I’m trying to be a better man, Feather. I’m trying to be worthy of you.
All at once proud and frightened by his reveals, I worked the lace hem of my silk shift between my fingers, my pulse drumming quicker and quicker until it drowned out the sound of the radio.
I’m almost home, my love.
When the iron fence framing the manicured square appeared, I almost ripped the handle off the car door. News vans and police barricades clogged Jarod’s street, and bright beams slashed the darkness. The thunder in my ears grew so loud I thought it would slit my eardrums. As soon as the car slowed, I leaped out.
The cabdriver lowered her window. “Hey. You forgot to pay me!”
“I’ll send someone out with money.”
A police officer stepped in front of me. “This road has been shut down.”
The cabdriver was still hollering.
“I need to see Jarod Adler,” I said, desperation shaking my voice.
“Sorry, but I can’t let you through.”
I calculated how I could get around him, and in doing so, my gaze landed on Amir, who was arguing with a man shouldering a huge camera.
“Amir!” I yelled, waving my hands.
The bodyguard with the smashed face looked up, and his eyes, which were as bruised as my cheek, widened. “Mademoiselle Leigh?” He shoved past the cameraman. “Jarod said you’d left.”
“I’d never leave.”
Someone tapped my shoulder, and I twirled.
“Mon argent.” The cabbie stuck out her hand.
“I’ll take care of it.” Amir shoved the police barricade aside so I could slide through, then peeled a green bill from his pocket, and handed it to the woman.
Is that the girl from the opera? What’s with the hotel slippers? What happened to her? Questions were flung left and right. Flashes from camera bulbs went off brightening the darkness before blackening it further.
Amir draped his jacket around my shoulders as he walked me to the porte-cochère. Even though the fabric smelled of sweat, I tugged it around me, thankful for the extra bit of warmth and privacy it afforded me.
There was no familiar click tonight. The door just gave way when Amir pressed his fingers into the lacquered wood.
“Jarod broke the lock,” he explained, the bones in his face straining his skin. “The boy has had a death wish since you—since you left.”
Even though I’d been removed from this house against my will, guilt washed over me. “I’m back. For good.”
I stepped over the raised threshold, looking toward Jarod’s balcony. I wanted to shout his name, tell him I was home, but my violent pulse made the measly act of breathing an exploit.
I quickened my footsteps, almost colliding into a bodyguard. As we glided past each other, a bitter, gray scent wafted off the man’s bushy, wiry beard—gun smoke? Had the man fired his weapon? Had someone tried to harm Jarod?
He peered down at me, and his eyes went as wide as Amir’s. I surmised Jarod’s staff hadn’t put much stock in me returning.
Running a hand over his bald head that reflected the glow of the sconces, he nodded to me before scuttling across the courtyard, probably to go guard the doors that no longer kept Jarod safe.
I shot my gaze to the balcony. All was calm inside the house yet I sped up.
I finally found my voice in the checkered foyer. “Jarod!”
A door snicked open, and I readied to launch myself into his arms.
“Leigh?” Muriel’s eyes were smudged with so much black makeup and worry. “Ma chérie!” In three quick strides, her arms encased me, banding against the scars on my shoulders.
I crushed my lips together to avoid yelping.
“Oh, ma chérie. He said you left him, but I knew you wouldn’t.”
I hugged her back, hard. “I’m so sorry I left, Muriel.” And not just Jarod, but her, too. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, emotion threatening to spill over. “I had to do something, and it’s done. And I’ll never leave again.”
She pressed me away, her palms skating over my cheeks as though to make sure I was real. She narrowed her eyes on my bruise. “What happened? Who—”
“Where’s Jarod?”
“Upstairs.” She tucked a lock of snarled hair behind my ear and sighed. “Thank goodness you’re home.”
“Amir said he broke the lock on the front doors.”
“He did. And then he fired everyone. All of his bodyguards. Everyone. Including me and Amir.”
