Tendrils of pleasure snaked through her, and she kissed back. No. She wasn’t interested in this. Ari liked him. Or whatever was happening between the two of them. Despite the mental protests, Ronnie’s body wanted something else. To be closer to the hum of power. She rested her hands on his chest, memorizing the texture of T-shirt stretched over muscle. She parted her lips, and his tongue accepted the invitation, sliding into her mouth and dancing.
She groaned and pressed into him, wanting to feel every inch of his body against hers. Liquid lust spilled through her, and she needed more. Stop. She was pretty sure that was her, not Metatron, arguing with herself. He glided his other hand down her spine, and she arched her back at the feather-light sensation, grinding against him. He sought the hem of her skirt and inched it up.
“I will not be ignored! Especially for him.”
The roar echoed through her skull, and she broke away with a gasp, stumbling back. For the first time since Metatron arrived, Ronnie felt a whisper of relief at her presence.
Gabe furrowed his brow. “Are you all right?”
“I will destroy someone for what was done to me. If you like his company so much, it can be him.”
Images tore through Ronnie’s mind, mimicking her dreams, but this time, Gabriel ran her through.
“Let me out!”
“No.” Ronnie recognized the tickle of summoned weapons against her palms, and mentally pushed back. Gabe might set her teeth on edge, but she wouldn’t destroy him for that.
“YES!”
“Uriel?” Something lingered behind the concern in Gabe’s eyes. Fear? Not of her. She was nothing compared to an original.
“But I am. Let me kill him.”
“I’m sorry,” Ronnie mumbled. She phased back to her apartment before he could reply.
Her knees hit the mattress when she appeared in the tiny residence, her inability to act spilling in tears down her cheeks. Seven different flavors of frustration, exhaustion, and confusion poured over her, pinching until it bled. She fell to the side and pulled her knees to her chest, struggling to fight back the fear and pain. She just wanted to sleep. But she was never letting Metatron out again. This was her life.
“We both know he killed me.”
“You said Michael killed you.”
“Gabriel wove something around you back there. You recognized it, even if you couldn’t name it. You believe anything he says over Michael?”
Ronnie snarled at the empty room and then spoke aloud rather than hear her own thoughts. “Michael was willing to surrender eternity for you, and you thought he ran you through. I don’t trust your judgement.”
“Says the demon talking to herself in an empty room. My memories lied. I see that now. Gabriel did this to me. He’ll pay.”
“Go. Away.” Her soft command echoed. She grabbed everything she found inside she knew was hers and built a mental wall around it. “My life.”
“You think you can really keep me out that way?”
Ronnie expected Metatron’s taunt, but not her hesitation. Was that a trace of fear radiating from her?
“That’s yours.”
But it wasn’t. Ronnie steeled her resolve. Something in Metatron was terrified she might not be able to take control again. Good. At least Ronnie was pretty sure she’d make it through the night as herself.
* * * *
Sun warmed her arms, and the wind whispered through the sand around her. Canvas-draped wooden stands where vendors hawked their wares bordered the lane. No one stood near her on the sand-packed road, but non-stop chatter filled the air.
Why was it so loud? Bright colors called to her from one of the stalls, and she wandered in for a closer look. Amazing scents greeted her—cinnamon, flowers, fresh bread. Scarves lined the table, satin brushing her fingers as she examined the clothing. The longer she lingered, the softer the chatter became.
“Does the lady see something she likes?”
She snapped her head up at the sound of Gabe’s voice. Beige swathed the man staring back at her, hiding any distinguishing traits except his piercing green eyes.
Betrayal overrode her fascination. An irrational need to get away shoved her back, and she dropped the scarf. It wasn’t him, and even if it was, it was okay. She trusted Gabe.
Except she didn’t.
She stepped away, struggling to control her fear. The chatter returned, assaulting her and making her stumble. Why was it so loud?
