Her eyes widened. “There’s more?”
“Well, there were no threats of seppuku,” he drawled.
Ana coughed, the ghost of a laugh, and the dullness in her eyes frightened him.
Gregor had spent days in the dusty reading chair in his father’s long-closed-up study, amidst the stack of letters as he’d tried to figure out the best course. Even new to serving a necromancer he had seen how dangerous his connection to Azrael could endanger Lark and Rose. But he couldn’t abandon them to time, either. At last, he had swept it all into the fireplace–journals and letters—and struck a match. No one must know. It was the only way to keep them safe. But…
He cleared his throat. “I’ve kept watch on Lark’s line ever since. Protected them, when I could. There has always been a daughter who manifested signs of the blood. A few generations passed uneventfully. The godswar broke out, and I lost them in the chaos. That was the most difficult time. Not knowing. And maybe relief, that it was finally over. When I found them again, the witch had met and married a man with a recessive wolf gene. I orchestrated a way for the family to immigrate to Prague so I could continue to watch over them. They had three boys who can change shape at will and a daughter who became a dancer. It wasn’t the witch’s power that activated the wolf gene in her sons but her own blood. The Schwarzbergs and the Vogels had a family line in common in the old days.”
“Vogel,” Ana breathed. “Isela is your great-great…”
“One more ‘great,’ I think.”
“Does she know?”
“They were never to know. I expected the line would die out. I hadn’t counted on the fecundity of witches and wolves.”
“Does Azrael know?”
“I told him I owed their family a great debt, from the war. He didn’t ask for specifics and I didn’t offer. But it appears—because of what she has become—I may never be free of my vow to keep Lark’s daughters safe.”
“Good,” she whispered, fierce.
Surprise wrinkled his brow.
“I’d hate to think of a world like this without you in it.”
His nostrils flared as the words broke the ache in his chest open wide. When he finally got control, she’d turned her gaze to the distant dawn creeping outside the window.
He touched her hair. “I cannot ask of you what I cannot offer myself. Trouble comes to Azrael’s door, and I am more than just honor bound to him. He is my friend, and where he commands, I go willingly. His consort is my blood, and I must protect her in this world as best I can. But if you would have it, all of me that is not theirs would belong to you. For whatever it’s worth, that includes my heart.”
Her voice shook. “I’m afraid. I don’t want to die.”
“You’re not going to.”
“Because you forbid it?”
“Exactly.”
“Gregor Schwarz, has anyone ever told you how stubborn you can be?”
“Lately?”
The gate at the top of the horseshoe drive opened as he approached. He slid to a stop in front of the palatial compound.
Ana stopped breathing.
Chapter Thirty-One
When Raymond approached, the chair Gregor had commandeered outside Ana’s quarters stood empty. A closed book beside a cooling cup of coffee indicated a recent occupation. Raymond nudged the book with one finger to view the title. The Necromancer, or a Tale of the Black Forest. He’d managed to find a copy in the original German.
Gregor’s value had been proven the night of the challenge, as had his innate ability to be an irritating son of a bitch. He didn’t know when to be afraid, to back down. Or when to quit, even against impossible odds. He had no respect for power. Maybe there was truth to the Black Blade of Azrael being a little mad. And if not for him, Raymond might have lost two of his Aegis that night. Raymond found it difficult to dislike this enforcer of Azrael’s.
The sound of Ana laughing made it a little easier. Had Ana ever laughed like that in the years they’d walked together? Strange, longing for something he hadn’t known possible before this moment.
“I may have broken every bone in my body,” she said, gasping for breath. “But I do not have a cold.”
“Mein Gott, frau.” The responding snarl brought the hair up on the back of Raymond’s neck. “Isst die suppe.”