“But you stayed.” So had Amir and the other guard I’d passed in the courtyard.
“Like I would ever leave him.” Her mouth curved into a sad smile, which she pressed against my forehead. “I’m so glad you’re home, ma chérie. Now, go to him.”
I spun away from her and tore up the stairs, kicking off the slippers after tripping twice.
His door was already gaping, so I pushed it wider, my entire body skittering back to life as though it had lain dormant since being torn away from Jarod.
“My love, I’m home!”
He lay still on the cowhide recliner.
“Jarod?”
His head lolled toward me, and then his lids pulled up, and his dark, radiant eyes locked on mine.
Chapter 67
I shut the door and raced toward him, about to throw myself over his prostrate form and kiss him senseless when the upturned, purple-stingray box beside the recliner startled me to a stop. Amir’s jacket tumbled noiselessly off my shoulders, pooling at my feet. Silver feathers littered the oriental rug, seesawing from my brusque arrival.
Were those the ones I’d lost the night I’d spouted lies like exhales? I’d never asked what had become of them, but now, I knew. Jarod had kept them.
All this time, he’d stored them like treasure.
At least, until tonight. Had replaying one of my memories angered him so much he’d tossed the box?
“Feather?” Jarod’s deep timbre made my gaze leap back to his.
I sidestepped the box, careful not to touch a feather—I didn’t have the heart to revisit my past.
“Asher said you wouldn’t be . . . allowed to return . . . in my lifetime.” His quiet speech was laborious, punctuated by long intakes of air. “But you made them . . . change the rules.” The awe burning in his eyes sent goose bumps scurrying over my skin. “That’s my girl.”
The tiny bumps on my skin hardened, and I swallowed. He thought the Seven had allowed me out of Elysium with my wings intact? I kneeled beside him and gathered the hand dangling off the edge of the recliner, pressing it against my cheek.
His twitching fingers felt like ice. “Did they also . . . change the law . . . on Fallen souls? Have you come . . . to collect mine?” His lips parted around the shortest, quietest breath, and then his heavy eyelashes dragged over his eyes.
I stared at him, perplexed. “Collect yours?”
Something plopped against my bare thigh.
Something warm and wet and—
“Jarod!” I gasped as blood dripped off the edge of the cowhide and onto my lap.
He heaved his lids up, then shifted his body as though trying to roll onto his side, but his jaw clenched, and he grunted. I released his hand and shoved his jacket open, then his shirt, the buttons popping off.
Right below his ribs, a depression in his skin oozed blood.
A bullet hole!
As I prodded it, his lungs spasmed, and his stomach muscles contracted. I snatched my hand back. I wanted to yell for help, but my voice was rooted to my throat the same way my knees were rooted to the rug that was slowly darkening with blood.
“I gave my enemies every chance to get their revenge . . . because I didn’t want to live”—he lifted his hand toward my face, but it flopped back down without making contact—“without you.” His chest rose and fell sluggishly. Too sluggishly.
I finally located my voice, and it shredded my throat as it soared out of me. “Muriel!”
Would she hear me? I’d shut the bedroom doo
r, and the walls in this house were so damn thick. I twisted around to eye the door, then twisted back toward Jarod, who seemed to have lost more color during the fleeting second I’d looked away.
Useless. I felt so useless.
When his eyes closed, I lifted off my knees to lean over him and cocoon his sallow cheeks with my palms, running my thumbs over his proud cheekbones.
“Stay with me, Jarod,” I pleaded before screaming Muriel’s name again, praying the thick wood wouldn’t swallow my shout. As I waited for someone to arrive, I asked, “Who did this, my love?” I had every intention of finding the culprit and putting a bullet through their putrid heart.
“The former prime minister’s”—his features crinkled in pain—“guard.”
His guard?
Horror struck me. The bearded man I’d passed! He’d looked familiar. I’d assumed it was because he worked for Jarod. My stomach seized as rage swished inside. I yelled for Muriel again, then for Amir, and then, although my voice wouldn’t carry into Elysium, I screamed for Asher.
