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“That’s beside the point!” I snapped, even if his disclosure made my heart skip a beat. Like, how did he think that would make it better?!

“Well demons aren’t born, they’re made! And that doesn’t always happen,” he added.

“Then why is it happening to me?” I couldn’t disguise the strain in my voice anymore. Was I becoming a demon—is that what was happening? “You have an idea, Ryder. I overheard you talking to your brother when I was in your room.”

I may have confessed to espionage, but forcing an honest answer was worth the risk. I waited on the edge of my seat for his response, my fingers drumming the sides of my legs.

Minutes passed, and flaky paint soon replaced the stripped bark as the buildings started to outnumber the tree trunks.

Fully out of the forest now, the low howl of the wind faded to crosswalk beeps and the tune of the pedestrian shuffle. The neon bulbs of downtown rose ahead like a sun. Blocks from my drop I was nowhere closer to solving the mystery of this guy—or myself.

When he didn’t speak, I forced myself to needle him, which wasn’t hard considering how annoyed I was. “Seriously? I can tell you all about me, but when it comes to you, not a peep?”

As the car slowed to a halt, Ryder gave his most honest response: the silence that defined him. He didn’t owe me anything anyways, and how could I forget: to him, I was just some girl.

“Screw you.” I jumped out, stopping before I slammed the door. Over my shoulder, I called, “By the way, if you’re my guardian angel, then I’m officially firing you.”

Chapter 15

Not going to lie, I was pretty proud of myself, snapping at Ryder, until my ankle twisted with the jump out of his truck. The whimper definitely undercut my badassery, but it wasn’t my fault my fury had cancelled out my brain’s ability to judge the truck’s deceleration.

Real cool, River. Real cool.

As the thrums and hums of downtown filled the air around me, the Chevrolet’s sputter mixed with the urban sounds—the last thing I’d let myself do was look back, so I couldn’t tell if Ryder bounced or stuck around.

Not sure why I cared anyway.

Stalking through the door of Kona Koffee, my anger kept me from focusing on much else. That’s why when I heard, “River, what’s up?” It completely stopped me in my tracks.

I may have blamed my exit on training her—I didn’t think she’d actually be here. Closing by herself, after working there for like…a day.

I forced a smile that hurt my insides. “Hey, Shanley. I needed a minute. Is Tom around?”

“Nope.” She shook her head.

Phew. My shoulders dropped as if releasing an invisible weight. “Thank God.” I flung myself to the closest bistro table and plopped into a curved plastic chair, resting my foot on the one next to me, unabashedly making myself at home.

Shanley took note of my sprawled-out posture. “You look like you could use a drink.”

I didn’t have the chance to decline or accept, but I was glad she made the choice for me because I did need a coffee. Stat.

Whipping out the grinder from the countertop rinsing station, she got to work, stopping everything to help me in the final stretch of her shift. Her hustle, something she’d been lacking during our last shift, melted my cold, angry heart.

“Any preference?” She held up my milk options.

“Almond, please.” This time my smile was genuine.

She’d gotten the system down pretty fast: tamping the espresso grounds, locking the portafilter, steaming the milk without burning herself. I hated when people watched my every move behind the counter, but I couldn’t turn away from her—her flannel twirled around her waist as she spun to grab things, bopping the buttons and tapping the granite as if the only way to tame her energy was to keep moving.

Either she’d had too much caffeine, or something was different…

I bit out a sigh. I was probably being paranoid. I mean, I’d just been told that angels and demons existed—how could I not second-guess everything? And the longer I watched… the more unraveled she became. The instruments shook with her erratic moves. Under-eye bags dug like craters into her fair face, visible even in the dimly lit room. She’d been a little unkempt when I’d met her, but that was different, on purpose—part of her style. Tonight, she smelled a little huskier, her hair looked a little patchier, the blackness of her pupils dominated the blue.

She grabbed an opaque brown bottle from the mini fridge, dipped her head, and took a pull. The flask perspired onto her fingers, like the sweat sprouting from her hairline.

It was struggle city over there.

“You feeling okay?” I tried to be nonchalant.