Page 40 of Dancing With Danger

“I’mgoingfor a woman, if you must know, you insufferable nag.” They’d always japed and jibed and poked at each other. Gabriel knew he had women. That he was somewhat a lothario, but they never really discussed it.

It had always seemed insensitive to do so.

Tonight, it felt especially so.

He put out a hand. “Gabriel, I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t be.” The words were released into the night like a puff of smoke over gravel.

Impatience warred with guilt in Raphael’s chest. “Why don’t you just put on an entire mask and pay some strumpet to at least suck your—”

“Go, Rafe.”

He put his hands up. Feeling both awful and relieved.

Were he making any other decision regarding his own future, he’d have insisted they abide.

Were his life expected to be any longer than a couple of nights... he’d have spent it all gladly with his brother.

But Gabriel had been right about one thing. The men of the underworld—and the officers of the law—would never believe them truly dead without a body to identify.

And that body would be his.

Gabriel had never lived a life before, and Raphael had devoured whatever he could from his own existence.

Now, he’d the opportunity to give his brother a second chance.

But first...Raphael would taste a bit of heaven before hell claimed his restless soul.

Mercy Goode would be the name on his lips. Nay, the taste lingering on his tongue when he met his death at the Midwinter Masquerade.

Chapter 9

It wasn’t a noise that woke Mercy.

But her body.

It came alive, rousing her from restless, wicked dreams. Banishing them from memory the moment her eyes flew open.

And found Raphael Sauvageau silhouetted against her window.

The wispy white drapes stirred around him, reaching as if disturbed by a shade, or by the very potency of his atmosphere as he stood.

Watching her.

The light of the lone lamp she’d left burning painted shadows on his face, casting one single expression in both stark and savage relief.

Hunger.

She remained burrowed to the neck beneath her plush blue blankets, shivering not only with cold, but with vulnerability.

One look from him threatened to strip her bare. Expose her in ways she’d not prepared for.

He’d come for his pound of flesh.

He’d come to claim her.

Mercy cast about for something erudite and worldly to say, some greeting that a temptress, a lover, would tantalize him with.