But that was the part he didn’t understand. Charley Davidson and Reyes Farrow—aka, the grim reaper and the son of Satan—had come back incognito, so to speak. Elwyn had no clue that the owners of her new favorite coffee shop were her biological parents. But why? Why keep their identities a secret?

  Though he had yet to get around to it, Donovan vowed to get to the bottom of their subterfuge. He knew they had their reasons. And they were likely damned good ones if he knew Charley Davidson. He just wanted to know what they were.

  “I have no idea,” Charley said, answering his question. “But that man is a prodigy when it comes to female anatomy. Medical school is the only explanation.” She looked up in thought and pursed her lips, causing dimples to form on either side of her mouth. “Although I suppose there could be one other explanation.” She bounced back and refocused on her dark husband. A husband whose eyes were locked on her, despite the companion he had on either arm. “Nope. That’s the only possible explanation.”

  A hint of a smile flashed across Farrow’s face as though he could hear every word his wife said. The place wasn’t exactly hopping, but it was loud enough to make hearing a quiet conversation from ten feet away difficult. Especially with Sweet Home Alabama cranked up and coming through the speakers. Even so, the fact that Farrow could hear their conversation hardly surprised Donovan. The man was a celestial being, after all.

  Charley crossed her arms over her chest and studied her man.

  He studied her back.

  “I am clearly not using my husband to his full potential.” Charley refocused on Donovan. “Can he make a mean mocha latte?”

  “No idea.”

  “Yes. Can he whip up a batch of chocolate syrup I’d pay to bathe in?”

  “Let me guess...”

  “Yes. But is that enough?”

  Though the question was clearly rhetorical, he answered, “I’m guessing no.”

  “Exactly.” She pointed her chin at the errant man. “We could make a fortune using his medical degree to become an OBGYN to the stars. Rich women love sexy doctors.”

  Donovan cleared his throat and went back to drying glasses. “TMI. But thanks, sweetheart. And why is she only pretending?”

  Charley blinked at him. “Who?”

  “The blonde.” Donovan gestured toward the woman. “You said she’s only pretending to be into your lesser half.”

  “Oh, right.” Charley eased closer and lowered her voice. “Think about it. You’re here with a stunning Brazilian and only pretending to be into the hot guy at the bar. Why do you think she’d do that?” When he only raised a brow, she rolled her eyes, looking so much like her daughter it stunned him for a minute. “To spend more time with her crush.”

  “The Brazilian,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Now, you’re getting it.”

  “So, she’s in love with her friend. Why does that make her batshit?”

  “Because the jealousy pulsing out of her is bright and sharp. It’s like staring into one of those huge lamps in a lighthouse without blinking. I’m a little worried for the Brazilian.” She wiped down the bar, making her way closer to Farrow.

  Her husband winked at her, again obviously in on their conversation, then looked at Donovan as he joined them. “I need a dime,” he said.

  Charley tsked. “I gave you a dollar before we left the house. Did you spend it all already?”

  When Farrow only grinned at her and leveled a purposeful stare on Donovan, he frowned and reached into his pocket. Not without complaint, however. “Why do you need a dime? I thought you were a billionaire.”

  His comment surprised both women. The Brazilian raised a brow, impressed, but the blonde seemed to take a more active interest in the man beside her. She slunk closer and slipped an arm into his.

  “Not that kind of dime,” Farrow said when Donovan tossed a coin onto the counter.

  “Ah.” Donovan reached under the bar and pulled out a white, dime-shaped disc. He handed the paper object over and waited.

  Farrow set it on the bar as both women looked on curiously. Then he turned the full power of his charm—if one could call it that—on the Brazilian by locking gazes with her.

  The woman flashed him a nuclear smile that stayed in place even when he dipped a finger into her margarita. As though more curious than surprised, she looked down and watched as he tapped his wet finger on the disc, depositing two thick droplets onto it. The paper absorbed them immediately.

