by Jane Kindred
Phoebe settled back behind the brush, trying to think of anything she could do besides wait. If nothing else, at least she could be there to take care of Rafe as soon as Carter was bound.
Her phone buzzed and she answered without bothering to look to see which of her sisters was calling. “Any luck?”
“Luck, Ms. Carlisle? I don’t need any. I make my own.” Carter. Well, wasn’t that a kick in the pants? “I thought I’d extend an invitation to you to come in out of the rain. I’ve just started a fire in this marvelous fireplace. It’s very cozy.”
Phoebe froze, unable to collect her thoughts enough to formulate a response.
“I’ve left the front door open for you.” Carter’s voice was amused. How nice that she could entertain him.
“I want you to let Rafe go.” Which he was sure to do now that she’d said so.
“Come inside and we’ll talk about it.” Carter hung up.
Phoebe stared at the phone. She didn’t have a lot of choices here. She could sit outside in the rain, waiting for Carter’s power to be bound, knowing he knew she was there, or she could sit inside, maybe find out exactly what he was doing to Rafe and try to stall him from doing anything worse.
With a sigh, she stood and shoved her phone into her pocket before making her way around to the front entrance. As Carter had said, the door was wide open. The glass-encased rain catcher was stunningly displayed in the center of the foyer, with Rafe as the centerpiece. And beyond him, in a great room worthy of a world-class hotel lobby, Carter sat in front of a crackling fire, as promised, wrapped in an expensive silk robe.
Carter smiled. “Care for an añejo?” He held up a liqueur glass of pale amber liquid. “Aged tequila. You’d be surprised how smooth it is.”
“As if I’d drink anything you offered me.” She peered in at Rafe when she came close to the rain catcher, palms pressed against the glass while rain snaked over it on the other side, hoping for a sign he was aware of her presence, but his eyes remained closed. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest kept her from losing it completely.
“There’s nothing in the añejo, I assure you. Though I suppose I can understand your hesitation.” Carter patted the sofa cushion beside him. “But, please, come join me.”
Phoebe moved away from the rain catcher and stepped into the great room, keeping her distance. “I’ll stand, thanks.” Rainwater dripped from her ponytail onto the terra-cotta tile as she faced him down. “What are you doing to him?”
“Nothing, at the moment.” Carter finished his añejo and set the glass on the table beside the sofa. He looked eminently pleased with himself. “I’ve acquired what I intended to.”
Phoebe’s stomach sank. “You have his power.”
“I have the manifestation of divine energy you awoke in his blood.” Carter rose and shrugged off the robe. With a roll of his shoulders, the brilliant blue-green wings that belonged to Rafe fanned out behind him. A hot flood of outrage warred with a gut-twisting stab of anguish inside her. “I possess the quetzal and all its attendant power. I am the human embodiment of Quetzalcoatl.”
“So I guess we don’t have to call you Tezcatlipoca anymore,” Phoebe snapped, trying to use her anger to keep back the tears. “Or any of those other absurd cultural appropriations you’re so fond of.”
“Appropriation is just another word for conquest. To the victor belong the spoils.” He smiled, as though he thought he was adorable. “Call me a conquistador, if you will.”
“I’ll call you something, all right.” She gave him a derisive up-and-down look, and her gaze was unfortunately drawn to his rather enthusiastic erection. She closed her hand in her coat pocket around the can of pepper spray on the keychain Theia had given her after learning what had happened at Carter’s hotel.
The smile became slightly chagrined. “An unintended side effect of the quetzal’s activation. Don’t be alarmed. I have no plans to molest you in any way.”
Phoebe’s lip curled in a sneer. “Oh, well, that’s good to know. I’d hate to think you planned drugging and assaulting me the other night.”
Carter shrugged. “I did plan that, yes. You were upsetting my thralls. I had to teach you a lesson and put some healthy fear into you. But I didn’t harm you, so you’re welcome.”
A harsh laugh escaped her, echoing inside the great room. “You want a thank-you for not penetratively raping me while you had me unconscious and naked?” She felt like pepper-spraying him just for being a dick. “And what about my sister? What lesson have you been teaching her?”
