Az locked eyes with him. “I was let go for a favor requested in return. I won’t say what, so you’re just gonna have to trust me.”
Jarrod called out when Az started to walk away down the hall. “Do you know how to kill the Bound?”
Az stopped, one hand on the wall. His wings swelled in and out with each breath he took.
“Is there a way?” Jarrod asked.
For a long time, Az didn’t answer. “Metal forged of fire and sin,” he said finally, without turning around. “Blades made by the Fallen.”
“Where would we get them?” Jarrod pressed.
Az’s wings shuddered. A feather drifted slowly to the carpet. When he turned to Jarrod, Az looked grim. “Luke,” he said. “I wouldn’t count on getting your hands on any.”
Jarrod gave him a slight nod.
“We should pack some stuff,” Jarrod said to Sullivan when Az had gone. He sat beside her on the bed, and she leaned onto his shoulder for a beat as if drawing strength. He wrapped an arm around her and stroked her back.
Jarrod glanced around the room. It felt weird to know he’d only lived here a few months. It was home. He pulled away from Sullivan and headed to the closet. He knew there was an old backpack of Adam’s buried in the back. He grabbed that and a duffel bag and stood staring.
He ran a hand over the hangers that held Adam’s old tattered band T-shirts. The few flannels that James had worn. I’ll probably be with you guys soon, he thought. But the thought didn’t bring him any comfort. Libby had killed both James and Adam, and sent them Downstairs. They didn’t get some afterlife relief. If they still existed at all, they were in Hell. Suffering. He pulled a few flannels out and tossed them to Sullivan.
“Here, these should fit you,” he said as he crossed over to the dresser and opened a drawer. A minute later the bag was full. He slid out a small side drawer full of old receipts and wrappers, kept pulling when he got to the end of it. Holding the drawer in one hand, he swept his hand along the back.
He took out a tightly wrapped roll, the few bucks he’d managed to hole away, mostly tips from Milton’s. It wasn’t much, maybe forty or so dollars. “Ready?”
Sullivan looked up at him from the bed, her brown eyes glossy. He hooked a thumb in the waistband of his jeans and slung the backpack over his shoulder.
“We didn’t have rent,” he said quietly. “We would have gotten kicked out anyway.”
He thought she’d say something. Tell him it was going to be all right. He didn’t know why he expected it—it was such a terrible thing to ask of her after what had just happened—but when she didn’t, he got a sinking feeling of dread. “You all right?” he asked her.
“Nope.” She stood up, the duffel in her hands only half full with James’s shirts. “But it doesn’t change anything. We still have to go.”
CHAPTER 21
Luke kept his bedroom black, the windows so blocked out that not even the city lights stole through. When Kristen moved against the covers, she heard the crackle of flames. Fire. She rolled herself into a tight ball on the bed, tucked into the corner near the headboard and against the wall. Clamping her hands over her ears, she tried to keep out the horrible sound of the flames that had eaten them all.
But in the darkness, her terror only grew.
“ ‘I have been here before/But when or how I cannot tell,’” she cried, the words instinctively rushing out of her. The cadence of the poetry was off, though; it did nothing to settle her. Bits of nightmare tortured her—Sebastian cresting over the side of the mattress, his face melting, an eye boiling and bursting as he used the blanket to drag himself closer. The glowing coals of his finger bones singed into the fabric.
“ ‘I know the grass beyond the door.’” Kristen’s voice shook. “ ‘The sweet keen smell’!” she screamed.
The door swung open, flooding the room with sudden light. Luke stood silhouetted against the glare from the hall. “Kristen? Are you all right?”
She stared around in confusion, soaking up every detail. The deep maroon of the walls. Luke’s dresser. The closet was open, the clothes he’d bought her hanging neatly. I never left, she thought suddenly. It was a dream, all a dream. Not just the fire but so much more—Luke and how she’d left him at the club, Gabriel being Bound again, everything.
With a violent shudder, she threw off the covers and leaped for him. She curled her arms around his neck. Luke stiffened.