  That was when Donovan noticed the blonde’s smile. It faltered just a little, and tension slid across her shoulders slightly as she straightened unconsciously. She tightened her cheeks, forcing her expression to hold steady, unable to take her eyes off the disc.

  Slowly, one pink line emerged.

  The Brazilian’s pretty brows slid together. “What does that mean?” she asked, her thick accent somehow cute and sexy at the same time.

  “It means,” Donovan said, taking both the disc and margarita and putting them behind the bar, “that someone slipped a narcotic into your drink.”

  Her jaw dropped slightly as she studied Farrow, seeming even more confused than before.

  Donovan knew what she was thinking. Why would a man at a bar drug her and then test the drink for drugs? She had yet to notice that her companion’s face had paled, and her friend clutched her bag to her chest. At least Donovan now knew where to find her stash.

  “Rohypnol is such a nasty way to get a date,” Donovan said to the blonde. He snapped his fingers at his bouncer, a biker with shady ties to the mafia.

  Michael walked over to them as though annoyed at being summoned. It was a mafioso thing. Donovan could give his best friend a hundred-dollar tip, and the man would act as though it were beneath him to take it. But take it he would.

  Clearly stunned, the Brazilian leaned back, looking at her friend from around Farrow.

  Donovan gestured toward the blonde as he spoke to Michael. “Would you help this young lady to my office and call the police?”

  “Will do.” Michael nodded at the blonde, who abruptly stood as though readying to run. “I wouldn’t,” he said to her. “It’ll only piss me off.”

  She clamped her jaw shut and glared at the lot of them. “You can’t keep me here.”

  “Actually, we can,” he said as he slid a large hand around her arm.

  “I’m calling my lawyer,” she said.

  Michael escorted her toward the back. “You’re going to need one.”

  “Did she...?” The Brazilian was clearly still wrapping her head around what’d just happened. Her gaze flitted from Donovan to Charley and then back to Farrow. “Why would she try to drug me?”

  Charley answered for them. “I suspect she was worried you’d try to go home with my husband.”

  The Brazilian’s shocked gaze landed on Farrow again. “You’re married?” When he only nodded, the disappointment that flashed across her face was impossible to miss.

  “I completely understand,” Charley said. “Would you like another less-chemically-enhanced margarita?”

  The woman sank onto her stool. “No. I think I’m done drinking for a while.”

  Charley nodded and poured her some sparkling water instead. She set it on the bar in front of her and then asked, “Are you rich? Because I’m thinking about putting him on the market.” She tipped her chin at her husband. “I need a little spending money.”

  “Oh, no,” the dark-haired woman said, seeming a thousand miles away. She absently waved a hand and then snapped her attention back to them when Charley’s meaning finally sank in. She looked Farrow up and down, then added, “But if I were, I’d pay top dollar.”

  A devastating smile widened across Charley’s face, and Donovan pretended not to be affected by it. “That’s so sweet,” she said, covering the woman’s hand with hers for a quick squeeze. She was so good with people. So caring. Too caring, according to her husband.

  Farrow took a sip of his drink and then broke into Donovan’s thoughts by asking, “Have you been flirting with my wife again?”

  “Again?” Donovan asked, deciding to wipe down the bar. “I never stopped. How’d you know?”

  “I have eyes,” Farrow answered.

  Charley snorted.

  “No,” Donovan said. “I mean how’d you know about the drink? Did you use your superpowers or something?”

  Farrow frowned, seemingly unimpressed. “Superpowers?”

  “You have money and superpowers?” the Brazilian asked.

  “He does,” Charley said to her before leaning closer to her husband. “And, of course, Donovan still flirts with me. Have you seen my ass?” She gave Farrow a wink before sauntering off to see to the customers on the other side of the bar.

  Farrow took a long, hard look at that very ass before pointing to the mirror behind the bar. “I saw her pour something from a small vial into your drink. It’ll still be in her bag.”

