Never lovelier, p.32
Never Lovelier, page 32
The silence creeps into the room with us like a monster, prowling around, forcing our eyes anywhere but each other.
Finally, Sin says, “I laid a dress out.”
“Then what? You fell into those pants?”
“A dress for you.”
I snap free of the cuffs.
The sound of the jangling cheap metal prompts Sin to flinch. He turns to me, eyes weary. “Get it out now, darling. Stab where it isn’t obvious. Nothing on the face.”
I rise from the chair, rubbing my wrists. Last night I would’ve been ecstatic for the opportunity to hurt him the way he hurt me.
The urge has passed.
Mostly.
We split apart in silence to pillage the penthouse, searching for information, scanning his computer.
“He keeps his Diakonos here,” Sin says, pushing through papers on a desk. “I felt them when we walked in. A surge of different emotions. Fear, resentment, loneliness.”
My stomach tightens with worry instead of anticipation. “Every door has a keypad. And he has security on each floor.” I try to recall other things from our walk in. The metal bars on the windows, typical of a bank.
“They must be the vaults,” Sin says. “It’d be the only thing that could contain a Phoenix. Break proof, fireproof. Means additional security.” He braces hands on his hips. “Shit.”
“We stick to the plan, then,” I remind him, cutting through the living room and finding nothing. “Flash the cash. Say you won’t pay until you have eyes on her. Convince Lesenia to join you, she’ll drag me along and we’ll overpower them when we have Theia in hand.”
As if he can’t bear to pass time with me, Sin checks his watch, plastic blue band, shiny high tech screen. Ridiculous. “Lesenia’s a wild card. We should leave her.”
“We’re a package deal now. Only way I go is with her. Can you handle that?”
“I could rent you back from her for the afternoon.”
“I’m not her money maker. I’m her toy.”
Sin’s gaze bores into mine, fierce and unyielding. “You’re not. You’re not anyone’s property. Not hers. Not mine.”
Something tightens inside me at the raw command.
I want to cling to the conviction in his voice, but doubt coils in my gut.
“Pretty words,” I mutter, looking away. “But that’s all they are.”
Do not trust the guard.
Let go.
He’ll betray you.
Sin inches forward, presence enveloping me, clove and heat. “Nat,” he says softly.
I hate it. “What happened last night?”
He halts. Looks away from me. “We fucked. It was nice.”
“Nice,” I echo, nodding, hating, bitter as wormwood. “I suppose I liked the part where you begged me to have you. The sociopathic rambling I could’ve lived without.”
“That’s not all you have.”
The gentle murmur licks my ear.
“What?”
He’s found his feet again, looming over me, black aura undulating over his skin. “What else wasn’t up to your standard?”
“You mean like the fact that you came before you even got your shoes off?”
“Yes.”
“And you sweat all over me.”
“Keep going.”
“And you left marks of your hands on my hips.”
His throat bobs. “What else?”
“Your stupid fucking hair. I can’t pull it at all. And it makes you look …”
“Don’t cut me slack now.”
“Like a child playing dress-up,” I spit out, voice soaked with venom. “Trying so hard to be the hero you’re not. But underneath it all, you’re just a damaged little boy desperate for love and validation.”
Sin’s irises darken, the purple swirling with barely contained rage. He leans in close, his breath hot against my cheek. “More.”
I shove him away. “I …” The bridge of my nose burns. I look at the wall. Lose my fight. “I liked you. I wanted you. Last night, I felt—”
He catches my wrist, his hold like iron. “I’m not interested in your emotions.”
I lift my gaze to his, heart collapsing. “Then what are you interested in, Blackguard?”
Sin’s palm shoots out to grab my throat, his thumb pressing against my pulse. “The only reason I held a passing interest for you was because you weren’t supposed to feel. The one redeeming Fury quality, but you botched that too, didn’t you? A traitor to your own kind.”
The words sound like they’re tortured from him, breaking and dripping from his lips.
