He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, praying for divine patience. “Please do.” Damn it. He rarely minded that he could only speak in lies, but right now it was irritating the hell out of him.
“Or would you like it better if I only concentrated on you?”
“No.” Yes. While he wanted his friends to be able to rest peacefully, that wasn’t the real reason he wanted this woman to stay out of their dreams. He wanted her to himself. All of her. Even her ability. Just until he figured this out.
Even still, that didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t a possessive man. More than that, he had no reason to be possessive of this woman.
“Sorry,” she said, sounding anything but. “I can’t promise that.”
“They won’t consider drugging you.”
“What kind of drugs? Can I request Vicodin?”
So she enjoyed human drugs. He couldn’t blame her. He’d indulged a time or twenty. Not that they affected him much, but a little was better than nothing. “How’d you know I loved spiders so much?”
“Ugh, you’re talkative. If I tell you something, will you shut up? I’ll take your silence for a yes. How did I know you loved spiders? Because I enter a person’s mind and just sense things. That’s how. Now shut it for good.”
Truth. His demon recognized truth as if it were a lone Hunter in a lineup with Lords. His demon usually hated it, was usually disgusted by it, even as Gideon always savored it. Today, the demon remained quiet and happy. No matter what poured from the girl’s beautiful mouth.
“That how you didn’t know my name?”
“I see bargaining isn’t a skill you possess.” She slapped the wall, and dust plumed around her. “So, what? You’re going to irritate me until I tell you everything I know?”
He didn’t want to admit that he just wanted to be with her, so he held up his bandaged hands and waved them. “There’s so much more I could be doing right now. Like fighting with my friends.”
“Injuries wouldn’t stop a real warrior.”
Ouch. “Yeah, ’cause a real warrior likes to get in everyone’s way and actually aid the enemy.”
“A real warrior succeeds despite his handicap.” She snorted. “I said handicap and you don’t have hands.”
Yeah. Funny. “If I didn’t have all my fingers, I totally wouldn’t be flipping you off.”
“The action of a man with more bark than bite. Figures you fall into that sad, sad category.”
What’s your problem? he wanted to demand, but the words would emerge as something like: Why don’t you have a problem with me? and he didn’t want to hear her say, Stupid question. I do have a problem with you. He’d say: Well, I don’t want to know what it is, and she’d say: Good, because I didn’t plan to tell you.
He’d had similar exchanges in the past. He was already frustrated, confused, curious, eager, and each emotion was pushing him closer and closer to the edge. An edge that always urged him to say things he didn’t mean and do things he couldn’t reverse.
“How’d you lose the hands, anyway?” This was asked grudgingly, as if she didn’t like that she wanted to know.
Her curiosity pleased him, and he lost some of his frustration. “The hands, well, they didn’t disappear through torture.”
“You break?”
“Of course.” There was pride in his tone. He hadn’t broken. Hadn’t spilled a single secret.
“Just as I suspected.”
His jaw clenched. Somehow she knew he was Lies. Had known all along. She also knew he couldn’t tell the truth, yet she continually pretended to take his words at face value. Just to piss him off? Because she was angry with him? An anger he still didn’t understand.
“Hunters do it?” she asked.
“No.”
“How’s that going, by the way? The war with them?”
So she knew about that, as well, when he’d never heard of her involvement. How? Actually, she knew a lot that she shouldn’t. “We’re losing.” Winning, but just barely. Two artifacts against one. The liberation of all those halfling children the Hunters had created through hideous means. The discovery of their Buda hideout. Not that he could explain that to Scarlet. “Since you don’t seem to know me, I’m wondering if you didn’t come here for me.”
“Whatever,” she sputtered. “Look, I told your friend I just wanted you guys to leave me alone. I knew you were searching for me. I wanted you to stop. That’s all.”
No. That wasn’t true. Couldn’t be. Only, he couldn’t prove it. Lies still wasn’t helping. “How do you not know me? How do I feel like I don’t know you when I’ve met you before?”
