Moloch looms over me. “I’m truly saddened to see you make such a pointless gesture, Ms. Sterling.”
I squint up at him, my eyes barely focusing properly. But I can see his face is flushed with the life energy he just sucked out of my body.
“I choose not to be you,” I say, wheezing. “That’s far from pointless.”
His lips curl in disgust. “And yet sparing Samil’s life most certainly is. Had you drained him, he would have proven his commitment as well as yours.”
“By being dead?” I ask. Moloch is even more unhinged than I thought.
He snorts a laugh. “I’ve been dead a few times,” he says casually, like that isn’t bat-shit crazy talk. “It’s not as bad as you might think. Samil knew I would bring him back if he played his part well.”
I frown. I can’t possibly have heard him right. “And he believed you?”
“Not least because he’s seen it happen.” A full gloat comes out in his voice. “Only the strongest debt collectors can reach into the dark and tether a soul, but I could easily have accomplished it. The dutiful Samil knew that. I’m telling you this, Wraith, because I want you to know the full measure of futility in this gesture of yours. Before we kill you.”
I brace myself halfway up from Moloch’s coal-black carpet. “How considerate of you.”
I suspect he doesn’t care what I know, but that he cares very much what his minions, the ones watching all of this go down, think about this whole spectacle. Although I don’t put it past Moloch to be petty enough to want to crush a dying woman before her last breath. Strangely his words don’t affect me at all. Perhaps because I’m going to die anyway, so what does it matter? Or maybe it’s the mercy hit still glowing inside me, an emotional shield against all of it.
“Here’s the thing, Moloch,” I say, just to mess with him. “You don’t know half the choices I’ve made.”
He frowns, like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying, which is just as well, in spite of my desire to taunt him. I really don’t want him chasing down the people I love to find out what I might have set in motion. Then his face darkens, and he lifts his chin to his two thugs—either he’s figured out I’ve done something to stop him or he’s just had enough of me. Either way, the thugs bend down to press their palms to my cheeks. They pull, hard and fast, and I know they’re not going to stop until they’ve claimed every last drop of my life energy.
This time I’m dying for real.
I’m frozen on the floor. My scream is silent in the real world, but that doesn’t stop it from banging the inside of my head and trying to get out. The abyss—the one I see every time I pay out to slimeballs and politicians—yawns open below me, turning Moloch’s coal-black carpet into something even more sinister. I squeeze my eyes shut, but I still see it, still feel the pull, drenching me in a hopelessness that reaches deep inside my soul. The glow from the mercy hit is quenched, and the abyss is sucking out everything else left inside me that’s good.
Until slowly… I empty out.
The flow of my life energy slows to a trickle because I don’t have any left to give. Strangely, this actually feels better. Each near-final droplet that leaves my body is like a weight lifting… and soon I have no weight at all. The abyss fades back into the carpet, and I’m rising straight up from the floor. It’s like gravity has been turned off, and I’m drifting away on invisible currents. My eyes open, and it’s true: I’m literally floating in the air. I look down and see my body limp on the carpet.
No one’s touching it, but everyone’s looking at it.
Zachariel is gesturing wildly and shouting something in Moloch’s face. I can’t hear their voices. I can barely see them: shades of light and darkness stab the room. It’s as though I’m back in the shop of mirrors, and everything is either brightness or shadow. Zachariel shines brightest—I can barely look at him. Samil is bright as well, although not as much. I think it means something, but my thoughts are fuzzy, muted. The floating takes me farther, drifting higher in the room, such that it’s almost dizzying to look down on them. Even more, I can’t seem to care about what they’re doing. It’s as if all the feelings—the hurt, the rage, the cravings, the shame—all of it is bound to the body that now lies drained and lifeless on the floor.
Then one sharp feeling blazes through the numbness: regret.
