Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Tingling fingertips nudged Icarus toward wakefulness. Searing heat and the acrid stench of smoke shoved him the rest of the way there.
“Fuck!” He yanked his dangling hand out of the sunlight that streaked through the gap in the balcony blinds. Flopping onto his back, he cradled his smoking hand against his chest and made sure none of the rest of him was singed.
Flame-free.
And Adam-free.
The realization struck like lightning, and Icarus nearly burned himself again as he hurtled to his feet, tangled in a quilt and tripping across the sunbeam.
Where the fuck was Adam?
Heart in his throat, he raced around the apartment.
No sign of the other man. Last night, he’d said they were safe, but Icarus couldn’t kick the sinking feeling he was missing something, that safe was a more flexible term in Adam’s mind than in his.
Why had he left without waking him? Where had he gone?
Forcing his racing mind and jittery limbs to still was a monumental feat, but his eyes weren’t doing the trick.
He flexed his other senses. No sounds but the usual outside his four walls, and inside, nothing but the lingering scent of sex from earlier this morning.
Was it still morning? Not likely, given the brightness of the sun streaming in through his balcony door.
He went to grab his phone to check the time and to text her to see if she could pull traffic cam footage to determine which direction Adam had gone.
He’d have to deal with her I told you so—she’d not been convinced when he’d messaged that they were safe and he wouldn’t be running—but he’d eat crow if he had to for Adam’s sake.
Time to put the kidnap plan into action, regardless of the outcome.
It had to be better than Adam dead. He lifted the phone from the charger—the screen flashing half past noon—and found a folded piece of paper under it.
He snatched up the note and read the scribbled words.
You still owe me dessert. Don’t go far. —AD
Icarus’s panic waned, the sinking feeling muted, as a reel of devilish desserts from earlier flitted through his mind.
Easing his cock out of Adam’s ass and replacing it with his fingers, keeping him stuffed full, helping him come down gently.
Adam likewise gently removing the cock ring and massager from his sensitive parts, light touches and lingering kisses soothing the satisfied ache.
The two of them on the floor, Adam between his legs, licking up the come that had dribbled on Icarus’s thighs.
Moving to the couch, limbs tangled, cuddled together under the quilt, Adam’s warm breath and steady snores a calming breeze over Icarus’s chest, seducing him to sleep as well.
Intimacy overload—the kind Adam had needed, and the kind Icarus hadn’t realized he’d needed too.
They’d had dessert, but apparently Adam wanted more, and Icarus didn’t think he meant only the sweet kind.
Wanting to be ready for him, Icarus gathered the toys, his robe and undergarments, and his bag off the floor, careful not to catch the sun’s rays.
In the bedroom, he withdrew his laptop out of the bag and put it back in its safe, then dumped the rest of the bag’s contents on the bed.
After a quick shower, he pulled on lace briefs, jeans, and one of his off-the-shoulder knits, then put everything back where it belonged.
He got as far as the fridge in the kitchen, an express meal in hand, when a bird screeched outside his balcony door.
Panic surged, blinding in its intensity, last night’s prickle at the base of his spine now sharp as a knife. He dropped the vial and it shattered, blood splattering the white tile floor.
Adam’s words from last night came hurtling back at him.
Safe with you.
He hadn’t actually answered Icarus’s question. He was only safe last night because he was in the company of an apex predator. But now he wasn’t. Adam wasn’t safe, not like he’d apparently made Icarus and Paris. By doing what? “Fuck!”
Kraa! Kraa! Kraa!
Icarus didn’t think it was possible, but the knife in his back twisted, all the way to his gut, making it churn. He was certain the bird outside the door wasn’t like the crow from the other day. Certain it wasn’t a crow at all, but a different corvid. A much bigger one.
KRAA!
Fighting the wobble of his knees, Icarus stepped over the mess in the kitchen, snagged the quilt off the sofa, and made his way to the door.
Hand wrapped in the fabric, he didn’t bother to hide his speed or strength as he reached through the blinds and shoved open the door, breaking the lock and rattling the glass in the metal frame.
The raven outside had to know what he was, same as he knew exactly who the raven was.
