Chapter 22 The Present
Isuppose a better woman would have ended Mark’s suffering quickly. He’s been through literal torture, after all. But two days later, lying tangled between two of my three men, I’ve realized something. I’m not a better woman. I’m not even a good one. I might be pretty damn bad.
“Isn’t there a limit to this?” I ask, as another scream cuts through the air. There’ve been so many over the past two days that they’ve started to blend in. It’s just like the crows outside, or the wind through the trees, or the generator kicking in now and then.
A constant thing.
Like music set too low to bother turning off, but make it Halloween.
“What, torture?” Talon props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me. I’m lying between him and Cassian, wearing freshly hand-washed polka-dot lingerie.
They seem to really like this one.
Between it and the collection of hickeys dotting my skin, I probably look like some kind of unfinished constellation—one someone forgot to connect with lines.
“I just mean… how much more can he take?” I say, staring at the ceiling. “Won’t his body just… shut down at some point?”
Talon runs a hand through his hair, then leans down, his burnt-orange strands brushing my shoulder as his lips follow.
“Believe me,” he murmurs against my skin, “the human body can handle a lot. We could drag this out for months if that’s what you wanted.”
“Why?” Cassian’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Do you want it to be over?”
Do I?
It’s disturbingly comforting, having my murderer, my ex-husband, suffer within reach. I lived that pain for five years. He’s had forty-eight hours.
Justice doesn’t feel balanced yet. I’ve been saved, freed… but he hasn’t suffered enough.
And yet, somewhere under all that fury, I can feel something else trying to crawl in.
Pity.
“I said I wanted him to suffer as long as I would’ve made him suffer in the afterlife,” I say finally, half answering Cassian, half convincing myself.
Cassian’s gaze hooks into mine. “We’ll never know how long that would’ve been. The afterlife isn’t this. It’s… different.”
My mouth goes dry.
Somewhere beyond the thin wall, Mark lets out a sound that’s half sob, half the wet, broken noise of a throat remembering how to be one.
It’s funny what starts to feel normal after forty-eight hours.
“You know what I mean,” I whisper.
“I do,” Cassian says. “I’m just reminding you that you’re the one in charge, Skye.”
“Yup,” Talon adds lightly. “Just say the word, and it’s over.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
How easy would it be to let them both distract me again? To lose myself in the way they worship me until all the thoughts and guilt and questions dissolve.
It was so much simpler when all I had to feel was the high of revenge.
But no—apparently my mind has decided that this—the quality of Mark’s judgment—is the topic of the morning. And therefore, the topic of eternity, until I finally make a decision.
I scrub a hand over my face.
“Ugh, I can’t do this right now.” I slide out from under Talon and stand. The floor is pleasantly cool beneath my feet. “Distract me. Let’s do something. We can just… let some time pass, and then I’ll decide.”
Cassian sits up slowly, the sheet slung low around his hips, his chest marked with a few hickeys. Talon just drops back against the bed and stretches his arms overhead.
“Do something, huh?” Talon drawls. “You mean should we do laundry again or start planning another murder?”
I snort. “I mean, murder would be a great distraction, to be honest.”
“You want it?” he asks. “We could go look for a victim in some shady, dark corner of the world. There’s nothing that gives perspective like that, let me tell you.”
I smile, then shake my head. I bet if we did that, I’d feel even more restless when we came back.
“No.” I mutter it. “I don’t want anything violent.”
Cassian’s voice is low as ever. “What did you have in mind, then?”
“I don’t know. Something that doesn’t involve screaming men or moral calculus.” I glance out the window; the crow situation hasn’t changed a bit. “Maybe show me the Skystones. I want to know how many potential wraiths we could be dealing with at any given moment.”
Cassian raises an eyebrow. “I’d say the Skystones do involve screaming men and moral calculus.”
“Oh, whatever.” I wave him off.
Mark screams again. This time I’m not nonchalant, I’m actually annoyed. It’s less guilt and more irritation that he keeps reminding me he exists. That irritation solidifies my plan.
“Where do you keep them?” I ask, bending to pull on my custom sweatpants and sliding one leg in.
“Far,” Cassian says after a beat, smoothing the sheet over his hip. It does absolutely nothing to hide the impressive bulge between his thighs. Gods. The sheet might as well be highlighting it. I’m staring hard enough that I almost miss his next words.
“Skye.”
My gaze drags up to his face. “What?”
“Either you finish getting dressed and we go see the Skystones,” he says, tone steady and maddeningly calm, “or you take all that off and come back to bed.”