All the time I spent mired in guilt about who I was and what I had done… all the years of holding myself back from feeling and touching… all that time, wasted. I’m freer now, liberated from all of it, and somehow that lets me see it all more clearly: time is counted in seconds, a million billion of them lined up, waiting. Each action and thought and touch is an opportunity, a potential. Each second waits to become something beautiful. And I left a trail of them behind, unfulfilled.
Kisses I didn’t give.
Love I didn’t make.
Friends I didn’t hug.
So many seconds not lived, even though I was alive.
And now they’re all gone.
The bright spot that is Zachariel bends down and picks up my body. I watch with a strange, detached interest as he carries that limp girl to the door. Something tugs on me, like I’m a balloon on a string. It pulls me with him and her, through the door, down the narrow hall, and into a room. It has a bed, black as night but twinkling with a sheen that reflects the hazy white lamps. Light and dark, once again, intertwined, connected like part of the same, glittering, dark beast. I’m so entranced with the black silk sheets on the bed, that I belatedly notice Zachariel has placed my body on them. He’s removing his corporate clothes, one layer at a time, until he’s down to his bare chest and slacks.
His body still beams brilliance, and it’s increasingly hard to look at. My gaze is drawn to his bare feet. They look innocent somehow. I notice his toes grip the carpet to help him climb up on the bed. Then his feet are upturned, the bare flesh of his soles facing the ceiling as he bends over my body. He moves my limbs, this way and that. The floating takes me farther away, so a long moment passes before I can make sense of what he’s doing. He tosses my corporate jacket to the floor. It lies like a red pool of blood. My silk camisole shirt is next, floating down with more grace, but still landing in a puddle of fabric that oozes over the black carpet.
I stare as Zachariel hugs my body to his chest.
So strange.
Then the brilliance flares, and I have to look away. At the same time, the tugging starts again, only this time it’s more like a giant vacuum is sucking me down, down, closer, closer…
I gasp in air. I have to fight for it, my body convulsing as it struggles to pull in life-giving oxygen. Zachariel is touching me everywhere—his chest pressed to mine, his hands on my back, his cheek on my face—and every contact point is pouring life energy into me. Ragged breaths work their way through me, and my arms lift from the bed to clumsily hold him.
“Wraith, oh god, Wraith,” he’s saying as he holds me tight, working his arms to gain even more contact. “Oh my god, I didn’t know if I could…” He trails off and curls tighter into my body. I think he’s hugging me closer, but then it doesn’t feel right.
I pull back from his cheek, and even in the close space between us, I can see he looks like death. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he’s breathing heavily, so I know he’s not actually dead, but he will be if he keeps pumping life energy into me at this rate. I slide my hands from his bare back up to hold his cheeks. As soon as I pulse energy into him, he wrenches his face from my grasp.
“No, don’t,” he gasps out, then returns to nuzzling my cheek with his and pumping more energy there.
“You need it.” My voice is wheezy.
“You need it more. I’m fine. I’m good.” But he’s not. His voice is weaker with each word, and I realize a mercy hit of this size… large enough to bring someone back from the dead… he has to be drowning in it. His head slumps into my shoulder.
“Zachariel!” It’s a harsh whisper, right in his ear, but he just mumbles in retu
rn.
I grab hold of his back so he can’t get loose from my grip and flush energy into him in spite of his protests. He sucks in a breath, rousing almost immediately, then shakes his head, as if to clear it. His unshaven face brushes roughly against my cheek. I keep the life energy flowing, faster and faster, until I match his pace. We’re balanced now, and it seems to slowly revive him.
As for me: my brain is just now figuring out I’m actually alive. And I’m well and truly stunned. But the massive influx of life energy has me flying high, accepting it without question, drinking it in. I’ve gone from dying to literally dead to… I’m not sure how, but Zachariel reached out and brought me back. And now I’m breathing, I’m alive, I’m high, and I’m half naked in bed with a man who just saved my life.
He pulls back and looks me in the eyes. “You should let me give you more.” His chest is heaving, and his eyes burn bright from the mercy hit.
I slip my hands to his cheeks again, never losing contact, never slowing the energy transfer. “You’ve given me enough.” My voice is whispery, but only because my lips are close to his.
