Chapter 20
“They’re going to notice this is missing,” Alex said.
“I’m not so sure.”
“Seriously? That thing is probably worth a down payment on a house. In a good neighborhood.”
“Maybe a whole block,” he corrected.
“In New Haven?”
“In New York.”
“Maybe I should steal it.”
“Stern.”
“No part of you wants to just sling that bag over your shoulder, walk out of this place, and keep walking? You could restore all of Black Elm with money to spare.”
“No,” he said with a laugh. “It’s not rightfully mine.”
“You think it’s rightfully theirs?”
“I think stealing from thieves doesn’t make you less of a thief. Would you really take it?”
“Of course not,” she said and ducked under the casket again. “Not unless I had a fence lined up.”
He bit back a laugh. “You really are a heathen.”
“I’m a pragmatist.”
He slid the plate into his bag, and they set to work restoring the hinges.
Dawes and Tripp were waiting in the alley behind the Wolf’s Head tomb so that Alex and Darlington could pass the plate over the wall. Then they would remain at the Hall until the ritual was completed.
“Let’s go,” Alex said, but Darlington stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“We need to wait for the right moment in the ritual. If we break their rhythm, the results could be disastrous for the supplicants.”
“And they’ll know we were in here.”
“That too. The chant is still rising. When it starts to ebb we can step out.”
Through the glassy sheet of the waterfall she could see the flicker of torchlight and the delegates bowing and bending over the supplicants.
They were the anchor that would allow those who had transformed to return to their human forms and hopefully their humanity.
Or maybe they’d spend the next week trying to live life to the fullest and burying their faces in any flower they could find.
Now that she and Darlington had acquired the heart, there was nothing to do but wait, just bide their time and stroll on out with a priceless artifact.
But it was hard to keep still. She was too aware of Darlington behind her in the dark.
They’d been together too often lately, fighting side by side against Kittscher, researching the artifacts, then preparing for this ritual, the conversation in the blue twilight by the ash tree.
It was too much to be tucked into this cramped space, in the deep gloom, the air damp with moisture from the river, pollen glittering on the air, the buzz of the hive merging with the steady rush of the water, the rise and fall of the chant.
It felt like they were keeping a secret together, like they’d slipped into a space between the known and unknown.
It didn’t feel real and that was dangerous.
They needed to get back to the others, to the safety of the group.
The chant rose higher, louder. Another gust of pollen burst through the room.
His hand was still on her shoulder, his palm warm against her skin. She felt the sudden prick of claws.
“Shit,” he said.
That was bad. Darlington did not swear unless truly provoked.
She could see their reflection in the side of the glass casket. His horns had emerged. His eyes were glowing.
“Stay with me, Danny,” she whispered. “Don’t let it get you.”
She saw his eyes flash brighter. His nostrils flared as he lowered his head to her hair and drew in a long breath.
He reached for her with his other hand but stopped, his claws hanging in the air.
The narrow space between them felt like it had come alive, a slippery thing, heat coiled between their bodies.
She should step away, broaden the distance between them. He would never know that she knew, what she’d seen. They’d still be safe. Virgil and Dante. Just as it should be.
Instead, she eased her body backward, the barest movement, closing the gap.
He flinched. He was hard against her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean—”
He was still Darlington. The demon had not truly taken hold.
There was still time to stop, to prevent this, to make this something they could laugh over and move past. But she didn’t want to.
She wasn’t a careful person, but she’d been so careful with him.
He’s expensive, she’d told Mercy. Something marvelous and finely made you could look at through a shop window but never keep.
But why did that have to matter? Why couldn’t she steal a little bit of him for herself, just for a while?
She arched her back, pressing her body against his.
A growl rumbled through him and his hands gripped her hips. She felt the points of his claws through her jeans.
“Alex.” Her name in his mouth, his breath hot against the curve of her neck, the echo of the monster beneath his human voice.
Wanting had always been easy for her. It was only in the after, in the getting of what she wanted, that everything fell apart.
Longing always turned to ash, a fleeting thing that couldn’t quite stand up to the clatter in her head.
But this was a lightning bolt pinning her to the earth. “Stop me.”
She reached backward, let her hands drag through his hair, cool silk against her fingers. She gripped the ridges of his horns. She knew she was probably damning them both. “I don’t want to.”
Another growl, deeper now, rumbling through his chest. His hands slid under her T-shirt, tracing her ribs, pushing beneath her bra, nudging the fabric up. His hands cupped her breasts and she moaned.
“Stop me,” he said, his voice rough, pleading. “You can stop me.”
“No.” She moved against him, trying to get closer. He bit into the skin of her neck and she shuddered. She knew this feeling would slip away because it always did. She just wanted to keep hold of it as long as she could.
The chanting rose around them, wedja, wedja. Cries of demand. A prayer to be made whole again. She actually had done the reading.
He seized her waist, forcing her to turn. Then her back was against the wall of the passage, and he wrapped her hair in one hand, tugging her head back, making her offer up her mouth. His lips closed over hers.
She could acknowledge now that she had imagined this, what his mouth would feel like, what it would mean to be the focus of this man’s attention.
She locked her hands around his neck and wrapped her legs around his hips, pressing her body against the hard ridge of his cock as he braced her weight with his arm.
The voices grew louder. Her mind caught on them—nine voices instead of six. The supplicants were chanting too. Her mind wheeled away from the moment, rational thought returning, the past in all its ugliness crowding in with it.
“Darlington,” she managed. “They’re coming back.”
The growl of the beast answered, and she knew she was going to have to use hellfire. The bloom came on almost too fast, a rush of flame that engulfed them both.
He recoiled and then he was staring at her through a veil of blue fire, his eyes like polished coins. He looked positively horrified.
He released his grip on her thighs, let her hair slide from his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That shouldn’t have hap—”
“Shut up.”
“But—”
“Don’t apologize. It makes me feel shitty.”
“I’m—” He nodded. Swallowed. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was human once more. “Okay,” he said.
She had to admit she was sorry to see the demon go.