by Kristie Cook
He held a water bottle to my lips, and I drank the cool liquid greedily, reveling in the feeling as it slid down my throat and pooled in my stomach. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had any water. I’d been parched on the rock island, and the heat of Hell had dehydrated me further. I drained half the bottle before Tristan pulled it away, my mouth following after it.
“I don’t want you to get sick. Let that settle for a moment. I have food, too.”
My stomach growled in response.
“Where are we?” I asked as I glanced around. The dim, square room, lit only by Tristan’s fire, seemed vaguely familiar with its aged stone walls, and its musky odor. “Amadis Island? Why aren’t we in the mansion then?”
His face darkened, and he looked away from me, towards the fire. I supposed that meant I didn’t want to know about the mansion … which only made me want to know even more.
“What’s wrong?”
His jaw muscle twitched, then he finally replied, “We’re safe and hidden here in the dungeons.”
The dungeons—what I’d called the prison cells under the council hall where they’d kept Tristan when he’d been on trial, and where we’d taken refuge during the bombings when the world began falling apart.
“But the council hall was destroyed.”
“Up top, yes. We’re completely buried here and can only flash in and out.”
“How did we get here? Did you—”
“I woke up here, too.”
“Ah,” I said after a moment of thought. “Bree. She must have brought your body here before she took me to Hell. Oh, no! Tristan—”
My jaw snapped shut. Tears burned my eyes. I couldn’t bear to tell him … but I had to.
“I think Satan has Bree,” I said, and I told him the full story.
Well, sort of. I didn’t tell him about the mishaps with flying. He’d seen the wings in Hell, but they were hidden now, and I didn’t want to bring them up. I’d have to deal with his reaction eventually, of course, but I didn’t have the energy to right now. He handled weird much better than I did—he’d grown up and lived hundreds of years with weird—but I still didn’t know what the wings meant about me. They were feathery, but also dark and not like Angels’ or even Mom’s and Rina’s. I could only assume I wasn’t good enough for their colors of light and purity, but what else it all meant, I didn’t know.
And they didn’t matter at the moment. Bree and the rest of the faerie folk did.
He rubbed his hand over his face when I finished telling him what Stacey had said and what happened with Bree. “We’ll find a way to save her. Them. Everyone. But right now, you need to build your strength back.”
He finally gave me the rest of the water, and then carefully lifted me and leaned me against the wall before feeding me soup from a can.
“Where’d you get the food and water?”
“There’s plenty of it scattered across the island.”
“And none of it’s contaminated?”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “The Amadis know how to safeguard their goods. You wouldn’t believe what some of the mages had hidden—most of it useless or magically protected, and the majority of it … bizarre. Even for us.”
I chuckled before he fed me another spoonful. I peered at him closely.
“How are you so okay?” I’d been a mess when I escaped Hell, unable to tell the difference between now and then half the time. I thought my little bit of time at Heaven’s Gates before returning to Earth had helped—that the Angels had been holding me there for that very reason—but Tristan hadn’t been granted that relief.
His eyes cut sideways at me, the light of the flames flickering in them. “My physical body was here. I felt the pain down there, but it didn’t actually hurt me.”
“No. I mean, you. Your soul. How are you doing so well after so much time down there?”
He set the can down, dropped the spoon in it, and lifted a hand to my cheek, his eyes soft and appraising. He brushed away the hair that was matted to my skin, and then grasped my chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Because of you, ma lykita. You’re here, alive, talking to me. That alone makes me okay. Makes everything right in my world.”
I gave him a brief smile, but then let out a harrumph. “Everything in the world is far from right.”
Although I wasn’t intentionally listening to his mind, I sensed what he was about to say—that I would make it all right—but then he changed his mind in mid-thought.
He said instead, “I saw Dorian through the veil, when I dove down after you.”
I opened my mouth to yell at him for that, but he held a finger to my lips.
“I follow you, my love. Don’t argue with me about that. Just don’t plan on any more trips to Hell, and we’ll both be okay.”
“Never again,” I promised.
He took my hand in between his and folded his fingers over. His words came quietly. “So, I saw what Dorian’s doing.”
“We need to stop him.”
He frowned, and I hated seeing him so sad. “If what I saw while in Hell is true, it’s too late.”
I clapped my free hand over my mouth and shook my head slowly. “No. It can’t be. We can still save him.”
He placed his palm over my heart, settling its chaotic rhythm. “We will. We’ll do whatever we possibly can. But we do nothing until you’re strong enough.”
With no light in the dungeons, I didn’t know how much time passed while I concentrated on resting and regenerating my body—a few hours, maybe a day. My growing restlessness was a good sign I was ready, and the dark cell was making me stir crazy. In fact, it reminded me too much of Hell and the horrible days on the rock island. I was so tired of being underground. Finally, Tristan let me flash outside, and I went straight to the mansion on the other end of the island.
The light blinded me for a moment, and then the scene that greeted me made my stomach fall, my heart tumbling after it.
“Oh, no.”