  “Oh, my God. I can’t imagine why she would do that. We’ve been friends for almost two years. Why throw that away?”

  Why, indeed. Donovan left them to their conversation until the cops arrived. He made drinks for a table of tourists raving about Meow Wolf, at least according to his server, Eric—another biker who got bumped from bartender to server when Donovan’s newest hire called in with the latest contagion. Thus his need to bring in his pinch hitter. Aka, Charley. Had he known she’d invite her husband...

  Nah, he still would’ve called. Farrow was good for business. Once word got out that he was here, the place would fill up within an hour. The group of female patrons currently rushing inside his establishment, looks of feral excitement on their flushed faces, proved that. He’d have to invite the surly billionaire in more often.

  One of the new customers ordered a drink for Farrow before she even sat down. Donovan filled the order and took it over to the man as two cops talked to him and the Brazilian, getting the story before they headed back to the office.

  Charley walked up and propped an arm on Donovan’s shoulder again. “Do you feel that?”

  He turned to look at her, suddenly not sure he was in the mood to put up with an entire bar full of Farrow fans. “My burning desire to be born a rock in my next life?”

  “No.” She spun and looked at the door to the kitchen. It swung as if someone had just walked through it, but both of Donovan’s servers were working the floor. “Like something is off.” She dried her hands and took a step toward the kitchen before turning back to her husband. “Do you feel it?”

  Though he was busy corroborating the Brazilian’s story, Farrow nodded without looking over at them.

  “See?” Charley said, as though that confirmed everything. “I haven’t felt anything like that in a long time.”

  Having no clue what she was going on about, Donovan slid his gaze to the booth as he had every few seconds since the doc had arrived. A group of twenty-somethings sat there now. “Shit,” he said when he realized his mark had slipped out when he wasn’t looking. “She’s gone.”

  Chapter Two

  One word can change someone’s

  entire day: Margarita

  —Meme

  She should’ve known better. Actually, she would’ve known better had she not panicked. But she’d lost contact with the others, one by one. She could no longer hear their thoughts. So, when she discovered that Elle-Ryn-Ahleethia—or Charley Davidson as those on this plane knew her—would be tending bar at Donovan’s establishment, she’d decided to take a chance. If anyone could help, it would be a god. A very powerful one from what Zhou remembered. No, not Zhou. Sia. Her name was Sia here. And then she’d seen her. Charley Davidson. The celestial being she hadn’t set eyes on in five years. Whatever Sia had expected to find, it hadn’t been... this. It wasn’t a human where a god should have been.

  And the man at the end of the bar with a woman on either arm, what was that about? Was he her husband? The god who’d been tricked by an entity called Satan to create a son? If that was the husband, Charley hadn’t been kidding all those years ago. He was a gorgeous being. Not that he had anything on Donovan St. James, but to each their own.

  At least she’d gotten to see Donovan again. That particular human had filled Sia’s dreams with salacious fantasies since she landed on this rock five years ago. It must be the body she now inhabited. She’d found it on the brink of death in a dark alley and waited. Far be it from her to change the woman’s history.

  It hadn’t taken long. At the exact moment Dr. Lucia Mirabal’s soul left the woman’s body, Zhou entered it to become the tenacious doctor known to her friends as Sia. Corporeal possession was all in the timing—and nine-tenths of the law.

  When she inhabited it, all the doctor’s knowledge had spilled into her, allowing Zhou to pick up where Dr. Lucia Mirabal had left off. After a lengthy hospital stay, that was. The body still had to recover from the wounds the attacker had inflicted.

  But all the baggage that came with said body was proving more hindrance than help to Sia now. Humans had these annoying little parasites called hormones that seemed to control both the physical and the mental well-being to an alarming degree. And they were proving far more complicated than a simple ka-zhouah, one who’d spent centuries trapped in a dark void while slowly being drained of her energy, would’ve imagined. But seeing him again, possibly for the last time, was worth the risk of being found out. Of Charley recognizing her and, fearing for her daughter’s safety from a sentient being with a questionable history, vanquishing her before she had a chance to explain.