Carter picked up the silk robe and shrugged it over his folded—stolen—wings, but left the sash hanging loose. “Ione is a beautiful and passionate woman. Who happens to share the blood of your auspicious ancestry—I assume you’ve figured that much out, given your impressive little display with my nagual. She’s my insurance policy, in case the quetzal needs ‘maintenance,’ so to speak.”
Phoebe tried to relax her thumb so she wouldn’t accidentally activate the trigger in her pocket. “Well, too bad. Your policy has just expired. She knows everything.”
“And I possess power over the souls of Mictlan. All I need to keep her in check is a little help from Lila or Barbara or Monique, or any of an endless number of souls now available to me.” He made a gesture with his right hand. “Lila.” His eyes were focused between them, as though he could see her.
Phoebe took a step back, trying to steel herself against possession, but Lila charged her like a psychic bull and physically knocked her on her ass with the force of her step-in. The can of pepper spray rolled out of Phoebe’s pocket.
With a slight smile, Carter picked it up and slipped it into his own. “But since you’re here and Ione is not, I’d like to try something. Lila, bring her.”
Phoebe tried to resist, but Lila’s shade had always been overwhelming. Under her direction, Phoebe rose and came to stand before Carter. She glared up at him in defiance as Lila lifted her arms to his shoulders.
“It’s just a kiss, Phoebe. Don’t act like I’m stealing your maiden virtue.”
Phoebe’s arms wrapped around his neck and she tilted forward onto her toes, her mouth obediently seeking his. She wanted to bite off his lip, shuddering as his tongue brushed hers.
Carter breathed in sharply, pressing his hands against her shoulders to move her a step back, and disengaged their mouths. “That’s what I thought.” He eyed her with new appreciation. “You’re like a shot of adrenaline.”
Phoebe spat on the floor beside him. She’d been aiming for his face, but she was surprised Lila had allowed her enough autonomy to do it at all. Perhaps Lila didn’t care for nonconsensual tonsil hockey with Carter Hamilton any more than Phoebe did.
Carter’s eyes narrowed, apparently at the same thought. “Go sit down,” he snapped. “I’ll let you know when I need you again.”
As Phoebe sank into the chair opposite, her pocket vibrated. Lila took out the phone. Ione had texted her.
Lila read it aloud with Phoebe’s mouth, in the husky tone only Lila could manage to wring from her vocal chords. “‘We’ve run into a snag. My friends at the Covent sympathize with Rafe’s predicament, but since he’s officially a warlock, they’ve voted against assisting him magically. Carter will be dealt with through a formal convention of the Conclave. Phoebe, promise me you’ll get out of there now. We’ll meet up at your place and figure this out.’”
Carter strode toward her and yanked the phone out of her hand. “You got her to poison the Covent against me.” He threw off the robe once more, flinging out his wings and raising them in an apparent display of dominance. “It won’t matter in the long run, because I don’t need the Covent, but in the short run, it’s goddamned inconvenient. And I don’t like to be inconvenienced.” He stormed toward the nearest doors on the rain catcher and yanked them open, flinging the phone into the poo
l.
Rafe lifted his head, rain pouring over his face.
Carter leveled his gaze at him. “I’d considered sparing you, Rafael, but loose ends always unravel. And blood will make my transformation that much stronger.”
Chapter 30
Rafe folded onto his knees in the pool like a rag doll after Hamilton unfastened the straps at his wrists and ankles. He felt lifeless. Soulless. He’d opened his eyes briefly, thinking he heard Phoebe’s voice, only to see her kissing the necromancer. He’d been an idiot not to see he was being played. Phoebe had been Hamilton’s secret weapon from the beginning, the perfect trap for a wounded quetzal: desiring and being desired; the promise of love.