The grand marble mansion of the matriarchs, which had been protected by the Angels and hadn’t been so much as scratched by the Norman bombs before, was flattened. Decimated. A pile of stone, wood, and broken furnishings among the surrounding sticks of dead cypress trees. Everything was coated in the same thick, white dust as the cabin in the woods, and all color was gone, as though the bombs had bleached the world, washing out all the hues from the grass, the trees, the ruined items under the marble rubble.
“H-how?” My voice shook. “I thought … Ophelia said …”
I couldn’t form coherent sentences, my mind too shocked as I tried to take it all in.
“Apparently, it wasn’t entirely indestructible.”
I climbed up on a boulder-sized chunk of stone and surveyed the debris, my eyes burning with tears. So much history. Over two millennia of matriarchs had lived in this mansion and led the Amadis from here. The items inside were not only antiques amassed over recent centuries, but some of the furniture, the tapestries, and other items—the very walls—came from ancient times. A collection more valuable than those in many museums. And now it was all nothing but rock and shards.
Jumping from stone to stone, I tried to search for anything that might be at least somewhat salvageable. After poking around for a while, I found the family vine tapestry covered in dust, but still intact. It took some pushing around of stones and debris to free it completely, and after unsuccessfully trying to shake off the thick coating, I folded the fabric, although I didn’t really know what I would do with it. The lineage of the Ames matriarchs no longer mattered. There was nobody left to care but me, so maybe I’d hang it up wherever we settled after retrieving Dorian.
I found another tapestry, and for some reason, I folded it, too, although I couldn’t even tell through the dust which one it was. I placed it with the other one. All of the beautiful knickknacks Rina had left behind in her office were destroyed, as were Solomon’s collection of souvenirs from his past. Just li
ke their owners. Besides the tapestries, the only other item I found in one piece was one of my bustiers made with enchanted fighting leather. At least I could wear one now that hid the ugly scar on my chest. With my back turned to Tristan, I slid off the ruined one, unable to repair itself because the damage had been inflicted in Hell, and pulled on the vest.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Tristan said from behind me as I zipped up the front. “You couldn’t let me watch?”
I ignored him, pretending like something had caught my attention, although when I hopped over to where I figured the Sacred Archives would be, I found nothing. What had happened to them? Had the Angels saved all of those books that had lined the shelves? Or were they gone forever like apparently everything else? Did those in Heaven even care about any of this? My theory that they didn’t only strengthened at the sight in front of me, angering me and breaking my heart at the same time. They hadn’t protected the mansion because it was no longer needed. Like the rest of the island.
There was no Amadis to occupy the village or to be ruled by a matriarch. With no matriarch, there was no need for the mansion or the goods inside. Or, apparently, to safeguard our history, because there was no future to appreciate or learn from it.
“I’m sorry, my love,” Tristan said as he reached a hand up toward me once I’d gone back to where he stood.
I didn’t need it, but I took it anyway before hopping down. I forced a smile.
“It’s just stuff, right? Nothing compared to everyone who’s been lost. I just can’t believe they tried to con me into believing there’s anything left here to fight for.”
He bent over behind me to pick up the tapestries, and a ripping sound tore through the dead silence. I spun and stared at him with my mouth open, thinking it was his pants, but when he growled loudly, I stifled the laugh. I knew immediately something was wrong. The tone of that growl didn’t indicate anger, but pain.
“What’s—” I began to ask when Tristan fell to his hands and knees, and his back arched upward and then down, like a cat stretching. The frrrrp sound came again, and he snarled. “Tristan! What do I do?”
His muscles tensed and coiled, and his jaw clenched. The only time I’d seen so much pain etched into his features was when I’d hurt him. But that had been emotional pain he’d suffered then. This was the first time I could remember seeing him in real, physical agony.
“I … I don’t know,” he said through his teeth before he let out another growl. “I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s … my back.”
He’d no more than finished the sentence when his shirt and skin tore open further, and two big, dark shapes sprang out of his shoulder blades.
“Oh my God!” I squeaked as I jumped backwards and out of the way.
He remained on all fours as they uncurled from his back, growing and stretching up toward the sky until they reached their full height at least five feet above him, casting a shadow on my face as I stared in awe. Dark, silvery gray feathers that became a shiny black at the shafts glinted in the sunlight as the wings came back down and closed in around his torso.
He jumped to his feet, grabbed the pieces of his ruined shirt and tore it off completely, and then he craned his head to stare over his shoulder.
“What. The. Fuck. Are. THOSE?” he bellowed.
Then he turned in circles, like a puppy chasing its tail. The shock worn off, I doubled over, cackling with laughter.
Not very nice of me, I knew. I’d felt exactly as he had when my wings first appeared and surely looked just as comical, if not worse. But something about seeing my Tristan, whose heart and soul were stronger and more righteous than almost anyone I’d ever met, with wings as dark as mine felt like a huge weight had been lifted. I still didn’t know what they meant about us and who or what we were, but at least we were alike.
He stopped turning and glared at me. His wings opened wide, spreading out to the sides, monstrous yet more stunningly beautiful than I’d seen on any Angel in the Otherworld. Although, I liked mine a tad more with their purple coloring, especially now. But even so, I couldn’t possibly have looked as breathtaking as he did, standing there with no shirt, his muscles taut, like a powerful, avenging Angel.
