no inclination toward people either sexually or romantically. No desire at all.” Dinah pointed at Noa, Jo and Candace. “I have my sisters. Our purpose to bring the Brethren fuckers down. That completes my life, before you ask if I’m missing out or some other asinine question like that, which, frankly, is nothing but fucking offensive. I’m not.”
“And just for the record,” Candace said, firmly clutching Jo’s hand, “we like pussy. Each other’s, specifically.”
“Now, that,’” Bara said, “is something we have in common. I’ll take pussy all fucking day long too.”
“Bara, please,” Gabriel said, clearly exasperated, and somewhat uncomfortable, judging by the quick tightening of his lips.
“We have a brother who drinks blood, one who strangles his woman with her own hair while he fucks her, and one who wears a metal collar to keep himself under some kind of control,” Uriel said, and Noa could see that he was just as perfect-looking as Raphael, though it was obvious he tried to lessen that attractiveness with his many piercings and tattoos. He was losing the battle though. In Noa’s eyes, it only made him more interesting. “I’m not sure any kind of existing spectrum could show what we fuckers are into.”
“You only covered some of your family’s sexual preferences,” Jo said. “What about the rest of you?”
Uriel smiled widely. “Let’s just say we’ve only mentioned the very tip of that iceberg.”
“Speaking of,” Bara said. “How’s the little mute fire witch doing?”
Noa whipped her head to look at Bara. Naomi. He was talking about Naomi. “You don’t need to fucking think of her at all,” Noa said coldly. The redhead turned his disturbing green eyes on her. In that moment, he looked just like a panther sizing up his prey.
“Is that so, pink witch?” he said, voice lowering an octave. He remained staring at her, and a shard of ice trickled down her spine under his glacial attention. But Noa stared right back. He didn’t intimidate her. None of these fuckers did. She’d dealt with worse …
A quiet voice in her head told her that maybe she was worse.
The sudden electrical snap of Diel’s collar cut through the room like a thunderclap, pulling everyone’s focus his way. He was shaking, fists clenched on the table. His neck was corded, and his eyes were bloodshot with the strain of trying to keep himself reeled in.
“Diel?” Gabriel said cautiously, but Diel’s eyes were on Noa. Then they slowly traveled to Bara, who frowned in confusion at his brother. When Bara glanced at Noa, a look of stark understanding flashed across his face.
Bara held up his hands, wearing a cocky grin. “Message received, brother.”
Noa’s heart fired into a sprint. Sela placed down his fork and said, “Breathe, Diel.”
Diel stared at Noa a second longer, the look in his eyes switching between the monster’s softness and Diel’s potent anger. But he eventually shut his eyes and inhaled a steady breath. In less than a minute, the collar lost its serpentine hiss, and the charged metal seemed to calm to a low-grade hum.
Diel opened his eyes, but his focus was on the wooden table, gaze averted from Noa. Noa fought to keep her own breathing under control. Heat rushed over her body, and every part of her was primed, in a confused cocktail of being braced to either fight or defend Diel.
Tonight in the folly couldn’t come soon enough.
“You’re a fucking interesting bunch, that’s for sure,” Dinah said, shaking her head. “Never thought we’d find anyone more fucked up than us. But I think we’ve hit the goddamn lottery with you guys.”
“You flatter,” Bara said, the darkness he’d just exposed quelled and his usual dry humor rising to the surface.
Dinah faced Gabriel. “As much as I’m loving the fucked-up blended-family bonding, we need to start planning. Our rescued children need moving. And we need to start talking about how we’re going to take out the Brethren.”
Gabriel nodded. He was about to speak when Noa asked, “I’m assuming you can all fight.”
Gabriel seemed taken aback by that. Uriel leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We’re serial killers. What do you think?”
Noa cracked her neck. “Being able to kill, individually, doesn’t mean you can fight collectively.” She scanned the Fallen men. “You have just turned your focus to fighting the Brethren and were only your run-of-the-mill, everyday murderers before that. We have been facing these pricks for years.” She tapped her nails on the table. “They can fight. They train together constantly—a well-oiled cohesive unit. You have no