Her gaze flicked to him, narrowed and once more filled with that anger. “You don’t remember me?” Okay. Anger wasn’t a strong enough word. Outrage had layered every word. “You don’t remember specifics?”
“I do no—” Lie, lie. He shouldn’t have had to remind himself, damn it. “Yes. I do.” But he couldn’t have met her. He would not have forgotten a woman like her. Beautiful, wild, a predator. Blunt, hard yet somehow vulnerable.
Yeah, he’d been with a lot of women over the years. Mostly one-night stands. Women didn’t come back for more when the man they were with constantly told them how ugly and stupid they were. Or when the man didn’t speak at all. And no, he didn’t remember all their faces, but as he’d already reasoned out, this was not a woman he would have forgotten.
“We were lovers,” he said to get them started, “so that’s in.” Out.
“Ha!” Her gaze returned to him and lingered, perusing him up and down. “I’m not sure I approve of the packaging, so no, we weren’t lovers.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he said, because he did know. She didn’t like the looks of him. His hands fisted. “For your information, I’m as ugly as they come.”
There was something smug in her eyes as she said, “Yeah. I know. That’s what I just said.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. I’m sexy, damn it! Yeah, his appearance was a little unorthodox. Blue hair, a few piercings. Tattoos—although nothing on the scale of Aeron’s. Boy was covered. Gideon, at least, had himself and the ink under control. He’d chosen designs that meant something to him.
A pair of black eyes he saw every time he closed his eyes. A pair of bloodred…lips… He sat up with a jolt, staring over at Scarlet. Who had black eyes. Who had bloodred lips.
“What?” she snarled. “I know I’m gorgeous, unlike you, but come on. Show some manners, for gods’ sake.”
For as long as he could remember, he’d had images in his mind. Black eyes, red lips, even a phrase he thought of only during the darkest time of night: TO PART IS TO DIE. Bright red flowers curved beneath them.
In his mind, he’d seen those words and flowers wrapping around a woman’s waist. His heart accelerated every time he thought of them, so he’d had the words—and yes, the flowers—tattooed around his waist, as well. Girly of him, and something many people had teased him about, but he didn’t care.
“I don’t want to see your lower back,” he told her starkly.
She stilled completely, not even daring to breathe. “Not just no, but hell, no.”
“I’m not willing to beg.” He had to see. Had to know. “I haven’t seen you before. I don’t know that you have a tattoo of flowers there.” She did, he knew she did.
“You’re wrong. I don’t.”
Lie, surely. “Don’t prove it, then.”
“I don’t have to.”
Argh! Frustrating woman. He pushed to his feet. He’d been sitting so long, his muscles ached in protest and his knees shook.
“What? You don’t get your way so you’re leaving? Fine. Go sulk like a child.”
First she’d wanted him to leave and now she threw a tantrum because she thought he was doing so. Women.
Bandaged as his wrists were, it was hard to grip the hem of his shirt, but after several agonizing minutes, he managed to do so. He raised the material and turned, offering Scarlet hi
s back. At first, she gave no reaction. Then he heard a sharp intake of breath, a rustle of clothes, the patter of footsteps.
Warm fingers met his flesh, and he had to bite his bottom lip to contain his pleasured moan. Her skin was callused—from using weapons?—and abraded deliciously as she traced every word, every petal.
She could have had a blade hidden, could have stabbed him while he was distracted, but he couldn’t make that matter. She was touching him. It was more arousing, more…everything than being inside another woman.
“To part is to die,” she whispered brokenly. “Do you know what it means?”
“Yes. Don’t tell me.” Please, gods, please.
“I—I—” Her hand fell away. One step, two, she increased the distance between them.
Gideon whipped around. For a moment, he forgot about the bars and reached for her. His wounds hit the metal, and he cringed. Scarlet blanked her expression as she danced out of reach.
“Don’t tell me,” he commanded.
