you have to do?”
“I can attempt to convince your mind to ignore the pain. Gabriel’s presence triggered something very similar to what you call a migraine. It will pass in a few hours, perhaps a day at most.”
Zoe chews on her lower lip. “You’d be manipulating my thoughts.”
“Not exactly. Your autonomic nervous system only. Not your mind.”
She needs more reassurance. We have been partnered less than forty-eight hours, and though Gabriel confirmed my belief that there is something other about her, we are very different. She is the Bureau’s first human agent. Or, at least the first to make it through more than a single hour. The poor male first recruited has been in a mental institution for a decade now.
“I hold very little in this life dear, Zoe. My brother. My freedom. I swear on both of them, I will only ease your pain.”
“Okay. But if I find out you tried to hypnotize me into clucking like a chicken, I will find a way to murder you,” she says as she gives me her hand.
“I would expect nothing less.” Releasing the tight control I keep on my abilities, I hold Zoe’s gaze and let my mind seek out the source of her discomfort. Given enough time and strength, I could cure her migraine completely, but masking the symptoms so she can heal on her own will not drain much of my energy. Though by tomorrow, I will be forced to seek out several willing donors.
“Oh.” Zoe sighs as I convince her mind the pain is gone. “That’s amazing.”
I wish I could tell her my true nature. That the relief she’s feeling now does not come from my incubus talents, but from divine influence. Trust takes time, and if we are to find Thorn and Regina, I cannot risk fracturing what small amount we have built with honesty.
Breaking our connection leaves me with a distinct sense of loss and an emptiness that threatens to consume me. Fuck. I did not mean to let myself feel...anything for Zoe. Not sympathy. Not understanding. Not respect. Yet, all of those emotions and more run through me, and I push back so quickly, the chair almost topples over. “Meet me downstairs in five minutes,” I say, keeping my tone as firm and professional as I can. “One of the best taco trucks in the city is on the way to Jacinda’s apartment. We will stop for food first.”
A pang of guilt hits me as I cross the threshold. Blindsiding her with our other task today would only destroy her appetite, and she has lost too much weight since her human partner’s death. I hope to all that is holy she is strong enough to handle what comes next.
Zoe
Tacos El Primo doesn’t look like much. A handful of dents on the front bumpers, scuffed white paint with splotches of bright pink, red, green, and blue, and a canopy that’s seen better days. The menu only has four main items on it. Tacos, tortas, mulitas, and a ceviche bowl. Along with the normal accompaniments.
When we have our food—four tacos for me, two for Sin—we sit side by side on concrete benches overlooking the bay. “That’s not much food,” I say with a nod at Sin’s plate.
“I do not technically require food.” The look on his face as he takes a bite of his carne asada taco is like a kid in a candy store. “I simply enjoy it.”
For a split second, I wish I were more like Sin. That I could enjoy things with the zeal I see in others. And then I take a bite. “Mother…fucker,” I say through a mouthful of tortilla, shredded chicken, and salsa. “This is amazing.”
Pride shines in his eyes, and he sits up a little straighter. “I have tried every truck in the city. None of them compare to this.”
“That’s dedication I can respect.” I elbow him gently, but his expression sobers. “What?”
“I spent many centuries deprived of food,” he says quietly. “Now, I choose my meals carefully. All of them.”
“Tell me.”
“You do not truly wish to know.” He takes a sip from his bottle of Coke—the kind with real sugar—and shivers slightly.
“Maybe not. But I think I need to know.” I take another bite, then pull up the hem of my sweater to reveal the two-inch scar from Temple’s bullet. “I spent a week in the hospital. As far as gunshots go, it was pretty…average, I guess. No major organs hit, the wound was a through-and-through. Couple of rounds of antibiotics, fluids, rest…I was supposed to be good as new.”
“Supposed to be?” Sin turns slightly, appraising me with a discerning stare. “Are you physically compromised? Do I need to worry?”
My cheeks heat, and I stare down at my plate of half-finished tacos. “No. It’s nothing like that. It just...it still hurts. The department shrink says it’s all in my head. I need to ‘process my emotions’ and ‘honor my truth.’ Shit like that.”
Sin rests his fingers over the scar. His touch is almost electric, and my skin tingles in a familiar and very pleasant way. And then his lips curve into a frown. “No. This has nothing to do with any psychological trauma.”
“Then what is it? Is it dangerous? What can I do about it?” A thousand possibilities run through my head in under thirty seconds. Am I dying? Did Temple do something to me?
“I am not certain.” He gently eases my sweater down and turns to watch the waves breaking against the rocky shore. “You are not in any immediate danger from the injury, Zoe. What I am sensing is...strange. An energy I believe I have felt before, long ago. It may have something to do with Thorn's influence over your late partner. If my fucking memory were only intact...”
I nudge his plate closer to him. “Hey. You’ve done more for me in five minutes than my doctors and shrink did in three weeks. Eat. Let’s go to Jacinda’s, and after that, find somewhere we can talk. I know you don’t want to relive what happened to you, but I think—“
“I need to.” With a sigh, he picks up the greasy paper plate and stares at it like it’s a serving of mashed peas drizzled with motor oil. But after a minute, he shakes his head, sighs, and picks up his remaining taco.
We finish our meals in silence, and I hope we’ll come out of this case okay—or something okay-adjacent, at least. Because the way things seem now?