All the Rules of Heaven (All That Heaven Will Allow #1) - Amy Lane Page 0,84
of killing this asshole.
“And this one’s for Sophie!” Kick. “And this one’s for Bridget!” Punch. “And this one’s for James!” And he came down hard on Conklin’s kneecap.
It worked as well on ghosts as it did on humans, and Thomas Conklin Senior went down, writhing in pain. Tucker pumped his fists and howled, because God, he needed this win. Just once, he needed to come out on top, to finally not be karma’s fucking whoring bitch again.
Conklin’s screams let off, and his body went still. Tucker stopped crowing long enough to see that the blood he’d drawn was disappearing, the bruises he’d inflicted fading, and whereas Tucker’s nose, bleeding and swollen, was not going away, Conklin’s dislocated knee was relocating, fixing itself as if it had never been injured.
With a smile and a dry laugh, Tucker’s antagonist pushed himself to his feet, and the terrible implications hit Tucker hard.
This would never end.
If Tucker took off the pentacle that apparently made him a part of Conklin’s world, he’d be vulnerable to possession.
If he left it on, Conklin could come attack him at any time. This ghost lived in his house! Now that Conklin had seen him, and they’d touched, Tucker could never sleep. Never rest. And even if he left Tucker alone, others were vulnerable. Angel. Was Angel open to Conklin’s attack? What about… oh God. This fucking sadist. He wouldn’t!
Tucker’s panic overrode reason. He stared at Conklin, terrified for the one helpless being he knew.
“You monster!” he cried, “You stay away from Squishbeans!”
Conklin looked baffled for a moment, mouthing “Squishbeans” in puzzlement, and Tucker took hope. Maybe the cat was too small a thing for the ghost to bother with. Maybe it had no bonding symbol around its neck. Maybe it was safe.
Tucker relaxed, and Conklin took that moment to charge again.
At that moment, a fluttering darkness passed over them all, and Angel stood in front of Tucker, his back toward their enemy, arms out to pull Tucker close.
Conklin fell back with the sound of a tolling bell, and Angel gazed at him over his shoulder. “Nobody hurts him!” he thundered.
Tucker found himself tucked into Angel’s embrace, some sort of shield wrapping around them both as Conklin tried one more time to get at him.
Tucker felt this charge ringing in his bones, and he closed his eyes and clutched Angel tighter, his body, neatly muscled, solid as the ground, filling Tucker’s arms like the lover he’d never been able to hold.
The supernatural ringing stopped, and night fell.
Angel made a whimper—a hurt sound—and his arms slid away, hanging at his sides. Tucker had buried his face against Angel’s neck, but they’d stood chest to chest. Angel brought his hand up to the side of his throat, where Tucker’s pendant had been mashed between them, and Tucker gasped.
“Oh, Angel,” he whispered, running his fingertips around the pentacle-shaped burn right above Angel’s white T-shirt. “How did that—”
“Did he hurt you?” Angel asked, upset. His fingers whispered along Tucker’s face, skirting his swollen nose, the cuts on his cheek and chin. “Tucker, why would you let him hurt you?”
Tucker shrugged. “I hurt you!” The pentacle had. Angels and pentacles didn’t mix—perhaps that’s why the pentacle had burned Tucker in the first place. Angel had put his mark on Tucker’s heart, even then. The more human Angel had become, the more the pentacle had been compatible with Tucker’s skin.
Tucker refused to think of the implications of this. He hovered his finger over the burn at Angel’s throat, hurting for his… his lover. Oh God. This man had loved him the night before.
Tucker turned his face up slightly in confusion and supplication.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered.
And now it was Angel’s turn to shrug. “As long as you’re not doing any more bleeding for that man’s crimes, Tucker, I can live with the pain.”
Tucker half laughed and looked around them. The black veil had disappeared, but that didn’t stop the purpling night shadows from looking otherworldly. Tucker and Angel didn’t belong here at night. They were barely tolerated during the day—they knew that now.
“Inside,” Tucker urged, turning toward the door. Angel’s hand, tugging at his, stopped him. “What?”
Angel shook his head, looking absurdly shy. “Just….” He tugged Tucker closer, and Tucker’s heart, which had slowed down a bit since the ghostly attack, sped up now as Angel wrapped his arms around Tucker’s shoulders, sliding his hands into Tucker’s back pockets.