Their sommelier departed, two glasses of red wine left behind in his wake, and Evangeline lifted her goblet in response to Rafe.
“To patience.” Rafe clinked his glass against hers. “And all the dividends it inevitably pays.”
“Cheers.”
She took a sip of the wine, an exquisite explosion of taste on her tongue as she drank the rich red. The spa. The dress. Now the dinner. Rafael Stavros did nothing by half measure.
“Lovely.”
“As are you.” Rafe inclined his head before he settled his glass on the table. “What about you, Miss Kennedy? Are you a Las Vegas native?”
“I think so.”
The words were out so fast there was no way to retrieve them, even as the answer was far more honest than she’d ever have intended. While Rafe waited for her to continue, she weighed the merits of sharing her past.
How did one share the details of a wretched childhood that began in an abusive home and ended in the cold, airless confines of foster care?
And why did she even care?
“My pedigree isn’t nearly as well established as yours.”
Rafe’s eyebrows did lift at that, a mix of humor and affront painting those gray depths. “Are you suggesting I’m some sort of purebred dog?”
“No, but I definitely have strains of mongrel.” She took a sip of her wine, fortifying herself with the burst of flavor and obvious quality of the drink. While certainly not necessary, it did make the telling a bit sweeter.
“My parents were rather poor at their jobs. Both had drug problems, my father especially.”
Where she’d braced for sympathy, something more akin to anger morphed in the swirling depths of his gaze. Oddly, the unexpected reaction encouraged her, allowing her to push on. “The tale’s not new, but Vegas certainly doesn’t provide a helpful backdrop for those battling addiction.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I was young at the time, so there’s quite a bit I don’t remember. But one day my father just stopped coming home. My mother ranted and railed about it for months, falling deeper and deeper into her own abyss and then one day, it all stopped and she was gone, too.”
“You remember?”
“Some days.”
“And others?”
“I remember how I survived. Learning places to hide. Understanding how to read moods and body language and whatever else went on in a room. And finding my own solace in the small patches of dirt outside our apartment, the hardscrabble something I could make beauty out of.”
“A flower in the desert.”
“Perhaps.”
“There’s no perhaps about it. You clearly found a way to triumph over unfair circumstances no child should ever have to experience.”
“It’s why, you know.”
“Why what?”
She’d never been one to avoid or evade when she could simply go for what she wanted. It had been like that in foster care and she’d carried the trait on into adulthood. Hell, it had earned her a place at the Archangel.
Yet in this moment—at this time—she nearly backed down. Almost walked away in the light of that anger that still burned in his gaze.
Anger for her.
Evangeline felt it. Knew it, on a deep, visceral level. The story of her past had upset him. Angered him with a primal rage she could read in the set of his broad shoulders and the tight grip he had on his wineglass.
But a lifetime of loss and of looking out for no one but herself had more gravity than the rather new sensation of sitting opposite a champion.
“It’s why I won’t forget what I saw. Or stop looking for answers as to why there was a man burning to death outside the greenhouse last night.”
White-hot flames licked at his soul, a dark, dangerous fire Rafe struggled to keep in check. He prided himself on his control—he knew who he was and what he was capable of—and always held himself—and his needs—in a firm grip.
Until Evangeline.
She was incendiary, a bright, vivid match to the flames that already consumed him.
And she was more dangerous than she ever could have imagined.
Damn it all to Hades, he’d intended to leave the subject of last night alone. He’d foolishly believed a day of pampering and seduction would turn her mind away from the impossible.
Or what should have been impossible but which was very, very real.
Evangeline Kennedy was too smart—and far too intuitive—to leave the subject alone. Even with all the efforts of Gabe’s security team, working to divert and dissuade her from what she’d seen, she was unwilling to be put off.
None of it changed the fact she’d also done them a massive favor by getting rid of the bumbling Troy and Victor. Their idiocy and obvious desire to infiltrate the casino was the reason she’d still been on the property at such a late hour, working without two team members.
Was it really possible she had no idea the men were agents of the very organization seeking to bring down Rafe and his people? Did he dare ask her?
Or more to the point, was he willing to deal with the consequences if she hid the one secret he feared?
His gaze roamed over the delicate lines of her throat, her tan honing her skin to a fine shimmer. The steady throb of her pulse reflected in the hollow, deep and rich, and he could see the light movement of her flesh where her life force beat. If he were closer to a Rejuvenation, he could even hear it, those first moments of renewed life always a trauma to the senses.
Was it even possible she was one of the monsters who hunted him and his people in service to Chaos?
“You won’t find anything.”
“I have to try.” Her dark eyes sheened with tears, the response as surprising as it was unexpected. “I can’t live with myself if I don’t. That sort of violence and pain. How can you expect me to ignore it?”
What if I told you it wasn’t violent? Wasn’t painful? Instead was filled with the richest sense of renewal and fresh life. It was the antithesis of pain. Of suffering. Of our mortal tether to human life.
But he said none of those things.
Instead he reached for his glass of wine and sat back in his chair, a bastard of the first order who wouldn’t break or bend, acquiesce or yield.
He was Helios.
And his secret was not to be shared or entrusted to another.
* * *
Gabe finalized preparations for their evening plans in the security center, his gaze on the screens that captured all the action down at Flame. His brother had been there for some time, his beautiful companion seated across from him, and the two were deep in heated conversation.
Normally, he wouldn’t have given a shit if Rafe had a date. His brother’s chosen arm candy for the evening always lit up a room—always drew attention to their perfect faces and even more perfect figures—and he’d grown used to the steady parade. What had become something of a family joke, his brother’s refusal to go anywhere near the merest whiff of settling down, had a certain sort of comfort to it.
A predictability Gabe had never