My laughter had died with the sight, and I rose to my feet and un-hid my own wings.
“I don’t know if they’re from the Angels, Hell, or something in between, but, yeah, I have them, too.”
His face softened, and his wings retracted closer to his body as he walked around to investigate mine.
“I thought I saw them in Hell,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “I swore we flew over the lake of fire. But when I woke up and you didn’t have them, I figured they’d been a figment of my imagination while down there. Wishful thinking.”
“You can hide them, just like Sasha can.” I made mine disappear and reappear. He did the same.
Then a huge, lovely grin lit up his face, and he bent his knees and jumped upward.
“Wait!” I called. “It’s not that easy …”
My voice trailed off as I watched him soar over the island, bank his turns, swoop down and back up again, even make loops in the beautiful blue sky as puffy white clouds skimmed high above him. I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled. Well, didn’t that figure. It took me hundreds of attempts, crashes, scratches, and bruises, and he just did it naturally. What a jerk.
He made a perfect landing in front of me, the gold in his eyes sparkling beautifully as that sublime smile still covered his entire face. “This is … incredible.”
“I hate you,” I muttered, staring at the lines and curves of his bare chest and abs, the beauty of which eradicated any meaning I might have had in the three words. “Do you know how many times I crashed into that stupid pile of rocks?”
“Hmm … Well, you said we were in the North Pole with wind, snow, and ice, right?” he offered. “That couldn’t have been easy to stand in, let alone learn to fly.”
I narrowed my eyes, wanting to be mad at him for patronizing me, but I couldn’t hold it. He looked sincere. God, I loved this man so much.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I agreed, although I was sure I would have crash-landed even on a day as beautiful as this one.
He took my hand. “Come on.”
He launched himself in the air, pulling me with him. He had to release my hand when our wings spread out, but we flew side-by-side over the ugly remains and lovely beaches of Amadis Island. Almost the whole island was a grayish-tan color, like the sand, and the few parts that weren’t had been blackened from fire. No green grass or leaves. No more eclectically colored homes the mages had built. Everything just a dull, dead gray.
My heart hurt at the view, but flying with Tristan by my side made it all a little more bearable.
After surveying the island, we neared the council hall, and he pulled himself more upright, and I came up, too. I turned to face him as we hovered in the air.
“How do you feel?” he asked, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.
My wings beat against the air to keep me upright while my stomach quivered. “Physically? Good, for the most part.” I gave him a flirtatious little smile. “There might be a few places that could use a kiss to make them better, though.”
His hands lashed out, grabbed my wrists, and yanked me into him so that only a breath of space remained between us. His eyes smoldered as his palms braced my face, and then he leaned in and captured my mouth with his full, delicious lips. Electricity jolted through me with the light but passionate kiss, and I melded against him as we floated thirty feet in the air. I parted my lips, and when his tongue slipped in, I met it with my own. He tasted better than ever, which I hadn’t thought possible, and I deepened the kiss, wanting to devour him. Our wings dropped, nearly vertical, and closed around us, my tips brushing against his feathers and sending a brand new sensation through me that tingled all the way to my core. He must have felt it, too, because the bulge in his leathers instantly grew, pressing against my belly.
H
is hands slid back, into my hair, gripping and massaging as he pulled me even closer. My whole body pressed against his, and I ground against his erection as the kiss sent torturous levels of desire through me. Slowly, we lowered to the ground, landing on a big slab of marble, his mouth never leaving mine. With the same thought on our minds, our wings disappeared. His hands glided down my back, his fingers curling into the tips of my hair and pulling, tilting my head back. My lips were suddenly cold, abandoned by his as they traveled over my chin and jaw. His mouth lingered over my throat as his tongue swirled arousal into me, drawing a sigh from me as my hands gripped his thick shoulders.
A warm electrical web spread over my skin as his hands slipped between my leather top and the waistband of my pants. His fingertips slowly caressed the bottoms of my ribs as they moved around to come between us. His mouth had reached my collarbone when his fingers went to the top of my vest, and my breasts tightened with anticipation as he pulled the zipper down, separating the two sides. When they fell apart, his head pulled back, and he frowned. The expression of disdain and repulsion sent a dagger through my heart. I stepped back and yanked the two pieces together.
“I know,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. He’d never, ever looked at me that way before. “It’s ugly.”
Chapter 12
My muscles tensed when I saw the look on her face, heard the hurt in her words.
I covered her small hands with my large ones and shook my head at her misunderstanding. “It’s beautiful. It’s part of you. Of all the battles we’ve been in, you have this one scar that serves as a reminder of what you did for me. Because you love me. You should be proud of it.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “It’s ugly, Tristan. I saw it on your face.”
My eyes snapped up to hers, and the pain in them nearly killed me. How could I make her understand that she was still the most beautiful creature on Earth? In any realm? That it wasn’t the scar that sickened me, but the fact that I’d essentially been the one to put it there?