A frumpy, dirt-smudged woman who barely resembled the highly polished Etherlin muse lay on the ground on a stained mattress.
Loving the new digs. Must be quite a step down from her mansions, Tamberi thought, and her smile widened. The muse of architects and designers held captive in squalor? How the mighty have fallen. Do you see this, Cato? I hope you freaking see this.
The muse squinted at the light that Tamberi shone in her eyes.
“Leizer, please,” Ileana Rella rasped.
“Who’s Leizer?” Tamberi asked.
“I thought—oh, thank God! Thank God you found me. I’m Ileana Rella, one of the Etherlin muses. I’ve been held prisoner by Hayden Lane. He made me call him Leizer, made me keep our affair secret. He was so much younger I didn’t want people to find out. I thought Cerise might interfere or be angry because he’s young—but there’s nothing young and fresh about him,” Rella said.
Tamberi arched a brow. The woman must’ve been half out of her mind from dehydration and isolation to be talking so much.
Rella rattled on for several more moments before finishing with, “He’s a sociopath! A monster!”
Good for him.
Rella got up slowly, obviously stiff and sore. “Are you a hiker?”
“No,” Tamberi said, “but I am going to get you out of here.”
The muse broke down then, loud sobs wracking her body as Tamberi unlocked the cuffs around her wrists that chained her to the wall. Tamberi rolled her eyes as she tossed the shackles aside.
Tamberi’s stomach growled, wanting another sip of muse blood. She’d licked some of Cerise Xenakis’s blood from her leaking wounds, but Tamberi hadn’t dared to stay long in the catacombs knowing Merrick and his angel pal would eventually come looking for Xenakis.
Still, stopping to lick the wounds had been worth the risk. Muse blood was delicious and invigorating. Tamberi’s wounds healed faster and her senses sharpened under its influence. The trouble with biting Rella was that her blood was going to be used for something big. Something more important than quenching Tamberi’s thirst. So for the moment, Rella was safe.
“You’re not Etherlin Security. Are you with the American authorities? The FBI?” Rella asked.
“We don’t have time for questions, Miss Rella. Let’s get going before he comes back.”
The color drained from Rella’s face, and she shut her sniveling mouth. Finally!
At least Merrick’s muse and Cerise Xenakis showed a little backbone when they were under attack.
Dorie pushed her feet into her boots and tied the sash of her sweater. She glanced at the clock again and then reread Hayden’s text message.
Hey, gorgeous. Hope ur doing good. Have some stuff to tell u in private & need ur advice. It’s about Alissa North and your sister. Can u meet me? Without ES breathing down our necks? Don’t want them to overhear b4 u and I decide what to do.
Dorie’s heart sped in anticipation. Yes, she’d talk to Hayden, the cute and famous rock star who was offering to tell her things she already should’ve been told by her own family. She was tired of being kept out of the loop. She had just as much right to know what was going on with the other muses as Cerise or the council or ES. Troy had told her things, but Troy hadn’t really known what was going on with Alissa North until it was too late.
Hayden lived in the Sliver. He was more plugged in to what was happening outside the Etherlin, which was key at the moment. It was so stupid of Cerise and Alissa to get involved with the fallen.
Dorie didn’t care what happened to Alissa, but Dorie had to make sure that Cerise didn’t throw her life away over some fallen angel, no matter how good-looking he was.
Dorie’s heart thumped as she went downstairs. She could go out through the kitchen and the backyard. Part of the woods didn’t show up on the security cameras, and if she stayed in the shadows, she could get to the spot by the lake where she was supposed to meet Hayden.
She had to admit that even though she considered the Varden a filthy gutter, it was pretty cool that Hayden could go in and out of it without a problem. He was street-smart from before he’d become famous.
Of course, she wouldn’t have looked twice at him if he weren’t a rock guitarist and a millionaire. No lowlife trash for her. Muses should have some standards. Why the hell couldn’t Alissa see that? Alissa, who had always acted so elegant and uptight. She certainly hadn’t been what she seemed. Dorie was going to watch everyone around her more closely from now on. You just never knew what people were hiding.
Chapter 27
They’d found the catacombs’ exit. On the street, Lysander held out a hand to Cerise and waited. She hesitated. She didn’t want to get so close to him. She didn’t trust herself to.
Dangerously beautiful, she thought.
Cerise barely kept herself from grimacing as she walked over to him and then turned so her back was to his chest. He stepped forward and put an arm around her waist.
It overwhelmed her, the feel of his muscles, the smell of sandalwood, and the desperate ache in her gut. Being bound meant they were never supposed to be separated, but she would have to give him up soon. And it was killing her.
Heaven had shown her the key to giving her life meaning, and if she fought to live, heaven would see that she had the opportunity to fulfill that promise. She also knew that, more than anything, Lysander wanted to go home.
The blood bond will have to be severed.
It was a thought that made her want to wail. She wished she could ignore the future fate of the world and hold on to him with both hands.
No, I need to do what’s right.
