by S. M. Reine
“I’ll heal him for you,” James said, the words breezing over her lips. His hands crept into her hair. His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. “But I won’t remain in the Palace and study in that library if it means watching you fall in love with another man. Watching you with Anthony and Malcolm very nearly killed me. I can’t do that again.”
“I never loved either of them,” she said.
Not the way he meant, anyway. But Elise was beginning to understand that love came in many forms—even for her, even before Eve had taken up residence in her soul. She had loved them as friends and brothers. Still loved Anthony, in fact. Enough that she would plunge into Malebolge to search for him among the missing souls without hesitation.
But they weren’t James. Nobody was James.
She closed her eyes, rested her forehead against his. “You’ve done too much to me. I can’t forgive you.” She hesitated, warring with herself, then pushed on. “But if you’re going to stay in the Palace with me, then we could still…”
Elise didn’t finish the sentence.
She didn’t need to.
He kissed her hard, letting his months or years or centuries of loneliness into it, pushing her against the back of the couch. Elise wrapped her arms around his neck, digging her fingers into his back through his shirt. She wanted to shred it with her fingernails. Expose his skin.
He tasted like forbidden fruit that Elise had sampled too many times. She could lose herself to him, lose herself to the maddening promises his lips made that James would not keep, and the intense pleasure of their united bodies. It would have been enough to drive a weaker woman to addiction, but far more destructive than any drug.
James broke away for air, but she followed, catching his lips again instantly. She wanted to consume his very breath.
“Wait.” He traced his thumb along the line of her bottom lip again, skin sliding against their mingled saliva. “There need to be rules.”
She nipped his thumb with her teeth. His breath hitched. “Fuck you and fuck your rules.”
His eyes flashed to a deeper shade of blue, though Elise knew that it was only the glamor shifting over him as his attention and energies shifted.
James stood, putting space between them. He put the entire coffee table between them. Once he was safely on the other side, he rested his hands on the back of a wingback chair as if to steady himself.
“You can’t feed off of me,” he said softly, levelly.
It was a line she had expected him to draw, but it was still like being kneed in the gut. “I don’t have to bleed you.” That was more of a concession than she wanted to make. She wanted him inside of her and her teeth sinking into his throat.
“Obviously, you wouldn’t ‘bleed’ me.” He looked offended by the very suggestion, as if he hadn’t enjoyed the last time they’d fucked as much as she had. “I mean that I don’t want you to feed off of the—any of our intimacy. Or anything else. I’m not a servant or slave. I won’t be debased, injured, or treated like a piece of mortal meat.”
As if he could ever be only food to her. Did he think so little of himself? Did he think so little of Elise? “Just because you won’t fulfill that need doesn’t mean it will stop existing. I’ll have to feed some other way.”
“If you would try to eat like a human does, try to sleep regularly, it may sustain you until we could come up with an alternate solution.”
Elise had avoided eating and sleeping when those had been actual needs for her mortal body. She couldn’t imagine relying on it again, not if she didn’t need to. And there was no alternate solution. She wouldn’t weaken herself for anyone. Even James.
“Lincoln would feed me,” she said.
She watched the jealousy blossom over his mind. He’d always been good at keeping his thoughts from showing on his face. It wasn’t enough to keep Elise from knowing the truth now.
“If he survives,” James said.
“Is that a threat?” she asked. He didn’t respond. “Fine. You let Lincoln die, it will just be someone else. One of my other human guards. Maybe all of them. Azis and Gerard and—”
“Elise,” he snapped.
She pushed to her feet.
“I have a better offer,” Elise said, stepping around the chair. She curled her fingers around his lapels. His muscles seemed to ripple under her hands. “Let me feed from you. Blood and flesh and sex and anger. No nightmares or fear—that can be off-limits. I don’t want to hurt you in a way you can’t tolerate. But give me what I need to sustain myself, and you can have me. All of me.” She pressed her nose into his throat, inhaled his scents. His sweat reminded her of mirrored dance halls and blue foam mats. “No sharing. Just you and me. For as long as we can tolerate each other.”