I realize that I slid only one leg into my sweatpants. Then I got distracted and started staring at Cassian’s penis. Oh, well.
“We’re going,” I decide, pulling the other leg through and tugging the waistband into place. I expect him to tell me where the Skystones are, but before he can, Talon groans into a pillow like he’s being murdered, then springs upright like a jack-in-the-box.
“Fine,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “We’re coming back to reality, then. The Skystones are as far from the hospital main room as possible. In case one of those bastards decides to get out.”
Supposedly just a matter of time, I think. Death did make it sound like a ticking bomb.
“The rooftop?” I ask.
“Hell no.” Talon shakes his head. “I wouldn’t take you there if there’s even a chance we’re in danger.”
“Why were you there in the first place?” Cassian asks, brow furrowing. He and Nathaniel know nothing about our little rooftop confession. Talon and I decided that moment would stay between us.
I don’t mind them knowing everything about me equally, but if Talon wants to keep certain things private, I’ll respect that.
“That’s for Little Grim and me to know, and for you to wonder about, my man,” Talon replies with a lazy grin, rifling through the clothes on the floor with absolutely no urgency.
Cassian’s stare flicks between us. There’s no jealousy in it, but it grates on him anyway. He likes knowing everything about everything. No missing variables.
He swings his legs off the bed and stands, unhurried and massive and silent in that Cassian way that makes the air feel heavier. Talon finally pulls on a pair of joggers that hang low on his hips, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“So where are the Skystones, then?” I press.
Talon lifts a brow and gestures vaguely. “Underground.”
“Underground where? With Mark?”
“No. Underground underground,” he deadpans.
I just stare.
Cassian sighs.
Cassian exhales through his nose. “There’s a reinforced bunker beneath the old radiology wing. We drilled through a section years ago. When you told us about the wraiths possibly coming out, we moved the Skystones down there.”
“Well, they can go through walls, so that’s not exactly foolproof,” I say.
“No, but Laura Collins took a while to get her bearings after she turned,” Talon cuts in, waving his hand. “So we figured if these souls wake up in complete darkness, they’d be disoriented. Slower to, you know… thrash. Kill. All that fun stuff.”
Yeah, well… a tactic’s a tactic. Our situation doesn’t exactly come with perfect options.
“Anyway, I want to see them,” I say.
Cassian steps forward, close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his bare chest.
“You can,” he says evenly. “But there are rules.”
Of course there are. Gods forbid anything revolving safety be simple.
Talon snorts. “Here we go.”
Cassian ignores him and folds his arms. “One: you don’t go near the stones alone. Two: you don’t touch anything unless we tell you to. And three—”
“Oh my god,” Talon cuts in. “Just say it—‘don’t lick the murder rocks,’ Cassian. It’s fine.”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Cassian mutters.
“But now you kind of want to,” Talon fires back with a grin. “Right?”
I grin, too. “Don’t worry, Cassian. I won’t lick the murder rocks.”
Talon points at me. “See? Fast learner.”
Cassian exhales through his nose, the picture of restraint. “The third rule is that if anything starts humming, vibrating, or reacting to you in any way—we leave. Immediately.”
“Define reacting,” I say.
He gives me a flat look. “Starting to break free.”
That’s… fair. And yeah, there’s a small chance that could happen. Not because I’m near them, but because Death loves his timing.
Another muffled scream cuts through the air, and my jaw tightens.
Talon notices. “So what? We’re all good? Let’s go, then.”
He claps his hands together like we’re heading out to pick apples. Cassian grabs a shirt from the back of a chair but doesn’t bother putting it on. He just slings it over his shoulder.
“Once we’re done,” Cassian says, his gaze sliding back to me, “you’ll need to decide what happens next with Mark. Don’t drag it out. If you feel something about it, dragging it will only make things worse. For him. And for you.”
He’s not judging me. He’s observing me. It’s worse.
“I know,” I murmur. “I just need, you know… More time.”
“Uh-huh.” Talon smirks. “Sure.”
“Shut up,” I say without heat.
He winks.
Cassian heads for the door. “Get your shoes. It’s a long walk.”
“Through the hospital?” I ask.
“Through its underground,” Talon corrects, almost gleeful. “The fun parts.”
Alright.
I tug on my hoodie, tying the drawstring as another wet choke echoes from down the hall.
I don’t look that way.
Mark’s suffering has become part of the landscape, like the wind turbines or the crows.
But the second my fingers brush the doorframe, something hits me. Quiet and cold.