Another booth sat farther down the road. It didn’t call to her from a distance, the way the first did. Nothing stood out about the empty table or the two men behind it. But she was drawn to it anyway. The noise didn’t die as she approached, not like before. Comfort kissed her cheeks, and she smiled. One of the men smiled back.
The other stepped forward, scowling. “We’re not selling anything.”
Lucifer? The voice and name stung for reasons she didn’t understand, and her chest knotted. She wanted to linger. To find out why he was so upset. But the words didn’t come.
“I have what you’re looking for.” A female voice carried over everything. It was familiar. Eerily so.
She was reluctant to leave the comfort behind but compelled to talk to the feminine stranger. She sat at the edge of the market, dressed like the other vendors in nondescript brown swaths. Ronnie studied her for a moment, bathed in recognition she didn’t understand. “Do I know you?”
“Not nearly as well as you should.” She pulled the veil from her face, black hair whipping around red eyes in the breeze.
Holy shit. Ronnie took a step back, disbelief hammering in her skull. It was a mirror image. The voice was hers, but outside her head. “I don’t… What?”
Mirror-image-her approached and took her hand. The chatter vanished in an instant, shoved away by inky threads of power. Mirror-image-her smiled. “It’s really this easy. No one else can help you but me.”
Ronnie sat up with a start, heart hammering and ears ringing. She didn’t mean to fall asleep. Unlike the first dream, this one felt forced. Less vivid and more metaphorical. A distraction on Metatron’s part? Was Ronnie still in control of her body?
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Stupidest question ever.”
“I didn’t feel like taking over.”
Was Ronnie blocking her? Tentative relief would have flooded her, but whispers of the dream still floated through her head. It wasn’t terrifying like the last one, but it didn’t give her any more answers. Her thoughts were muddled. Did she really feel that way about Gabe? About Lucifer? And how was she supposed to help herself when she didn’t have any solutions? Stupid subconscious, playing stupid games with her already fractured thoughts.
“Yeah, blame your subconscious.”
Ronnie closed her eyes and pressed the palms of her hands against them, watching the stars dance against the lids.
Chapter Fourteen
Another night of sucky-ass sleep. If insanity didn’t drive Ronnie over the edge, insomnia might. It was Saturday. That should mean sleeping in, being lazy—something. But she wasn’t going back to bed. A week ago, she would have hung out with Ari, but she wasn’t answering Ronnie’s texts. Which, when she let herself think about it, might be a good thing. She wanted to believe what Ari did the night before was in her best interest, but doubt nagged her.
Someone knocked. Please let it be missionaries of some sort. At least that would be a fun conversation, and Metatron might not have a death wish for them.
“How’s it feel to finally be right about something?”
Ronnie straightened her clothes the best she could. Maybe she shouldn’t have fallen asleep in her clubbing outfit. Then again, she wasn’t sure she cared. She wasn’t exposing herself to the world. Ronnie yanked open the door, and her breath caught in her throat. Nope, definitely not missionaries. Michael looked incredible in a T-shirt and shorts.
“Sorry, what? Too busy drooling.”
“Great. Your swooning isn’t much better than your blood lust.�
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“Yeah, about that…”
Ronnie wasn’t in the mood for Metatron’s mania. She couldn’t help smiling at Michael, though. “Hey.”
“Am I interrupting something?” He nodded at her outfit.
“Nah.…” The false bravado slipped away. It felt cliché to say, What, this old thing? Besides, she liked being honest with Michael. “I forgot to change before I fell asleep.”
“Did I wake you, then?”
“I also forgot to change when I woke up.” Too many more nights of tossing and turning, and she’d be forgetting a lot more. Maybe that was how she lost her memory. Had she done this before? Was Metatron there before she lost her memory?
“You keep asking yourself circular questions. Let me take over for a while.”
“Nope. Not interested.”
Michael still stared at her, brow furrowed. She checked of herself. Skirt wasn’t riding too high. Did she have mascara smeared across her face? “Is something wrong?”