A ragged breath escaped his chest. “Lord, Elise.”
“I’ll move you into my rooms.” Her fingernails crawled up his chest, biting gently into his pectorals. “I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll break into the lower levels of the library to let you research among the rarest books in the universe. I have staff that can help you.”
“Listen to yourself,” he said softly. “They’re not your staff.”
She slammed her fist into the wall next to his head. James didn’t even flinch.
“The Palace is mine,” Elise growled. “Dis is mine. All of fucking Hell is mine. It’s my staff, my library, and I’m not going to let you and your prejudices—”
“Prejudices? You have an army of demons.”
“I’m the only thing getting human slaves out of Hell. I’m changing a centuries-old regime based on human trafficking. Yes, I’m allied with demons. I am a demon. I need to be able to feed in order to make myself strong and save people. And there is not a single fucking thing that you can do to change that.” She fisted his collar, fixed him with a glare. “You can be my partner again, but I won’t give that up for you.”
“You know that I’ve always loved you, Elise,” James said. “But this…I can’t do this. You’ve changed too much. I’m not going to let you feed on me. It’s sick.”
It still made her lungs contract to hear him say that he loved her, even as his denial sucked away all of her oxygen.
Shouldn’t she have been beyond that by now? She ruled Hell. She was a demon-god. She had been beyond human needs and mortality for years now, so many long years. But this man still had the power to shatter her with just a few words.
No matter what James thought, Elise hadn’t changed. She was the same girl with all the sharp edges and broken pieces who he had conned into trusting him. She didn’t care if he didn’t like what she had been warped into as a product of his machinations.
“Then there’s no compromise. You’ll lead me through Malebolge. You’ll heal Lincoln. And that will be it.”
“As I said, I’ll help you. But we can’t do…this.” He gestured between them. “Not if you’re going to insist on acting like a demon.”
She wasn’t even frustrated anymore. Just exhausted. “I can’t give you everything when you won’t give me anything.”
“I’ll give you everything I can.”
Elise didn’t want to hear it anymore. She hadn’t changed, and James hadn’t, either. His words were still meaningless. “Forget about it. Meet me at the gates in…forty-five minutes from now, looks like. There’s body armor in my wardrobe that should fit you.”
By the time she stepped out of the room, he still hadn’t moved.
Fifteen
ELISE DIDN’T REMEMBER leaving her rooms and walking to the library. She was just suddenly there, opening the door to find Lincoln sitting at Onoskelis’s desk again.
Her heart was still hurting, and it had nothing to do with the now-healed flamberge wound.
She stepped inside. Elise closed her eyes. Bumped the back of her head against the door.
“Hey,” Lincoln said softly, standing up from the desk with a grinding of chair legs against the crystal floor. “You okay?”
She didn’t
move or respond.
The sound of his beating heart grew as he approached her, bringing the tempting slosh of his blood within arm’s reach. He touched her shoulder. She shoved his arm away. “Don’t do that,” she said.
“Just trying to help,” Lincoln said.
“I’m not weak,” Elise said. “I don’t need your comfort. If you attempt anything like that where people can see us, I will end you so quickly that—”
“Whoa. Hey.” He stepped back, hands lifted in a defensive gesture. “Don’t take this out on me.”He was right. She wasn’t angry with him. She was angry with James—his denial, his rejection, his goddamn stubbornness. Lincoln was just the most convenient place to focus it.
Elise managed to give a terse, “Sorry.” That one word had an impressive effect on Lincoln. He relaxed and smiled, looked a little bit brighter. Strange how much people relied on those little courtesies like “please” and “sorry” to make them feel better about themselves.
“I noticed the army’s mobilized,” Lincoln said, settling back in front of Onoskelis’s books.
“I’m taking three centuries into Malebolge to look for the missing people.”
He drummed the end of his pen on the desk. “I’m not coming, am I?”
