Chapter 16
R hode’s rage was a practiced undertaking, and that was about the only thing in recent memory he could honestly say he was proud of. When examining all the good he’d accomplished in his existence, his ability to only fly off the handle when called to do so had turned into a calling card of sorts. An expertise. A skill set so rare and valuable that, in a different time, full-blooded Empyrean warriors had learned to tread with care where his temper was concerned, ensuring it was only called upon in pursuit of the enemy rather than misdirected elsewhere.
Well, all of that careful toe-stepping had flown right out the fucking window, apparently, and maybe that was for everyone’s benefit.
Loose cannons were liabilities. Any sentinel in that room would be the first to say so, and they had, in no uncertain terms. And he sought to, what? Convince them that suffering somehow equaled service? That his time trapped in the proverbial trenches negated the eons that the others spent in actual service, with actual skills strengthened through familial bonds he had been severed from long ago?
Dammit, he was better than that, but hell if any part of him could see that beyond the temptation of what vengeance offered or the?—
“God dammit !” His shoulder slammed into the wall’s granite corner before Neela, who never looked backward and was seemingly annoyed at his sudden lack of propulsion, grabbed him and yanked his arm harder, until he had no choice but to follow.
“Door . . . Door . . . There must be a door around here . . . Ah! Door! In here.”
No sooner had the sting in his muscles subsided when the door latch clicked behind him and the motion sensor lights fired up. Once he finally got his fire and fury under control, he slowly tried to center himself among the great mountain’s soothing minerals and . . . sacks of chickpea flour? “Why are we in the food pantry?”
“Because this was the first place I could find with an unlocked door that could afford us some privacy.”
“And why would we need privacy?” he gritted out.
Neela whirled on him and pointed a finger at his chest. “Do you even really need to ask me that? Because if you had any ounce of awareness, you’d be able to tell that you were about to go all Silver Surfer meets Human Torch in there, and I don’t think either of us would have appreciated the ramifications of that temper tantrum.”
Cold clarity returned to him. “Temper. Tantrum? Never, in all my years, has a female spoken to me as if the very fury of the Empyrean was being wielded by none other than a toddler.”
“Yeah, well, what would you call it when the person pitching a fit is too stuck in his own emotions to be able to hear that his family’s complaints about him are one hundred percent?—”
“If you think for one fucking second that I’ll let you?—”
“—unequivocally—”
“—insert yourself where you don’t?—”
“— wrong! ”
“—belong . . . Wait, what?”
“What?”
Neela staggered backward and threw out a hand to support herself against a shelf containing commercially sized cans of San Marzano tomatoes. Likewise, Rhode felt a similar ricochet, but her barbs didn’t slay so much as stun him.
Had she just said . . .?
And then he saw it. The deepening pink creeping high into her cheeks, the upturned creases in the corners of her eyes threatening to dip southward. The way her expression didn’t just soften but somehow melted and reformed into an icy awareness that always came when one tried to mask their wounds.
“Shit. Neela, I didn’t mean?—”
But she cut her gaze away and examined a basket of baby purple potatoes while she cleared a gather of emotion from her throat. “What I was trying to say is that your family is wrong, Rhode, and trust me, I’m not just saying that to try and make you feel better. I have zero interest where that’s concerned.” A near-silent sniffle pricked his celestial senses before quickly dissipating beneath her words. “I’m saying all this because when something’s worth fighting for, sometimes the desire to correct the misconception can be lost behind the desire to be correct. And believe me when I tell you that I don’t say this because I’m smart. It’s just that I have firsthand experience with sticking to problems a whole lot longer than most others. It kind of comes with the territory when, as you pointed out, one has a habit of not belonging.” Glistening honeyed eyes found him, and he cursed himself for having put the sheen there to begin with.
Then cursed himself anew for admiring the unique shimmer, as well as the way his fingers itched to cradle her red cheeks and call his thumbs into service to swipe away the first tear that might fall because of his callousness.
“Why do you think neither you nor my sire have managed to chase me away yet? I promise you, it’s not for lack of trying but because I am as persistent as you are important to what Cyro has in store. And if you would stop fighting me for more than one damn second, I’d be more than happy to explain my theory on the subject.”