Raymond turned off her awareness of him so he could observe in peace and entered silently. The bonesetter’s progress reports indicated the ambrosia successfully anchored her long enough for her gift to mend her body. Over the weeks, he’d registered her pain through their connection. Perhaps he might have sped up the healing, but years of conserving, measuring his power for the tasks at hand made him cautious about expending any of it. She would either emerge stronger or not at all.
Now the worst was done, and he wanted to see what was left of her. He needed the old Ana back. His talons. For the past 120 years he’d relied on her, more than he should have perhaps, but she had never flinched or failed him.
She had never laughed like this.
Raymond gathered the shadows in the doorway, creating a visual redirect that kept him from sight. Ana might have seen him if she focused, but with the bed angled toward the window, her gaze was directed away from the door. Gregor perched on the edge of the bed, the trolley containing lunch within easy reach.
“Bitte. Isst die suppe. Jezt.”
“Since you asked nicely.”
Silence, punctuated by soft slurping.
“Was that so hard?” Gregor muttered with a little sigh.
“I hate soup.”
Gregor returned the empty spoon to the bowl, and they both looked out for a moment. At the center of her garden, the still darkness of the pond reflected the little bridge, forming an unbroken oval. A frown creased his mouth. Her fingertips settled on his thigh.
Gregor returned his attention to the soup, swallowed a spoonful, and shrugged. “Chicken soup. It’s good for the constitution.”
“Butternut, potato leek, roasted red pepper, curry lentil, now chicken.” Ana grumbled. “If it’s to be a liquid diet, I’d rather have a beer.”
Gregor’s mouth quirked. “Ordinarily I would approve,” he said, cradling his hand below the soup spoon on its path from bowl to patient. “But until you can manage solids, the soup, yes?”
Slurping. “The kitchen has been on the same boring-ass menu since we moved in. Did you just march in and demand chicken soup?”
A telling silence followed as he contemplated the bowl in his hands. “I said please.”
More of her churlish wheeze followed by slurping.
If Raymond stepped into the room now, it would destroy this little tableau. It would serve them both right. Remind them who she belonged to and what Gregor’s place in this house was. And this laughing, teasing Ana would vanish. He remained in the shadows.
Ana coughed around a mouthful of soup. “Sure you’re not trying to drown me?”
“I am not a nursemaid.” Gregor muttered something uncharitable.
Ana’s hand reached up from his leg. Scabbed-over knuckles and bruised fingers settled on the hand holding the spoon. Her fingers couldn’t close, twitched with the effort. Gregor set down the bowl and placed his free hand over Ana’s broken one. Turning put him in profile, revealing new lines bracketing his mouth and threads of silver racing through the dark hair. He had given up something of himself that night to keep her alive.
“You’re doing a damn fine job.” Ana’s voice, trembling with unspoken feeling, froze Raymond’s feet in place. “If my face wasn’t broken in a thousand pieces, I’d kiss you.”
This time Gregor did smile. The light and the relief made his face unrecognizable. “If you would permit me?”
As he leaned over the bed, Raymond left without a sound. He turned his connection to Ana back on in time to feel the burst of emotion. Joy. It exploded behind his eyes and he stopped, bracing a hand against the wall until his vision returned. He shut it off again, breathing hard. Power surged in him,
restless with his own unease. He retreated to his office and the balcony overlooking the distant ocean.
Barnabas had been more powerful than Raymond expected, and it had almost cost him the challenge. But Barnabas collected people, not power. He wanted to control Raymond as he had the beast and Laughing Girl. He’d pulled back at the last, hoping he’d weakened Raymond enough to force his submission. Raymond had lived too long, survived too much to submit. He held no fear of death. In the end, Barnabas begged for his life, promised his service and his debt with the kind of terror reserved for mortals. Afraid to let go. Raymond hadn’t hesitated to end him. And he had no regrets.
Save one. Laughing Girl. Didn’t matter that love created her. He’d made something monstrous out of love. Out of being afraid to let go.
Mastering this new power would take time and effort. He had to do something with what built in him, give it some avenue. Let go.