“No. Just waiting to see whether you’re going to try and eviscerate me or just brush me off.” The corners of his mouth twitched up, and light danced behind his eyes.
Oh, that. Considering the number of ways their encounters started and ended, was he bored with something as basic as her in a mini skirt? “I wasn’t planning on doing either.”
“It’s okay, really. Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to spar with me.” He traced his gaze over her in a lazy path. Unlike with Gabe, she didn’t feel a creeping desire to cover up. Her thoughts were still clear and vivid. Her own.
“Mostly.”
And sparring with him sounded like a horrible idea, only partly because Ronnie didn’t know how to fight. “I almost tried to decapitate you the other day.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the ceiling before he turned back to her. “That’s in the past. No big deal and all that.”
And he was lying. Fuck, she was too tired for this. He was supposed to be the one person who didn’t do that. “Try again.”
“I was hoping it might jar something loose. After what happened yesterday morning, I know the knowledge is there. If we can chip away at your memories, it might help us figure out why Metatron is in your head.”
That was closer to the truth, but not all the way there.
“He wants to see me. Sucks, doesn’t it?”
It hurt to admit Metatron was probably right. But at the same time, something was tempting about spending the morning with Michael. Images of the night before flashed through Ronnie’s head—the kiss with Gabe, the tension, the want. When she sank into the memory, she still felt his touch on her skin. Enticing and disconcerting at the same time.
“You should give Gabe another chance. We should go right now.”
“Reverse psychology. Nice.” When Metatron wasn’t spewing emotion, it made it harder for Ronnie to tell which thoughts belonged to whom. Especially because yesterday morning Metatron wanted to gut Michael and string him up.
“We can do this later.” Michael broke into her internal debate.
“No, it’s not that. I just don’t think I have that knowledge. Lucifer told me it wasn’t a dangerous job. That I didn’t need to know things like how to fight.”
“If you’ve been okay without it up until now, I’m sure Lucifer’s right. There’s probably nothing there.” Michael frowned and rubbed the back of his neck again.
Ronnie was going to have to teach him how to lie. Then again, it was kind of endearing that he couldn’t. “No, I haven’t been okay up until now. I nearly got my ass kicked by someone a couple days ago, and it would be nice if I knew how to defend myself. At this point, the only thing that would save me from a mugger would be my immortality, and even then he’d get away with my wallet.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he finally looked her directly in the eye. “If the knowledge really isn’t there, even locked away where you can’t get to it, I can teach you. Since you’re not from heaven, I can’t impart the lessons to you the way you’d learn back home, but I can physically show you a couple of things. At least enough to fend off a mugger.”
Ronnie grinned. That sounded far more appealing than logic said it should, but she liked the suggestion. “Yeah?”
“We have to keep you safe.” The genuine warmth in his words sank into her and chased away her exhaustion. This wasn’t like last night when a fog blanketed her. The thoughts and feelings were Ronnie’s.
“Give me five minutes.” She stepped aside enough to let him in. She took the fastest shower in history, scrubbed the makeup off, and then yanked on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.
Four and a half minutes later, she joined Michael in the living room. “Let’s go.”
She expected him to take her hand and dash her away to some grand and exotic locale. Maybe to train with the monks in Tibet or to China to meet a kung fu master. She didn’t know why, but it might be because Gabe and Lucifer enjoyed flaunting their power.
Instead, they walked. Wait, does this mean we’re on a date? No. Not after she scurried away. He didn’t ask for an explanation. But Ronnie owed him one, as much for her reassurance as his. “About how we left things after breakfast…”
“You seemed to be in a hurry. Are you doing better today?” He was so casual about the whole thing.
“Because he realizes he made a mistake. He really misses me.”
At least she wasn’t sulking right now. “I think so.”
