Chapter 23
They completed evacuation from the platform in a couple of hours, but Stryke remained behind to deal with the aftermath and find the way forward. Apparently, he’d had his suppressants delivered, and he’d sent Cyan on her way through orders from Taran without telling her goodbye.
Sure, he’d been extremely busy. With all communications restored, he’d been bombarded with communiqués. They all had.
But still. He could have at least…what? Kissed her? The way he’d kissed her before she’d gone into the water with Gabriel?
Warmth flooded her at the memory. His intensity, his passion…she shivered, wondering how that passion would translate if they weren’t in danger, were alone, and in a bed. Or on the floor. Or wherever.
Would he even be interested now that he no longer needed her? It certainly wasn’t as if they were in a relationship.
She laughed at the very idea as she opened the door to her apartment. A relationship with Stryke, billionaire CEO of StryTech and the world’s most eligible bachelor? How ridiculous.
Stepping into her apartment, her amusement faded, replaced by a sudden loneliness. The place felt empty without Shanea, certainly. But as she closed the door behind her, what she felt struck her as something new. A different kind of loneliness.
Or maybe she was just overly tired. And she was. She was exhausted . Physically and mentally.
An Archangel wanted her to lie about a highly dangerous, monumentally important bit of information. How was she supposed to function with that weight on her shoulders? How would she keep asking Stryke about his plans for the Sea Storm without looking suspicious?
Could she even trust the angel? The one who might have beheaded his buddy?
Shivering with a sudden chill, she made a beeline for the shower. The hot steam both relaxed and revived her, making her think about Stryke’s aversion to water. And sex. And food. Some of the greatest pleasures in life. What did he do for fun?
She took her time under the cleansing spray, and by the time she’d dried her hair and put on sweats, she almost felt like a new person.
Someone with the fate of the world in her hands. No big deal.
She scrounged in the fridge for something to eat, her belly protesting when she didn’t find anything that wasn’t spoiled or moldy. Which left her with a choice between oatmeal, ramen noodles, or boxed pasta using water instead of milk.
Ramen would be the quickest, so ramen it was. Resigned, she slammed the fridge door just as the doorbell rang. The mounted kitchen viewscreen revealed Parker in the hallway, peering into the camera.
What was he doing here?
“Door open,” she called out, wistfully eyeing the package of dried noodles on the counter.
The door swung open, and Parker stepped in, holding up a couple of bags. “Hey, welcome back. I figured you might be in need of a good meal.”
Her stomach growled at the aroma of hot roast beef and frites, and she had to stop herself from snatching the bags and ripping into them with her teeth. “Parker, you’re my hero.”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “You’ve been gone for a week, and I got stuck on the project. Figured I’d run it by you really quick while we eat.”
A week? There was no way. A couple of days at most.
She checked her wrist comms, and, sure enough, seven days had passed. Time must have worked differently inside the anomaly. Interesting. She’d have to study that when she had a chance.
“You okay?” he asked, watching her with concern. “We didn’t get the whole story, but what we did hear sounded bad.”
She really wasn’t in the mood to talk, despite her loneliness, but she was starving, and Parker had brought her food, so she figured she could manage a few minutes of conversation.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She gestured to the kitchen table. “I have beer and seltzer. I think I might have a bottle of wine somewhere…”
“Seltzer is fine,” he said, putting down the bags. “And don’t worry, I won’t stay long. You gotta be tired.”
That was putting it mildly. “What have you heard?” she asked as she opened the fridge door.
“That there was some sort of doorway to Hell beneath an oil rig.” He spoke while he pulled food containers from the bags. “Most people at the company didn’t know what was going on with the platform, so hearing that it was engulfed by a leak from Hell was big news.” He dumped condiments onto the table and set aside the bags. “So…what happened?”
Cyan gave him the basics as she opened a couple of bottles of sparkling water and fetched dishes.
“Damn,” Parker said, sounding a little stunned as they took seats at the table. “That’s some insane shit. Dakarai said a DART special ops team picked up a couple of prototypes to take out there, but he really didn’t know the full situation.”
“It was…an experience.” She took the sandwich he offered and nearly moaned at the first bite of the roast beef and cheddar on a warm roll.
“So, is the portal destroyed?” he asked. “Or just sealed?”
She nearly choked. “What?”
“You said you and the angel stopped the leak. You didn’t say how.” He washed down a big bite of his sandwich with a swig of seltzer. When he was done, he shook his head and swore. “I can’t believe you worked with an angel . And not just any angel. An Archangel . Holy shit, Cyan! Were you freaked out? I mean, angels aren’t known to leave demons alive.”