“I told you to go away, Gideon.”
Gideon. For the first time, she’d used his name. It affected him deeply. Slithered through him, burning each of his organs—especially his speeding heart. Because…because…while this was the first time she’d said his name during their conversation, it wasn’t the first time he’d ever heard her say it.
Just then he knew, knew, that he had heard her say his name before. Somewhere, sometime. She’d shouted his name in passion; she’d whispered his name in entreaty. She’d growled his name in anger; she’d cried his name in pain.
He had been with her.
“Devil,” he said, wishing he could say her name instead.
She must have heard the riotous emotions in his voice because for once, she didn’t have a sarcastic comment.
“Just go, Gideon, as I asked you to do in the beginning. Please.”
Please. He doubted that was a word she said often. But then, she sounded close to tears and she didn’t strike him as a woman who would relish crying in front of a man. Ever, over anything.
Except, she had before. He knew it. She’d cried and he’d held her. When? Where?
The only possible time would have been while he’d lived in the heavens. Since she was possessed by one of Pandora’s demons, she had once been a prisoner of Tartarus. He hadn’t locked her away, but could he have seen her there when he’d deposited other prisoners? Could he have spoken to her?
How could they have had a relationship, though, and he not recall it?
Could someone have erased his memory? Gods were capable of such things. Gods were capable of all kinds of cruel things. But that raised the question of why someone would have wanted to erase his memory. What could such a deed have gained? Prevented?
“Do you not have a man?” His voice was so raw, so hoarse, anyone hearing him would have thought he had yet to recover from a severe throat infection. A husband, though, would have wanted Gideon out of the picture.
“No,” she whispered, so sad her tone brought tears to his eyes. So sad her tone rivaled Cameo’s, Misery herself. “I do not.”
“No father?”
“My father is dead.” She lay back on the cot, peering up at the ceiling. “Has been for a long, long time.”
Truth? Damn it, demon! Help me. “No mother?”
“My mother hates me.”
He would just have to take her words as gospel. “Is there anyone who would want to see you…happy?” Please understand that I mean miserable.
Rather than reply, she rolled to her side, facing away from him. “If I tell you what you want to know, will you leave me alone? I’m not pretending to bargain with you this time, Gideon. If I do this, and you don’t leave…”
He didn’t want to leave. Now, more than ever, he wanted to stay. But he had to know the answer. Perhaps it would help him piece this mystery together. “No. Tell me and I’ll stay.”
A pause. Then, “I lied to you earlier, when I pretended not to recognize you. I did, from the very beginning I did. To part is to die,” she croaked. “They were words you once told your…wife.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
AERON STOOD on the balcony next to his room, clutching the railing, peering into the indigo-tinted sky. Most difficult choice he’d ever had to make, deciding between Legion’s life and Olivia’s. If he’d picked Olivia, as he’d so desperately wanted—still wanted—Legion would have suffered eternally. His friends would have been in danger. From Lucifer, no less. By picking Legion, he’d saved her and his friends, and Olivia could return home, unscathed. As he’d once tried to force her to do. As he now yearned to wail against. As Wrath was wailing against.
Keep her. Please. We need her.
Block it out. Don’t listen. A demand for himself.
Had Legion appeared just then, he might have shaken her. The position she’d placed him in…the things he would have to do…to her, to Olivia… His nails elongated and bit into his palm, and the metal whined, arcing out of place. The worst, though? The things he wouldn’t be able to do to Olivia. Not anymore.
No more making love. And that’s what it had been. Making love. He hadn’t wanted it to be, had tried to resist, but in the end, even his body had known. Being with Olivia was right. Perfect.
But now, he couldn’t keep her. Even if sending her home were not a life-and-death situation, no woman would stay with him knowing he would soon sleep with someone else. And he would. Bile rose in his throat. He wouldn’t allow Legion to be possessed. He wouldn’t allow the destructive Lucifer into this realm.
