but there’s no hidden agenda or lie in his expression, and just like when they showed up at the club, my gut is tellin’ me that I can trust him and Alder.
I nod, and he reaches over and grabs the glass again. This time, I’m ready for the taste and drink it down without incident. Well, if you ignore my suddenly needy gulps like I’m dyin’ of dehydration, that is.
The fluid has a thicker consistency than water and is cold and crisp and more refreshin’ than anythin’ I’ve ever had before, and that’s sayin’ a lot, because my mama makes lemonade and sweet tea that you’d slap yourself silly for. It tastes sweet, but it’s not a sugary sweet, more like honey, but...different.
“What is that?” I ask as Flint sets the empty glass back on the nightstand.
“The tears of my enemies,” Alder announces as he comes walkin’ into the room.
I immediately cringe, really hopin’ he’s jokin’, and Alder chuckles at my expression. If he thinks it’s strange that I’m on Flint’s lap, he doesn’t show it. “It’s a thistle. It’s the milk from it,” Alder explains, but I don’t know if I think that’s really much better. I probably shouldn’t have asked. Better to not know that somethin’ delicious turns out to be slug slime, or in this case, plant jizz.
I look around the room as I try not to think about what I just consumed and where it came from. The walls are a rich dark teal, and the floor is warm honey hardwood. There’s a large bookshelf on one wall that’s made of some kind of thick industrial lookin’ metal with books and records and an expensive sound system on it. There are pictures of muted and foggy landscapes hangin’ on various walls, and the headboard and side tables are black with a metal border that matches the material of the bookshelves.
I’m not sure how, but I know this is Flint’s room. It feels like him, which is an odd thing to say since I just met him.
Alder moves to a seatin’ area that consists of a cream-colored couch and two matchin’ chairs with a metal and glass coffee table separatin’ them. Flint stands up from the bed, and I squeal and grab for his neck at the unexpected rise and subsequent hold that he now has on me as he carries me over to the couch and sits down.
He doesn’t move me from his lap, and I’m not sure if I should get up or just sit here. I’m surrounded by awkward silence as I try to figure out what to do. I’m drawn to them, no doubt about it. And somethin’ inherently drives me to trust them, or I wouldn’t have chosen to come with them instead of the angels in the first place. But I don’t know whether I should keep my distance from them...or just follow my attraction. I’m stuck, not knowin’ how I should act or what I should be feelin’.
Still unsure, I decide to play it safe, and I push out of Flint’s hold. He lets me go without complaint, though a flash of disappointment crosses his eyes. Pullin’ down my tight skirt that had ridden up, I move to the other side of the couch and sit down on the buttery soft material. Damn, what is this made out of? Baby unicorns?
I shove that thought aside and look over at Alder and Flint. They’re both starin’ at me like they’re waitin’ for me to start off our talk and set the pace. Nervousness bubbles up in my stomach, but I realize I’m not shaky or muddled anymore.
Looks like The Tears of My Enemies worked, and it worked damn fast.
“So...what happened?” I finally ask as I settle in for what I’m sure will be a long conversation.
“You met the Legion tonight, and as we suspected might happen, a demon tried to attack you,” Alder provides.
“I would like more detail about the Legion, followed up by why the hell anythin’ would want to attack me,” I say, and a smile ticks at the corner of Alder’s pillowy lips. You’d think a lavender man covered in blossom tattoos wouldn’t be masculine and sexy, but you’d be dead wrong.
“The Legion is Heaven’s army of angels. Hell has an army too, but we don’t have a fancy little nickname,” he says, clear derision in his tone that lets me know exactly what he thinks about angels. “Both armies do the same thing more or less: guard