“I’m hallucinating.” She pulled back and stared up at him, her heart raging. “A fire, and Gabriel . . . I’m going mad. You have to help me. I’m giving you permission. Please!”
Luke looked at her for a long second before slowly drawing her back against him. “It wasn’t a hallucination.”
Kristen slumped.
If I’d stayed with Luke, there would never have been a ball, there would never have been a fire. “I didn’t know what would happen. If I’d known the price,” she started.
“Come to the kitchen with me,” he said, brushing her hair back. “I already have the kettle on. We need to talk.”
Still shaken, she let him lead her down the hall, halfway there before the wording struck her. I already have the kettle on, he’d said. A trickle of paranoia leaked in at the back of her thoughts. Had he given her the nightmare to wake her up? Could he do that? The comfort of his hand in hers dissolved.
When they got to the kitchen, Luke headed for the stove, where, just as he’d said, the kettle steamed lightly, two mugs sitting on the counter with tea bags already in them. Kristen took a seat on one of the bar stools. He glanced over at her.
“Nothing,” she said in answer to a question he hadn’t asked. She shook her head, turned her attention to the rings decorating her fingers. Instead of staying on his side of the counter, Luke passed back into the living room, to her stool, setting both mugs down next to her.
“Have you begun to imagine your revenge yet?” He dropped a sugar cube into one of the mugs. “In your nightmare, did you hear your friends screaming?”
“Why would you say that to me?” Like a fingernail scraping a match, a flame of hate sparked to life inside her. “Why would you ever—”
“Sebastian, Madeline, the others? Fists were plunged through their chests. The Bound murdered them,” he said. “And so I’m asking if you’ve begun to plan your revenge yet, that’s all.” Fury coursed through her. Luke’s words were low. “You don’t need to shy away from that darkness inside you.” As an angry heat flushed her face, he took the tips of her fingers, kissed each one until she dropped her hand. “Not with me.”
Backing slowly away from him, Kristen worked her face into a mask, pushed her roiling emotions down deep. “What you did to me last night? Making me watch them turned to ash?” They wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t invited them. She wrenched the thought from her mind. “What you did was unforgivable.”
Luke’s grin was unexpectedly playful, dangerous. “Then don’t forgive me.”
Just out of her view, he reached onto the counter and slid something across it. She couldn’t see what he held behind his back. “What is that?” she asked, walking backward.
Luke paced her step for step. His arm stayed cocked, whatever he had, hidden. “I have something for you.”
“Show me,” she said, nodding toward his hand. Her back bumped against the apartment door.
“This will be useful to you,” he said, bringing an enormous knife out from behind his back. The slight curve of the eight-inch blade shimmered with the light stealing in from the hall. Luke continued his slow saunter toward her. His eyes smoldered like spent coals.
“Do you wonder where you would be without me?” he said as he reached her. He flattened his hand against her breastbone. “Heart torn from this exquisite chest, your soul burned into nonexistence? You’d be just like the others. Nothing.”
Her shoulders tensed, she was sure any moment she’d feel the searing pain of the knife buried in her side. Instead, it clattered to the floor. Without warning, Luke
’s fists slammed against the door on either side of her. The loud bang rattled her. Through her thin sweater, the door leeched away her warmth, her back against the metal.
She froze as Luke’s hands slid down. He grabbed her chin and wrenched her face up. “When we first met, you didn’t dare tell anyone about us. I was your darkest secret. Because you wished it, I told no one,” he said, enunciating each word. “The second time we met, I came for you when you were sick, fixed the broken parts of your mind when no one else could.” Kristen tensed at the memories, praying he’d stop, but Luke went on. “I gave you dresses. I gave you poetry. Anything you wished. Yet when Gabriel came for you, I was banished from your world yet again, wasn’t I?” He waited for her to answer. “Wasn’t I?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she admitted.
His fingers on the back of her neck eased her gently away from the door. “Tell me, what you would give. What would you give to trade your grief for their pain?” he asked.
