Alissa’s brows rose. “Let us talk to him. He’s stubborn, but—”
Cerise shook her head. “I’ll talk to him myself when I see him again.”
“Are you sure you will?”
Cerise nodded. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she did. That she and Lysander would cross paths again felt inevitable.
The sound of chopper blades made them all look up.
Cerise rose. “I think that’s my ride.”
“Oh,” Alissa said.
“Speaking of things being dangerous here, you should come home to the Etherlin,” Cerise said.
Alissa’s mouth opened to protest.
“Not forever. Just until Merrick ends his war with the syndicate.” She looked at Merrick. “You know it’s only a matter of time before they storm this place. Do you really want her trapped here when they come?”
“You going back to the Etherlin for a couple of weeks is not a bad idea, Alissa,” Merrick said.
Alissa hugged Cerise and then took a step back. “It was so good to see you. I’m sorry the evening was so violent and terrifying. And please tell Dimitri I’m sorry I didn’t get to say good-bye before I left.”
With that Alissa turned and walked back to their bedroom, her hand trailing along the wall as if to steady herself. Cerise tilted her head.
“Is she okay?”
Merrick nodded. “Except for the target painted on her back.”
“The council’s voted. In a couple of days, they’ll crown me Wreath Muse.”
Merrick’s expression was carefully blank. “Congratulations.”
Cerise shrugged. “It should have been Alissa, but she chose you. A council decision had to be made. It was long overdue. The Wreath should be in the hands of a muse, not in some glass showcase. It does mean one good thing for Alissa though. Once I have the Wreath, I’ll have extremely powerful leverage over the council. And unlike her, I’m okay with confrontations. If she and Richard ever need to come to the Etherlin, I’ll make sure it’s a safe haven for them.”
Chapter 11
Fifty minutes after Cerise Xenakis left the Varden without incident, Merrick and Alissa were in bed when the entire building shook. Merrick’s head snapped up. Something had hit the roof.
He flung the covers back, got out of bed, and dressed. Alissa followed suit.
“Is it the syndicate?” she asked.
“There’s no room for a chopper to land up there, but it could hover while guys jumped out.”
“Would they make so much noise?”
“Not on purpose,” Merrick said, walking out of their room to his desk. He tucked a gun into the back of his pants and then flipped open his computer and entered his passwords to bring up security camera views of the roof. There was no one near the door. His eyes scanned the other views, including the one looking straight up at the sky. No helicopter, but there were moving shadows high above.
“Damn.” Literally. “Call Ox and tell him to come up. I want him in the apartment with you and Richard.”
“What is it?” Alissa asked, squinting at the screen. Her vision always worsened when she was tired. He wanted her to be able to rest.
He kissed her softly on the mouth, and her tongue caressed his, sending the same message to his heart and groin that a kiss from her always did.
No matter what it costs us to be together, it’s worth it.
“I think Lysander’s up there fighting a demon. Let me see if he needs a hand.”
“Be careful,” she whispered.
Another vanilla-soaked kiss from her, and he crossed the room in long strides. He grabbed the blade cured in angel’s blood from behind the O’Keefe painting, then flung the door open. He took the stairs two at a time and punched in the code to unlock the door to the roof.
His eyes skimmed the rooftop garden and courtyard. An empty pedestal and toppled marble statue made his muscles clench in anticipation of a bitter battle. As he moved closer, he spotted the darkness dripping from the corner. He inhaled. Blood.
He glanced at the black clouds overhead, drawing his gun. Things that fell from the sky were notoriously hard to kill. If he could wing them, they’d drop and become close enough for him to use his knife.
He stalked slowly past the orange trees in massive terra-cotta pots, his gaze swiveling, ears straining. The smell of blood grew stronger. He rounded a corner of eight-foot hedges and saw a pair of demons bending over something. The creatures had skin the color of scorched tomatoes, and their hands and mouths dripped bright blood.
What do they have?
He saw the edge of a sepia wing, and realization dawned like a nuclear explosion. Merrick pulled the trigger, emptying the clip.
