“You are,” I said.

His gaze slid over me and he smiled. “When the angels send me a woman, they don’t skimp, do they?”

To my left, the werewolf snarled, his hooded gaze fixed on Dachev.

“Your fun is over, pets,” Dachev said. “Go back to your lairs.”

They hesitated but, after a mutter here, a grumble there, started to fall back.

“Come,” Dachev said to me. “We’ll speak at my house.”

“No, we’ll speak over there,” I said, waving at the meadow.

He nodded and tried to motion me forward, but I pointed at the road and, with a small smile, he took the lead.

Chapter 42

42

AS I WALKED BEHIND DACHEV, I KEPT GLANCING OVER my shoulder. None of the others followed us. Dachev must wield some power here—like the first man to travel beyond his prehistoric village and discover the existence of a greater world. Unlike those early explorers, I doubted Dachev shared his knowledge with his comrades, instead retaining that false edge of superiority for as long as he could.

When we reached the meadow, I led Dachev to a spot in the middle. Then I had a decision to make—turn my back to the village, to the forest at the other end, or to the meadow stretching off to either side. I chose the forest; it was far enough away that no one could leap out of it unnoticed, and I wanted to keep both eyes on that village.

As I turned to Dachev, I found him studying me, not with the insolent leer from earlier, but an academic stare, accompanied by a slight frown.

“We have met, have we not?” he said. “You appear familiar…and yet…” His frown flipped into a broad grin. “I’m quite certain I wouldn’t forget such an angel. So much prettier than the other one they sent. He wasn’t my type at all.”

“We’ve never met,” I said. “The last time you were top-side, I hadn’t even been born.”

He gave me another once-over, pausing at my eyes, his confusion obvious. He recognized something there…just wasn’t sure what it was. Too bad. If he didn’t know I was a witch, I wasn’t enlightening him about that, any more than I was letting him know I wasn’t an angel.

“Do you have a name, pretty one?” he asked.

“Everyone does.”

He waited. When I said nothing, his lips tweaked in a smile.

“The exchange of names is the first part of any polite conversation,” he said.

“Yep,” I said. “It is.”

When I didn’t continue, he laughed. “Not even going to humor me, are you? The other one did. He was very polite. Very…understanding. And most companionable. I think he wanted to be my friend.”

“I’m sure he did.”

Dachev’s brows lifted as he tried to suppress a grin.