Chapter 19
Shadowman glanced from his shoelaces to
Layla. “Now I make bunny ears?”
“Yeah,” she said, flashing her bright
smile. “Cross them, just like that, tuck one under . . . right. And
pull.”
Shadowman assessed his handiwork, then
looked up to make his report. “This will take some
practice.”
“You’ll get it.” Her gaze slid from his
eyes to his hair, and the humor turned to mock sadness. “So pretty,
now gone. I had plans for that hair, damn it.”
An unspoken agreement hung in the air
of the hotel room. They would not speak about what tomorrow would
bring. Layla’s optimism wouldn’t flag.
He’d been introduced to the bliss of a
shower but driven to curses by the slippery little bottle of
shampoo. The trays of food had been set aside, extra water downed
until, yes, as she promised, he felt a whole lot
better.
She stood up from the foot of the bed,
where the impromptu lesson had been held, she on her knees, and he
on the edge. (Not how he’d intended to use the bed.) When she
reached for the bag of clothing she’d insisted they buy for him, he
stood. Took it from her. Placed it on the couch.
At last Layla went still, as he did
beside her. The room fell quiet, except for the bumps and
occasional footsteps outside their room. It was so quiet he could
hear them both breathe, and he altered his rhythm to match
hers.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this
good,” she said.
Shadowman knew she’d arranged something
with the angels. That, or they’d never have left them alone with
the gate still rattling evil. She must think she was going to die
with its destruction, and soon. How much time had she bought them?
Considering the angels’ urgency, not long. A day? Just one
night?
She’d be shining bright about now, as
she always did at the brink. He closed his eyes and could feel the
heat of the glow between them. It wouldn’t do, however, to inform
her that he’d taken her place with Rose’s death. The new day would
begin soon enough.
He lowered his head to her crown and
breathed in the sweetness and heat of her hair. She tilted her face
up in response, brushing her cheek along his shoulder.
“I should’ve had you take me on a
date.” She laughed. “Dinner and a movie. Oh! Or for a drive to the
ocean. We would’ve had time for a little detour. There’s nothing
like the ocean at night.”
Shadowman looked down into her eyes.
“Regrets?”
She startled, then shook her head
emphatically, gazing back at him. “None. I’m exactly where I want
to be.”
He brought a hand to her waist, slid it
under the cloth of her shirt to the slope of her side. The
smoothness of her skin had him closing his eyes again to weather
the hard beat and flush of heat that was his new body’s response to
her nearness. Would Death give up forever for a single mortal day?
Easily. Layla had more magic than all of Shadow
combined.
His eyes were still closed when her
lips touched his. The contact set off a clumsy avalanche of motion:
a sudden shift for better access, a tug of his sleeve, a grasp and
salty taste of skin, a confusion of limbs shedding shirts and
pants. When he swung her weight around to the bed, he’d lost
everything but one shoe, held fast by a gathered pant leg and boxer
at his ankle. He kicked himself free as she, naked, scooted back to
the pillows, laughing at him.
Then she shrieked, happy, when he
pounced. The shock of skin on skin set the room careening, but he
didn’t care as long as he held Layla. He went for the flushed cleft
between her breasts, his hand stroking up her thigh, until her
luscious bottom filled his palm. He squeezed, then adjusted the
position of her leg a little higher, and knew she liked it when she
brought the other leg up to match, sliding her hands through his
hair to grip his shoulders.
A taste on the tender underside of her
breast, too. He had to breathe deep at the thump of want that
fuzzed his brain. A pause to wrestle with his laboring heart. Then
he brushed his mouth up to the hollow at her throat, just below her
ear, where her life beat against his lips. A long life, which she’d
won for herself. He would not allow his cursed gate to take it
away.
For tonight, however, she would be his.
He was granted this much at least, though it embittered his heart
that the time should be so brief. Good thing he wouldn’t need the
tainted organ after tomorrow.
He moved upward, nipped her earlobe,
tasted the smoothness of her cheek, grazed her mouth with his
teeth. She wrapped her legs around him and hooked her ankles. Her
smug expression told him she didn’t intend to let him go. So he
pushed her further, cruising his free hand around her hip, and
discovered just how much she desired him. The wetness between her
thighs told him that, even without the gift of Shadow.
