If Asher caught me shopping at the mob’s expense, he’d probably physically remove me from Paris. As I looked away from the store front, I saw Tristan standing close to the dressing room the salesgirl was getting ready for me. Still sucking on his toothpick, he now toyed with the button on his jacket. The man either had a serious nicotine addiction or was bored out of his mind. Maybe a combination of both.
As the girl walked past him, she glanced his way. Tristan, though, pretended like she didn’t even exist. Was it because of the engagement ring gracing her finger? He hadn’t struck me as a man of many—or any—scruples. Perhaps, her willowy frame and thick brown hair just didn’t do it for him.
“Leigh?” Muriel touched my arm. “What do you think of this skirt?” She extended a long, flowy number the same peacock-blue as the brunette’s eyes.
“It’s very pretty.”
“Why don’t you start trying things on? I’ll keep looking for you.” Muriel passed the hanger over to the saleslady, who stared me up and down as though sizing me up.
And not in the way of a seamstress, but in the way of someone evaluating her competition.
Was she envious that I was l’amie of Jarod Adler? The fact that she even knew I was his girlfriend was surprising. The only time Jarod and I had been together outside the walls of his home was at Layla’s. Had we been photographed there?
I obediently trailed her into the changing room that shut with a heavy length of cloud-gray velvet. Once she’d exited, I undid the leather belt, the roots of my hair warming at the memory of the other use Jarod had found for it yesterday. I laid it down on the bench sculpted from the same smoky wood as the walls of the cabin, then yanked off my dress, and let it pool next to the belt. I tried on the eggshell camisole overstitched with strips of matching lace, pairing it with the blue skirt, then strode out to get Muriel’s opinion.
As soon as she saw me, she bustled over, arms laden with yards of gauzy fabric. “Magnifique.”
“If I may, I know I’m new here—first day,” the brunette announced, flashing a smile to her colleague, who was toting an armful of bags out of the back room, “but I think the skirt needs to be hemmed.”
I stared down, not really understanding why since it didn’t touch the floor.
“Let me pin it up, and then both of you can decide.” She probably said this in the hopes to allay the deep furrows collected on Muriel’s brow. “I left my pins inside.” The salesgirl gestured toward the changing room, her movement slightly twitchy. Was she nervous because this was her first day?
I trailed her in, frowning when she pulled the curtain closed. How short was she going to pin the dress that she needed to screen us off?
She crouched, then before I could even blink, she sprang to her feet, squashed her palm against my mouth, and pressed a sharp blade to my neck.
“You whore, this is for my father.” She slit my throat.
Blood spurted over her pretty face, coated her enormous diamond ring. I tried to speak, to yelp, but all that came out of my mouth was a wet gurgle.
She banded her arm around my waist and eased me quietly to the floor. The world began to tarnish around the edges like the labels on Jarod’s wine bottles, and rushing filled my ears.
The girl cleaned herself with one of the dresses. Did she expect to walk out of the cabin and survive the wrath of my bodyguards? Of Tristan?
Even though my brain felt as though it were bobbing inside my skull, I managed to keep my eyes open. Only a smear of blood remained on the shell of her ear, which would be swallowed up by her hair if she untucked it.
What would be her next move? Attacking my guards or—
Muriel! What if she went after her?
I tried to scream again, but the gushing wound snatched Muriel’s name from my gaping lips.
“Everything all right in there?” Tristan asked, and I begged him to be his usual intrusive self and part the curtains.
I wouldn’t die, but they might.
Gritting my teeth, I crawled toward the drape, but the woman smashed her boot into my cheek, sending me toppling over. Unfortunately, the carpet absorbed the sound of my impact.
“Just fine. Almost done,” the woman said, a hitch in her tone.
Please, please pick up on it, Tristan.
She dropped the knife coated in my blood back inside her boot, and I almost sighed with relief, because that meant she wasn’t planning on attacking anyone else.
