Chapter 22
D rea and Molly quick-stepped in front of Neela but were barely able to make any headway due to Iron’s and Titan’s broad backs walling them into a pocket as they led the way toward wherever the hell they were going to stash her. Behind Neela, Brass’s soft but insistent footsteps rounded out the shittastic symphony of her circumstances.
Somehow, due to a feat of flexibility beyond Neela’s comprehension, Drea’s six-foot-plus frame ducked low and had managed to wedge itself in between the two sentinels before turning around in front of them to finally get their attention. “This is bullshit,” she asserted, throwing her hands wide as she shuffled backward to keep pace.
Titan gingerly moved her out of the way and kept walking. “This is protocol.”
“It’s bullshit protocol,” Molly fired back, though Brass was able to grab her hand and hold her before she tried to get around Iron. Now, that was a back Neela didn’t want to go up against, no matter how much she’d love to heel-kick the bastard between the shoulder blades for going along with this.
Ten feet ahead of their adventuring party was Rhode. Even from this distance, Neela could tell that the annoying scalp wrinkle at the back of his head hadn’t lost its tension in the slightest, nor had the hard set of his shoulders as he stormed a trail in front of them. She didn’t know what was more ominous: Rhode’s stark avoidance of her or the dark granite tunnel she was being led down. Or was it up ? At one point, the ground beneath her had seemed like there was a slight elevation to it, which her right knee did not appreciate whatsoever, but then, after a few turns, things had seemed to level out. The walls became smoother, and beneath the evenly spaced lanterns, the crags and shards she’d expected to see had faded away until there was no longer a discernible way to tell which hallway they’d come down.
It was so very different from the underground life she’d lived before popping up to the surface. Cyro’s homestead had always been one of bare necessities and temporary measures because of the desire, or perhaps the need, to move so often. There were no stationary electric lanterns to light her way back to her room, only floating orbs of green magic that her eyes barely tolerated. Since humanity’s existence, they’d mostly set up shop in vacated mortal dwellings or abandoned sites. Whatever was left behind was what the charmers had to work with, and that meant only the most minimal of structures ever saw any sort of renovations.
Absolutely nothing was carved smooth.
Smooth meant care. Smooth meant an artistic touch and a desire for comfort and beauty.
All things that were the exact opposite of what she’d known. That was, except for in her suite of rooms and her greenhouse, where, with her sun lamps and electric lights and multimonitor gaming setup, she could manifest her desires without fear of her sire’s interference because his magic couldn’t harm her there any more than it could harm her anywhere.
Or so she’d thought.
But as Rhode stopped in front of a metallic door up ahead and her steps slowed to mimic the halting caravan, her mind reeled over every truth she thought she’d known and came up more shaken than sure.
“You are not putting her in there,” Molly barked. “No fucking way.”
“Rhode,” Drea pleaded, placing her hand on his forearm as he unlocked the door. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for all this. There has to be. Neela did not lie to you. She’s your soul bond! That’s like saying the sun has secretly been plotting to poison all life on Earth while simultaneously growing all life on Earth. It doesn’t make any sense!”
“Don’t talk to me about sunlight,” he snarled under his breath.
The door creaked open and swayed on its hinges while everyone stood in the hall waiting. It was a strange halt to the proceedings, one that reminded Neela of opening a bottle of red wine, only to have to wait on that first sip because the contents needed to breathe. Whatever the hell that meant.
Neela peeked around Iron’s shoulder into the room, and her jaw dropped. If this was what Rhode considered a cell, then their barrier to understanding each other was even wider than the chasm of their silence.
The room was a carved cavern of modest comfort and unstated luxury. If she thought the hallway’s granite walls were smooth before, this room’s foundation put that all to shame, boasting a fine polished shine she’d only seen on the finest opal or pearl gemstones. No adornments covered the walls, and if she’d lived in such a rich mineral palace, she wasn’t sure she could bear to cover them either. There was beauty in simplicity, and the room’s structure had surpassed beauty some time ago, screeching into solid opulent territory.
