“It’s winter,” Luke said softly. “Wouldn’t bats be in hibernation?”
She gulped. “I don’t know. I can’t…I—”
“I can make them go away.” He stared at her, his eyes unnerving. She blinked hard and fast. Luke gripped her upper arms.
“You. You’re doing this?” she got out.
Luke sighed in frustration. “You’re having an episode.” His fingers wound gently around the back of her head, massaging into her hair. “I can help, but you have to let me. You have to give me permission.”
She focused tightly on his words, buoys keeping her afloat. “Don’t you see them? You can’t feel that?” she whimpered.
Luke pulled her in, his forehead dropping against hers. She had nowhere to look but his eyes, the deep brown melting into her like liquid ice, filling her. She blinked away a snowflake, felt it drip down her cheek. No, she thought. Tears. Only tears.
Luke’s eyes muddied, a mix of emotions she couldn’t place, quickly darkening to normal. “Kristen. Now,” he demanded. “Say it.”
“Yes!” She choked it out, a final plea before she drowned in her fear.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he said.
He squeezed.
Screaming lines of sound rushed through her skull like a current toward Luke’s hands at the back of her neck. Her vision tunneled. The pitch rose, glass-shattering frequencies whizzing past the insides of her ears. Burning, sizzling sounds, dizzy tightness. Kristen gasped, the pressure turning to pain.
“Almost there.” Luke’s voice found her through the cacophony. “Hang on for me.”
She clutched his wrists. “It hurts.”
“Got it,” he said.
His fingers dug a line up the back of her head, each fingertip feeling like a splash of frigid water. Her ears popped as the pressure released. The pain burst and broke open, faded.
Silence.
Blessed silence. Luke brushed her hair back, surprisingly gentle. His breaths came heavy. “Better?” he asked.
He gave her a moment to answer, took her elbow when she didn’t and guided her to the couch. She wilted against the cushions, suddenly exhausted.
“The pain is gone?” he tried again.
She nodded, doing everything she could to keep the tremble from her lip.
“It was different with Gabe,” she said quietly. Gabriel had carefully untangled her mind as he slowly worked; she would have given anything to feel that care again. Luke jerked everything tight and sheared it loose. She didn’t want to think about damage.
“I hate this,” she whispered. She sounded like she hadn’t slept in days, but her brain felt sharp, clean. She felt untainted for the first time since Gabe had Fallen. Ironic, she thought bitterly.
Kristen closed her eyes. The faucet turned on in the kitchen. A sponge squeaked against the glasses Luke washed. She waited, but he didn’t speak. She couldn’t be sure, but part of her wondered if he’d given her the moment to recover.
The water shut off and she heard him coming back. “Why did you come that first night to see me play?” he asked. “You knew who I was.”
The memory of badass incarnate in leather and an electric guitar drifted over her. She wasn’t prepared for the light skip in her stomach.
“I’ve always known about you.” She opened her eyes, turned to look at Luke. “I came because he left me.” Gabriel’s reputation didn’t matter anymore, not that Luke would care anyway. “He wandered away like I thought he’d done this time. He always told me to call if I needed anything, but then sometimes he wouldn’t answer. Sometimes he made me feel like such a burden. I was feeling…spiteful, I suppose, and dangerous.” She gifted him a small grin as he wandered back to sit beside her. “And you’re about as dangerous as they come, aren’t you?”
He laughed, pulled a knee up and balanced his chin on it. “That night.”
He shook his head, lost in the memory, every moment of their meeting etched in her own mind.
After the show, Luke had come toward her, his flock of groupies surrounding him like cliché imitations of harlots feeding grapes to a Roman god. Kristen alone hadn’t joined in on the worshipping. He’d snapped up the water bottle one offered, then cracked it open and drained it. Brushing away the girl’s hands with a smile, he had turned to Kristen.
“You,” he’d said, pointing the empty plastic in her direction. Kristen had raised an eyebrow at the possessive glares from the girls that clung to him. Luke strode forward, shaking them off like a cloud of gnats. “Who are you?”