Tossing the soiled dress she’d used as a towel on top of me, the woman, who’d just earned herself an astronomical sinner score, squeezed past the curtains, pulling them tight behind her. “She’ll be out in a minute.” Her voice was muffled by the thick fabric. “I’m going to find her a pair of heels to showcase the skirt. I’ll be right back.”
My silk top became saturated with blood and stuck to my slow-pumping chest. If I hadn’t had wings, a Malakim would’ve already arrived to harvest my soul.
“Can I come in, ma chérie?” Muriel asked.
Never in my life had I experienced such pain. How could humans do this to each other? Be so vicious?
Dying was a necessary part of a soul’s cycle, but this type of death was inhumane. No wonder the Malakim erased a soul’s memory. Trauma like the one I was experiencing would scar someone for several lifetimes.
“Leigh?” Muriel called out.
At some point, impatience would win her over, and she’d discover my gory body. I tried to use the fabric the saleslady had tossed on me to clean off the blood, but my hands shook too hard, and my fingers wouldn’t even close. Muriel would be terrified, and there was nothing I could do about it.
The curtain finally swished open.
A scream rent the air, and then footfalls pounded the store’s granite floor, thudding right into my skull. Muriel’s face blurred in front of me and then sharpened before blurring again. Blots of silver and blue hung behind her. When my eyesight cleared again, I noticed the blots were Tristan. His skin, usually tanned and bright, was ghost-like.
“Don’t just stand there!” Muriel screamed. “Call for help and find the girl!”
Tristan backed away, pale eyes wide with fear.
Before he could even turn around, a series of pops went off. Gunshots?
My head swam as Muriel’s clammy palm cupped my cheek. “Stay with me, Leigh.”
I really wanted to sleep.
Just for a little while.
Just until my skin mended and my windpipe sealed shut.
“Call Jarod!” was the last thing I heard her yell before the world unraveled, turning blissfully blank.
Chapter 50
I awoke cocooned by something that felt fashioned from silken steel.
As the world came into focus, I realized the silk was Jarod’s bedsheets and the steel was his body. I shifted, and his pulse sprang to life beneath my head.
“Leigh?” He’d never pronounced my name so sweetly.
“You’re here,” I whispered, my throat still aching. It would probably ache for days considering how deep the crazy brunette had cut.
I lifted my fingertips to my neck, discovering an enormous bandage.
“Don’t touch it. I don’t want the stitches to open.”
“Stitches?” I’d never had stitches before. Never needed them. Still didn’t, but I supposed Jarod had forgotten about my healing prowess. Unless Muriel had taken the executive decision to have my skin hemmed.
Ugh. Why did that verb have to be the one to pop into my mind?
He eased his arm out from underneath me, treating me as though I were as delicate as the petals we’d bruised during our lovemaking. “Yes. Stitches.” His dark gaze traveled over the bandage as though he wanted to peel it off and rip it to shreds. It was probably the woman who’d done this to me he wanted to shred.
“You know, I didn’t really need them.” I kept my voice low, even though I doubted I could speak much louder.
He shook his head, jaw darkened with such thick stubble it seemed days had
gone by since my shopping incident. Had days gone by? I looked toward one of the windows, trying to glimpse if it was night or morning . . . not that it would tell me how long I’d been unconscious.
“Two . . . fucking . . . days,” he growled, as though he’d read my mind. “You’ve been out for two fucking days. I banged down your guild’s door to get one of your kind to fucking tell me if this was normal!”
My breath jammed in my sore throat. It hurt, but I bit back the shallow gasp before it could surface and add to Jarod’s worries. “They must’ve been surprised . . . when they opened up and found you.”
“You could say that.”
“Did you see inside?”
He snorted. “They like marble and fountains.”
I smiled. “Quartz. Mined in Elysium.” Had he mentioned being able to see them?
“They called Asher for me. He came over, and after checking on your neck, declared you’d be okay.”
