Free Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) by Meg Collett Page A

ultimately, a war wouldn’t leave anyone the same. Clark heard the words and understood, felt the angel’s pain like his own. “I bet that stoic shit gets you laid all the time, doesn’t it?”
    That won a half-smile from Zarachiel. “Right. Get some rest. I’ll come find you after I talk to Liam.”
    With that, Zarachiel headed back down the hall, his back curving and bending. Clark looked away and went inside, not bothering to turn on the lights. The rooms were chilly and heavily shadowed. The leaky faucet in the kitchen dripped tiny water drops into the sink, the sound echoing through the entire apartment. As he walked to the bedroom, Clark shed his clothes, letting them lay where they fell. By the time he figured out that he wasn’t alone in the apartment, he was naked, save for his boxers and thick, mismatched socks.
    “Took you long enough.”
    Clark squeaked and jumped in surprise. He wished desperately that he wasn’t the type of man who squeaked, but he believed his overall manliness more than compensated a perfectly justifiable, high-pitched reaction to being scared shitless.
    “Dammit, Camille. I told you to stop doing that.”
    “Were you with her?”
    “Who?”
    Camille stalked forward from the shadows of the bedroom. Her silken gold hair was loose around her shoulders, except for a large piece by her ear braided up tight to keep the strands from getting in her eyes. Her green eyes flared. “The Nephil. Were you banging her just now?”
    Clark yawned largely. He was too tired to worry about her wrath today. “No, I wasn’t. No need to pee on me.”
    Camille recoiled. “Excuse me?”
    “To mark your territory?” Camille still looked confused, so Clark rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m going to take a shower. Don’t break anything.”
    Camille liked to throw things when she was mad, and by the look on her face as Clark turned toward the bathroom, he knew she was considering it. Light streamed in through a gilded, rose-colored stained glass window above the shower. The tinted light turned his skin pink like his hair as he twisted the shower’s knob, making it shriek as the old pipes rumbled to life beneath his feet. There was no waiting for the water to heat up these days, just bearing the cold.
    He had shampoo in his eyes when the shower curtain eased back and Camille stepped in with him. She was naked; her sinuous body slinked against his like the twist of a snake. How she could be a holy angel looking like this, Clark would never understand. Her hands twined around his neck and pulled his lips to hers. She was relentless, and he was powerless to stop her. As she kissed him, her eyes stayed open, wide and apologetic. She would never say the words, but she tried to tell him—the best way she could—that she was sorry.
    Sex with Camille was either a punishment or an act of forgiveness.
    And Clark wasn’t too tired to accept.

 
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    “C lark.”
    Clark was so exhausted that he didn’t dream when he fell asleep. Instead, he landed into unconsciousness with a heavy thud and a snore. It could have been a minute or a year that he was asleep. But deep in the hazy darkness of sleep, he recognized the voice saying his name. It was Sophia.
    He opened his eyes and blinked, trying to recall the dream he must have been having. Slowly, he shifted his head against the pillow, rustling his half-dried hair. Camille lay beside him, her curves pressing soft and warm against him.
    Clark’s throat tightened, and his stomach pitched. Camille didn’t have curves; the Throne angel had jutted angles and razor-sharp turns. She was a Formula 1 racecar; she certainly wasn’t warm and soft.
    He turned his head farther. Camille’s back was to him, her strawberry blond hair spilling onto the pillow and his arm, like strands of silk across his skin. But Camille didn’t have strawberry blond hair, and the room was starting to roil beneath him as his anxiety built up. Something was wrong with