by E. A. Copen
Bastard should’ve told me the truth from the beginning. I replayed how it went down in my head and all the ways it could’ve gone wrong. Iosef might’ve killed me, or him, but that wasn’t even the worst possible outcome. Death would’ve been preferable to capture. Iosef knew magic he shouldn’t have known, magic I thought I was the sole proprietor of now that Christian was dead.
Infernal magic… I ran a hand over the tattooed lines on my chest. They were precautions against possession. No demon would be fool enough to try and take my body, and I was all but invisible to most angels unless we spoke in person. It’d kept me alive when I was on the run from Michael, but it would also hide me from the Fallen. It wouldn’t protect me against being taken by them. And if Remiel got out, it’d be worthless. Even now, in The Pit, he knew exactly where I was. He was the one being in the universe I couldn’t hide from.
Christian had been the only one who knew. I hadn’t even ever told Danny who and what I was. Not really. I wondered if he would’ve thought less of me had he known the blood of the Fallen ran through my veins.
Danny wouldn’t want this for you. Reverend Mirren’s voice rang in my head. Mourn if you need to. Don’t let this eat you from the inside out.
Too late. I pressed my hands flat on the surface in front of me and leaned forward, letting the water go down my back. It’d turned to ice, the hot water used up too fast. The cold numbed. I didn’t want to feel numb. I just wanted to feel something, anything but empty.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I grabbed the shower knob and nearly ripped it out of the wall in my attempt to shut it off. What kind of fuckwit says shit like that? Like I’m some bloody angsty teenager. Might as well go back to wearing all black and listening to The Cure. Fuck me, I need a drink and a smoke before I start whining about how nobody understands me.
I got out and toweled off, scowling at the realization that I’d have to talk to Niko to get a ciggy. Maybe I should quit.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Fuck me, can’t I even have fifteen minutes to myself?” I wrapped the towel around my waist and jerked the door open to find Niko standing there. “What?”
He held out a black t-shirt with the logo of some band I’d never heard of on it. “Figured you could use a shirt without the bloodstains.”
I grabbed the shirt and swung the door shut.
“Nice ink,” Niko called through the closed door. “Mind if I ask where you got it?”
“Around.”
“Don’t want to give up the artist. I can respect that. Especially since it’s not just a tattoo, is it?”
I finished buttoning my jeans and pulled the door open. He’d changed out of his gladiator outfit in favor of a pair of loose light blue pajama pants. No shirt. Did he even own any shirts? He must’ve if he was offering me one. Then again, maybe he’d gotten it from Konstantine or someone else. I’d sure never seen him in one that I hadn’t provided.
“What about that?” I nodded to the scorpion tattooed on his chest and the Greek lettering beneath it.
“This? Greek equivalent to ‘know thyself.’”
“Interesting choice for a man who doesn’t seem to know who he should be.” I pushed past him and paused in the hall, looking back toward the living room. “Where’d Khaleda and her friend go?”
“After backup. Like you said.”
Dammit, I’d hoped they’d wait until morning. I didn’t want to be alone in the apartment with Niko.
“Don’t suppose you have any ciggies that don’t taste like some hipster’s mouthwash?” I asked, shrugging on the shirt. It was much too big for me and belonged to him. It smelled like stale menthol cigarettes. I turned around and found him holding the pack of menthols out to me.
“Sorry,” he said without the usual hint of sheepishness. “All I’ve got.”
I took one anyway and lit it. Menthol or not, the buzz was the same, and I needed it after the last few hours. The moment I took my first hit, though, I regretted it. It left my tongue coated in a taste that reminded me too much of him.
Niko lit one for himself and tucked both the lighter and pack back into his pocket. His coal-black eyes focused on the bruise on my shoulder. “I should’ve told you. You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”
“What’d you think would happen? Did you really think that twat would keep his word?” I shook my head.
