Rae leaned against the counter, cold beer in hand, as he thought back to Cassie’s

hurried evacuation from the kitchen the day before. He shook his head and
laughed softly while recalling the glass of water that held her rapt attention.
Whatever triggered by the clear liquid must have been one hell of a memory, and
whoever the star of it was one lucky bastard.

“Down boy, you’re still getting over one.” He put the half empty bottle down on
the granite surface of the counter and looked at his reflection in the dark stone.
“You need another woman like you need another hole in the head.”

A soft scuff from a shoe on the tiles drew his gaze. His glance traveled up the
dark, ill-fitting clothes to the citrine eyes behind Dumah’s black rimmed glasses.
She walked to the fridge and poured a glass of the pulpy orange juice Remiele
insisted they keep on hand. A flash of light reflected off the shiny plastic of
Silence’s glasses and Rae couldn’t resist satisfying his curiosity.

“Why do you wear those?” He motioned toward the thick frames. “There’s never
been an angel in history who needed to wear glasses. We all have perfect vision.”

Whatever reaction Rae expected, it wasn’t for the silent woman to open her
mouth.

“If you must know, they block out auras.”

The soft, husky, sarcasm tinged words registered in his brain, making him feel
like a feather could knock him over. “You’re talking? Since when do you talk?”

“Since I was old enough to do it.” She glanced at him and took a sip of her juice.
“I’d say, oh, eight million years now?”

Rae shook his head and pushed off the counter. “I mean now. Why are you
talking now?”

“That is for me to know and you to find out.” She grinned at him, an amused look
on her face daring him to question her further.

“Brat.” He shook his head and walked out the backdoor.

Rae relished puzzles and a good mystery. It was part of the reason he enjoyed
ripping down engines and putting them back together. The satisfaction of finding
a solution and then putting all of the pieces back together again was something he
craved. Figuring out what made Dumah start talking again became another kind
of puzzle he determined to solve. Scooby Doo and his crew had nothing on him.

The heavy wooden garage door creaked open, ungreased hinges protesting in a
raw screech. Dust motes swirled in the sunshine streaming in through the open
door to create crazy patterns in the air. A smile curved his lips as the illumination
pouring in bounced off the chrome parts of the 1947 Panhead Harley he’d been
restoring.

“Hello, beautiful.” Reaching to his left, he flicked on the overhead lights. His eyes
feasted on the pieces of chrome, metal and rubber on the enormous tarp spread
on the floor.

Silence watched, curiosity getting the better of her as the big angel stripped off
his socks, shoes and finally, his dark blue polo shirt before he stepped onto the
canvas work surface.

“Either get in here and help or go away.” Rae picked up a wrench and turned to
look at her. “I hate hovering and right now, you’re hovering.”

“Fine.” She made a face at him and Rae returned it with a questioning look. “I’ve
got some reports that need my attention anyway.”

Rae bent to his task and Dumah left the way she came . She entered the empty
kitchen and grinned. “Time to put the wheels in motion.”

Grasping the small talisman in her hoodie’s right pocket, she walked to the
middle of the kitchen and stopped. Ancient Sumerian spilled from her mouth as
Dumah recited the spell to pull her, and her co-conspirators, to their rendezvous
point.

“Ugh.” she grunted as her feet hit the concrete floor. “There has to be a better way
to do this.”

The acrid, burning smell of sulfur choked her senses as a tall, fiery eyed demon
appeared beside Dumah.

“What now?” he growled as he fully reformed. “I was in the middle of… Oh, hello,
love.”

Dumah smirked at his dishevelled hair and unbuttoned shirt. She flicked the end
of his belt and snorted softly. “In the middle of whom, handsome?”

He had the good grace to blush and she burst into full out laughter. Her fingers
slid over the solid planes of his chest and he shuddered when the pointed tip of
her tongue flicked up the side of his jaw.

Strong fingers tangled in her hair and pulled. Dumah moaned as tiny sparks of
pain burst along her scalp. The firm yank tilted her head back, exposing her
throat.
“No one you need concern yourself over. She pales in comparison to you.”

Her hands pushed the shirt from his shoulders and skimmed the scaly ridges.
The garment dematerialized, giving her free reign to caress the second favorite
part of her lover’s anatomy.

“Next time you see her, thank the silly bitch for making my job easier.”

He laughed while pushing her against the wall. His fists bunched in the material
of her hoodie and the zipper gave way with a hard yank.

“Love to,” he murmured against her bared breast. “Can’t. She’s dead.”

Moist heat closed over her nipple and Dumah forgot about the other woman in
her lover’s bed for the moment. Digging her nails into the soft flesh above his
scales, she encouraged the hard tip of his tongue working the peak of her breast
to a firm point. He grunted, pulled the button on her pants loose and shoved a
hand inside. The material rested around the top of her thighs and then slithered
down to pool at her ankles.

The button fly on his jeans popped open and Dumah palmed the thick length of
his erection as it burst free. She squeezed while he pumped her pussy in a duel to
see who could get the other off first.

His thumb found her swollen nub and the constant pressure sent her over the
edge. Her legs shook and she cried out as tremor after tremor of pleasure
radiated through her body.

“When will you ever learn, my love?” he pulled his hand free and turned her to
face the wall. His fingers gripped Dumah’s hips as he angled her and thrust deep
inside the quivering walls of her sheath. “You’ll never win. I always get what I
want.”

Dumah grunted as he sank deep, thrusting hard. She pushed her hips back and
flattened her hands against the wall for support.

“Who says you won?” She moaned as a sharp smack landed on her backside.
“Maybe this is exactly what I wanted.”

“Either way,” he huffed as their bodies slammed together. “I still win. Enough
talking. Scream for me.”