I winced, just imagining Asher’s horrified expression upon finding me in Jarod’s bed—I imagined this was where I’d been since the attempt on my life. How shallow that my whereabouts bothered me more than my condition. Then again, I was immortal, so my condition wasn’t cause for alarm.
The vein at Jarod’s temple twitched. “Feather, I was out of my fucking mind.”
“I told you”—I ran my finger over his cupid’s bow mouth—“I can’t die.”
He grunted, as though he didn’t believe me. He had all the proof he needed, though. Yes, my throat stung more than my wings the night I’d told two dozen lies, but I was alive.
“The woman . . . did they—”
“Her skull has a great big hole inside. And you’ll be happy to know—or maybe, it’s just me who’s pleased about this—but I was informed her soul wasn’t harvested.”
I wasn’t surprised she’d died a Triple. “I’m only happy she’s gone so that she can’t harm you and Muriel.”
Jarod blinked before shaking his head. “Always worrying about everyone else.”
“Jarod, she mentioned she was avenging her father.”
His gaze set on one of the wooden posts of his bed, tracking its elaborately carved shape to its pointed spire.
“You don’t need to tell me who she was . . . I just wanted to share what she’d said.”
Sighing, he returned his attention to me, the purple circles rimming his eyes resembling bruises. “She was the daughter of the man who ran the little racketeering operation we uncovered. When I shut it down, he lost a lot of money. He also lost my protection and got demoted.”
“So, he sent his daughter to get back at you?”
“Apparently, he wasn’t aware of her plans.”
Hmm . . . I wasn’t sure I believed that. “She said she’d just started working at the store. Was it a coincidence?”
“No. Someone informed her you’d be shopping on Avenue Montaigne.” He gritted his jaw. “She probably picked a shop at random and crossed her fingers you’d pay it a visit.”
“Who informed her?”
“Tristan found a listening device in the dining room.”
Had we discussed it over dinner? I couldn’t remember.
The vein throbbed harder in his temple. “Probably planted during one of those fucking parties I have to throw each month to secure blackmail material on my clients.”
It was silly, but the reason for his parties comforted me.
“When I catch the little shit—because I will catch him . . . or her—I’ll cut off their fucking head and plant it in on the metal gate of the park.”
My stomach roiled, and bile swarmed my raw throat.
My rising nausea must’ve sapped the color from my cheeks, because he said, “Sorry, Feather. You didn’t need to know this.”
I cupped his rigid jaw. “I’m just glad she targeted me and not you.”
His eyes turned as black as the rumpled dress shirt he wore, and his nostrils flared out, which told me he wasn’t glad in the least.
“Will her father seek revenge?”
“His soul might . . . if it was pried out of his dead body.”
“You killed him?”
“Did you expect me to let him live?”
“He’s not the one who hurt me, Jarod.”
“I’d been meaning to do it eventually. It just advanced the date of his funeral.”
A terrible thought coalesced in my mind. “Your rank, Jarod.”
He shrugged. “Probably back to being a Triple.”
My lashes fluttered over my eyes a few times in horror. “We need—I need—I don’t want—”
“Shh,” he whispered before dipping down and sealing my lips shut with his own.
I was torn between pushing him away so I could reason with him and pulling him closer so I could get my fill of him. The latter won. I gripped his creased shirt and wrenched him as close as one body can get to another.
I wasn’t sure how long we stayed tangled up, but I was sure it wasn’t long enough. We only broke apart because a knock sounded. Muriel came in, wrinkles seemingly more pronounced. She chided Jarod for “roughing me up” before proceeding to check on my wound. When her breathing whistled out a little steadier, I assumed she was pleased by how miraculously fast I was healing. She still cautioned Jarod to be gentler.
Jarod and I both smiled at that.
She ran me a bath, telling Jarod to go eat the dinner she’d left out for him before it went cold. He started to protest he wasn’t hungry, but she shut the door of the bathroom in his stunned face.