“Yes,” he said bluntly. “The organization is built on the power of a man’s word. It used to mean something. In a world where CEOs lied, gangs raped, and the Italians gunned each other down in the streets on suspicion alone, promises fucking matter, Josiah. The Komnisis family was supposed to be different. Georgie made it different. Fucking Alexi doesn’t deserve to be what he is. He’s a liar and a murderer.”
“You can’t tell me Georgie’s hands were clean, Niko.”
He shook his head. “Georgie didn’t kill his own people, not without ironclad proof. Even then, he wouldn’t have gutted Fran like some twenty-dollar whore and left her hanging in a warehouse to be eaten by flies.”
He had a point there that I couldn’t deny. Used to be what separated the mafias from the gangs was a sense of honor and pride. The mobsters handled their businesses like professionals. They were cutthroat, but they understood backstabbing and betrayal weren’t good for business. If they were going to string up one of their own, they’d do it for a good reason. Maybe Alexi thought he had a good reason. He thought Fran was a rat. He didn’t have proof, and that was where the distinction was for Niko. No one had come to him. No one had even asked. Alexi’s method of doing business was too decisive and left no room for negotiation. He was a tyrant, one who needed to be removed from power.
“So what you really want isn’t vengeance, is it? You want to take out Alexi and bring Christof back home. What makes you think Christof is any different, Niko?”
One side of his face twitched as if he were fighting a cringe. “Can you call me Stefan?”
“Why?”
“Everyone else calls me Niko. I don’t know. I just like the way it sounds when you say it is all.”
“Fuck me, you are pathetic, aren’t you?” I pushed him aside and stomped back toward the bedroom. “You must think I’m some kind of moron if you thought I’d fall for a line like that. Did ya hear yourself just now?”
He followed me and hovered in the doorway as I sat down on the end of the bed, his face slightly flushed. “It wasn’t a line. At least, not on purpose. And I’m not pathetic.”
“Drop the act, Niko. I’m not buying it.”
“What do you want from me, Josiah?” He spread his arms wide. “I said I was sorry. I can’t take it back. You want me to tell you everything? Why? I barely fucking know you.”
“Not what you said when I pulled you out of that cage.”
He was quiet for a minute before folding his arms and leaning against the doorway. I’d neglected to turn on the light when I came into the room, leaving it dark but for the faint glow of the end of my cigarette. Pale yellow light bled into the hall from the bathroom, sketching shadows on his profile.
“I’ve seen you,” he whispered, almost hesitantly. “In my visions. I feel like I know you, but I don’t, and it confuses the hell out of me.”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m not!” He uncrossed his arms and ventured a step into the room. “For the last month, every time I closed my eyes, there you were. I thought I was going crazy, you know. That’s not how visions are supposed to work. I’m supposed to be in control of them, not the other way around.”
I blew out a mouthful of smoke and tapped a long column of ash onto the floor. “And what is it you see in these visions of me?”
“Nonsense moments, mostly,” Niko said with a shrug. “Things that don’t make sense. A skyscraper, but the backdrop is Los Angeles, not here. A farmhouse surrounded by cornfields. In a tomb covered in blood.”
I froze, leveling my gaze at him. I couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but I was
sure he was telling the truth, at least about this one thing. I had been to all those places, each one a significant mile marker in my life. He might’ve been able to guess Los Angeles or the tomb in New Orleans, but no one knew about the farmhouse in Nebraska. I’d made sure of that. “What else?”
“I’ve watched you die.”
“How?”
He sighed. The end of his cigarette lit up bright red as he took another drag. “That’s what everyone always wants to know. Normally, I don’t tell people that. If I do, they just try to avoid it and wind up dying anyway. Like I told you before, my visions always come true.”
I considered what he said and whether I wanted to know the answer or not. Over the years I’d had quite a few close calls, times when I thought it would be over for me. Yet somehow I always pulled through, whether that was thanks to luck or I was just a hard bastard to kill, I was thankful for it. If I knew the exact day and hour that I’d die, I’d be tempted to change it, just like he said. I was rather attached to living. But I might also be able to use that information to make the time I had left better.
“Tell me how it happens,” I said, even as the last thought crossed my mind.