Rage like I’ve never known surges through me, claggy and spiked. I could break his hold with a thought. Shatter every bone in his body. But I don’t.
Because he’s right.
I am a traitor.
And it makes sense, doesn’t it?
The male terrified of love stringing along a Fury because she’s incapable of such a feeling.
Guilt nestles into my bones, shame and self-loathing carving spots for themselves.
Tears brim. The whisper escapes without warning, startling us both. “You’re right.”
He can’t release me fast enough. Retreating with a ragged exhale, beautiful features fracturing with … disgust, pity?
I can’t look.
The door opens. Sin curses, filthy and quick, pushing me into my chair, and slamming down into his own as Lesenia saunters back in, Emil trailing behind her like a lost puppy.
I force my wrists together behind me. Keep my head down.
“Manhattan?” Emil asks, sensing nothing amiss as he scurries from Lesenia’s side to the wet bar.
“Two,” Lesenia answers for both her and Sin. She strokes a hand over Sin’s short hair. “Emil’s bartending is legendary,” she tells him, tapping under his chin until purple eyes lock onto hers.
I feel sick.
“You can visit her, if you’d like,” Lesenia whispers. “We could use her together. It could be fun.”
“Two,” Emil recites, setting pretty drinks in their hands and taking his seat. “I guess we should discuss business, then?”
“Business.” Lesenia’s gaze glitters with malice as she settles into the seat beside Sin, hand lingering possessively on his thigh. “And then pleasure, as they say.”
Sin’s jaw clenches at her touch, but he maintains his composure, offering her a tight smile. “I’ve brought bearer bonds, but I’m happy to deal in drachma or a wire transfer.”
“Any will work.” Emil hurries, his own drink shaking in his grip, ice knocking. “Enough orange?” he asks. “I never know.”
Lesenia takes a purposeful drink, and coos, “Perfect, Emil.”
I snort.
It’s so … fake. It’s revolting. Everything in this room. Gilded for three black souls.
Lesenia must be part Boread because I feel a rush of air before she’s in front of me, hand cracking across my cheek. The blunt sting of her ring split skin. Sweet thick ichor floods my mouth.
“Lesenia.” Sin’s voice is low, chastising.
“She’s mine now, dear,” she reminds him. “You think you could move on? Could dangle her within my reach without repercussions? Cheating on me. Again.” She sinks nails into my jaw. “He loves me,” she hisses. “He asked me to marry him. He gave me everything. You’re just a whore. He used you to get us back together.”
“Lesenia.” It is not Sin’s honey smooth voice. It’s Emil’s. Suddenly even. Nearly stern. “I do not condone creature violence.”
Sin is silent. Utterly still. His expression is blank. I’m not his problem anymore. He doesn’t need to defend me.
Lesenia rips a hand through my hair. “She’s hardly a creature. Look at her.” She glances over her shoulder at Sin with a mocking gleam. “We had bets on if you actually touched her. If you could stomach it.”
She sniffs at me and scrunches her nose at the damning evidence. “Look how far you’ve fallen without my guidance.”
I grunt as she pulls at my roots, potent fury boiling inside me.
Sin’s eyes jump to mine for the briefest moment, something akin to regret shadowing his features before the mask slides back into place.
Gritting my teeth, I battle to remain still, enduring her cruelty with gritted teeth and a spine of steel. I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.
Not now, not ever.
“Lesenia,” comes Emil’s voice again. “Please. Really, have a drink and calm—”
She interrupts him with a cough, spittle flying into my face. Her eyeballs bulge. She staggers backward, heaving, holding her throat.
Choking.
Dark veins bleed over her face like black, poisonous lightning.
Alarmed, Sin lurches to his feet, just as Lesenia collapses, gasping out for air.
Emil is frozen, his drink tumbling from numb fingers. It shatters on the floor.
It takes less than a minute. The poison takes her swiftly.