I pull him in for a kiss, transferring there as well. He hesitates, then returns it. Our tongues entwine and spark life, building heat upon the high that’s enervating us both. My hands move along his back, fingers spread, exploring every bone, every muscle that moves under my touch. I sacrifice some skin contact to run a hand into his hair, and I deepen our kiss even further. There’s something magical about every small part of me that’s touching him. It’s not just the life energy and the buzz. Those are mere shadows of this… this life-giving human contact that I’ve forsaken for so long.
He tempers our kiss, pulling back enough to say, “Alexandra, I shouldn’t… you almost died…”
He says it like that’s a reason to stop, when in fact, it’s every reason to not. I nuzzle his face, so close to mine, running the tip of my nose against his skin and transferring there, just because I can. Then I pull back and look him in the eyes.
“Make love to me.”
He blinks. “What?”
My flash of smile is so broad, it hurts my cheeks. “Do you need instructions?”
His eyes widen a little. “I told you I would if you asked.” It’s a warning; a chance for me to change my mind.
“Don’t make me ask twice.” Then I bring his lips back to mine and make my demands there.
His hesitation is gone, and the contact between us suddenly heats—not due to life energy transfers, but due to motion. Skin-on-skin, he’s moving against me, and I gasp at the sheer, unexpected thrill of it. His hands roam my body, seeking out bare skin not for transfers, but for the pleasure of his touch. Mine do the same, quickly running into the obstacle of his clothing. His hands have already found mine, and his expert fingers work at liberating me from the remainder of my clothes.
He leans back to get free of his own, but not before he drags my hands across his chest and says, “Keep touching me. Keep contact.” His breathless words are a command I wouldn’t think of disobeying. I take the chance to explore the muscles of his chest, all while still transferring. Well before I’m ready to be done, he’s finished undressing. He rolls on top of me, holding his weight but brushing deliciously against me, transferring as he goes.
I moan, anticipation building low in my belly. At my urging, he doesn’t go slow, and when our bodies join, it’s like a surge of life energy so strong, so direct to the core of me, that I momentarily can’t breathe. He moves inside of me, on top of me, coaxing pleasure from me—we’re transferring back and forth at every point of contact. An incredible lightness suffuses my entire body, and I lose track of where I end and he begins. Tension builds deep inside me with each stroke, each touch, each sizzling burst of life energy transfer. His movements become more urgent. My hands grip his shoulders. My back arches up against him. These things say the words my mouth can’t begin to form.
The pleasure rushes to a peak, the energy transfers racing with it, and when I get there, I’m suspended in time. I’m plunging a hundred floors in free fall. Soaring on a hundred years of excess life. I’m sailing in a moment of being completely alive, and an eternity of seconds are compressed into that one writhing, bucking moment.
This is life. This is living. This is the exchange of everything life-giving and good.
Zachariel’s body seizes and holds still against me. My eyes pop open, and a moment of terror fills my heart. I search his face, but I can’t tell if the torment is ecstasy or pain.
My fingers find his cheeks. My lips brush over his eyelids. I whisper his name against his skin. I ask if he’s all right. His laugh reassures me deep within my soul. I ease back from my urgent explorations.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, still breathless with our lovemaking.
He frowns and pulls back enough to look me in the eyes. We’re still coupled, and his gaze, holding me this way in this moment, is so deep and so pure that I’m suddenly shy. I find myself staring down at our chests mashed together, skin-to-skin. We’re no longer moving or pulsing energy, but it feels as though we’ve been seared together.
“Were you afraid?” he asks, and it’s so tender that it draws me back.
“Yes.” Tears prick my eyes. “I… I had sex with a man once and…”
He frowns. “A collector?”
I shake my head. The tears threaten to fall. “He died.”
His frown grows deeper. “Wraith.” His voice is soft, and he shakes his head slowly, in a pitying kind of way. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”
“I was… I was just afraid I might have… done it again…” My breath is getting short.
