Chapter 28
T he next week was a furor of logistics, location scouting, way too much time underground, and nowhere near enough time under Neela’s soul bond.
It turned out that busting the seal on Rhode’s pain and his full power made for a rather ravenous angel.
But like a girl was about to complain? It was, not so ironically, absolute heaven.
Everyone’s safety concerns over Cyro’s next move had hit Mach 3 levels of unease since Neela was known to be with the angels. One of the armories, because of course there were several, had quickly been turned into more of what she would deem a proper war room, save for the espresso machine, which was, in the end, regrettably relocated. But as Rhode explained, close proximity to their weapons cache allowed for proper examination of next steps. Thanks to what Rhode was finally able to share with everyone, amendments to the angels’ tactical and mechanical approaches had become more important than ever.
Cyro was ready to deploy magic that could not only destroy the sentinels’ metals on contact during any combat mission but, if the charmers ever managed to examine Rhode’s DNA for the right markers, may have found ways to create their own magic-resistant metal and use it against the angels.
There was no shortage of possibilities scrutinized when it came to what Cyro might do, and every night when Rhode dragged his exhausted body back to bed, he’d regale Neela with another weapon the angels hadn’t considered Cyro capable of, as well as which weapons of theirs would serve best in which scenarios. Closely wielded blades, long-range firearms, angel fire, shields, flight attacks—not a single option was left unexplored. He, along with every other angel in the den, had taken to walking around like the celestial equivalent of caffeinated zombies. There wasn’t a single hard-set jaw among them that hadn’t displayed signs of twitching, whether from stress, lack of sleep, or Iron pulling unhealthy amounts of doppio espresso shots and passing them out like Halloween candy.
Amid all the chaos of trying to plot out Cyro’s next move and after the consensus seemed to favor Neela staying in the den since she was being actively hunted, she’d made some discoveries of her own.
The first: she missed the sunlight desperately.
The second: she was in deeper trouble than she realized when it came to Rhode.
All those self-proclamations and pep talks about keeping her emotional distance from the angel went right out the proverbial window when he joined her in bed each night. It was like every ounce of mental energy had been so completely sucked dry from the man that by the time he left the others, his physical needs had been so far neglected to the point of starvation.
They exchanged very few words when he came to her. Didn’t need to, really. There were so many ways to care for someone, yet so few of them that required connection without speaking, fulfillment without asking, satisfaction without regret or concern.
After the first night she stayed in his room, he’d petitioned Iron to equip his space with comforts for her. Computers, gaming consoles, headphones, microphones, whatever she described when he asked after what her former quarters had looked like, what she had missed most. Soon, the barren space had taken on a new life with the simple additions of color-changing string lights, an Internet connection she almost— almost —got down on her knees to worship, and the largest pink-leafed aglaonema she’d ever seen.
But it was the unknown comfort of hearing that door close each night and having his hands seek her out before anything else that settled a soothing calmness into spaces she didn’t know could be reached. The angel had a knack for hunting down her tension and obliterating it into pieces too small to ever find their way back together.
Most nights, he’d find her at the desk he had set up. The workspace was one of those electric numbers, with programmable buttons that could adjust the height of the desk should she need to stand and stretch during one of her games. Always, he started with her headphones, peeling them over the back of her head and gently lifting the weight of her hair off her shoulders before dropping a kiss on the tattoo behind her ear that only he could see. Then he’d flip off the camera, which she had taken to having on for certain games, but never the microphone.
It was a dangerous game the spy in him loved to play, and just like everything he did when they were alone, it thrilled her to no end.
“No noises, little demon, or they’ll hear you.” The whispered reminder was only ever said once, but it was enough to last the hours that would follow.
Rhode would conquer her like a spy invading enemy territory knowing they might get caught at any moment. He’d strip her bare and chart every inch of her with his mouth. In certain areas, he’d take his time, using his tongue to map out the exact curvature of her calf or flare of her hip before it dipped into where his hands gripped her waist. When he’d finally slide into her, though, he always made sure that his mouth was on hers as he pulled her passion into him. The result was a balm to both their souls. Every time his hips curled and he’d thrust deeper into her, he chased away the darkened tendrils of a past that she never fathomed she could truly break free of.
It was a raw, primal gift and one she’d never tire of opening, even if it did come draped in the trappings of their situation rather than true sentiments.
Regardless, they had been the happiest days of her life, until Rhode declared the angels were planning another ambush on the entrance to Cyro’s hideaway. As in, the very one she and Rhode had just been ambushed at .
“The guy’s probably not even there anymore. Seriously,” Neela said over breakfast one morning. She was just working up a good schmear of scallion cream cheese on her everything bagel when the most asinine strategy to have ever been uttered nearly soured her already-tart fresh-squeezed orange juice.
Iron sighed and ran a heavy hand through his beard, looking for all the world like no amount of coffee or breakfast pastries could make his day better. “It’s called offense. We go in Kool-Aid Man style, take out anything that moves, grab the relic, douse the place in angel fire, and get back in time for dinner.”
“Yeah, except Cyro’s not an idiot, nor is he predictable. I’m willing to bet both slices of your turkey bacon that he’s no longer even there. One important thing to know about the charmers is that we move constantly . I don’t have to tell you how expendable we are. Trust me, if Cyro’s figured out that he’s on your immediate radar again and that I’m with you, you can bet your ass he knows why and that he’s taken precautions to control the game.” Neela grabbed her fork and scooped up some capers out of the jar, while Rhode sat next to her silently sipping his coffee. “If I know him at all, not only is he not there anymore but the relic is with him. So you can Kool-Aid Man that place all you want, it won’t make a difference.”
