by Chloe Neill
“Perhaps,” Malachi said. “Or maybe I’ve changed. I’m too Paranormal for the human world, and not quite Paranormal enough for this one.”
Rachel sipped from her goblet, then placed it on the table again, played with the stem. “There’s a saying on Earth: ‘You can never go home again.’ I think that’s what you’re saying.” She looked up. “I’m from Portland. The war hasn’t touched it, and I’m not sure—after being here for so long—if I could ever go home again. If I could ever figure out how to fit in.”
“That’s one of the bummers of growing up,” Gavin said. “And growing old. Places change. People change. But memories don’t. It’s hard to let memories go.
“Speaking of which,” he said, leaning closer, “what do we do about the Abethyl? Is there a plan? Something including stealing it and returning triumphantly to our home world?”
I raised a hand. “No B and E for me, please. I’ve only just stopped being a fugitive, and I’m really enjoying not being on the run.”
“If you run, I’ll bring you back,” Liam said. While his grin was wide and his tone was teasing, there was something very serious in his expression. And I liked it.
“We sleep,” Malachi said. “And tomorrow I will speak with the Precepts again.”
Gavin lifted his brows. “That’s it? We sleep on it, and you give them a stern lecture. Do you think the Precepts will really change their minds?”
It took a moment for Malachi to answer. “I think they’ll find a conversation with me enlightening.”
I considered Malachi not just an ally but a friend. And given the chill in his eyes and the threat woven into those words, I was really glad he was on our side.
* * *
• • •
No one attacked us at dinner, and when the crowd began to disperse, and the weariness of travel sank into our bones, we rose to head back to our rooms.
We’d made it inside the Citadel’s first floor when we heard the commotion, the noise from the public square beyond.
We walked to the threshold and looked out, saw a crowd of people watching a woman who’d climbed onto the wide base of a statue of a roaring lion.
Malachi kept walking closer. Liam and I exchanged a glance, followed him toward the square and toward the group who’d assembled there.
The woman looked young, with golden skin and lavender eyes, and long hair so pale and fine it billowed behind her in the light breeze. Her nose was small, her ears narrow and pointed, her fingers long and slender.
“We propose to name the square after the Minotaurean Battalion,” she was saying, “in honor of their sacrifice to Elysium during the Rebellion. It would be such a small token, but an important one for our community.”
The sound of marching footsteps rose as several men and women wearing long tunics and boots, and holding golden staffs, began to move across the square, trying to break up the crowd.
“Security?” Liam asked, and Malachi nodded.
We moved closer, watching the groups meet each other.
“Representatives from the Citadel have joined us,” the woman said, smiling, and gesturing toward the guards. “We are glad to have you here, to discuss these matters with you.”
“Disperse,” one of them said, using a golden horn to send the word across the area. “You are violating the Law for Peaceable Assembly.”
The speaker’s face went hard. “The Law for Peaceable Assembly forbids us from assembling.”
Ironic, I thought.
“The Precepts assemble,” the guard said. “Those who violate the laws are dissenters. They seek to injure the peace, the citizens.”
“I’m suggesting only that we honor someone who sacrificed,” she said, looking up at the crowd to try to plead her case. “How could that possibly be wrong? How could that be anything other than good? Than right?”
But the people just watched as guards took her by the arms, pried her from the pedestal.
“We honor all,” one of the guards said. “So we mention none.”
The woman tried to keep a smile on her face, and worked to wrench away from the guards who held her. “We should mention them. It’s our history. It’s part of who we are.”
“We are Elysium,” said the guard with the horn. “Disperse.”
The crowd looked uncertain for a moment, not sure if they should stay and watch, or help the girl, or just keep moving. Keep the peace and enjoy the evening.
The woman stepped on a guard’s foot, then pivoted to try to break free of their hold. But another guard slapped her, as the crowd began to drop away, scattering at the edges, a droplet dissolving into the sea. They’d listen if there were no consequences. But they wouldn’t intervene.
Rachel moved to step forward, but Malachi gripped her arm.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “We have to do something. That woman wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
“She violated the law. Whether we agree with the law or not, it is the law of this place. It is their law.”
“It’s wrong,” she said, looking at us for support. “And it’s unfair.”
“It may be,” Malachi said. “But we cannot help that now. Even if we wanted to, we’re vastly outnumbered, and don’t have the strength to face down all of Elysium. And more, you have no rights here. We’d be lucky if they merely sent you back to Earth. If that happens, we ruin our chance to obtain the Abethyl and save your world.”
“So we let her be the sacrifice?” Rachel shook her head, jaw working as she bit back her argument. “That’s a shitty choice.”
“It is,” Malachi agreed.
“What will happen to her?” Liam asked.
“Magic,” Malachi said, and disgust tinged his voice. “Her failure will be treated with magic, the dissent dissolved with magic, so that she fits neatly into the structure once again. So their peace is not interrupted. Because they have learned nothing.”
He turned and stalked away, moving to the edge of the square, where grass and stone were checkered into a border. Putting distance between himself and the crowd.