Jarod lifted his hand and curled it around my wrist, his shiny eyes losing some of their luster. “Show me your wings.”
My throat rolled with a swallow. I wanted to lie, tell him Asher warned me to keep them hidden while on Earth, but Jarod was as familiar with my expressions as I was with his. He saw the truth before I could bury it.
“Feather, you didn’t . . .” His Adam’s apple juddered angrily.
My wild pulse battered the crescents seared into my back. “I couldn’t live without you either.”
He shut his eyes as though the sight of me was unbearable.
“Look at me, Jarod. Open your eyes and look at me. I’m not going anywhere, and you’re not either. I’m going to get help.”
“It’s too late.”
I leaned closer to his mouth, stroked his high cheekbones faster. “No, it’s not. It’s not. I’m going to fix you.”
He grunted.
“Don’t hate me, please,” I croaked.
His eyes opened, hardened by grief. “I love you too . . . fucking”—he hissed in pain—“much to hate you.”
Why was no one coming? I tried to extricate myself from his grasp to wrangle the phone off the nightstand, but Jarod’s grip tightened.
“Since you can’t give me forever . . . then at least, give me now.” His low, stricken tone made tears swell behind my lids.
I ripped one of my hands off his jaw and pressed it over his chest, clawing through the dark curls desperate to breach skin and reach the failing organ.
His thumb caressed the inside of my wrist. “Kiss me, Feather. I want to end my life . . . with your taste on my lips.”
I shook my head. “This is not the end. It’s not. It can’t be.”
He smiled so sadly my disintegrating heart crumbled like a wasted feather. “If it’s not . . . then you can bet . . . that I’ll find you again.”
I whimpered, dragging my gaze to the bullet wound. Maybe, I could plug it with fabric, or—
Jarod sputtered, and my eyes snapped back to his. When his forehead grooved, I pressed my trembling lips to his to swallow his pain and make it mine.
“Don’t leave me, Jarod. Please, don’t leave me,” I spoke against his mouth.
His thumb stroked my wrist with heartbreaking tenderness, and then his mouth whispered over mine as soft and chilled as an autumn breeze. I wedged our bodies closer, welding my skin to his, my pulse to his.
“I love you,” I murmured, nudging his mouth open.
His thumb stilled, and then his grip slackened.
My ears began to ring. “Jarod?” I dug my palm against his chest. Either my skin was growing numb, or I was missing every beat of his heart. “Nonononono. You can’t leave me.”
His fingers fell away from my wrist, banging against the recliner before spreading open like a night-blooming lily.
“Nonononononono.” My cries bled into one another.
I kissed him again, willing his lips to move over mine, willing his lungs to expand, willing his heart to spring back into motion.
Tears streamed off my chin and bled into his unmoving mouth. I prayed for a miracle, prayed my kiss would magick this incredible man back to life. But his mouth didn’t prod mine, his hands didn’t tangle inside my hair, his thick eyelashes didn’t flutter against my cheek.
Was this my punishment for giving up my wings?
How cruel fate was!
My lips slid off his but didn’t leave his face. I kissed his stubble-roughened jaw before keening my agony against the cooling skin of his neck.
The scent that had intoxicated and seduced me night after night curled into my lungs like spiny velvet—soft yet shredding.
I understood, then, why his mother had put an end to her days. How could one go on with a deadened heart? How had she lasted four years when four seconds already felt too long?
I rocked back onto my heels, scrubbing the tears out of my eyes as I scanned Jarod’s bookshelves. When the letter opener glinted back at me, I rose, crossed the room, and clutched the cold metal, curling my anesthetized fingers around the hilt.
I’d already committed the gravest sin of all. What was another?
The angel was now a sinner.
I returned to the recliner and climbed over Jarod, nestling in the cradle of his body, remembering a time when he’d held me so close I didn’t think he would ever let go.