She gasped as Luke’s body pressed against hers. Her arm curled around him almost in reflex. It was that touch, her fingertips on the soft cotton of his shirt, the sharp shoulder underneath, that undid her.
“What would you give for vengeance?” he whispered as she let her head fall back just enough to expose her throat.
He’ll consume you.
Let him, she thought as his mouth, hungry, met her skin.
“Claim me,” he murmured, “and I will tell you how to get the revenge you seek.”
She fought to quell the hate he kindled inside her, seemed to grow stronger from. Why are you fighting him? This is what you want. The fires he fed crackled, raged. Don’t listen, her mind screamed, but her heart drowned it out, thudding hard and fast in a pounding static hiss.
“Can you picture it? Cleaving the Bound apart.” He went on. “Their blood on your hands. How badly do you ache for vengeance? Tell me.” His teeth grazed her neck before the bite softened to a kiss, his lips warm, like the blood of the Bound would be. Something inside her sighed. “Carve out their hearts,” he said, “with the knife I sharpened for you.” At her harsh intake, he bent to pick up the blade. “It’s special, this knife. It will kill them when nothing else will,” he said, pressing it into her hand. His breath hit her cheek, hot. “It’s my gift to you.”
At what cost, she thought. And did she care? Images played in her mind, a slide show of murder, maroon streaming from corpses at her feet.
“All I ask is your loyalty. All I ask . . .” He curled his hand tight, pressing his fist against the wall. “Twice you’ve denied me, Kristen. Still, I am yours. Your secret, your pleasure, your darkest dream. Give yourself to me, and I will give you everything.” She stared up into his eyes, his irises mottled with uneven rings of green. Hope, she thought, the color a mixture of blue for happy and yellow for fear.
“I belong to no one,” she said, her chest heaving, need searing her insides. She latched an arm around his neck. Her mouth opened to form single-word excuses. No. Wrong. Run.
“But I want,” she said slowly, not quite believing what she ached for. “I want their blood.” The green flecks had gone from his eyes. They’d darkened with desire, an oily black that twisted her stomach, but not her heart. “And I want you at my side when I get it,” Kristen said.
A sound escaped him, between a sign and a moan. Ice flashed through her, so cold it burned, but she didn’t care. She drew Luke closer. They’ll suffer for what they’ve done, she promised herself.
On the stove, the kettle started to scream.
CHAPTER 21
Luke kept his bedroom black, the windows so blocked out that not even the city lights stole through. When Kristen moved against the covers, she heard the crackle of flames. Fire. She rolled herself into a tight ball on the bed, tucked into the corner near the headboard and against the wall. Clamping her hands over her ears, she tried to keep out the horrible sound of the flames that had eaten them all.
But in the darkness, her terror only grew.
“ ‘I have been here before/But when or how I cannot tell,’” she cried, the words instinctively rushing out of her. The cadence of the poetry was off, though; it did nothing to settle her. Bits of nightmare tortured her—Sebastian cresting over the side of the mattress, his face melting, an eye boiling and bursting as he used the blanket to drag himself closer. The glowing coals of his finger bones singed into the fabric.
“ ‘I know the grass beyond the door.’” Kristen’s voice shook. “ ‘The sweet keen smell’!” she screamed.
The door swung open, flooding the room with sudden light. Luke stood silhouetted against the glare from the hall. “Kristen? Are you all right?”
She stared around in confusion, soaking up every detail. The deep maroon of the walls. Luke’s dresser. The closet was open, the clothes he’d bought her hanging neatly. I never left, she thought suddenly. It was a dream, all a dream. Not just the fire but so much more—Luke and how she’d left him at the club, Gabriel being Bound again, everything.
With a violent shudder, she threw off the covers and leaped for him. She curled her arms around his neck. Luke stiffened.
“I’m hallucinating.” She pulled back and stared up at him, her heart raging. “A fire, and Gabriel . . . I’m going mad. You have to help me. I’m giving you permission. Please!”
Luke looked at her for a long second before slowly drawing her back against him. “It wasn’t a hallucination.”