He wanted to feel the ocean, taste the salt in the breeze. A flick of the wrist swept the air around him into a whirlwind, spreading his fingers widened it, drawing other funnels and sending currents dancing. The air pressure changed as the storm built, moisture beaded on his skin, clouds traveling fast over the water and headed inland. He turned his face to the sky and breathed the first drops of rain. Letting go.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Gregor’s lips settled over hers. Warm, dry. Chaste. The kind of kiss exchanged at the close of dime novels when all ended well. The exquisite pressure brought sensation singing to her body that for the first time in weeks was not pain. Salt stung her eyes on the heels of a bursting warmth in her chest like a summer day on the beach. This was what it was to be alive, and this was why it was worth it.
He settled back in his chair and the smile softened, the lines on his face easing, the blue of his eyes brighter than before.
“Is Raymond gone?”
His brows dipped. “How did you know?”
“He relies so much on our bond; he forgets everything else.” She sighed. “I know his footsteps, saw his reflection in the window before he hid himself.”
Raymond’s face, without the usual studied blankness or watchful guardedness, had startled her. Raw and vulnerable, full of a pain that had nothing to do with broken bones. She wasn’t surprised when the wind picked up and rain began. It stirred the turning leaves on the trees, darkening the ground in patches and then collecting in puddles.
Gregor frowned as raindrops streaked over the window and the daylight dimmed under clouds. The sky had been clear for days. “Is this normal for this time of year?”
“No.”
Once, she would have gone to Raymond when he called a storm like this. She’d find some excuse—a report to make, an update to give—just to be there in his presence in case that would be the day he opened up to let her see more of him than the controlled exterior. He’d never acknowledged her presence in those instances, not once.
She found glacier-blue eyes waiting for her.
They’d been the first thing she was aware of when she woke up in Raymond’s aedis after a vanishingly sweet, sticky taste on her lips and power surging through her, lighting up the deadened connections in her body. Her bleary eyes marked the unkempt black hair, the hollows worry carved in his features. The hand cradled her cheek, warm and rough. Calling her name. Calling her back.
Each time she woke, he came. Consciousness immersed her in a symphony of pain, each tone ringing against another in miserable chorus. Pain did funny things to her brain. An animal noise of anguish reached her at a distance. She struggled to recognize the voice. Her own voice.
She lost track of time as pain stretched hours into days. Then her body crested a wave. Committed to living, it knit itself through fevers and held off infection until she woke clear and calm in the middle of the night. She yawned so hard her jaw popped.
Footsteps from the other room signaled his return.
Welcome back. The soft glow from the nightstand lamp pooled his face. He settled into the chair beside the bed. Exhaustion drew his features gaunt, cheeks hollow, and smudged darkness beneath his eyes. He looked older, or was it just the light falling irregularly on him?
A week later she knew it hadn’t been her imagination. The sight of crow’s feet and the lines around his mouth deepening startled her as much as the easy smile.
“Can you open the window?” she said, taking in the changes in his face. “I just want to smell the rain.”
He stood for a long moment at the window, his back to her as he watched the leaves darken with rain. His shoulders rose and fell. Her hand slid over the blankets beside her. “Get up here.”
There had been moments in the worst of the darkness when any touch had been too much to bear. The Aegis metabolized human painkillers too fast for them to be of use for long. When she screamed and begged for release, he brought water and cool cloths. When she cursed him for his helplessness, for refusing to end her suffering, he sat in silence. She’d been awful, said unforgivable things. He’d remained. I’m afraid there’s nothing to do but endure. You won’t do it alone. I promise you that.
He hesitated, and a shadow of doubt crossed his face. “Are you sure?”
The worst had passed, leaving her mind clearer than it had been in days. “I want more of those kisses. And I don’t want you to get a crick in your neck giving them to me.”