The giant black bird tottered through the blinds, its violet eyes tracking every step Icarus took out of his way. “Are you here for me or for him?” Icarus asked, recalling Adam’s words to the shifter—the psychopomp—the other night.
The bird jumped from the floor to the couch to the end of the kitchen counter, then spread its massive wings and flew into the bedroom. A crash of a lamp, a whoosh, and then several moments later, the black-haired man from the Canyon Lands the other night reemerged, wrapped in Icarus’s robe.
Icarus leaned against the opposite wall, keeping his distance. “Well . . .”
The shifter’s eyes flicked to the kitchen floor, then back to Icarus. “To be determined.”
“Where’s he gone?”
“The Canyon Lands.”
“Fuck!” Icarus shoved off the wall. “What are you doing here?” He flung an arm toward the door. “Go help him.”
“That’s not my role in this.”
“Bullshit! You helped him the other night.”
“I owed him.” Arms folded over his chest, fingers clutching his biceps, the raven—Cormac, Icarus recalled—rested on the arm of the couch. Icarus didn’t think he liked that answer any more than Icarus had. The words that came next Icarus liked even less. “And I’ve been looking for you.”
“Me?”
“Michael Rollins.”
Icarus rocked back a step and froze. “What did you just say?”
“Your name. From before you went missing. Five days before the Rift.” He withdrew Icarus’s phone out of the pocket of the robe and held it out to him, a secure web page open. “You’re a cold case in my stack of many.”
The picture of the teen displayed onscreen was barely recognizable to Icarus. Had been then too on his first day at the shelter. “Still am.”
“You’re a soul I was supposed to deliver.”
Icarus pocketed his phone. “Which direction?” He wasn’t religious—he’d fled those people eons ago—but certain notions lingered and were reflected across ideologies. Eternal peace or eternal torment? Worth asking.
Cormac didn’t answer.
Fuck whatever happened to Icarus. He was always doomed. But Adam . . . Adam had had enough loss. Icarus wouldn’t let him lose his own life, and certainly not for a life and soul that was already lost. “Not until I save Adam.”
Cormac’s eyes flicked again to the kitchen, to the blood and glass splashed across the floor. “Saving lives isn’t what your kind usually specializes in.”
“I have a way of fucking up, but I think you knew that already, Detective Kelley.”
Violet eyes shot to his. “You know who I am?”
“You cops aren’t the only ones who can excavate.”
“Your file is rather thick.”
Icarus spread his arms. “I am what I am.”
“So go.” The raven tilted his head toward the balcony door. “I’m not ready to take his soul yet either.”
“Did you miss the sun part?”
“I didn’t.” Standing, he crossed to the kitchen, took a long-legged step over the mess on the floor, and opened the freezer, withdrawing the single vial. “I also didn’t miss the part in your file about this.”
In a flash, Icarus closed the distance between them and snatched the vial of Daylight out of his hand. “Then why’d you even come here? Why didn’t you just go help him?”
Cormac didn’t budge, didn’t back down in the face of Icarus’s fury or trembling anxiousness. “I had to be sure I was right. About you.” Sadness darkened his glowing eyes, and his tan face drained of color. “I owed them.”
Icarus turned the vial over in his hand.
How much did he owe Adam already? Could he be safe knowing that his safety was bought with Adam’s life?
With the lives of countless others—like the kid Adam had rescued—who wouldn’t have the Devil to keep them safe anymore?
Not a chance in hell. He flicked off the cap of the tube and tipped the vial up to his lips, drinking the magic down.
Not the emergency he’d planned for, but the only one that mattered right then.
He tossed the empty vial into the trash and cringed at the strange magical sensation coursing through his veins, lifting the hairs on his arms and making him impervious to the big ball of light in the sky.
He moved into the living room and tested an arm in the sun.
No smoke.
He yanked back the blinds on the balcony door. Still no smoke. “You know where he’s headed?” Icarus asked as he shoved his feet into his combat boots. He didn’t figure the detective had gone through all this trouble just to sit on the sidelines.
He figured right.
Magic crackled through the air, and then the raven flew over his head and out the door. Icarus bounded over the balcony rail after him, into the sun, chasing the warmth he’d only just found and wasn’t ready to lose.