I glance at Sin and his knees lock. His body hits the floor, face first.
My heart stops.
“Well,” Emil says in the silence, a smile spreading on thin lips. “They were extremely rude.”
39
Nat
in his place
“Spit,” Emil requests, pushing a cup against my bottom lip.
I have no idea what’s going on, but I open my mouth and let the ichor drip from my split inner cheek into the cup.
Emil nods a quiet thank you and hurries the glimmering cup to his bar. “For next time,” he calmly explains, a new ease in his demeanor.
He returns to me, not on quick shuffling feet, but at a stride, and offers me the end of the thermometer. “If it’s not too much trouble?” he asks politely.
I part my lips and the glass slides under my tongue.
I can’t look away from him, too aware of the warrior playing dead at my feet.
He’s not dead.
Can’t be.
He’s a Demigod. He’d need a syringe of ichor straight to the heart to die.
Right?
Zeus, I want to check.
Instead, I keep my eyes trained on Emil as he washes glasses and shuts my ichor in the freezer. Like alcohol, it won’t freeze.
“A Fury.” Emil’s happy. “I’ve longed to meet one. Always imagined how you would change our future.”
He takes the thermometer from my mouth. “107,” he reads, shaking the mercury, dragging blue eyes over me. “So high. Is that typical? May I feel?” His hand hovers over my forehead.
“You may not.”
To my surprise, he listens. “I do apologize. I don’t care for the violence. I offered her the coffers with the intention of securing you. But she wanted you for herself. I couldn’t allow that to happen to such an incredible, rare creature.”
The words are meant to placate, but they send a cold shiver down my spine.
Emil’s gaze, once nervous and jittery, now holds a calculating gleam that unsettles me to my core.
“And him?” I ask, not looking at Sin. “Is he just collateral?” The rage simmering beneath my skin threatens to boil over, but I force it down. I must play this carefully.
Emil clasps his hands together, smile stretching. “Smart Fury. We’ll assess your intelligence.” He tilts a head at me. “We know very little about you. I was under the impression you’d be rabid. But look at you. Two dead and we’re chatting. You can relax your arms dear, I know you’re free.”
He leans into the wall next to me, and cracks a water bottle open. Takes a swig. “They couldn’t possibly bring you here if you didn’t want to come,” he says, studying me intently. “It will be easier if we collaborate. Tell me why you came.”
“I need one of your creatures freed,” I say, too quickly.
He nods. “My collection is the best in the Americas. Kept under excellent care with the luxury of protection. I meet their every demand met. Agree to let me study you and they walk. I won’t chase.”
“I see her walk.”
“I cuff and sedate. She walks and calls you after you express eager participation.”
For Theia? “Deal.”
“Excellent.” He grabs a paring knife, and approaches me. “Consider this next step your first test.” He looks at Lesenia. At least her body. “I apologize in advance for jumping to stereotypes, but no one does business with a killer.”
I jut my chin out, ready for the slice.
He drags the blade across his chest, deep, long, pink spilling out. “Help!” he shouts, giving me the knife, winking, holding his wound as he slams a red button on the wall. “Please! Help! The Fury’s crazed! She’s killed them!”
40
Sin
I don't have the answer. Ask her
Adrenaline courses through me as Emil’s security busts through the door, Lesenia’s on their tail, weapons drawn, expressions wild with shock and fear.
I push off the floor and launch into Nat, knocking her clear off the chair and throwing us both down hard, my bigger body shielding hers.
Everything is going wrong.
The ichor swimming in our whiskey.
Lesenia’s body.
Fucking Emil, offering to experiment on Nat.
Nat. Agreeing.
They’re rushing me.
“Deal?” I snarl in Nat’s face as shouts call for us to put our hands up, and bullets bleed into the back of the couch behind us. I wrestle Emil’s knife from her hand, winning it through shell shock, and rise to my knees and chuck it at our host.