The bed was too small for two, but they made the best of it. It took a bit of wriggling and a few spikes of discomfort to get settled side by side amid sheets and blankets. Unable to resist, she brought her fingertips to the black sweater he wore over a T-shirt and jogging pants. The sweater was even softer than it looked.
“I can’t believe you went shopping without me.”
“I ran out of suits.” His laugh warmed her mouth. “It was a torment for all involved.”
She’d never understood kissing. The wetness and the closeness made her anxious. The pressure and invasion of tongue and teeth set her on edge. But when his mouth brushed hers in slow, closed sweeps, she thought she might be on her way to figuring out the appeal. He rolled onto his back, making space for her beneath his arm.
“Are you going to tell me why it took so long,” he asked as she settled her head below his collarbones and closed her eyes, savoring.
“Does it matter?”
He exhaled. Fingertips traced her hairline, sliding through the strands. “No.”
“Then no.”
She heard the smile in his voice. “Will you tell me if you’re ever ready for more?”
“I will.”
“Good.” He stretched his free arm over his head and extended his legs before him with a yawn. His bare feet, long and pale as the rest of him, dangled over the edge of the bed, crossed at the ankles. “Should I read?”
She remembered his voice, an anchor in the tormented sea of healing. His chest shifted beneath her cheek as he searched the nightstand for a book.
She shook her head. “Let’s just watch the rain for a while.”
Outside, daylight dimmed to a steady gray as the storm intensified. Distant thunder echoed through the hills, and she counted the long seconds until the crackling flash of lightning. The wind whipped the first of the changing leaves loose from the branches and sent them dancing. They skittered on the surface of the water, sending ripples that collided with drops of rain. The scent of fresh rain on dry soil and the tang of ozone blended with the woodsy suggestion of his aftershave.
She missed the sound of his voice but accepted it as fair trade for his heartbeat and the rise and fall of breath so close she could touch them. And she did, ignoring the discomfort in her trembling hands to splay her palm over the center of his chest. His hand slid over hers, stilling the trembling.
She breathed him in, wanting this moment locked in her memory in all its dimensions for the entirety of her long-lived life. It would have to be enough. After a while, she slept.
“A real shower.” Ana sighed, leaning back into the towel Gregor wrapped around h
er chest and tucked under her arms. Even with the ambrosia, standing took a week, and another before she could walk on her own into the shower.
“It is the simple things that make life a pleasure.”
Like a glimpse in the mirror at the naked man behind her, skin beaded in water and hair slicked back on his head. Now that was a sight worth living for.
She watched his back in the mirror as he retrieved his own towel. When she wobbled, he handed her a cane and went to the sink.
Without much conversation, his belongings had appeared in her suite. She’d lived alone for a hundred years, and as roommates went, he was fastidious. She liked how his small toiletry kit looked beside her sink, implements laid out on the hand towel. She liked his insistence on remaining clean-shaven. As much as she liked that he’d let his hair get a little longer in the past few weeks, it confirmed the presence of new silver streaks at his temples and through the dark length. The sight of him shaving and grooming in her bathroom was becoming familiar. Welcome even.
In defeating Barnabas, Raymond solidified his hold on North America. Her duties had been assigned to Auger. The packs were being hunted from Alaska to Seattle. She would be amazed if a single wolf survived on the North American continent by the time Raymond finished. Raymond’s preference for vengeance ran deep as well as wide. But she thought of Fred, and the Vogels, and an aching despair filled her. She hoped he was safe. This was the world she’d chosen.
Gregor belonged elsewhere. Watching over his descendants, wolf and witch, protecting his master. His friend.
Yet he stayed.
For her. His words in the car came back to her from memory. If you would have it, all of me that is not theirs would belong to you.
And what would that look like, with them oceans apart? This was dangerous. She could not afford this—attachment dividing her attention, splitting her focus. She had made a vow and owed her life to it. That duty had sustained her for centuries when she would have chosen surrender to the blade.
The Talon & the Blade Page 27