He rested a hand at the small of Ronnie’s back to point her down the correct street and didn’t break the contact after they turned the corner. Her satisfaction grew when an incoherent snarl echoed in her skull. Every few seconds, he’d glance at her, catch her gaze, and then smile and turn his attention back to the street.
The four- or five-block stroll was pleasant, and the conversation flowed easily. The buildings grew nicer the farther from her apartment they traveled. The condos they stopped in front of raced toward the sky, all concrete and glass, with balconies and no window cooling units. There was even a doorman.
Michael nodded at him and led Ronnie inside. The temperature in the lobby was perfect. Literally. It enveloped her without a sticky film of humidity or the stench of chemicals. The understated elevator ride took them to one of the middle floors. No one was in the hallway. Then again, it was early on a Saturday. If the other residents were lucky, they still slept.
It was a spiffy glimpse into Michael’s life, but it didn’t make sense, given their plans. If he was going to teach her to fight, they couldn’t do it here. One, there was no way these condos were big enough—the doors were too close together. And two, his downstairs neighbors would hate them if she and Michael did any moving around. “Did you forget something?”
“No.” He led her through the first door they came to.
It was a nice place. Sunken living room, plush navy carpet, and almost as much metal and glass as on the building’s façade. Ronnie never would have pegged him for modern, but she liked the look. Still, unless his instruction was all theoretical, she didn’t know how they’d practice here.
“This way.” He gestured toward the doors on the far side of the room. The moment they passed through, the air sank into her skin like satin. Instead of a bedroom or office, a vast series of practice mats stretched out in front of them. Wooden blades hung on one wall, and a tremor of power mingled with the scents of chalk and sweat.
She knew the sensation. Ethereal. Unearthly. They weren’t on a mortal plan anymore. Was it possible?
“Duh? You know hell isn’t the only way people get into Lucifer’s office, right?”
Good point. Any door could lead to a spot in heaven or hell if the angel or demon opening it was powerful enough. That meant… They were in Michael’s corner of heaven. And he decorated it like a dojo. “Neat.” The word slipped past her lips without thought.
“Thanks. Leave your shoes and socks at the edge of the mats.”
“We do this barefoot?”
“Duh?”
“I’m new to this. Sue me.”
“We do this barefoot.” He set his own socks and shoes aside, bowed to the dojo, and then stepped in. “I promise, it’s more comfortable. And it keeps the mats from getting torn up.”
“I’m trusting you.” She set her sneakers and socks aside and moved next to him. “You’re the expert.”
He squared his feet shoulder width apart and nodded to the spot across from him. She faced him and mimicked his posture, but wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. She let them hang limply by her sides.
“Now, you just need your swords.”
She twisted her mouth, crossed her arms, and glared at him. She wasn’t about to reach inside Metatron for those, or however it worked. “Not funny.”
“You did it the other day in the church.”
“Metatron did that in the church. So one, I don’t know how, and two, be grateful because when she does that, she’s screaming for vengeance, and there’s no guarantee I can stop her.”
“I promise I’ll behave. Just let me show you how it’s done.” Taunting filled her words, but pleading lay underneath. She almost sounded desperate.
Michael raised his hands, palms toward her. “I know it was her. But that means you can do it too. It’s your body. Think about how it felt.”
“Incredible. I missed that sensation.”
“I’d rather not.” This wasn’t going as planned. He was taking the news about the dead angel stuck in her head a lot better than she was, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
“You’re right.” He grabbed a wooden practice blade from the rack at the edge of the mat, and gave it a few swings. It was about the same length as his arm, maybe an inch in diameter with the slightest curve near the end. He nodded to the collection. “Pick something, and we’ll start.”
“Really?” How wicked awesome was that? He was actually going to teach her to use a sword.
She crossed the floor in a few short steps and tried several of the practice weapons swinging each one, trying to mimic Michael. None of them were right. Something compelled her to grab two: one longer like Michael’s, and a short, dagger-length stick. Familiarity raced through her.
Uriel's Descent (Ubiquity #1) Page 12