It drives straight into his skull, packed so tight, no blood leaks out until he topples over.
The gunfire stops.
I spring to my feet, ready to make lemonade out of bloodshed. The bigger of Lesenia’s guards, the one who hit Nat, is frozen with his gun raised, the other has hands behind his head. They’ve spotted her body. Emil’s own security exchanges matching confused looks.
Slowly, as if realizing their bosses are unable to issue commands, four guns center on me.
My heart pounds incessantly as I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender.
Lemon fracks into me, separating atoms and forcing me to crack.
Nat can be pissed all she wants.
Throwing herself on the pyre. Again. Agreeing to chains, sedation, obedience.
Nat in chains.
The idea scorches. The fury inside me becomes a living, breathing thing, fueled by the betrayal and manipulation that surrounds us.
Nat stirs on the floor, cautious.
Surprised that I’m alive?
Did she really think I’d fall for the poison trap without her as a distraction?
I can’t look at her right now, can’t face the burden of her decision to agree to Emil’s twisted experiments.
Instead, I focus on the guns trained on me.
“Now, now, gentleman,” I say, driving a wave of compliance toward them. “Isn’t losing your jobs a sad enough ending for today?”
They shift on their feet, indecision a crack in their armor.
A single wrong move, a single twitch of a finger, and this whole place will erupt in gunfire. But I’ve been in tighter spots before.
I infuse agreeableness and exhaustion into the room in thick drowning waves. “Here’s what will happen. We’re all going to lay down our—”
My watch beeps. Blasts an ear grating alarm.
A finger slips. A gun fires. I twist to suffer the hit in the meat of my upper arm. Brace.
Fast as the Gods, Nat rams me out of the way with a crash of her body into mine.
I wrench a knife from my belt, launch it at the shooter, and reach for another as I slam into the bar, ribs cracking, shattering a decent red.
Without pausing, Nat leaps into the fray, retrieving my knife from the shooter’s arm to jab it into the top of his shoulder, and slice across his throat. A splatter of pink.
I’d thought …
Humiliation and pride war in my chest. She’s been taking it easy on me.
Even then, she was a formidable opponent.
This. She is a weapon.
She works furiously, frantically, red leather bending easily, silky straight hair wrapped around her neck. She dodges blows and delivers death. Doesn’t pause as she hamstrings one assailant, severs the jugular of another, never slows.
The rest of us catch up slowly, too slowly.
A baton cracks over Nat’s back.
It’s should be nothing more than a kiss to a Fury, except it sends her sprawling onto the floor, collapsing.
The sight of her, my Fury brought low eclipses all reason.
I throw myself at the remaining assailants, a snarl slashing up my throat. My fists connect with flesh and bone. The agony of any blows gets drowned out by the pounding of blood in my ears.
The last male falls, face a ruined mess of blood and shattered teeth.
I stand over him, heaving, knuckles torn. My knives are dug into every major artery of his body.
The room smells like carnage. Tastes like lemons.
Nat’s on her knees, a lone hand braced against the floor, the other clutching her neck. Pink paints her olive skin with a shimmer, wades along her bent legs.
Silver leaks from under her palm. Pure silver.
Her eyes meet mine. A strange, low sound leaks from her mouth.
Pain.
Such pain, my chest wrenches.
She sways.
I’m there, cradling her into me, ichor blistering my hands as I push against the gash in her neck to stem the flow.
A deep grisly cut is torn across her throat. She took the bullet for me. Even after everything.
My limbs lock up like a statue. My eyes refuse to blink.
“You.” My voice is like sandpaper. “You are the most fucking infuriating creature in the world.” I haul her closer to me, careful not to cause discomfort. “Why would you do this to me?”
Her eyelids flutter as if struggling to remain open.
Ichor bubbles at the corner of her mouth.
My hand is slick with it, skin peeling apart, slow caustic drips corroding my arm.
I apply more pressure against the wound, yank her closer.