They screeched and turned, the bullets bouncing off them. He dropped to unsheathe his knife, but not fast enough. They were on him.
Talons sliced his side and he rolled, trying to drag himself free by slamming their bodies against the paved stone. One had his neck, but in the next instant, the other was ripped free from its hold on him. He swung his blade as the clawed nails sunk into his throat on either side of his windpipe. He pitched backward and drove the blade into one of the demon’s eyes.
One of his eardrums popped at the screech that issued forth from the demon’s mouth. Merrick twisted the knife, and silence reclaimed the roof. He pulled the knife free and sprang to his feet.
There!
He lurched forward, his breath ragged, and he followed the trail of his friend’s blood. Around the hedges and trees, past the cracked stone bench, past the toppled, broken marble statue of Andromeda, and around the deep groove of crushed paving stone where Lysander had crash-landed. Merrick grimaced at how massive the impact must have been. Only an arcanon could survive and rise minutes later from that kind of trauma. And only an arcanon had the kind of discipline it took to ignore the pain of shattered bones in order to continue an unfinished fight. But even an arcanon wasn’t invincible.
Merrick heard heavy breathing and ran, crashing through the hedge, but there was no fight to join. Lysander was sitting on the edge of a terra-cotta pot, under the tree’s canopy. A dead demon lay at his feet, slowly turning to ash.
Lysander’s left wing hung limp and broken, the feathers of the lower edge brushing against his ankle.
“How badly are you hurt?” Merrick asked grimly, his throat aching from the wounds that pulled as he spoke. He could see numerous wounds on Lysander’s chest and arms. Clots had stopped the blood loss, but part of his torso bowed inward, like a dented car.
Lysander took a deep breath, and the indentation popped out. Lysander’s face contorted with pain and his shoulders sagged, sweat streaming from his face and chest.
Merrick knew Lysander could seal and heal almost any wound. But there was one type of injury that could not be left to mend itself.
Merrick slowly circled, his eyes searching. The telltale blood streamed down Lysander’s back from where the demons had tried to rip the left wing out.
“Can you draw your wings back in?”
Lysander remained silent, which, of course, meant no.
“Then they have to come out. Lie on that bench,” Merrick said, pointing to the smooth stone table a few feet from them.
“No.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I do,” Lysander said.
A chill ran through Merrick. “Better to lose your wings than your life. If you die before you’re redeemed, they’ll pull your soul into hell. Better to have your body survive.”
“I can’t ascend without my wings. I’d be trapped on earth forever.”
“Better to be trapped here than in hell, Lyse. Down there you’d be at their mercy. You’ve been killing them for thousands of years. You know what they’ll do. Eternity’s a long time to be tortured.”
Lysander swayed, grasping a tree. “I’ll never give up my wings.”
Merrick heard the finality in Lysander’s voice and was at a loss for an argument that would work on a creature who prob
ably hadn’t changed his mind about anything since the Dark Ages.
“All right. Let me look. Maybe I can force it back in.”
Lysander knocked Merrick’s hand away. He said a few words in some dead language that Merrick didn’t speak. Then Lysander switched back to Latin. “Go away. I need to stand watch.”
Merrick glanced up at the sky. “Why?”
“There were six. That’s the most anyone’s ever been able to get through. Maybe there will be more tonight.”
Six. Merrick winced at the thought. “Did you kill them all?”
“No, you killed one.”
Merrick smiled. So literal. “Come inside. No one’s powerful enough to open a second gate in one night.”
Lysander rubbed a hand over the tree trunk, looking up at the branches.
Sensing what he wanted, Merrick said, “There’s always a bowl of oranges in the guest room. Come with me.”
“No,” Lysander growled. “You think I don’t know your mind, Merrick? You’re transparent. You’ll wait until I pass out, then you’ll rip out my wings.”
“No, I won’t,” Merrick lied. He would try to get the wing back inside and splinted first, but if that didn’t work, then yes, he’d do what had to be done.
“If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll throw you off this roof,” Lysander said.