“Me?” She’d slid off the stool and taken the first few steps toward the door. “I’m busy.”
The girls around him had gasped. Luke’s head had tilted, as if not quite believing what he’d heard. And then a slow grin had spread across his lips. Much to her chagrin, Kristen had returned it.
Now, though, in his apartment, the cheer faded from his face, his brow furrowing.
She couldn’t look at him, knew what he was going to ask and answered before he could. “Three months is a long time to keep a secret from Gabriel. I didn’t want him to know.”
“That’s what bothered you.” Luke sighed. “Gabriel knowing you chose me.”
She closed her eyes, but it only made things worse, memories playing like silent films on the backs of her eyelids. Kristen fluttered her eyes open, casting away her thoughts, but the truth haunted her whether she acknowledged it or not. Always had. In every memory of Luke, of the two of them together, she was smiling.
“I hid it from him.” He said it so quietly that she almost didn’t hear him. “So he wouldn’t see when he went into your mind.”
“I know,” she said. She didn’t ask why, wondering for the first time if maybe he did truly care for her.
His lips parted like he wanted to say more, but she shook her head. “Don’t.”
They watched each other in silence. Finally, Kristen stood and made her way to the window. Silent snowflakes tumbled past. A moment later, he joined her.
“It’s snowing again,” she said.
He didn’t speak. Instead, he ran his hands down her hair, lifted it off her back and over her shoulder. When she didn’t move away, Luke closed the last few inches separating them, his arms encircling her waist. His lips brushed her neck, rose to her ear. “I’m cashing in the favor you owe.”
Kristen tensed. “So soon?” she asked, shakily. “You’re sure you don’t want to save it for a special occasion?”
He ignored her. “I want you.”
“Wait, want me?” He clearly wasn't after a mere houseguest and it was a line Kristen wouldn’t cross, no matter what the payoff or punishment. “Luke, you can’t ask for that.”
He turned her to face him as he caught her meaning. “Kristen, I want your favor. Your company,” he clarified before his grin grew cocky. “Though, I don’t recall you finding my attentions distasteful.”
She raised an eyebrow, trying to look amused, knowing she wasn't pulling it off. He could have asked for anything and he’d only asked for time with her?
“For how long?” she asked carefully, trying to think of any other loopholes he could exploit.
He winked at her catch. “One week, clever girl. You’ll stay here with me.”
She laughed. “You want to play house? You can't be serious.”
“I'm offering you a life of freedom. No more bouts of delirium. Every wish granted. Happiness.” Luke smiled. “And health. You give me a week to show you how things can be. At the end of it you’ll choose to stay.”
“One week.” Kristen licked her lips, let the thought of the life he offered simmer for a moment. “Done,” she said, holding out her hand. He shook it. She didn’t trust his widening grin. “When do we start?”
“We already have,” Luke answered.
Chapter 20
From the pocket of his coat, by the tattered shoelace he used as a lanyard, Az pulled a key. Jarrod followed him into the apartment building, Sullivan beside him. It was a good distanc
e from home, far enough to be discrete but close enough that if Eden called, Jarrod could get there by cab within ten minutes.
Jarrod practically sighed in relief when Az headed them down the stairs. No balconies. Sullivan seemed serious about wanting to quit, but he didn’t know if it would be like other drugs. Withdrawal. It might get ugly. The lack of balcony would be one less worry after last night.
Az paused at the door. “Fair warning, we left in a hurry. Might be a bit messy.” He shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers, right?”
He opened the door as he said it, but none of them were prepared for the sight. The apartment was trashed. A smashed television was overturned in the center of the living room, the couch slit alongside the back, material dangling loose in a wide arc.
“Messy’s a bit of an understatement, man.” Jarrod moved aside to let Az pass.
The apartment was frigid.
“Looks like this is how they got in,” Sullivan said, heading to the open window, sliding it shut. “Well, at least now we know we’ll be earning our keep cleaning up the place.”
“This sucks,” Az whispered, squatting down to survey the totaled television.