Kristen slumped.
If I’d stayed with Luke, there would never have been a ball, there would never have been a fire. “I didn’t know what would happen. If I’d known the price,” she started.
“Come to the kitchen with me,” he said, brushing her hair back. “I already have the kettle on. We need to talk.”
Still shaken, she let him lead her down the hall, halfway there before the wording struck her. I already have the kettle on, he’d said. A trickle of paranoia leaked in at the back of her thoughts. Had he given her the nightmare to wake her up? Could he do that? The comfort of his hand in hers dissolved.
When they got to the kitchen, Luke headed for the stove, where, just as he’d said, the kettle steamed lightly, two mugs sitting on the counter with tea bags already in them. Kristen took a seat on one of the bar stools. He glanced over at her.
“Nothing,” she said in answer to a question he hadn’t asked. She shook her head, turned her attention to the rings decorating her fingers. Instead of staying on his side of the counter, Luke passed back into the living room, to her stool, setting both mugs down next to her.
“Have you begun to imagine your revenge yet?” He dropped a sugar cube into one of the mugs. “In your nightmare, did you hear your friends screaming?”
“Why would you say that to me?” Like a fingernail scraping a match, a flame of hate sparked to life inside her. “Why would you ever—”
“Sebastian, Madeline, the others? Fists were plunged through their chests. The Bound murdered them,” he said. “And so I’m asking if you’ve begun to plan your revenge yet, that’s all.” Fury coursed through her. Luke’s words were low. “You don’t need to shy away from that darkness inside you.” As an angry heat flushed her face, he took the tips of her fingers, kissed each one until she dropped her hand. “Not with me.”
Backing slowly away from him, Kristen worked her face into a mask, pushed her roiling emotions down deep. “What you did to me last night? Making me watch them turned to ash?” They wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t invited them. She wrenched the thought from her mind. “What you did was unforgivable.”
Luke’s grin was unexpectedly playful, dangerous. “Then don’t forgive me.”
Just out of her view, he reached onto the counter and slid something across it. She couldn’t see what he held behind his back. “What is that?” she asked, walking backward.
Luke paced her step for step. His arm stayed cocked, whatever he had, hidden. “I have something for you.”
“Show me,” she said, nodding
toward his hand. Her back bumped against the apartment door.
“This will be useful to you,” he said, bringing an enormous knife out from behind his back. The slight curve of the eight-inch blade shimmered with the light stealing in from the hall. Luke continued his slow saunter toward her. His eyes smoldered like spent coals.
“Do you wonder where you would be without me?” he said as he reached her. He flattened his hand against her breastbone. “Heart torn from this exquisite chest, your soul burned into nonexistence? You’d be just like the others. Nothing.”
Her shoulders tensed, she was sure any moment she’d feel the searing pain of the knife buried in her side. Instead, it clattered to the floor. Without warning, Luke’s fists slammed against the door on either side of her. The loud bang rattled her. Through her thin sweater, the door leeched away her warmth, her back against the metal.
She froze as Luke’s hands slid down. He grabbed her chin and wrenched her face up. “When we first met, you didn’t dare tell anyone about us. I was your darkest secret. Because you wished it, I told no one,” he said, enunciating each word. “The second time we met, I came for you when you were sick, fixed the broken parts of your mind when no one else could.” Kristen tensed at the memories, praying he’d stop, but Luke went on. “I gave you dresses. I gave you poetry. Anything you wished. Yet when Gabriel came for you, I was banished from your world yet again, wasn’t I?” He waited for her to answer. “Wasn’t I?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she admitted.
His fingers on the back of her neck eased her gently away from the door. “Tell me, what you would give. What would you give to trade your grief for their pain?” he asked.
She gasped as Luke’s body pressed against hers. Her arm curled around him almost in reflex. It was that touch, her fingertips on the soft cotton of his shirt, the sharp shoulder underneath, that undid her.
“What would you give for vengeance?” he whispered as she let her head fall back just enough to expose her throat.
A Touch Menacing Page 26