He fidgeted with the cigarette a minute before answering, “Suicide.”
I blinked. That was a shocker. Of all the ways to go, that was the one I never would’ve guessed. Sure, I felt like shit and occasionally crawled into myself to wallow in my own misery, but I’d never let it get so bad that I’d consider death a better alternative. That was bullshit.
Niko dropped his cigarette and stepped forward, crushing it with his bare foot. “The vision is the same every time I look. You’re on your knees. There’s blood everywhere. I don’t know if it’s all yours, but you’re bleeding, bruised. I can’t see what you’re looking at, but whatever it is, I’ve never seen that much hate in another man’s eyes. You blink once, lift the revolver, and press it to your temple. Right here.” He pressed his finger to the side of my head, mimicking a gun. “Then you grit your teeth and pull the trigger.”
I grabbed his hand, squeezing it and staring straight into his black-hole eyes. “And when am I supposed to do this?”
“I don’t know.” Niko’s voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. He licked his lips as if that would help. It didn’t, but it made me fixate on the tiny strip of dry blood there. Must’ve happened when I brought the building down, the split lip. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next year. But you don’t get to be old and gray. I don’t think any of us will.”
I let his hand go, pushing it away from me before pinching the end of my cigarette and reaching across to place it on the end table. There was still enough for another smoke later “Why’re you telling me this?”
“Because you told me you wanted the truth. I lied to you once and it got you hurt. I don’t want that.” His fingers slid under the too-big sleeve of my borrowed t-shirt and brushed against the tender bruise on my shoulder.
Pain brought me to my feet, my hand suddenly gripping his jaw tight. I forced him back a step, then two. A third and his back was to the wall with nowhere to go. His chest moved, breathing fast and hard. A heartbeat fluttered under my thumb, one I could crush out on a whim. The flicker of fear in his eyes told me he felt it too. No, not just fear, but something else. A hunger for something darker.
I loosened my grip on his jaw, but only a little. “And what is it you want out of this?”
“Right now?” he asked, his eyes sparkling pits. “I want you to fuck me.”
My fingers curled tighter around the hinge of his jaw, holding it open while I kissed him hard. Our tongues tangled awkwardly for a moment before I pulled away. My teeth grazed his bottom lip and latched on to suck on the fresh injury until the familiar, iron-rich taste of blood filled my mouth.
Niko made a hissing sound and put his forearm against my throat to push me back. He touched his fingers against his lip and glanced down at the blood with a surprised expression. Then the darkness closed in, clouding his eyes with familiar lust. He grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me back to him. Lips locked, he tried to push me back toward the bed, but I couldn’t make it that easy. For a long minute, maybe two, we pushed and pulled, bit and clawed. He pressed his thumb hard into my shoulder over the bruise. I found a fading bruise on him at the bottom of his ribs and did the same to him until he moved his hand away from the sore spot on my arm with a frustrated growl. Another push and he tipped over, landing on his ass at the edge of the bed. I wasn’t ready for the fight to be over, but he went for the button on my jeans anyway. His movements were rushed, impatient. Mine were no better. This wasn’t a dance either of us was particularly good at.
The next parts came easier. No graceful movements or pretenses of romance required. Just handfuls of dark hair between my fingers, pushing, moving, setting a pace faster than he liked. If I’d left it all to him, we’d have been there all night. He wanted to be slow, methodical, savoring. I wasn’t in the mood for slow.
The whole time, he didn’t stop looking at me with heat and hunger in his eyes as if he were enjoying it. If his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, I got the distinct feeling from the corners of his eyes that he’d be smirking at me. Here I was, giving him exactly what he wanted, which only made me more furious.
After a few minutes, I was reduced to nothing but quivering, aching flesh and breathless pounding in my temples. The pent-up rage was still there, but less. Present, but quieted if only but for a moment. All I could think about as I fought to even out my breathing was his description of my suicide.