She dragged a frite through one of the sides of mayo. “Yeah, well, Gabriel did tell us the other angel wanted to kill us.” She shrugged. “He was pretty cool. The other guy was a douche.”
She was glad Gabriel had killed him. If that was what’d happened. It was entirely possible the demon really had managed to take the guy’s head off with a super clean cut.
Super clean.
“So…how did you solve the problem with the breach?” Parker repeated.
Dammit. She hadn’t prepared for an interrogation. And Parker wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t buy a lame story or another evasion.
She dabbed her mouth with a napkin, buying time. “First, I repaired the glyphs that kept the breach sealed. But just before I repaired the last one, he sent some sort of angel-powered bomb down the pipe and into the breach.”
Parker nodded idly, considering her answer as he chose a fat, well-done frite. “Why didn’t he do that to begin with? Why did you need to repair the glyphs first?”
Damn him and his curious mind. “Because if the breach was mostly sealed, the explosive energy would be contained rather than losing some of the power to the sea.”
“Ah. Makes sense.” He popped the frite into his mouth and chewed. “How did you confirm it was destroyed?”
“Why are you so interested in this?”
“You kidding?” he said, picking up his sandwich. “Who wouldn’t be? The Gehennaportal’s existence has been the subject of debate since, well, always.”
“Really? I’d never even heard of it until a few days ago.”
“Eh, I go down some rabbit holes of knowledge sometimes.” He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “So, here’s the thing. According to what I’ve read, when it comes to Heaven and Hell, there has to be a certain symmetry. That’s why there are evil people and good demons. It’s why Heaven has a Radiant Angel and Sheoul has a Shadow Angel. When they made the Gaiaportal as an angelic gateway between Heaven and Earth, they created the Gehennaportal as a demonic gateway between Sheoul and Earth—back before there were hellmouths and Harrowgates.”
“Yeah, I know all that already.”
“Okay, but here’s the thing.” He leaned forward, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. “You said a demon got into Heaven, right?”
“Yes,” she said slowly, unsure where he was going with this.
“Don’t you see? It doesn’t make sense.” He waved his frite around, punctuating his words. “Why would the Gaiaportal’s makers allow demons to come through it?”
He had a point. She thought about it for a second. “Maybe they overlooked the possibility,” she offered. “Maybe that’s why they shut the thing down in the first place. We don’t know.”
“Hmm. Maybe.” He frowned down at his sandwich for a moment, then shook his head and looked up. “Just…you’d think angels wouldn’t fuck up something like that.”
“Well,” she said, piling her garbage inside a container, “we have no way of getting answers, so how about we talk about whatever problem you came here to discuss?”
He gave her a reluctant nod. “It’s not nearly as interesting,” he said, tossing his napkin aside. “But we have an issue with the thermal infuser…”
Where the hell was Cyan?
Stryke paced in front of the monitor that gave him a view of the Reaper project lab, and while he’d had an eyeful of Dakarai and Parker all morning, Cyan had been absent.
She was probably sleeping and taking some well-deserved time off, but she could have at least messaged him.
Not that he was obsessing over it. He’d been too busy playing catch-up after being away from the office for a week.
A freaking week .
Apparently, time inside the evil dome had run slower than time in the normal human realm. What had seemed like twenty-four hours had been seven days. Fortunately, his body hadn’t fast-forwarded when the time shift occurred, and he’d only had to take three injections since the last time he and Cyan had sex.
And for the first time ever, as he’d injected himself for the eight millionth time in his life, he almost wished for the real thing instead of a cold needle.
Almost. Now that things were back to normal, and he was no longer subject to the intensity of life-or-death struggles, he wasn’t sure if being with Cyan would be the same.
And now that they were back in their normal lives, would she even want to have sex again?
It was a question that had driven him to distraction from the moment he watched her fly away on Dire Wolf One. He’d wanted her to stay, but he’d had no plausible reason to keep her on the rig. All he could do was watch and wave as the bird lifted off.
He had to stifle a groan at the memory of how awkward he’d felt the moment the emergency was over. It was like being back at school, smarter than everyone, including the teachers, an excellent if reluctant athlete, and comfortable in an educational setting. But social situations had not been his thing.
