Angel Fury (Immortal Legacy #2) - Ella Summers Page 0,40

becoming inebriated, but they can still manage the game’s hand-eye coordination. That means they aren’t too drunk yet. If people are too drunk, they don’t make sense. If they aren’t drunk enough, they’re less likely to answer strangers’ questions.”

“The perfect balance.” I grinned at him. “Just as my father taught me.”

Damiel gave me a curious look. “I told you about my past. You have not reciprocated.”

“You rub my back, and I rub yours?” I said, brows raised.

“I had no idea that back-rubbing would be part of this, but yes, that would be agreeable.”

“How can you make anything sound inappropriate?”

“Rubbing is often inappropriate, except when it’s very, very appropriate.” He winked at me.

“You’re doing it again.”

“It?”

“Making everything sound dirty. How do you do it?”

“Maybe it’s the way I lift my brows like this.”

He arched his bows.

“Or drop my gaze like this.”

His eyes panned down my body like a river of molten honey—hot, smooth, and sinfully delicious.

“Or smile like this.”

His lips curled up into a dark, devious grin.

“Stop it,” I laughed.

“As you wish.” In an instant, like flipping a switch, his face went cool and professional.

“No, wait, don’t stop.”

“Stop, don’t stop—which is it?”

“Don’t stop. You make me laugh.”

“Pleased to oblige, Princess.” He took my hand and kissed the top.

I giggled.

“I’m sure General Silverstar taught you that ‘angels do not make such an unseemly, undignified noise’.” Damiel spoke the last few words in a pretty convincing imitation of my father.

I snorted.

“Or that noise,” he said sternly.

I linked my arm with his. I was laughing so hard that I doubled over and my body shook against his arm.

“Bless you.”

“I didn’t sneeze,” I told him.

“You could have fooled me.”

I laughed some more. “It’s a good thing no one from the Legion is here. Could you imagine Nyx’s face if she saw us carrying on like this, laughing like a pair of fools? She doesn’t understand that sometimes it feels good to just be silly.”

“Even when the fate of our world hangs in the balance?”

“Especially when the fate of our world hangs in the balance,” I told him. “Without laughter, without happiness, it’s harder to stay optimistic. But when you laugh, the worries weighing you down just bounce off your shoulders and you know everything is going to be ok. Try it, Damiel. You’ll feel so much better.”

He drew in a deep breath, then stopped. He looked at me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m afraid that if I let my worries bounce off my shoulders, they’ll hit you in the head.”

I chuckled. “I wish you could always be this way, Damiel.”

His smile faded, his face now serious. “I can’t be, you know.”

I sighed. “I suppose laughter clashes with the Interrogator demeanor.”

“Horribly.”

“Unless it’s maniacal laughter.”

A slow, wicked grin curled his lips. “I save the maniacal laughter for only special occasions.”

“Like when you’re wearing your favorite uniform.”

“Exactly,” he said. “But if you behave, I might treat you to some maniacal laughter later.”

“And if I don’t behave?”

His eyes met mine, deep and serious. Neither of us said anything. We just stared at each other, the air crackling with supercharged tension. He closed the distance between us.

“Hi.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Behind us stood a woman with dark eyes and short pigtails dyed a bright shade of blue. She held a tray of full shot glasses in her hands.

“Could I squeeze by you?” she asked us.

Her voice was soft, her demeanor altogether likable. The smile on her face told me that a joke was always ready to bounce off the tip of her tongue.

“Actually, we were hoping to join in,” I said to her as I made space for her to pass. “Do you have room in your game for two more?”

“What do you say, girls?” she called out to the pair of women Damiel had chosen to interrogate. “Do we have room for two more?”

The ladies cheered in the affirmative.

Blue waved at us. “Come on over.” She set down the drink tray on the table closest to the balls-in-the-wall game.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” her pink-pigtailed friend asked us.

“Where do you come from?” asked the woman with the bright banana-yellow pigtails.

No one else in the bar had such vibrant shades of hair as these three, but there was nothing magical about them. They must have just enjoyed standing out in a crowd.

“We are visiting from another world,” Damiel told our new friends, to my surprise.

But no one attacked us.

“Cool,” said Pink, and she picked up a small silver ball, hardly larger than the palm of her hand. She tossed