I stared at the knife, caught sight of my swollen green eyes in the blade. I tried to muster the courage to plunge it into my chest. I pressed the tip into my skin, but metal met bone. How had Mikaela done it?
A bead of blood bloomed and trickled between my breasts. I’d need to deepen the cut to join Jarod.
I’d known we’d end, both of us Nephilim, but not so soon.
Not like this.
I licked the tears off my chapped lips.
Butchering my skin was so brutal, but it wasn’t the pain I feared. It was the time. The time it would take my soul to meet Jarod’s, wherever it was Nephilim souls went.
Perhaps they drifted around the world together . . . forever.
I lifted my wrist and studied the web of blue veins, focused on the thickest one, and then slashed the sharpened letter opener over it until the blade broke the skin and blood spurted, streaming out like the wine Jarod had forced upon me to prove there existed more to life than rules and regulations.
How I’d hated him that night. But how I’d adored him every ensuing night.
I reached for his jaw, trailing crimson ribbons over his rigid chest. “I’m coming, my love. Wait for me this time.”
As Jarod’s jewel-toned world began to fade, I trapped his cheek and angled his face toward mine, then pressed my leaden lips to his.
Into his mouth, I poured my slowing heartbeats and softening breaths until my body released my ruined soul from its cage of flesh and blood.
Epilogue
Asher
Death.
In my world, dying wasn’t a notion that instilled sadness or anger. It was merely an essential stage in the cycle of souls.
Until tonight.
Until the Ishim came to alert me that two Nephilim had passed away in Paris.
The word devoured me then.
I strapped on my leathers and shot from Elysium to Earth in a single heartbeat.
I thought of Celeste, of how devastated she would be once she learned that Leigh was gone.
Eternally gone.
Fuck!
Fuck.
I should never have burned her wings.
I should have forced her to keep them.
Leigh believed love was a vital part of life, but vital things didn’t lead to annihilation.
I thudded onto Jarod’s balcony and hunted the darkness for their bodies, found them entwined on the recliner.
Bloodied.
Marbled.
Peaceful.
I shoved the glass doors, but they were closed. I punched in one of the panes, thrust
my arm through, and twisted the cool handle. Cloaked by angel-dust, I was invisible, not that anyone guarded his courtyard.
Where were all his guards?
Where was that lady who cared for him more fiercely than a lioness?
Losing him would kill her. Unless she was already dead. I hoped she hadn’t taken her life, because her pristine soul merited another round but wouldn’t be granted one if she’d ended her days.
How I loathed death tonight.
And our system. It, too, deserved my rage.
I stalked toward the recliner and stared down at the lovers, balling my fingers into fists. Growling, I pummeled the wall next to me, splintering both wood and skin.
Door hinges groaned a floor below me, followed by a feminine voice that echoed against the marble walls of this lavish tomb. “Amir?”
Muriel. At least, she was still alive. But for how long?
I returned my gaze to the bodies, itching to throw them over my shoulders and carry them into the night to spare the woman the cruel sight.
But the blood.
There was so much blood.
I could burn it away, but it would take time.
Time I didn’t have.
I shut my eyes, my wings flaring as I battled a dangerous consideration, one that would cost me my title, my feathers, and quite possibly, my life.
Muttering an oath, I splayed one palm against Jarod’s rib cage, the other against Leigh’s chest, and coaxed both their souls to the surface.
As the gold threads of Leigh’s being lapped against my fingers and bound to my skin, pliant and warm, palpitating with calm energy, its virtue and beauty struck me anew, blinding me as formidably as her silver feathers had the afternoon we’d collided in the guild hallway.
Back then, I’d sensed the potential for prodigious change contained within her soul.
Tonight, I finally understood just how deeply it was about to alter the celestial world.
Or, at the very least, my world.
UP NEXT
The story isn’t over . . .
Feather (Angels of Elysium Book 1) Page 38