Eventually, Olivia will thank me for this. At least, that’s what he told himself in a bid for solace. If she stayed here, she would be human. She would wither and die and he would have to watch, helpless to save her. It was a prospect that had always baffled him. A prospect that had always horrified him, yet just then, he would have given anything to spend more time with her.
Can’t lose her.
We must. He would have liked to hold her, there at the end of their loving, as his mind became wrapped in thoughts of being together forever. Now he had to live the rest of his life without her, knowing she was out there, that he would forever be unable to see, hear or smell her.
No!
How was he going to bed Legion when Olivia was the only female his body responded to? He laughed bitterly. He’d gone from having no girlfriends, cockily assured he didn’t need or want one, to basically having two. One he didn’t desire. The other was ready to leave him.
Soon I’ll return, Olivia had said.
Instantly he’d panicked. Can’t lose her now, he’d thought. So he’d told her they had time and that she was to stay here. All he’d done was prolong the inevitable, making the split more painful when it finally happened. But he hadn’t fucking cared!
“Aeron,” a soft voice beseeched from behind him.
Heaven. Wrath sighed.
Stay strong. Resist. He didn’t allow himself to face her, but called, “Out here.”
Soft footsteps resounded, then Olivia was beside him, gazing into the approaching night, her wild scent enveloping him. Smelling her without touching her was torture. Torture he deserved.
“Where’s Legion?” he asked, expecting the girl to burst through the door at any moment.
“Sleeping.”
Without Aeron’s presence? “That doesn’t sound like her.”
Olivia shrugged a delicate shoulder. “If you must know, I drugged her. And I’m not sorry!”
His lips twitched. Gods, he lov—admired this woman. The smile, small as it’d been, fell away.
One of Wrath’s visions suddenly opened up in his head; it was of Olivia and Legion sneaking through the fortress halls, careful to tiptoe, even while pushing each other out of the way. Legion held a bottle of wine. Olivia held two glasses.
Clearly, they’d gone to the kitchen. And for alcohol, of all things. But where else had they gone and why?
They reached his bedroom and Olivia said, “A toast to your succe
ss.”
“That’s right,” Legion said smugly. “My success. I told you Aeron was mine and would never be yours.”
Again, Aeron wanted to shake her.
“And you were right.” The color drained from Olivia’s cheeks as she poured the drinks. With her back to Legion, she ripped a tiny piece of her robe from the sleeve. She then dropped that little speck of material into one of the glasses.
“Sleep,” she whispered as the material dissolved, then rotated to Legion with a forced smile. “I know when I’m beaten.”
The demon claimed the glass greedily and even before she swallowed the last drop of her wine, she began wavering on her feet. Her eyes leveled on Olivia. “Something’s…wrong…”
“Of course it is. Did you really think I wouldn’t doctor your wine?”
“Bitch,” Legion slurred, as her knees buckled. She hit the floor snoring.
Olivia’s robe could clearly do more than Aeron had realized, and at that moment, he should have been filled with a desire to drug Olivia. But to his utter amazement, Wrath was…charmed by her actions. “Heaven” had merely played with “Hell,” and the demon wanted only to hold the winner of that game.
“Are you angry with me?” Olivia asked, drawing him from his odd thoughts.
“Grateful.” He was too raw to deal with Legion right now. Too raw to think about the girl he considered a daughter. Change the subject. Now. “There’s something different about your voice. I noticed it earlier, but now, it’s even more obvious.” She’d told him about Legion, but he’d felt no compulsion to believe her.
“Yes,” was all she said. “Something’s different.”
“What?” he asked, though he thought he knew the answer. She must be losing more of her angel-abilities the more time she spent here.
How would her fellow angels react to that when she returned home? He didn’t like the thought of them shunning so precious a female.
She gave another shrug, but this time her skin brushed his. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the softness. And when a cool breeze swept over the balcony, lifting her hair and tossing the strands against his bare chest, he thought his tenuous hold on sanity completely severed.
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