It wasn’t that he experienced much anxiety. His main method of coping—and making things more interesting—was to hang out inside his head. Once, at a school dance, he’d spent so much time in his head that he’d solved the problem magic users experienced when they mixed elemental air and fire spells at extremely high elevations without first tempering the fire with earth. The magic community still thanked him for that one.
And Maysea Childress had nearly messed it all up by asking him to dance.
He’d said no. Awkwardly, like when he’d waved at the helicopter, knowing Cyan probably hadn’t even looked back. The difference was that he hadn’t liked Maysea since the day she spilled a soft drink in his lap in the cafeteria. Cyan? She could do anything she wanted to do in his lap.
Kalis’s voice rang out. “Sir, you have a call from Kynan Morgan. Do you want me to put him through?”
“Yes, please.”
“Have you seen the message log yet, sir?”
“Yes, and thank you. Put Kynan on.” He didn’t need to be prodded by his assistant about the damned messages.
There were a lot of messages. None of which he’d addressed because he’d been busy obsessing over Cyan.
He was such an idiot.
Counting on Kynan to get him back in the mental game, Stryke pushed a button on his desk comms, and Ky’s life-sized hologram appeared on the floor in front of him, legs spread, hands locked behind his back like a general addressing his troops.
“Stryke,” Kynan said. “Glad to see everything worked out. I’d love a briefing as soon as possible. I got a summary from my team, but I want your take. Sounds like you have some insight into what’s happening in Heaven.”
Stryke nodded. “A little. The angels didn’t say much, but it looks like Heaven’s in some sort of political upheaval. It’s apparently shut down, and no one can get in or out.”
“Which explains why the Horsemen haven’t been able to summon Reaver.” He gave a quick, dismissive shake of his head. “Well, it’s not our problem. But the Gehennaportal is . Are you sure it’s been destroyed?”
“According to Gabriel and Cyan, yes.”
“Thank God.” Kynan shifted his stance, relaxing slightly. “That could have been an apocalyptic disaster. I’ll inform the WCSG. They’ve been breathing down my neck for days.”
Stryke didn’t doubt that. Half the messages he was ignoring were from the Council.
“Don’t worry about contacting them,” Stryke said. “I have a feeling I’ll be talking to them within the hour.”
“Better you than me,” Kynan muttered. “How is Cyan?”
Cyan is…amazing. “She took today off to get some rest.”
“Good. And the project?”
“I haven’t talked to my people yet. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have an update.”
“Great. Thank you. Let’s schedule another meeting soon.”
“I’ll send you some potential dates.”
With a nod, Ky disconnected. Ten seconds later, Stryke took a call from The Aegis. After that, the WCSG called, just as he’d said they would. He spent an hour staring at four pompous dumbasses as they sat around a monstrous table and pounded him with questions.
What do you plan to do with the platform now that the danger is over?
Will you sell it back to the oil company?
Will you drill for oil yourself ?
He had no idea. He’d barely had time to catch his breath, let alone consider the future of the Sea Storm . One thing he knew for sure, though: He wasn’t selling the thing. It may never produce oil again, but its value could prove immeasurable, providing countless research opportunities. He already had his people hunting and recording new demon species that’d escaped the breach and analyzing a sample he’d taken of the fog.
He’d kept that information out of his briefing with the WCSG dumbasses.
He fielded a dozen more calls, turned as many more away, including a call from his uncle Eidolon, who probably wanted to ride his ass about the injections. But the thing was, he actually felt better. After being with Cyan, his body seemed to have done a reset. How much had he healed? He had no idea, but the energy boost, mental clarity, and general mood lift made it clear he was healthier than he’d been in a long time.
Sure, the last injection had made him a little dizzy, but only for a minute.
As he disconnected the last communication, a meeting with the CEO of China’s largest security company, a message popped up on his wrist comms.
From Cyan.
His heart thumped, and he sank into his chair, his skin flushing hot and his stomach fluttering oddly. Maybe the injections were affecting him more than he thought. He hated the sensation.
Sort of.
He’d never felt this before, and he loved experiencing new things. And truthfully…the sensation was maybe a little…pleasant.
Stryke, can we talk? How about I meet you at your place for dinner? I’ll bring the food .
It was funny because his first instinct should have been to say no. He liked to conduct all business on his terms. Setting the date, the time, the place, and the activity. Had the message been from anyone else, he’d have said he’d get back to them with options.
Instead, his instant reply reeked of desperation.
Hi, Cyan. That sounds great .
That sounds great?
Lame and desperate.
And the flutters in his belly only got worse.