“Gabriel?”
Everyone froze. The voice came from the room off the end of the hallway.
Sullivan stood by the window, the cord to the blinds wrapped around her hand. Jarrod didn’t know whether to cross the room to her or stay where he was. Az didn’t look at him. He’d crouched a bit, his hands splayed and ready to fight.
“Who is it?” Jarrod whispered.
Az gave his head a slight shake, his forehead furrowed.
Jarrod shifted enough to get a look down the hallway. One of the doors was open. A shadow darkened the tan carpet, cast from the light spilling out of the room.
“Who comes?” the voice called. The words sounded slightly off, as though translated from another language. Something was wrong with the actual voice too; the slightest echo of metal against metal ended each word.
Jarrod turned to Az, confused.
Az’s eyes blazed red. Not the subtle rusty color he’d seen in them when Eden pissed him off, but freaky-ass horror-movie demon red.
“Jesus Christ,” Jarrod whispered.
From behind them, Sullivan asked, “What? Who is it?”
She couldn’t see Az’s face.
“Jarrod, take her and get out of here. Go,” Az said.
Jarrod opened his mouth to protest but the intruder had already started down the hallway. His movements weren’t quite steps, his legs lifting as if pulled by puppet strings, like he’d never walked before.
Az turned to Jarrod. The red was gone from his eyes. They’d shifted to almost orange as the rusty anger mixed with the yellow color of fear. “Don’t let me go anywhere with him,” Az said desperately. “No matter what I say.”
“Who is it?”
“Michael,” Az whispered. “Bound. The one from the other night.”
As the figure moved closer, Jarrod could see the face had angel written all over it, that freaky carved out of marble look, too perfect to belong to a real person. The same dark curly hair as Az. He could have passed for his brother.
“Arrogant enough to ignore a summons, Az? How dare you be so defiant?” Michael stopped a few feet in front of Az.
“Be easy,” Az said, his voice strange, copying that same weird diction. “I have no allegiance. I’ve made it clear I have no interest in such. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I run this realm when the end times come to the mortals. The Pathless ones hold the possibility of that danger.”
“What, so the Siders are ending the world?” Jarrod said and regretted it instantly.
Michael’s attention shifted to him and repulsion overtook his face.
“Don’t even think about it, Michael.” Az jumped in front, shoving Jarrod back. He had a hand on Michael’s chest.
“I can bring you back to glory before we burn this world,” Michael whispered.
“You can’t kill the Siders,” Az said.
“We learn.” Michael laughed, a wicked dead drone. “Even now we watch one.”
Az’s jaw clenched. “Stay the fuck away from Eden.”
Michael edged closer. “The first strains of death claim your whore.”
Az tipped forward, fists gripped tight at his sides. Jarrod tensed, expecting him to throw a punch at Michael, but suddenly Az’s face paled. “She’s not dying. She can’t.”
“Such emotion! Is it because you’ve witnessed the malady yourself? The truth burns your anger so bright.” The laugh came again and Jarrod shivered. “You falter. Choose Upstairs, Azazel.”
“I chose to stay here.” Az’s voice was hard. Jarrod kept his eyes on him, didn’t want to look at the other one.
“Use the wings!” Michael spat, drawing closer to Az.
“Never!” Az bellowed. Crackling sparks shot between his lips.
A low electrical hiss drifted out of him.
Jarrod knew the sound. It was the same noise he’d heard at the apartment when Az’s eyes went all white, right before the chittering started. Az opened his mouth, eyes rolled up a quarter of the way and unfocused as if he were possessed.
Michael’s eyes had blanked out like hard-boiled eggs, light shining from inside them until they glowed, the shine seeping from his nostrils, flickering across the curls hanging over his ears.
Az jerked as if he tried to pull away and couldn’t. A bulge ran down his back, fabric ripping.
The wings, Jarrod thought.
“No!” Jarrod yelled. “He’s not yours!” He leapt, knocking Az over. A jolt of electricity shot up Jarrod’s arm, slammed the air from his lungs.