We won’t necessarily be apart forever. Maybe when I get there, he’ll be waiting.
She would cling to that hope. Anything else crushed her.
His wings beat, and they rose slowly into the sky. His voice was low in her ear, his breath rustling her hair. He pointed into the distance and said, “That’s where you live. See the inverted triangle of lights? It’s from the paired cupolas on your house and the light on your gate.”
He went on to explain why he’d chosen to live in a mountain and shared more stories of teenage Merrick who had helped him build it. Lysander was being kind she realized, filling the silence with conversation that didn’t challenge her on the choice she’d made—to live her own life rather than stay with him.
He was trying to put her at ease. And that just made it harder. By the time they reached the windows of his place, she was blinking away tears and biting down on the inside of her mouth.
He unlatched the enormous hinged window and pulled it open. He set her inside and stood on the ledge while his wings folded into his back. Then he stepped down and pressed a switch.
A light blinked on, and her jaw dipped open. Like its owner, the dwelling was like nothing she’d ever seen. She walked to a wall to examine a twelve-inch-tall mural that had been carved around the entire room. It was, she realized, the story of the world. She followed it back, studying the moments from history that he’d chosen to include. Wars, of course, and tragedy, but also great buildings and inventions. Finally she reached the place where there was an image of him on his knees with another angel holding a dagger to his back. His depiction of Reziel betraying him.
She turned away and was confronted by a small sculpture of a dancer. She walked closer to the shelf it rested on, but stopped when she realized that she was the girl carved in alabaster. A sketchbook sat next to it and she opened the book, finding lots of drawings, including many of her—in the dance studio, standing in her backyard, sitting in her bedroom window seat. He’d been watching her, had been with her all along.
She closed the book and set it gently on the shelf.
“You occupied my thoughts from the moment I met you,” he said. “You were never supposed to find that out.” He offered a self-deprecating smile.
“I know it might have been easier if we’d never met—” she whispered.
“We had to meet. Reziel was in your li
fe. Our paths crossing was inevitable. And being attracted to each other…that was inevitable, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” he whispered.
She looked over her shoulder at him, tears prickling her eyes. She strode to him and slid her arms around his neck. She hugged him tight.
“I want you to be able to go home, but it’ll be so hard to lose you.”
His arms tightened around her, crushing her against him. “You won’t lose me.”
She bit her lip. “Okay, enough,” she murmured, pulling back. “Reziel thinks I’m dead and that my death will leave you distracted and upset over the loss of your chance for redemption. He’ll make his move soon. We need to know what he’s planning and what he’s capable of. Can he possess anyone he wants? Anyone he’s met or had contact with?”
“I don’t think so. The female ventala, Tamberi Jacobi, raised him. She’s likely orchestrating whatever he needs done.”
“Yes, but I don’t think she’s working alone. Troy had demon blood around his neck. Ileana is involved with some architect who’s going by the name John Leizer. Tamberi could’ve had something on Troy and maybe she just hired some guy to seduce Ileana, but I can’t help but feel that there’s a missing piece. Something that I need to know…I keep coming back to Griffin’s book and the night that he died. Was Tamberi in the rented house? Did she come alone or with the demon? I need to remember.”
Lysander walked to the coffee table and retrieved the songbook. He held it out to her. With a deep breath, she took it. Exhaling, she opened it.
As soon as she looked at the words in the margins, flashes of memory assaulted her. Being choked, being forced onto the bed. She gasped, and when her vision cleared, she was on her knees and the book had fallen to the ground.
“Damn it!” she shouted.
“Easy,” he said, trying to soothe her.
“Why can’t I control it?” she demanded. “I want to know what happened. I have to know.”
“Reziel’s extremely powerful.”
“So am I,” she said, glaring at the book.
He smiled. “You are,” he said. “And you’re determined, but there’s probably a reason your mind wants to avoid these memories. Also, Reziel’s ashes coat the pages and that probably interferes with your recall. Let me turn the pages for you so you won’t have to touch them.”
“Go ahead.”
He sat on the couch, and she joined him.
“Give me a minute,” she said. “I want to draw on my magic to steady myself.”
He waited.
“Okay,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Open it.” She closed her eyes for a moment, whispering encouragement to herself. Lysander set a cool hand on her knee, and it was comforting to feel her connection to him.
She raised her lids a fraction and looked over the pages as Lysander slowly turned them.
“Wait there,” she murmured, studying a page with a three-pronged lightning bolt in the margin and two sets of handwriting. She leaned back so the letters were distant and only half in focus. In the back of her mind, she heard someone playing an acoustic guitar and her own voice singing.
That’s it. Let it come, she thought, magic sluicing over her skin. Her lids drifted lower. She smelled liquor and licorice. Her vision blurred and readjusted.
Griffin set his guitar down and went to stoke the fire in the stone fireplace. They’d showered after returning from the club and his damp unstyled hair was adorably shaggy. Cerise sat on the bed with his guitar next to her. She plucked the strings absently, thinking about the song they’d been working on.
