His expression was serene, a look I hadn’t seen from him. Though his body was relaxed, an undercurrent of alertness remained that made me believe he could spring up and attack in less than a breath. He was like a serpent, laying in a patch of sun.

Lethal, beautiful. Wholly untouchable.

I wanted to kick him for being so dangerously breathtaking. His head snapped in my direction, his gaze capturing mine. For a minute, I forgot how to breathe.

He slowly took me in. “Did something happen on the way here?”

“No.”

“Then why do you look confused?”

“I thought you couldn’t bear daylight.”

“Why is that?”

I rolled my eyes. As if he didn’t know. “Because the Malvagi turn to ash in the sun. That’s why we always meet at dusk.”

He looked at me oddly. “What else, exactly, have you heard of the Wicked?”

I lifted a shoulder. Everyone knew the legends. Since they concerned him, I doubted he was that clueless. “You’re bloodthirsty demons. You’ve got red flecks in your eyes, your skin is like ice, you’re beautiful, and your kisses are addictive enough to make someone sell their soul for another.”

A bemused smile touched his lips. “It’s nice to know you find me so attractive, but I’m not one of those demons. My eyes aren’t red. And if you’d like to find out if my skin is warmer than ice, that can easily be arranged.”

To further his point, he undid a few buttons on his shirt, exposing a patch of bronzed skin. A light sheen of sweat glistened, as if beckoning. My face heated, having nothing to do with the sun. “I work in a kitchen and can break down a chicken carcass in under three minutes, I imagine doing the same to you wouldn’t be that different.”

“I assure you, there’s no truth to these stories.” His eyes sparked with mischief. “Though I can’t promise my kisses wouldn’t be sinfully good.”

“I thought we were supposed to meet later tonight. Did something happen to change that?”

Wrath stared at me a moment longer and for some reason, I held my breath. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but an inner battle was being waged. Finally, he laid back down, face tipped up at the sun, and closed his eyes. I exhaled.

“No. Nothing of note.”

“Do you know who the next witch is?”

“Not yet.”

I stood there, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t bother, I walked over and glared at him until he looked up grudgingly, shielding his face with a strong hand. “If you don’t have information on the next witch, why did you ask me to come here?”