A startled hush fell around the table. Neela had taken two whole bites before she realized that just maybe she was still a teensy bit annoyed over how Iron had unquestioningly sided with Rhode during her little prison march earlier.
Great, Neela. Way to win friends and influence people.
“What I meant to say was?—”
Rhode settled his arm around her shoulders and began to knead away the knot of tension at the base of her skull that always flared up whenever lots of eyes were on her. She sank into his touch and was more than content to let him shut her up for a few moments. They had all been discussing things for a good hour, after all. But then a niggling idea floated to the surface, and damn if her mouth didn’t latch onto that thing and send it sailing throughout the room.
“Why not use me as bait?”
Rhode’s hand froze, and the chilly rumble of his voice hit her ear. “No.”
“No, wait, hear me out!” Holy shit, was she about to say this? Neela did a quick mental gut check. Yup, we’re doing this. All systems go. And then she turned to Rhode but addressed the rest of the table. “I know you’ve been fighting Cyro for ages, but I’ve lived with him nearly just as long. I know his habits, his preferences, even his motivations. I know what sets him off, and I also know how his mind works. Whatever offensive action you’re planning will be for a battle that, in his mind, he’s already fought, won, and has moved on from. He’s a futuristic thinker. It motivates every action he’s ever taken.”
Tungsten nodded thoughtfully. “It does make sense. All these years, he’s always been a step or two ahead.”
“Exactly!” Neela pointed out. “So why not do something he has no possible way to plan for? Draw him out. He knows I’m dangerous, not for what I can or can’t do but for what I represent. He’s looking for me in the same way he’s been looking for an answer on how to access the Empyrean. I’m a liability he can’t afford to have out in the world.”
“No.” Rhode’s audible snap to the word would have stiffened anyone else’s spine but not hers.
This could work. This is good. This is . . .
“It’s not happening,” he said.
“Like hell it isn’t!” Neela threw her napkin on the table.
“I won’t deny the danger involved,” Tungsten added, “but I can see the merit to the plan. It’s not ideal, but we now have precautions Cyro doesn’t know about.”
Rhode stood from the table and flashed his teeth at the prime sentinel. “How can you possibly be entertaining this?”
Tungsten didn’t stand, opting for quiet composure instead of chaos. “Because it makes sense. Pure and simple. Neela’s right. We’ve done the ambush routine. I’m not saying it isn’t effective,” he said, holding his hand out to Iron in consolation, “but perhaps it’s no longer the right application for this circumstance. Think, brother. Think of all we have on our side. Not only can you command a celestial power Cyro doesn’t know you have, but you can do so to its fullest strength, along with metallic magic none of us can wield. Also, he doesn’t know what we know about Neela’s true origins or her abilities. The charmers at the amusement park didn’t live long enough to report back. We do have surprise on our side. Why not take advantage?” Tung’s eyes gentled. “Besides, do you really think I would even consider the idea at all if I didn’t think you could keep Neela safe better than anyone?”
“Rhode, please,” Neela said, grabbing his hand and holding it between hers. “Let me do this for you. For us. For your family. I promise you it will work.”
It was a long time before anyone broke the silence that had settled over the room. It was as if everyone was in some sort of mental standoff with each other, with imaginary guns held from both arms and aimed at whoever voiced the biggest threat.
It wasn’t so much a pregnant pause but a perennial one. But just when Neela couldn’t take it anymore, Iron stood from the table, swiped his breakfast sandwich to go, and said, “If we’re doing this, I better get as much done during the day as I can. Some of us still need to recharge at night, and if I’ve got to keep one eye out for Cyro and the other one making sure Rhode doesn’t go fucking postal because his soul bond has a death wish, then I’m going to need to have a goddamn geriatric bedtime.” Iron gestured at Rhode. “You know what to do.” Then he pushed his plate toward Neela before he grabbed his coffee and left.
It was a long time before Rhode finally broke the silence.
“I can’t tell you how much I hate that you’re right,” he said as he pulled Neela against him and settled her head beneath his chin. “I hate it so damn much, little demon.” The defeat in his voice was palpable. Then his tone quickly turned predatory. “But not more than I want to fight for you. I trust you, but I know better than to ever expect you to trust me back.”
The raw truth of his words felt like venom on her skin, a symptom of the barrier that he always erected between them. She snuggled farther into his chest regardless. “Is it so hard to trust each other?”
“I am a spy,” he said by way of explanation.
“And I am a demon.”
“Yes. But you are my demon, and I’ll always protect what’s mine. Always.”
Always . . .
Achingly private memories of her harboring that similar sentiment misted her eyes. She’d once thought such a thing might be possible between them, when he was no more than a tortured prisoner and she a pathetic charmer who’d foolishly hoped that she alone could save them from the hell they’d been confined to.
It was a different time, though. She knew that now. And this, whatever this was between them, had turned out to give her far more always than the frazzled fabrications a desperate caregiver could ever hope to offer.
Some parts of the past served no purpose traveling into the future. So no, she didn’t need to dredge up anything, not for him. He’d gone through enough, and for that matter, so had she.
His words should have pleased her, but instead, they only made her sadder. Rhode had once thought the same thing of Chrome, that the intelligence master was his to protect, and in the end, he’d suffered irrevocably for it.
She’d never ask him to suffer again, but she didn’t see a way out of stopping Cyro otherwise.
So she said nothing. Neither of them did. And as the plates were cleared around them, Neela finally broke from Rhode’s embrace to help with the dishes. But when she’d glanced down at where she’d been sitting, an unexpected gift teased a smile from her.
Two untouched slices of Iron’s turkey bacon.