Chapter 16 Christine #2
He freezes, his hands locked around my wrists, keeping me from moving the mask any farther. His mouth is bruised and bleeding. I slide my tongue over my teeth and realize my fangs emerged without me realizing it.
“Do not touch the mask,” he growls.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I thought we could kiss better without it.”
“No.”
“Okay.”
The magic is broken, the madness halted for now. When he releases me, I get up, putting distance between us.
We stand there, tense and panting like two animals, each waiting for the other to pounce, uncertain if the result will be a mating frenzy or a fight to the death.
“You promised you would answer my questions,” I say at last. “About the voice thing and your other tricks.”
“I can throw my voice.” His words seem to come from behind me, though he’s standing in exactly the same spot.
“I can also mimic the voices of others reasonably well. I can wield the mists and shadows of the Afterworld, and I can command the spirits of the dead, those who have not yet found rest. In a previous existence, I could do far more. I could take other forms, grow entire forests in a single night, cloak the sun in darkness, and raise great armies of shadow beasts. I could even bring the dead to life. I was the king of all phantoms, the seducer of Fate herself, herald of destruction. I was Cernunnos, the god of death.”
He says it calmly, almost casually. My brain short-circuits when he says “bring the dead to life,” and I have to hold in a hysterical laugh because if I laugh, I think I might also start to scream.
“God of death?” I say faintly. “That’s why you taste so good. It’s like drinking pure liquid power.”
“You can taste me again,” he offers, a hint of eagerness in his gaze.
“You’ll tell me all that, but you won’t let me take off your mask?”
“It’s one thing to know what I am, quite another to see it.
The part I conceal is the side of me I can’t control.
” He seats himself backward on the piano bench.
“Oddly enough, it was a vampire who locked away the majority of my power. She has the abilities of a leannán sídhe—a voice so dominant I can still hear its echoes in my head.” He looks down at his hands.
“Was she one of the Progeny?” I ask.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a vampire cult, led by a first-generation vampire named Wolfsheim.
My parents were absurdly loyal to him and his philosophy.
They died fighting his battles, and they left their money and our family home to the Progeny cult.
I got nothing. If I’d become part of the cult myself and followed their rules, I could have kept living there, but I don’t play well with other vampires. ”
I don’t tell him why I hate the Progeny so deeply. That agony goes back too far, and the loss is still too painful.
I settle into the chair again. “How did you end up here?”
He explains more of his origins to me, along with the fact that his memories of the past are blurred in places.
I confess a few things about my parents and the Progeny, but I don’t venture too close to my worst memory.
I’m not ready to talk about that. And I sense he’s holding a few things back as well. Of course he is. He’s a literal god.
I believe him, I do. His story explains so much about him that was mystifying to me.
But at the same time, he’s so personable right now, and this conversation feels so intimate.
It’s hard to grasp the fact that I’m speaking with an actual deity—or more correctly, one of the powerful supernatural beings known as the Tuatha Dé Danann.
I think I need time to process all of it, to really let it sink in. As much as part of me would like to stay and explore other intimate things with him, it’s probably wiser for us both to take some space right now and acclimate to this new phase of our relationship.
With a sigh, I stand up, stretching. “I should go back to my room and go to bed. It’s late.”
He rises, tall and broad, towering over me. “You won’t be going back. Not yet. You need some time away from Raoul. Time to clear your head and understand what you really want.”
Alarm flickers in my chest. Yes, I need time away, but not from Raoul. “Angel, I’m going to my room.”
“You can have my bed. It’s very comfortable. I have all the cosmetics you prefer in the bathroom, in a basket under the sink. There are clothes for you, too, in there.” He points to a wardrobe I didn’t notice before. “All your size.”
My hand goes to my thigh, to the pocket of my leggings where I usually tuck my phone. But it’s not there. I must have left it in Carlotta’s dressing room or on my bed. Shit.
“Angel,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “I can’t stay here tonight.”
“I told you I would never hurt you, nor would I allow any harm to come to you,” he says. “Do you not trust me?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you. This is about me making my own choices.”
“And you will, but Raoul has been confusing you, clouding your mind and your desires. It is time to let him go. He is the writer of a decent musical, nothing more. You need some distance from him so you can understand your true destiny.”
A voice echoes from the darkness, and footsteps sound on the concrete beside the canal. “Decent, and nothing more?”
Raoul emerges from the shadows. His dress shirt is askew, half-unbuttoned, and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows.
His fists are clenched so tightly, the sinews of his forearms stand out rigidly.