Fully restored, there was no doubt Lysander could do exactly what he threatened, but he wasn’t at his best, so Merrick might be able to drag him to the stairs. Still it wouldn’t be easy, and Merrick couldn’t afford to be seriously wounded with more fights with the syndicate looming, but the alternative was to let Lysander bleed to death, which Merrick would never do.
“Come and try,” Merrick challenged.
Lysander bent his head, his hair falling forward to shadow his face. This did not bode well. If Lysander was too weak to answer a direct challenge that could only mean terrible things about how much damage and blood loss his body had sustained.
Then Merrick felt the air shift just before Lysander moved. Merrick jumped, but not quickly enough to block Lysander, who dashed past him in a blur of speed. Merrick spun and watched Lysander vault off the edge of the roof. He sailed over the chasm, but couldn’t glide on the air without both wings outstretched so he crashed on the roof of the nearby Chase Tower building.
Merrick jogged to the edge, judging the distance to it. Too far.
Lysander stood at the edge, swayed, and looked across the distance. “If I never see you again, know that I loved you as well as any angel of the brotherhood, and better than many.”
“Lysander—”
Lysander looked to the sky. “If they succeed in pulling me down to hell, any demons that rise will be drawn to the next strongest source of heaven’s ether. Guard your wife.” Lysander’s labored breathing wheezed through the misty air. “I’ll leave my knife for the other muse.”
Merrick’s brows rose in surprise. Lysander’s last act on earth was going to be to leave a gift for Cerise Xenakis? That didn’t sound like the archangel Merrick knew. Very far from it in fact.
“Tell her to look for it under the cherry blossom tree. I hope she won’t need it. She has no real chance against a demon, but she’s fierce. With that warrior’s spirit and my knife, she might get lucky.” Lysander sank to his knees, trying to reach the spot where blood flowed in a crimson river.
“For God’s sake, Lysander! You won’t make it to the Etherlin. Stay there. I’m coming over. If you die, I promise I’ll make sure she gets your knife, but first let me try to help you.”
“I won’t stay here. I know you, Merrick. You’ll take my wings to save my life. I won’t give you the chance.” Lysander dragged himself to his feet. “Ask Alissa to tell Cerise…” Lysander shook his head and shrugged. “Tell her that when she dances she’s better than what we dreamed.”
Lysander turned and ran to the far edge of the roof. He leaped into the air with his wings outstretched. He glided in a crooked arc toward the Etherlin.
Merrick raced across the roof and yanked the door open. Leaping to the landing, he stalked to the penthouse door and jabbed the buttons to enter the code.
“Alissa!”
“Yes?”
“Call Cerise for me. Tell her Lysander’s wounded. He’s trying to make it to the Etherlin. If he gets there, she’ll find him under the cherry blossom tree in your backyard. If he’s still alive when she finds him, she needs to cut out his wings. It’s the only way to keep him from bleeding to death.”
“Oh my God.”
“He’ll try to stop her, but she has to do it.”
She winced, but snatched the phone from its cradle. She felt the buttons and positioned her fingers over the pad so she could dial blindly.
“Do you need help?”
“No, I have it,” she said softly.
“If she gets there and there’s only a knife and a blood trail, he’s gone.” Merrick paused. “Tell her to keep the knife. He wants her to have it.”
“He—wait. Where are you going?”
“Out to look for him. If he makes it to the Etherlin, I can’t help him; I’ll never be able to break into the city fast enough to get to him in time. It’ll be up to Cerise. But I don’t think he’s strong enough to fly all the way to the Etherlin. If he crashes somewhere in the Varden or the Sliver, I’ll find him and rip his wings out to keep him from being sucked into hell.”
“It’s almost dawn. What about the syndicate? If you leave your territory—”
“I know,” Merrick said. “If I don’t make it back, go to the Etherlin and stay close to Cerise. She’ll protect you.” Merrick kissed her. “I love you.”