“Not in your condition. No.” Elise hesitated then sat on the chair across from him. “James believes he’s found a way to cure you. It’s risky. You might die.”
The knot in his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Doesn’t seem like that matters much. Dead either way, right?”
“Well. If it works, you’ll be more than cured.” She gave him a serious look, making sure that she had his full attention. “You won’t be infernal Gray anymore, either.”
A smile spread over his lips, lighting up his whole face. “A real cure.”
“Also, possible death.” She knew it sounded harsh, but he looked so elated by the idea of the alternative that she needed to make sure he heard what she was saying.
“I know you don’t believe me, but there’s a life beyond this,” Lincoln said. “I’ve done all the good I can. I’ve been a good man. I’ve sometimes fallen prey to my weaknesses, like all men do, but I’ve done it with love for God in my heart, and I’ve done everything I can to atone. Saint Peter is waiting for me at Heaven’s gates, and I’m fixing on meeting him with a clear conscience. I can’t do that if I’m a demon.”
Elise rested her hand over his. “Lincoln…”
How could she begin to tell him that everything he knew was wrong? That every single sermon he had attended as a child had been a bald-faced lie, delivered by supposed holy men regurgitating the “truths” that the angels had wanted them to believe?
She didn’t want to change his mind. It was a cold, harsh world. If faith was what he needed to wake up in the morning, well, who was she to take that from him?
But she couldn’t let him face potential death in ignorance.
“Before I was born, my parents agreed to give me to an angel named Metaraon,” Elise said. “Through their combined efforts, I was born a weapon specifically intended to assassinate Adam—the First Man, whom you would know as God.”
“No,” Lincoln said, “that’s not—”
She pushed on. “I went to the Garden of Eden. I faced Adam. And, just like Metaraon wanted, I killed Him.” It still hurt to say it, and it wasn’t just Eve that was aching. She couldn’t quite remember Adam’s face anymore, after so many long years, despite her perfect memory. He was a haze to her.
Whenever she said His name, she could only think of James when he had been possessed by Adam, and how she had walked away to let him die in misery.
He had obviously survived being Adam’s vessel for a few short minutes, but that was still how she remembered Him. Struggling to cling to life as a weak, mortal man that Elise didn’t want to love anymore.
“You’re not messing with me, are you?” Lincoln asked, watching her face closely. “You really believe this.”
“It’s not a belief. It’s fact. God is dead and I killed Him.”
“I’m not saying I think you’re lying or delusional. I’m saying that if you managed to kill a guy, it couldn’t have been God. That’s not how it works.”
Elise couldn’t find the stamina to get annoyed. It took real nerve for him to deny the most important formative experiences of her life—but some part of her sympathized with his need to deny it. “So you think there’s a Heaven. An afterlife waiting for your soul. Even though you’re in Hell right now.”
“We’re in a place that calls itself Hell, but Heaven and Hell aren’t physical places like this. It’s somewhere our souls will go when we’ve passed on. Our Lord God will be waiting to judge us all.” Lincoln smiled faintly. “Even you, Elise.”
She hadn’t thought about the possibility of an afterlife in a long time. It was almost funny to think of some God—someone other than Adam—waiting to judge her soul. “Must be nice to have that kind of faith.”
“That’s the thing about faith,” Lincoln said. “You can’t just have it when it’s easy.”
But apparently you could have faith when all the evidence indicated the contrary.
“I hope that Saint Peter is waiting for you in the afterlife, Lincoln.” It surprised her to realize that she meant it. Probably Eve’s influence again. Elise wasn’t nearly that sentimental. “But I also hope you’re not going to find out for a long time.”
“I’ll try the cure,” he said.
She wasn’t even remotely surprised.
“We have to perform this operation in Malebolge first. You understand.”
“There’s a lot more at stake than me,” he said. “So yeah, I understand.”
She wished he wasn’t so damn understanding. He was too calm. Still smiling, glowing at the idea of finally having the salvation he’d always wanted.