Behind his dark-framed glasses, his eyes burn bright green.
They’re almost…glowing. Must be a trick of the weird subterranean light in this place.
“I’m hurt, honestly,” continues Raoul. “I thought you and I were becoming friends, Angel.”
“Only she gets to call me that,” the Angel replies tightly. “How did you find your way down here?”
“You keep your secrets, and I’ll keep mine,” Raoul says. “But she is leaving with me. Come, Christine.”
He beckons to me, almost imperiously. Something about the gesture rubs me the wrong way. I don’t like the Angel telling me I can’t leave, and I don’t appreciate Raoul coming to fetch me home like I’m a runaway dog.
I take a step back from Raoul, crossing my arms.
“See there,” purrs the Angel. “She wants to stay with me.”
“Not true,” I snap.
He reaches out and draws me closer, his golden eyes glittering behind the mask.
“I need you with me, beside me, and you need me just as deeply. Think of the music we’ll make, my darling.
The piece I created tonight—it was entirely inspired by you.
I have never crafted anything so beautiful.
Imagine the loveliness we could create—my compositions and your voice.
Music to make the gods weep, Christine.”
I shouldn’t be relenting. I should struggle against his hold, maybe yell something about free will and shit…
but when I’m this close to him, I have trouble thinking clearly.
I can feel the heat and strength of his body.
I can smell the addictive spice of his powerful blood.
I remember the music he played for me, how it transcended everything I’ve ever heard.
“I’ll stay,” I whisper.
The Angel cups my chin with his gloved hand. He seems about to kiss me, but Raoul makes a sound of distressed frustration, and the Angel’s attention snaps back to him.
“You’ve got her under some kind of spell.” Raoul’s voice falters as the Angel turns from me and prowls toward him.
Raoul takes a couple steps back. Whatever courage he summoned to come after me seems to have faded. He looks suddenly very young and vulnerable compared to the broad, menacing form of the Angel.
“I told you she’s mine,” the Angel says. “I want her, and I will keep her.”
“You—you can’t take people just because you want them,” says Raoul.
The Angel tilts his head. “Can’t I, though?”
“No,” Raoul says more firmly.
“You’re a pestilent creature, aren’t you?” The Angel’s voice lowers to a sinister, menacing purr, and his hand curls around Raoul’s throat. “Pretty, yes…but irritating. You say I can’t take what I want? What if I decide I want you, little poet? What then?”
He tightens his grip slightly, and Raoul gags.
I dash forward, clutching the Angel’s arm. “Please let him go.”
“He wants to destroy us, Christine. Don’t deny it. I heard the two of you talking. He said he would call the police.”
“He won’t. He’s just scared. He’s confused—I’m confused. Let’s all calm down and take some time. We can figure this out. Raoul won’t tell anyone about you.”
“The fuck I won’t,” Raoul wheezes.
I roll my eyes, exasperated. “Really? I’m trying to help you.”
“I think you’re right, Christine,” says the Angel with a cold smile. “I think what we all need is a little time to calm down. You stay here, and I’ll take Raoul somewhere he can think about his choices. Don’t worry, he’ll be perfectly fine.”
“I’m not staying here,” I protest, but the Angel is already striding away, dragging Raoul with him.
As I move to follow them, a wall of mist rises between us, a moist cloud blinding my eyes and clogging my lungs.
I cough, struggling through it, but I can’t see a thing, and I’m nervous about falling into the canal.
I have no idea how deep it is, and I can’t swim.
I may be a vampire, but I’m not sure that renders me immune to drowning.
I forge ahead slowly, step by step, calling out for the Angel and for Raoul. Neither of them reply.
My foot slides off the edge of something, and I vent a little scream, expecting to pitch headlong into black water, but it’s only a ridge or a step of some kind. My ankle bends sideways with a loud pop.
“Shit!” I exclaim, hobbling forward despite the searing pain. My ankle will heal quickly, but the injury is robbing me of precious minutes.
By the time the fog dissipates, Raoul and the Angel are gone.
As I look around, I realize that this level of the building is honeycombed with doors and passages, some hidden behind brick columns, others tucked between monstrous old hunks of machinery in dark corners.
If I search for Raoul or try to find my way out, there’s a very real possibility I might get lost.
Swearing, I hobble back to the Angel’s living area and fling myself into one of the chairs.
The Angel healed well from my bite—there’s not even a scar on his throat. When he comes back, I might just rip out his spine. Let’s see how fast he recovers from that.