Az broke out of the trance and pushed Jarrod away. “Door. Run. Go!”
Each word came out more desperate than the last. Jarrod ran straight into Sullivan and the three of them barreled out the door, yanking it closed behind them.
Az tripped and plowed shoulder first into threadbare carpet covering the concrete floor of the building’s entrance. He rolled to a sitting position with a hiss, holding his arm as he struggled to his feet.
Jarrod stood in front of Sullivan but her gaze went right through him. He thought of the story of her reaction to Vaughn telling her about being a Sider. Completely catatonic, she’d said.
“Move,” Az demanded. He didn’t even bother talking to her, simply grabbed one of her hands and threw her over his hurt shoulder. “We gotta go.”
Az carried Sullivan down the street, took a side street and then another, twisting their route until they were only a few blocks away from home. “Call Eden,” Az panted. “Tell her to meet us, door open.” He hoisted Sullivan’s deadweight, groaning as he adjusted her.
Jarrod took out his phone but didn’t put the call through. “Az, is something wrong with Eden?”
He spun to Jarrod. “Of course not. He was bluffing, trying to mess with my head. But,” he said, his eyes downcast. “When we tell her what happened we’re going to leave that whole last part out okay? She worries enough anyway.”
Jarrod didn’t look at him, kept walking. “Eden and I don’t do secrets.”
“And normally no secrets is great,” Az said, licking his lips. “But it’s not going to do her any good to be worrying about some stupid lies of Michael’s. Right?” He grabbed Jarrod’s arm, pulled him to a stop. “Right, Jarrod?” Az said again.
Sullivan gave a soft sob. Jarrod brushed her hair back from her clammy skin. Her lips moved in repetitive motions, eyes wide and unblinking. Jarrod leaned closer to hear. It took him a second to make it out her whispers. “He was on fire inside his head. Inside his head. I saw God. I saw God in his eyes.”
Her lips were still going, but her voice faded away. Jarrod cast a glance behind them, but there was no sign of Michael.
“You should call Eden. Sullivan’s not doing good, Jarrod. And I wouldn’t get Eden all upset if you’re planning on showing up with her like this.”
“Right,” Jarro
d muttered as he hit send. Right before the call connected, it hit him. Why Az looked so worried. “Michael was just lying anyway.”
“Exactly,” Az said, his voice full of relief. He hoisted Sullivan against him.
Lying. Except lying wasn’t something the Bound could do.
Chapter 21
Behind Eden, in her bed, Sullivan lay flat. Her breaths had evened out from the erratic gasps she was making when Jarrod had first brought her in, but she wasn’t responding much. Eden could hear Jarrod’s murmurs to her, though they were too low for her to make out the actual words.
Eden stared out the window of her bedroom. The gloomy storm clouds had finally ditched their haul, tossing down fat wet flakes for the past hour or so. She’d been watching them get slammed against the red brick of the building beside theirs, caught up in the draft.
Her breath steamed an oval. She drew a sharp lightning bolt through the center. Michael. He’d been there at the apartment, terrifying enough that he’d fried Sullivan’s brain something fierce. But Jarrod is okay. Az is safe. She smeared away the fog on the window. Lucky, she thought. Incredibly lucky.
Mostly.
Twice Sullivan had called out and then faded back into that zombified state. Each time left Jarrod looking broken and sick.
She turned from the window. Jarrod stared down at Sullivan, the seconds ticking by, wasted. And then an idea broke across his face. Eden saw it, knew he’d thought of something but was second-guessing.
“Whatever it is, you should try it. She’s not getting any better.”
He flicked his eyes to Eden and away, as if embarrassed.
She thought for sure he’d shake the girl, rattle her brains back into place. Instead, he ground one of his shoes against the other and slipped out of it, did the same with the second one. He folded the covers all the way down.
Sullivan balled up the second the air hit her. Jarrod didn’t hesitate, climbed onto the bed, over her. Eden couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw the girl relax a bit.
“What’re you doing?” Eden asked, but he ignored her, closed his eyes.
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