She grabbed his hands and squeezed them. “I love you, James,” she whispered fiercely. “Save him if you can, but no matter what happens come back to me.” Her voice was full of persuasive power that was so charged with muse magic, it nearly rolled him under her spell.
He pulled her to him in a crushing hug, kissed her temple, and struggled against his own resistance to let her go. After several moments’ hesitation, he did.
And he left the penthouse, concerned that for Lysander it might already be too late.
Cerise’s friend had dropped her off on one of the Etherlin’s main helipads. Eventually she’d have to answer Etherlin Security’s questions about where she’d been and about the unscheduled touchdown of a chopper, but for the moment Cerise had cited exhaustion, and after seeing the music exec back off, she’d gone home and made it into her own bed.
The ringing of her cell phone dragged Cerise to consciousness just as she began to fall asleep. As Alissa’s words penetrated her groggy brain, she rolled from bed and stumbled to her dresser to grab clothes.
If Lysander fell into the Etherlin, ES would be all over him. What if he fought and they shot him? Already wounded, he wouldn’t survive. Assuming he was still alive. The thought of him dying upset her more than it should have. Adrenaline poured into her veins as she yanked on her clothes.
Once dressed, she rushed down the stairs and shoved the door open. She sprinted away from the house along the lakeside path until she reached Alissa’s lawn. She raced across it to the tree.
His body lay bathed in moonlight.
With a hammering heart and twitching muscles, she dropped to the ground next to him. His right fist was closed around the hilt of a dagger. Skin that was alabaster pale testified to the fact that he was nearly bloodless. The bone root of his wing partially skewed his back where there was a sucking chest wound.
“Oh my God,” she said with a gasp.
His lids rose a fraction, and he squinted as though his vision wasn’t clear. “Don’t,” he rasped. “You mustn’t touch my blood, Cerise. Back away.”
“Shut up,” she said and shoved the heel of her hand over where wine-colored blood leaked from his back. A shot of ice surged up her arm, knocking her back.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he growled, panting and struggling. “You are so reckless. So beautiful,
but so reckless.”
“Save your breath,” she snapped, grabbing the cocked wing and yanking.
He roared and a hand shot out, knocking her back. “No!”
“I have to. It’s the only way to save you.”
Eyes the color of ferns implored her. “I would rather die.”
A rush of pain slammed through her. His pain, she realized.
She shuddered, unsure of what was happening. How had she felt that? Another wave hit her, and all her muscles locked. Keeping his wings was a need so deep she’d felt it vibrate through her soul. Nothing would ever convince him to give them up, which meant…
She watched the red pool spill over, crimson rivulets streaming down his side. She pressed down on the hole to stanch the flow, but the blood ran under and over her hands, making her palms and fingers slippery with it. Tears welled in her eyes.
“I’ll stay with you till the end,” she whispered.
“Help me.”
“Tell me how.”
“Push the wing in.”
“I can’t. The flesh is closed around it.”
“Cut it open. Please. I want it straight.”
“The bones are cracked.”
“Please, Cerise,” he whispered.
She swallowed against a tight throat. She tugged his fingers away from the hilt of the dagger and pulled the blade from the earth. She wiped the dirt off and through a blur of tears, she leaned over him.
He cried out when she cut him, and she froze.
“No, don’t stop! Hurry, Cerise!”
His urgency focused her. She forced the blade deeper, and blood poured from the wound.
Oh God. I’m killing him faster.
But through his groans of pain, he urged her on with a single breathless word. Please.
She worked quickly to slice him open, cutting deep and wide. She dropped the dagger and used both hands to try to push the wing in. It was too heavy to move. She jerked forward, shoving her shoulder against it to lever it upward so the bone angled. It gave way and she guided the broken root into the hole in his back that she’d made.
The instant that his wing’s root was partially inside, his flesh clamped around it and her hands, trying to close the wound. She gritted her teeth till she thought they’d shatter. She held the bone and forced the rest inside with the strength of her entire body. Her muscles cramped and wailed. Sweat dripped from her brow as she tried to pull her hands out. Only the left slid free of his body.
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