And that was only the tip of the iceberg in terms of surprises. Simple yet functional furniture stood like monoliths in the silent space. A solid dark oak dresser sat along one wall, catty-corner not to one but three matching armoires so large they could easily have held an entire family’s worth of seasonal clothes, bulky winter wear, and still had room for formal attire.
A large bed with simple gray cotton sheets fitted to military precision anchored the stone room, and at the foot of the bed was a massive chest long enough to house pool cues or, if the angels managed to figure out how to get one down there, perhaps a compact vehicle.
There were no mirrors, not even in the small bathroom connected to the space, from what she could see of it at any rate. The suite was entirely barren of adornment but was more than adequate in size and amenities. It was quietly comfortable, if incredibly lonely.
Hardly what she’d consider a cell, though how often did the angels need to take prisoners? The chilly thought sobered her. Was that what she was? A prisoner?
“In.” Rhode’s harsh order pulled goose bumps from her skin, and her feet were already marching before she could question what she was walking into or why.
Her heels barely click-clacked over the threshold, amid Drea and Molly’s very vocal protestations, when movement down the hall to her left caught her eye.
There in the meager lantern light stood Chrome. His arms were folded across his massive chest as he leaned a shoulder against the wall, boots crossed at the ankle, and face so fixed in its consternation she couldn’t imagine there was any hope of warming it toward even a placid grin of indifference.
And she was right. Rhode spared the other angel a glance as the rest of their party fell silent.
“Chrome . . .” Drea whispered, obviously somewhat relieved to see him, but her eyes shared the same wariness that crossed the other angels’ expressions.
Chrome didn’t nod, didn’t acknowledge her in any way, didn’t take his focus from anyone other than Rhode.
The air in the tunnel thickened so much, Neela tried to swallow back the tension just so she could breathe freely again. This wasn’t right. Whatever had happened between these two, whatever rift her presence had caused, it was tantamount to two planets converging toward a cataclysmic explosion. If the course wasn’t corrected soon, the ripple effect would have untold devastating consequences.
She should say something. Plead, beg, scream, just something . This was her fault, and it wasn’t right that this family should suffer so harshly as a result of saving her—of knowing her.
Neela retreated from the room slightly and directed what little voice she could find toward Chrome. “If there’s anything I did, know that?—”
“ In .” Rhode pressed a palm between her shoulder blades, the first touch he’d given her since he’d revived her, and guided her forward with surprising force. Not gentle but not unyielding either. She stumbled but quickly caught herself and straightened.
Drea glared at him. “Don’t be a dick, Rhode.” Then she gentled her expression and smiled sadly at Neela. “We’ll get this sorted out as soon as possible.”
“Precautions,” Titan elaborated, if one could call that an elaboration.
Neela suspected that what the second-in-command wanted to say was, “Precautions against a charmer invasion. Precautions against a demon insider and would-be traitor. Precautions against an infiltrated spy who has access to our soul bonds and the underground home we all share.”
“I understand,” she offered quietly, even though she understood about as little of what the hell was going on as how she was even still breathing, let alone standing upright to argue over semantics. But making waves was not worth it, not when her supposed soul bond refused to even look at her. The way the fingers he’d touched her with instantly recoiled into his palm was enough of an indication to prove that the few people she’d started the day off with in her corner were quickly jumping ship.
Neela smiled back her understanding to Drea, clasped her hands in front of her, and waited for the door to slam.
There were shoddier places she could be. Hell, she imagined a hard floor, leaking stone walls, rodents, maybe a dilapidated pallet, and a bucket of dubious liquids. A girl could do far worse than a clean mattress and sheets when trying to clear her mind and figure out just how the hell the male who had begun to consume more than just her thoughts suddenly?—
Rhode stepped into the room with her and, without touching the solid metallic door, willed it to slam closed.