  Either way, Charley was human now. It mystified Sia how that was even possible. How did one go from being a god to a human? Maybe it was a trick of some kind. A mystical cloak to make other preternatural entities only think she was human. If it were, it’d worked. She’d fooled Sia, and Sia was never easily fooled.

  One of Donovan’s best friends was working as a bouncer tonight. A biker named Michael. She recognized both him and Donovan’s other best friend, a younger kid named Eric, who looked like a movie star. After a commotion of some kind, Donovan summoned Michael over to the bar. A few seconds later, Michael escorted one of the women to the back. It all looked rather ominous—and became Sia’s cue to leave.

  She took one last look at the scruffy biker behind the bar. Or, more pointedly, at his wild, dark hair and impossibly broad shoulders.

  “What can I get you, Doc?” Eric asked. He was playing server tonight, which was unusual. Everything about that night was strange, though Eric did look adorable with an apron tied around his waist.

  She wondered if Donovan was wearing similar garb. He wore pants so well, surely an apron tied around his hips would look just as magnificent. In fact, she imagined that anything would look good wrapped around his hips—including her legs.

  “Would you like some suggestions?” Eric prodded.

  She snapped out of her thoughts and punished herself by digging her nails into her palms. She’d lost contact with the only family she’d known for the last twelve centuries and was now sitting in a bar drooling over the biker who’d stolen her heart.

  “No, thanks. I’ll just have—” The phone she’d set on the table dinged, and her gaze darted hopefully to the screen. It paid off. It was Benji. But why couldn’t she hear his thoughts? It didn’t matter where any of them were in the world, they could always communicate just as easily as they had in the void.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sliding out of the booth and raising her phone in reference. “I have to take this.”

  “No, problem, Doc. I’ll just get you a club soda for now.”

  “That’s perfect. Thank you.”

  He flashed her a Hollywood smile as she stepped into an area she assumed led to the restrooms. Instead, she found herself in a small but industrial kitchen.

  “Sorry,” she said to the two employees who stopped what they were doing to look at her. Then she spotted another door that seemed to lead outside. That worked, too. “Sorry,” she said again, hurrying past metal prep tables and a stainless-steel gas stove. She knew her presence in the kitchen was a code violation.

  She opened the metal door and stumbled down two steps into a dark alley. A dumpster sat across from her, and several crates and boxes littered the area closest to her. After glancing around to make sure that no one was listening, she reread the text before trying to call Benji mentally. His text had simply asked: Where are you?

  She pressed the call button on her cell and waited.

  A staticky voice picked up. “Zhou?”

  “Benji?” she half-whispered, half-hissed into the phone. “Where have you been? I can’t hear you. I can’t hear anyone. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice sounded garbled as if the signal was cutting in and out. He lived in an area with horrible service, but that’d never been an issue before. Not when they could carry on entire conversations in their minds. “I can’t—”

  Sia groaned when the connection dropped and tried calling back, to no avail. So, she texted. What is going on?

  As she waited, she paced the uneven ground, looking over her shoulder every few seconds until her feet couldn’t handle it anymore. Even in low heels, the balls of her feet were beginning to ache. She’d been on them all day, taking a turn at the clinic on 5th to keep her mind occupied. To stop it from racing with all the thoughts of what could’ve happened to the only family she’d ever known.

  Five of them had made it out of the void on Charley Davidson’s heels when she escaped, and they’d all found humans to inhabit soon after. Benji, as he was called on this plane, lived the closest to her. The others had had to search farther for acceptable candidates.

  In order to inhabit a body at the time of its occupant’s passing, it had to be in a particular condition. Its survival had to be plausible. Others needed to believe that the human could live, no matter what ordeal they’d suffered. The physical form had to be intact and able to thrive, despite the fact that, in reality, it hadn’t. Having someone magically heal after being devoured by cancer for years was not a good option.