We followed him, put a semicircle of humans between him and the others.
“Time to vent,” Gavin said, giving Malachi a friendly pat on the back. “God knows you listen to us bitch about Paras and Containment and—” He stopped short when Rachel nailed him with a look.
“Not that Containment isn’t doing a great job and everything in our awesome little postapocalyptic paradise. ’Cause they are.”
“He talks too much,” Liam said, giving Gavin a dour look, “but he’s right about the venting. You might as well get it out.”
Malachi looked at us, brow furrowed as if he was puzzled by the offer. “You want me . . . to complain to you.”
“Yup,” Gavin said. “It’s healthy. Puts hair on your chest.”
Malachi glanced down.
“Idiom,” Liam and I said together. “He doesn’t mean it literally.”
“Go ahead,” Rachel said. Malachi looked at her, then back at the crowd.
“I did not ask to be conscripted, to be taken into your world,” he began. “But Elysium had been shattered. The war had been violent; land and buildings destroyed, just as on Earth. Citizens dead.” His gaze went hazy, as if he was remembering the sights and sounds of war. They were hard memories. Powerful memories. And they popped up at inconvenient times.
“There was so much death and destruction. The rebellion, the hatred, the violence. Now there are manicured parks. Gleaming buildings. Laughing children. They have stripped away the image of violence, but they seem to have learned nothing from it. The world is more . . . sterile than it was before I left. Difference treated even more harshly. They haven’t solved their problems. They’ve only deferred them.”
“Is there no opportunity for change?” Rachel asked. “For elections or some other way of putting a n
ew person, a new group, in power?”
“The Precepts hold their thrones by what they deem the dictate of the citizens. They are convinced they’ve made Elysium a better place, a utopia. And look around,” he said. “Many tiers of citizens live well. They enjoy the weather, the stability, and they have what they need. They have the correct type of lives. The correct type of magic. They believe, or want to believe, the violence is behind them, so they have no incentive to change. Even if they see dissent, because it’s rare they believe it shows only that the system is working.”
“And since they don’t allow dissent, nothing will change,” Liam said.
Malachi nodded.
“There could still be change,” I said, and he shifted his gaze to me. “That woman was rebelling in some small way. She was showing the current order is wrong, or at least partly wrong. Maybe there are underground groups? Rebels working quietly on the sidelines?”
“I know of none,” Malachi said.
“But you do,” Liam said. “Most of them are in our world. Moses and Lizzie and the other Consularis who’d probably come back if they could. Even the Seelies, Aeryth. The Court knew the system is wrong. But instead of fighting the good fight, they abandoned Elysium to the Consularis and invaded our world.”
“They wanted power,” Malachi said, “to be the oppressors, more than they wanted to free the oppressed. And so here we are. Let’s get you back to the Citadel.”
He didn’t wait for our response, but turned and walked back toward the building.
* * *
• • •
“What time shall we assemble tomorrow?” Gavin asked when we reached our rooms.
“However the conversation with the Precepts goes, I’d like to be walking again by dawn,” Malachi said. “I don’t think we want to reach the Veil in the dark.”
“Agree,” Rachel said. “I could deal with twilight—harder for us to see, but same for them. But full dark would be dangerous. We need some visibility.”
“Dawn,” Liam said with a nod. “We’ll meet you right here.”
“And until then,” Gavin said, looking around, “I wonder if there’s fun to be had in Creepyland.”
Liam turned Gavin to face his room. “Have fun in there with the door locked. Maybe you’ll get lucky and there’s a minibar with more of that spiced wine.”
“Okay,” Gavin said after a moment. “That could be fun.”
“Are you in for the night?” Liam asked Malachi.
“I believe I would like to walk.”
“Would you like some company?”
Malachi’s eyes widened at Rachel’s question, and the look he gave her was part curiosity, part naked need. “I . . . wouldn’t mind.”
She nodded. “I’m ready when you are.”
Malachi gestured toward the stairs, and they walked together toward them. They made for an interesting contrast. Rachel, petite and dark haired. Malachi, tall and blond. And of course the wings and biological differences.
“Because we haven’t already walked enough today?” Gavin murmured when they walked away. “How could they possibly want to walk more? There’s a pool in my room.” He looked at us. “Does yours have one?”
“It does,” Liam said. “And they’re walking because he’s coming to terms with what’s happened in his homeland. And because they’re in love with each other.”
“What?” Gavin said, jerking his head to look in the direction they’d walked. “No way.”
“You are not that oblivious,” Liam said dryly. “Haven’t you noticed how they look at each other?”
“Yeah, like they’re pissed off. Which is my point.”
I patted his cheek. “Oh, you sweet summer child. They’re pissed off because they’re in love and don’t feel like they can do anything about it.”
Gavin just stared at us. “That’s . . . really stupid.”
“That’s love, mon frère.”
* * *
• • •
We left him in the hallway contemplating relationships, and escaped into the breezy glow of our palatial bedroom.