He touches my cheek, petting it, soothing me. “It’s all right,” he says gently. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” He smiles a little. “You don’t have to worry with me. I’m much stronger than you. Even now, even having pulled you back from the grave. You’d need many more years in you before you could even begin to overpower me. And even then… you can learn how to control it. I promise.”
The relief in my body sinks it into the bed. He leans down to kiss me—sweetly but with a lingering glow of the passion we just shared—then he eases from my body and lies next to me. We’re still cuddled close, touching along the full length of our bodies, but the space is less intense. More warm.
His fingers trail through my hair and brush my cheek before he says, “Are you all right? Do you need more?” His fingers skim my chest, and I’m not entirely sure if he means life energy or mind-blowing sex. More of both would be good. And this idea of learning to control my body while I’m in the midst of that…
I adjust my position so I can peer up into his eyes. “Yes. To all of it.”
He grins, kisses me again, and moves his hand to a less tantalizing position on my shoulder before trickling life energy in. I return it with fingers that drift across his chest in a slow, circling motion.
After we establish a balance, circulating energy at the same rate, I lift my gaze to his eyes again. There’s one thing I have to know. “Why did you save me?”
He looks at me a long moment before answering. “I told Moloch I was in love with you.”
My eyebrows lift, and I lean back, although not enough for either of us to lose contact. “Are you?”
He smiles. “Not yet.”
I can’t help but smile in return, even as I’m aware that he’s completely dodged my question. I ease back a little closer. “Then tell me: why lie to Moloch to save a woman you do not love?”
He cups his hand behind my head and lifts my gaze to his. “Can I be honest with you, Alexandra?”
My hand stops moving on his chest, and my whole body holds still. He’s asking if he can trust me. If he can tell me the truth. “I owe you my life,” I whisper. I hope he hears the promise in that.
He kisses me lightly on the forehead, then pulls back to look in my eyes again. “I’m here for the same reason you are: to stop Moloch.”
I’m so stunned, I c
an’t think of what to say. “But you’re one of them.” I say it, but I know it’s not true. I’ve known he wasn’t really the same as them for… I don’t know how long. But I’ve sensed from the beginning that he was different. I just wasn’t sure if I could trust those feelings.
“I’ve been undercover for a long time.” He has a tight smile, like he’s walking a dangerous tightrope with me.
My voice hikes up. “Undercover—” He puts a finger to my lips to stop me.
“Shhh…” But he’s laughing. “Not something I want to spread around.”
“But who do you… I mean, how did you…?” My mind reels, but I tuck my voice low. “Were you really a slasher for the mob?”
“I was undercover there before Moloch recruited me.”
“But for who?” My pulse quickens with the possibilities.
He smirks at my wide-eyed enthusiasm. “Once upon a time, I was a very special agent.”
Now my mouth is truly hanging open. “But… I had no idea the Feds had collectors. I mean, outside the Department of Life and Health.”
“Well, that’s not information we hand out at the recruitment drives.”
I blink. “You’re telling me all this… why?”
“Well, I’m hoping you won’t rat me out.” He smiles, but it’s tense.
I press my hand to his chest, reassuring him. I just need to understand more. “Is this why you didn’t want Moloch to kill me from the start?”
He frowns. “Generally speaking, yes. More specifically…” He looks down at the black sheets between us.
“What?” I ask.
“I couldn’t convince Moloch to let me into his inner circle,” he says, still not looking at me. “I thought you might be my ticket in. He seemed intrigued by you. I thought…” He looks up and meets my gaze. “I thought you might be turned, given your history, your hidden life, and I thought if I gained your confidence… you could be my spy.”
My eyes go a little wide. “You were using me.”
He bites his lip. “Well… that was the plan anyway.” He drops his gaze and shakes his head, but he’s smiling now. “Then you go and give a mercy hit to the man who killed your father.” He looks back up to me. “I swear to god, I didn’t see that coming. And then I knew…” He’s struggling for words now.
The Debt Collector (Season Two) Page 21