Salvation, or an end to his existence.
Better to be dead than be a demon in Hell with Elise. It seemed to be a popular opinion these days.
“I’ll see you when I get back,” she said, pushing her chair back to stand.
“Can’t wait,” Lincoln said.
It was raining in Northgate when Rylie and Abel climbed through the fissure. She stood on the open lawn, face tipped back, and let it all wash over her. After the dry air of Dis, the moisture was a relief to her skin and her soul.
Abel wasn’t in the mood to cherish it. He caught Rylie’s hand and strode toward St. Philomene’s.
“In a hurry?” Rylie asked, struggling to keep up with him. It took three of her steps to match a single one of his strides.
“Elise thinks we’re useless,” he said. “Thinks she needs to just get rid of us.”
“That’s not her intent, I don’t think.”
“Yeah? You think she’s just tossing aside a couple of werewolves because she…what, she’s just overflowing with support down there? She doesn’t want us.” He enunciated each word, biting them out one after another. “But that don’t mean we can’t be useful. Someone’s gone and taken our pack. I say we figure out who it is. We can smell things that bitch can’t even dream of.”
He was right. Elise had investigated Northgate without werewolf support, and she’d said herself that there was evidence she couldn’t properly analyze at another scene without their help. They couldn’t get to Two Rivers, Georgia to figure out what was happening, but another crime scene had presented itself to them now.
If only it hadn’t been in their home.
“Good idea,” Rylie said. “You’re right. Let’s find out what’s happened to Abram.”
Abel gave a slanted smile. “And the pack that fucked us over.”
“And the pack,” she agreed, even though he had probably meant to be sarcastic, and she definitely did not.
Stephanie Whyte wasn’t in St. Philomene’s Cathedral. Rylie could tell the instant that they entered the front doors. Weirdly, Rylie couldn’t seem to pin down when, exactly, Stephanie had last been there. Her scent was weird. Almost like i
t had been tainted.
Or scrubbed.
“Someone’s been cleaning,” Rylie said, wiping her fingers over the coffee table. She didn’t come up with any dust.
Abel prowled through the living room that Levi had set up in the cathedral. “That’s like that lemon shit Summer uses on everything, isn’t it?”
It was exactly “that lemon shit” that Summer used on everything. She had inherited a need for cleanliness from her grandmother, Jessica, and had always been kind of obsessive about keeping the kitchens and her computer room immaculate. If they left Summer to her own devices, she would break into every cottage and clean it, with or without the permission of the owners. She was so darn charming about it that nobody seemed to care.
This was too fresh to be Summer’s work, though. She was still on her pre-honeymoon with Nash, which meant that she hadn’t been on a cleaning spree, and definitely hadn’t been among those who had been taken. Thank goodness for small miracles.
“You think Stephanie was trying to wipe away evidence?” Abel asked, sniffing his way around the nave. “What would she have been scrubbing? You think she made them go missing?”
Rylie didn’t want to believe that Stephanie could do such a thing, but she also hadn’t wanted to believe that Levi had tried to assassinate Elise. Apparently she expected a lot better out of people than they were actually capable of doing.
“Maybe,” she said hesitantly. “But Stephanie’s not that good a witch, is she? How could she make everyone disappear? I mean, it was everyone. The pack, the Scions, the Apple…” Possibly Abram, if he hadn’t left when Rylie asked him to escape. And Abram would be hard to take down. Seth had trained him, after all.
“Maybe she didn’t do it magically,” Abel said.
Rylie couldn’t think of any alternatives. Maybe a big truck? A lot of big trucks? But there wouldn’t have been anything to scrub inside of St. Philomene’s, in that case. The rain would have taken care of the worst of the evidence.
She followed the strongest strains of the lemon scent out the back door, standing under the overhang to remain dry. Her gratitude for the rain had very quickly turned into her usual desire to avoid getting soaked. Wolves didn’t enjoy being wet all that much, and neither did Rylie.