Ernesto’s unobtrusive shade sidled into him when Rafe didn’t move at Hamilton’s order, lifting him to his feet and walking Rafe across the stepping stones through the glass doors, out of the rain at last. He’d almost forgotten what it was like not to have rain falling on him. The hammer and crack of thunder and lightning was muted. His father had designed the pool to be air-and water-tight. The entire house had always seemed a dulling of the outside world, turning rain into a decorative fountain, and the panorama of rugged, iron-oxide-infused stone and gray-green desert brush in all directions around the house into a pretty, high-definition painting.
“I’m sorry,” Ernesto murmured through his mouth, and Rafe wondered why until he found himself lying back on the large, round, wood-on-stone coffee table in the great room. Ernesto maintained possession of him while Hamilton stretched Rafe’s limbs over the sides of the table and bound him to the legs. Phoebe wasn’t anywhere in his range of vision, though it was admittedly limited.
He looked up at Hamilton, flaunting Rafe’s quetzal wings, and pondered how it would feel to tear the bastard’s heart out of his chest with his teeth. Imagining the blood running down his throat got his heart pumping enough that he was able to jerk against his bonds and make a sort of growl in his throat when Ernesto stepped out of him.
Hamilton was unmoved by his ineffectual struggle. He stood at Rafe’s head, a clay bowl held high in one hand and a knife in the other—no makeshift maguey athame this time, but a hand-carved obsidian blade with a heavy steel handle. “Mictlantecuhtli, Lord of the Land of the Dead, I offer you the blood of a scion of Quetzalcoatl, that it may drip down into Mictlan upon the bones of the dead and release their spirits to me.”
“Hope you choke on it,” Rafe snarled.
Hamilton’s lofty ceremonial mien faltered for a moment, his face twisting with irritation. With more spite than ceremony, Hamilton slashed the side of Rafe’s throat with a stinging, shallow cut, placing the bowl on the table beneath the wound to catch the blood.
“You’re not very good at this human sacrifice thing, are you? This is going to take all night.”
Hamilton dipped his fingers in the trickling blood and drew something on Rafe’s chest. “I need to collect your blood to paint the glyphs before I send you to Mictlan, and I don’t care for messes.” He dipped again, and took his time finishing his drawing. “But your mouth is beginning to annoy me. I liked you better when your senses were dulled.” Hamilton brought the knife to Rafe’s throat once more. “Phoebe can clean up the mess.” This time the knife went in deep, and dark venous blood began to splatter into the bowl.
Rafe turned his head away, black spots dancing before his eyes as Phoebe came into view.
Hamilton handed her the knife. “Why don’t you do the honors?”
Phoebe gripped the handle in both hands and raised it over her head, staring down at Rafe with an expression devoid of passion.
“A firm plunge between the breastbone.” Hamilton’s voice seemed to come from far away, and Rafe’s eyelids were heavy. “Like you’re deboning a chicken.”
He wanted to say something to Phoebe, but his mind had stopped making sense.
* * *
Phoebe closed her eyes, engaged in a desperate internal argument.
Let go of me, Lila. He just gave us his weapon. We don’t need to do what he says.
Maybe you don’t.
Why do you? What’s he going to do to you? The only reason you obey him is for his lame promise to let you be with Jacob again. Do you seriously think that’s ever going to happen?
You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m bound to him. I can’t resist his orders.
But I can, if you just let go of me and let me stick this knife in his gut.
You can’t kill Tezcatlipoca. Jacob will be lost to me forever.
What if I promised to let you be with him—through me? Phoebe knew she shouldn’t be making promises Rafe’s body would have to keep—if he lived. He was still breathing, but blood was pouring out of him at an alarming rate.
But she seemed to have gotten Lila’s attention. The struggle to keep the knife from plunging lessened.
You would do that? After what I’ve done to you?
If Rafe lives, yes. And that was beginning to look doubtful, whether Phoebe drove a knife into his heart or not.
She felt Lila relinquish control. The bones around your Rafe’s neck—they give Tezcatlipoca the power of the quetzal. Destroy them, and he loses everything he’s worked for. I can’t help you beyond that.
Carter frowned. “What are you waiting for?”
Phoebe plunged the knife, but Lila had released her. Instead of burying the blade in Rafe’s chest, she slipped the knife under the choker and yanked it toward her, severing the cord. The choker dropped into her hand.