He must’ve gone down for food because he wasn’t in the room when I emerged, bandage-free and in a pair of black pajamas that felt like silk. Had she bought them for me during the shopping trip?
I shuddered at the memory of that morning, and the brush Muriel was running through my damp hair slid out. As she started up again, her strokes slow and gentle, I wondered if my mother would’ve taken as meticulous care of me as Muriel did.
“What did you make Jarod for dinner?” I asked, not because I was especially hungry—surprising, I know—but because I wanted to wipe the frown that had crimped Muriel’s brow since she’d marched into the bedroom.
“Green beans and roast chicken.”
“His favorite,” I mused, remembering her saying this the first night I’d dined with him.
“I made you some soup. Several kinds—there’s beef broth, carrot, sweet pea. I didn’t know which you’d like. I just assumed you’d be drinking your meals.” She lowered the brush, done untangling my long locks. “Which one would you like?”
“Sweet pea. I love peas.”
Her wrinkles smoothed out. “I’ll be right back.”
“Or I can go down—”
“You”—she pointed the hairbrush at me—“stay put.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want me to turn on the TV before I go downstairs?”
“TV?”
She walked toward the wall across the bed and opened the doors of what I’d assumed had just been a fancy armoire containing more books. She turned on the flat screen and left me to watch a news program broadcasting firefighters plunging into the Seine on a rescue operation.
The body retrieved was shown for only a second, but that was all it took for me to understand there would be no rescuing this person whose skin was so bloated and blue I wasn’t sure I’d be able to eat anything.
“First time I toss a body in the Seine,” came a voice that made me spin away from the television. Tristan stood in the doorway wearing a proud smile and a buttoned iron-gray vest over a shirt the same shade as his eyes. “Quite convenient.”
I swallowed.
He nodded to the looping coverage. “It’s Mehdi, the father of the girl who attacked you. In case you were wondering.” He jammed his hands into his pockets as he walked closer. “No one in that family will be bothering you anymore.”
“Why? Did you kill them all?”
“No. But death is sometimes not the worst fate.” He studied the d
iscolored line of skin spanning my throat. “You gave us all a fright. I’m surprised you survived. It looked . . . deep.”
I studied his expression, wondering if he regretted that I’d survived. It would’ve been a convenient way to get rid of me. “I must have a guardian angel.”
His nonchalant mask was firmly in place, making it impossible to guess what was going through his mind.
“I hope no one finds out you put that body in the river,” I added.
“The police chief knows, but he’s a regular at our monthly demon bash, so he won’t be pressing charges.” A smug grin cracked the polished veneer of his mask. “Jarod seems to be under the impression we’ll stop hosting them. I hope you’re not putting any ideas inside his head, because those revels are very important to what we do.” The antipathy that rolled off him was so strong it was almost solid.
I wedged my lips together. I didn’t want to answer, but I also didn’t want him disliking me further. “I didn’t give Jarod any advice concerning your parties.”
“They’re his, too.”
I absorbed his loaded comment, analyzed it.
As he turned to leave, I said, “I’m not trying to take Jarod away from you.”
The silk fabric of his vest strained as the muscles in his back bunched. He tossed me a look over his shoulder. “I’m not worried about that.”
The smile he shot me before he left unsettled my stomach more than the image of the drowned man on TV.
Had Tristan meant that he wasn’t resentful about the attention Jarod paid me or that he didn’t think I was capable of taking Jarod away from him?
Chapter 51
The next few days blurred together. The only highlight was when Celeste visited. Even though she wasn’t her usual happy-go-lucky-with-a-side-of-self-deprecation self, she’d come and stayed an entire afternoon with me. Not to mention, she’d sat through two meals with Jarod during which she was only passably aggressive. An improvement.
“I think she’s starting to like me,” Jarod said the following night, as I slid my feet into a pair of crystallized black heels Muriel insisted suited the green tutu-like dress I’d purchased before—
Feather (Angels of Elysium Book 1) Page 30