“Finish your wine,” he said.
“My head’s already full of bees,” she said. “If I drink any more I’ll pass out.”
“So? We’re on vacation,” he said, draining his own glass. He kissed her, his soft insistent mouth stirring passion. He leaned back and held her glass to her lips.
She sipped the wine, which had a tart cherry note to it and a slightly bitter, but not unpleasant, aftertaste.
The room whirled slowly, and against her ear his mouth whispered, “Goes down like nectar.”
She sank into an oily darkness, music and voices echoing in her head.
My throat hurts. Can’t breathe.
The room tilted, her body jarred, rocking to the rhythm of rough sex. She was facedown on the bed and he was ramming…who? As she woke, terror roared through her.
Her unsteady fingers clawed at the hands around her neck. She fought, scratched, screamed against a closed throat. Thrashing, she caught a glimpse of him in the mirror.
Red violet eyes narrowed, the vicious sneer on his face making him almost unrecognizable.
In her head, she screamed for him to stop. He was killing her. This version of Griffin, one she didn’t know, was choking her to death while he raped her.
She fought desperately, and an endless shriek continued over and over until her mind shattered.
She woke shivering and sore in a bath of warm water. A crying Griffin bent over her, scrubbing her body with a soapy washcloth.
For a moment, she couldn’t move or speak. Her head hurt, throbbing and swollen like the rest of her. The world seemed distant, as though her skull had been packed with cotton soaked in hand lotion.
A little spike of clarity stabbed her heart. Fury, black and bleak, put strength back in her arm. She slapped him so hard his head smacked the wall, cutting his cheek where it struck the ceramic tile.
Stunned, he fell back, landing on his ass.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry—”
She lurched from the tub and landed on him, pummeling him until she had to stop to catch her breath.
He huddled in a ball, bruised and bleeding, begging for forgiveness.
“It wasn’t me. I swear it wasn’t me,” he cried.
She wobbled to her feet and stumbled out of the bathroom. She had to escape this nightmare.
The floor tilted and rocked like a theme park ride. She landed on her hands and knees and felt so tired she couldn’t even crawl.
Out. Get out!
Her limbs didn’t obey. Instead they buckled, and she collapsed onto the rug. Her heartbeat throbbed in her temples, and she struggled to hold on to consciousness. The exhaustion was too much.
This time he was calm when she woke. She was unnaturally calm as well. She lay under a throw blanket on the couch where he’d obviously placed her. She watched as he put a black cord, duct tape, and a hunting knife into a duffel bag. When he coughed she thought she smelled eggs too old to be eaten.
In the grips of a chilling realization that Griffin had a sociopath alter ego, she shifted to look around the room. The loaded gun she always carried when she was outside the Etherlin was waiting inside her purse, which sat on the table.
She sat up slowly, silently, but he still sensed or heard something because he turned and stared at her.
He swaggered toward her with his left arm hanging back behind his body.
That’s not how Griffin walks. Not usually.
She rose, gripping the blanket. She would drop it if she needed to fight, but until then she didn’t want to be naked. She stared at his arm, trying to see if he held anything in his hand like a weapon or something he could use to restrain her. She edged around the couch toward the table.
“You’re up,” he said with a smile that turned her stomach. “How do you feel?” he asked lightly.
How the hell do you think I feel?
He darted forward and caught her arm.
She jerked her arm out of his grip and widened her stance.
“I think we should go back to the Etherlin tonight,” he said.
“Who are you?” she asked.
His brows rose. “What do you mean?”
She stared at his eyes, looking for the hints of red she’d seen earlier, but he’d buried the telltale signs. Still, she knew this wasn’t her Griffin.
Several moments passed before she spoke, the silence st
retching eerily until her blood ran cold with dread.
With a flat voice, she said, “The Griffin I know wouldn’t have done what you did.”
“What did I do?” he asked, the cadence of his speech slow and careful and nothing like the way Griffin spoke when he was upset.
The stranger’s tone was pleased, not confused. This creature knew exactly what he’d done, and remorse was the farthest thing from what he felt about abusing her. His smile widened while she struggled to choose whether to slam a fist into his smirking face or to rush to the table in an attempt to reach the gun before he caught her.
Her heart banged in her chest, but that actually felt good. Most of the earlier haze had lifted, and as adrenaline spiked her blood, her muscles tightened.
Whether he felt her stiffen or just became impatient, she didn’t know. But when he tried to take her arms, she slammed her knee into his groin and her fist into his throat. He staggered back as she bolted to the table.
Her purse was partially unzipped. She yanked it open and dug inside until cold metal reassured her. She spun to point the gun at him.
He stood massaging his crotch and throat. At the sight of the gun, he laughed.
“Your mind and body are stronger than most, I’ll give you that,” he said. “So now you have a gun. But if you succeed in killing this body, you’ll lose Griffin.” His voice was a low hiss of malice. “Or we could bargain. Would you like to save your boy toy?”
All That Falls Page 29