Rhode’s ire had finally begun to ebb, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was grateful for the relief. While his rage fled him, other emotions and observations filed in. Neela’s tattered tunic had been replaced with a hunter-green sweaterdress that seemed to cradle every abundant curve of softness with a whispered invitation written for him alone. Expertly brushed brown leather boots hugged each generous calf, enrobing her legs in a confection that left only a slice of ivory skin at her knees to tempt him, which was another test of will he hardly needed.
Just when in the hell had she gotten all of that?
And then he remembered the black SUV that had sat parked outside the animal shelter. Drea’s vehicle.
Did you expect her to stay in the same tattered clothes you found her in forever? It’s not like you offered to help her in that regard.
No, he hadn’t, on either front. Though he’d have been remiss to admit, even to himself, that he wouldn’t have experienced at least some small joy in ripping those tattered clothes off her.
Shit. No.
This wasn’t him. Whatever madness had him fighting with family and screaming at the only being who could help him was a new type of mental warfare. One he would make damn sure he demolished before another bout of rage got the better of him.
Rhode stepped forward and guided Neela’s hands away from the innocent produce. When she let him, thank the mages, he took it as the good omen he needed but most certainly didn’t deserve. Riding that wave of fortune, he slid his palms up her arms, appreciating the way her limbs felt when kissed by cashmere, and cupped her shoulders. Instantly, that now-familiar burn began to swirl within his core, filling his muscles with a tender recognition his body seemed to search out at every opportunity.
“I am sorry. It was shameful of me to behave the way I did.”
Neela sniffed, then tried to back away, but his fingers tightened on her shoulders. “No, hear me. I cannot find the words to honestly apologize unless you’re near enough to feel the truth of them. I was . . . not myself.”
She reared back and lifted a brow, taking his measure as well as testing the veracity of his words. Her searching gaze pricked at parts of him that were still far too tender to suffer such scrutiny. Was she seeking out her own truth or searching for the bits of his that were so buried beneath the rubble that there was no hope of any such golden rays ever reaching them?
The truth—the real truth—wasn’t solely that he hadn’t acted as himself just then but that . . .
“I’m not entirely sure I know who my true self is any longer,” he confessed in a harsh whisper.
Those knowing eyes softened a tad. “Good.”
“Good?” He reared back slightly, equal parts confused at her remark and relieved she was still talking to him.
A tremor of fortification stilled her shoulders. “I think I can help with that, at least.”
He quirked a brow at her. “Oh?”
“Now that I know who you are, what you are, I believe I know more about what Cyro plans to do with the other half of the relic.” She stepped out of his hold, and that time, he let her, though she took a part of him with her as she chewed a fingernail and paced a small circle in front of the mountain of cereal boxes. “I think he might be using the relic’s magic to fuse remnants of your celestial DNA with parts of himself to create beings that can survive in the light and, therefore, breach the walls of the Empyrean.”
A chilling stillness choked off all movement to his limbs while words died on his tongue.
No . . .
“And this time, there’s no reason it won’t work,” she continued before ticking off her fingers. “He’s got his dark magic, a powerful relic of the Empyrean’s gates, and your celestial DNA. The relic was the piece he hadn’t quite managed to figure out before you were freed. But now, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he finds the right combination of all that and mashes it together to create some super charmer capable of doing what I failed to.” A remnant of pain tightened her vocal cords, but she managed to push her words through regardless. “So that’s why you’re more integral than your brothers realize. That’s why they’re wrong about you.”
Then a concerning pallor chased away what remained of the bitter emotion he’d put on her face. Neela dug her fingers into her hair, pulling so tautly at the hairline that even her brows seemed alarmed. When she lifted her face to his again, any glimmers of confidence that had originally emboldened her enough to drag a raging seraph from a room full of Empyrean warriors had receded. All that remained was the uncertain tight lines pulling her features into an expression of fear he’d last seen when she was trapped beneath the charmers’ net.
He liked it not at all, and his fire agreed, churning violently within him.
Neela’s lip quivered before she stilled it and lifted her chin. “And I’m about to take you back to the one place I finally managed to free myself from.”