Later, as we were finishing our cigarettes, I thought to ask him more about it. Maybe there was some detail he’d missed telling me that would make it all make sense. But I didn’t want to shatter all the silence we’d built up, not talking to each other over something I couldn’t change.
Niko rolled onto his side to face me. “Why didn’t you just tell Alexi it was Reverend Mirren that hired you to look for me?”
I watched the smoke curl up, making ghostly shapes in the darkness. “Because Alexi would kill him if he knew, and I happen to like arguing with the old bastard on occasion.”
“I think you just like to argue in general.”
“That reminds me,” I grunted as I sat up, shaking a bout of sudden dizziness from my head. My bag lay tucked up against the nightstand. I grabbed it, opened it and searched until I found the folded photo Mirren had given me, and the amulet tucked inside it. “You should have these back,” I said and offered both to Niko.
He took the amulet, threading the chain through his fingers before lifting over his head as if it were made of some delicate material. The topaz caught a spark of light and glittered in the dark, lighting up the bottom half of his face as he smiled at the bent photo. “I remember the party where this was taken. Georgie’s fiftieth birthday party. I was nineteen and thought the world owed me everything. Didn’t know how good I had it.”
“How did the reverend come by your amulet?” He’d said Niko left it in his apartment, but I wasn’t sure I bought that story.
Niko lowered the photo and leaned back against the flat pillows, folding one arm behind his head. “When I first found out what happened to Fran, I went to him first. Told him everything I was going to do. He counseled patience, that vengeance belonged to the Lord.”
I nodded. “Sounds like Mirren.”
“Alexi needs my blood to complete his ritual.” His hand went to the amulet, grasping it tightly. “But he also needs this. It contains more than just my blood, but the blood of every Oracle that’s come before me. In my vision, he used both to complete his ritual. I don’t understand the magic behind it, but I know he needs both.”
“So, you left the amulet with Mirren in hopes that by separating yourself from it, you’d prevent your own vision.”
Niko nodded slowly.
I plucked the dead ciggy from between my lips and dropped it on the end table. “Thought you said you couldn’t change them. Why try then?”
Niko clos
ed his eyes and exhaled smoke through his nose, leaning back. “Do you know the story of the scorpion and the frog?”
“Nah, mate. Hadn’t heard that one.” I had, but part of me liked listening to him talk. He had a nice, even tone, almost pleasant enough to drift off to sleep to.
“A scorpion comes to a raging river, far too deep for him to cross without help. There, he spots a frog. ‘Frog,’ says the scorpion, ‘let me onto your back and carry me across.’ Frogs are wary creatures though, and so he hesitates, worried the scorpion will sting him. But the scorpion is prepared for the frog’s argument. ‘Why would I sting you?’ he says. ‘If I do that, we’ll both drown. I give you my word, Frog. I won’t sting you if you carry me across.’ Reassured by the scorpion’s promise, the frog allows him onto his back and swims into the river. Midway across, the scorpion stings the frog anyway, dooming them both. When the dying frog asks the scorpion why he broke his promise, the scorpion replies, ‘I couldn’t help it. To sting you is in my nature.’”
I leaned against the metal headboard and glanced down at Niko’s tattoo. The Greek equivalent of ‘know thyself,’ he’d called it. “That why you’ve got a scorpion on your chest?”
He smiled a sweet, boyish smile. “You tell me why you’ve got all your ink, and I’ll tell you all about mine.”
Instead of answering him, I rolled over, leaving my back to him and closed my eyes. The bed creaked, and blankets rustled as he settled in. A moment later, his arm draped over my hip, and his head settled between my shoulders. He sighed, the sudden exhale of breath tickling my skin. His body relaxed against mine, too comfortable. Too good.
I pushed his arm away and sat up.
“What’s the matter?” Niko asked, sitting up with me.
“I need another smoke, one that doesn’t taste like shite.” I felt his eyes on me as I pulled on my jeans. It was a mistake, crossing that line with him, getting involved. Almost caring. I’d let my guard down once before, and it’d cost me too much. I couldn’t afford to do it again, not with him or anyone else.