“Bath,” I said, and began peeling off clothing on my way to the steaming pool. But I’d managed to get only my shirt off, and begun to toe off a hiking boot, when pain flashed through my foot.
“Ow,” I said, and sat down on the marble surround.
“What’s wrong?”
“Blisters on blisters on blisters.”
He came over, went down to one knee. “May I assist?”
He was so damn sexy with those wicked blue eyes, the glint of humor in the lifted corner of his mouth.
“Be gentle,” I agreed.
Carefully, while I gnawed my bottom lip to take my mind off the pain, he slid the boot from my foot, then the sock.
My foot was a mess. Blisters had already formed and disintegrated, leaving raw red spots where the boot had rubbed.
“Oh, cher.”
“New boots,” I said. “Well, not new new, but I haven’t worn them in years. Haven’t run distance in years. Only when being chased.”
Liam smiled, repeated the process with foot number two, then removed the rest of my clothing. Then he picked me up, carried me gingerly to the pool. My feet objected to the first sting of heat, but as the rest of my body slipped into deliciously hot water, they retracted their objections.
“Sometimes a world that’s a little too perfect is actually just right.”
Liam smiled at me and pulled his shirt over his head. Then the pants, the boxers, until he was tall and honed and utterly naked.
“You’re a hell of a thing to look at,” I said, then blinked back surprise at the husky drowsiness in my tone.
Liam’s chuckle was low and satisfied. “While I probably ought to object to being objectified, hard to complain when a beautiful woman says she likes the look of you.” He slid into the water, graceful as a seal. He stayed under for a moment before popping up again, slicking his hair back off his eyes. They shone with amusement and mirrored the heat of the water. But when I tried to reach out to him, I found I didn’t even have the energy to trickle fingers down his chest.
“I can tell you’re exhausted,” he said, and moved around to sit behind me, then pulled my body against his. I dropped my head back to his shoulders, closed my eyes, and let my body relax.
“There’s my girl,” he said, and pressed a kiss to my neck. “For now, relax. Let me do the worrying. You just take a breath.”
I took one, and then another, until my mind was blank as I floated in the warm and scented water.
I remember being lifted, the brush of chill air against my skin. Being swaddled in a thick towel and carried again. Being placed atop a soft bed that seemed to undulate beneath me, and cool sheets that seemed to wick away any lingering pain.
And then his fingers trailed across my limbs, the tingle of his teasing touch delicious. He grinned at me, slid away the towel, and pressed a kiss to my stomach.
His lips were warm and soft, and I closed my eyes to savor the sensation, the feel of him.
Gold spun in his eyes, catching the light of the candles, then fading again as he shifted. A moment of shimmering brilliance.
He maneuvered over me, held himself up by strong arms, that gorgeously muscled body, before pressing a kiss to my lips.
I reached up, fingers toward his abdomen, and he lifted an arm to swivel and maneuver just out of reach.
“You’re a tease.”
“I’m a man with a plan.”
“Do I get to know the plan ahead of time?”
“No,” he said, and dipped down to kiss me again.
I grabbed his waist before he could get away, tugged him closer. “Then I’ll have to spoil your plan. Because I have a plan, too.”
“Do you, now?” he asked, sliding a hand along my ribs, his p
alm warm against my skin.
“I do,” I said, arching beneath his touch. He found my breast and mouth simultaneously, fingers and tongue equally nimble, equally seeking. Wanting something good. Something clean. Holding to a different kind of hunger.
This was about solidarity, about warmth and honesty. It was a bringing together, a reminder that we were facing the obstacles together, after so many years of facing them alone.
He deepened the kiss and pressed his body, heavy with muscle and magic and love, to mine, blocking out the fear, the darkness. For now, we were here, and we were alive, and we had each other.
I tunneled fingers through his hair and pulled him closer, wanting love and desire to replace hopelessness and fear. Wanting connection, instead of fear and dread.
I used hands to touch the stacked muscles of his abdomen, to feel the thudding heartbeat beneath his strong chest. Hands and mouths explored as desire rose, as movements became more hurried, as skin became more feverish.
And I rose over him, hair streaming around my shoulders, the fierce possession in his eyes pushing me on, forward, further. Hands grasped, found, clenched as desire rose, lifted higher toward that beautiful crest, until love became magic. Became stars and sensation.
We lay together in each other’s arms—together and, for now, at peace.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I woke to the smell of coffee. Or something at least coffee-esque.
I opened my eyes . . . and found a woman in a gauzy gown staring down at me.
“Oh, my God!” I screamed, and jolted fully awake. Liam sat up like he’d been propelled out of bed.
“What is it?”
“Her,” I said, and gestured to the woman, who was staring at us with wide brown eyes. Her long and pointed ears extended through straight dark hair, and there were pale stripes across her face.
“I have brought you beverages.” She gestured to two small ceramic cups that sat on the edge around the bed. “Would also you care for food to break your fast?”
I pulled the sheet up over my chest, opened my mouth to tell her to get out.