Carter gripped her other arm. “What the hell are you doing?”
Before he could stop her, she turned and flung the choker into the fire. Carter made a snarling roar like a caged jaguar and leaped on her with similar force, knocking her into the table as he grabbed the knife from her. Seeing the blade flash as it descended toward Rafe’s heart, she did the only thing she could think of and threw her body across his. The blade slammed into her back like a vicious punch. Carter swore and yanked the knife out, and Phoebe heard herself scream as if from a distance.
“Get out of the way, Phoebe.”
Phoebe ignored him, pressing her fingers against the fountain of blood still burbling out of Rafe’s jugular, trying to keep it in.
Carter tried to yank her away, and she rolled onto her back, her arm twisted at a painful angle as she struggled to keep pressure on Rafe’s wound. She could feel blood seeping through her shirt against Rafe’s clammy skin.
Carter’s eyes were dark with fury. “Thanks to your little stunt, I now need Rafael’s bones as well as his blood. You’ve bound him to this plane forever as my slave.” He ripped open the buttons at the front of her shirt. “I’ll have to make do with you as the blood sacrifice. I would have preferred to keep you around. But your sister will suffice.” He lifted the knife and raised his voice in invocation. “Mictlantecuhtli, I give you the blood of my enemies!”
The knife plunged once more, but Carter faltered inexplicably, stumbling against the table, and the weapon fell from his hand onto the stone as if someone had struck his wrist with a sharp blow. The wings were no longer visible at his back. Instead they extended once more from Rafe’s shoulders as Rafe’s chest rose beneath her with a deep breath, the cut at his throat somehow closing on its own as her hand slipped away.
Rafe’s voice was a soft rasp in his chest. “Don’t you die on me, Phoebe.”
The room spun dangerously but she managed a weak laugh. “On you. Literally.”
With a powerful jerk, Rafe broke the bonds at his wrists and sat up, cradling Phoebe against him.
Carter staggered back, the loss of the annoying erection he’d been sporting reflecting his profound defeat even more than the dumbfounded expression on his face. “How did you do that?”
“I didn’t.” Rafe touched his fingers to the blood smeared on the wind-jewel tatto
o. “I think she did.”
Phoebe tried to focus on his face, shaking her head. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Your blood.” Rafe held out his fingers. “Where it mixed with mine.”
Carter reached for the knife but Rafe moved faster, closing his hand around Carter’s wrist as he snatched the knife out of the necromancer’s grasp. The snarl on Carter’s curled lip was cut short with a howl as Rafe severed Carter’s ring finger, dropping both finger and ring to the ground.
“Ernesto.” Rafe spoke as though the shade stood before him. “Get something to stop the bleeding. And see that he stays put.”
With a sharp intake of breath and a look of surprise, Carter picked up the robe and wrapped the fabric around the bleeding stump of his finger before he sat abruptly on the couch. “I do as you will me.” His accent was one Phoebe herself had spoken before. “I am the slave of the quetzal.”
“Not for long, you’re not. I have no interest in keeping you bound here. But I appreciate your help right now.”
Phoebe was having trouble keeping her eyes open. She let her weight sink against Rafe’s chest.
His arms tightened around her. “Stay with me, Phoebe.”
“Not going anywhere,” she murmured, slightly annoyed he was keeping her awake. She just needed a little nap.
As she let her eyes close, running footsteps sounded outside the open front door, accompanied by familiar voices.
“Phoebe!”
“Oh, my God.”
“Sweet baby Jesus. He’s got wings.”
Chapter 31
“We have to stop meeting like this.” Phoebe smiled at Rafe as he came around the curtain into her little cubicle in the ER, but he wasn’t smiling back.
“I thought you were going to bleed to death.”
Phoebe shifted gingerly against the pillow propped between her and the raised bed. “I think that’s supposed to be my line. Thankfully, your amped-up blood seems to have accelerated my healing as well as your own. More stitches this time, and it hurts like hell, but they’re giving me the good drugs. Want a hit off my IV?”