Blood and heat gathered within him into
a churn and swell of sensation and need. He tensed everything to
speak through a shudder of awareness, so she would understand,
too.
“You and I,” he said.
“Yes,” Layla answered.
“Absolutely.”
His face was flushed, back tensing,
ribs flaring with each tight breath. The slow wave of the motion
sent dark currents of rapture through her body. No man ever could
have made her feel like this, not when her psyche had already known
Shadowman.
Layla pulled him down with her legs and
wrapped her arms more tightly around his shoulders, so that his
slanted eye was next to her human one, and they could look at each
other soul to soul. She guided him to her entrance.
“It’ll be okay,” she said and adjusted
her hips slightly to tease him.
Which made him growl against her. The
vibration tickled, so she laughed again. Kissed his mouth, soft and
deep. Fine-tuned their fit. Connected.
Which stopped his breath completely;
every strand of muscle and sinew in his back, thighs, and delicious
ass was strung tight. A damp sheen broke out on his skin. A
pleasure groan rumbled low in his chest.
She used her legs for leverage, and
took them deeper, torturing them both. A bright pulse of delight
gathered deep in her womb, begging for friction.
And he answered with a slow, filling
pump.
His black irises widened as he moved
again, a subtle ripple of Shadow in the room. Mage. Right. Problem?
Too late now . . .
His hands took hers, fingers lacing,
and braced them above her head on the mattress. His shoulders
flexed as he balanced his weight on either side of her for total
possession. A riot of sensation consumed her mind, body, heart, as
he claimed her again. She arched to rub her breasts against his
chest.
He drove deep once more. “Layla . .
.”
Breeched all barriers, stole her
breath, and silenced the world until it was reduced to the pounding
in her head. The darkness in the room became a sea of reckoning
Shadow. Relentlessly he moved, wave upon wave, quickening his
tempo. It was primitive, dark, magic and flesh, a cataclysm,
volcanic, creating as much as it destroyed. She’d never be the
same, but it didn’t matter anyway. When his forehead dropped to
touch hers, she sobbed and clenched him tight. An extended shout
was ripped from his throat, and she met him with her own lift and
fierce cry.
They clung like that, together in the
dark, a pocket of the universe that didn’t wholly belong to any
world. She almost would have begged him to make a little universe
of their own, if not for the trouble they’d leave
behind.
He let his big body collapse on top of
her, oblivious to the fact that she required oxygen to breathe.
When she gasped for air, he rolled to the side and took her with
him. But he wouldn’t let her go. One arm held her fast at the small
of her back. His other tangled in her hair at her nape. She
trembled, gripping him just as hard, as if a hurricane might blow
through the room at any moment and tear them apart, when really
they both intended to walk into disaster freely come
morning.
Layla woke to the light snore of the
mage known as Shadowman. She’d fallen into the crook of his arm
sometime in the night, his muscle her pillow. That’s how they would
sleep if they could have a future. With him breathing deeply beside
her, she’d bet her nightmares would be a thing of the past.
Nuzzling, she kissed his chest. He was as warm as the tint of his
skin, and very little could have compelled her to leave him, but
she had work to do, and only a few hours to do it.
First, a difficult responsibility, sure
to frustrate her newfound family. She ducked out to the car to get
a laptop she’d borrowed from Adam, then settled into the hotel
room’s sofa. She titled her article “Wraiths, Shrouded in Secrecy”
and spotlighted Segue, the place she considered home. With the
emergence of the wights and the reorganization of the wraiths, the
public needed to know what the world was up against. She corrected
the dates for the firstknown cases, referencing murders found in
Segue’s case files over twenty-three years ago. She vouched
personally for wraiths’ near-immortality and stated that The Segue
Institute had discovered a means to kill them, but she didn’t
divulge more, to protect Talia and The Order. She described in
detail the signs of a wraith kill, and then, after a hard internal
debate, revealed what the wraiths fed upon for sustenance: human
souls. Denied nourishment, the wraiths became wights, specters of
such little substance that not even gravity could hold them. The
wights troubled her most now. She went on to state that Segue was
also in the process of developing capture and control techniques,
called Barrow-tech. And last of all, for fun, she referred
questions to Adam Thorne.
As the sky grayed outside her hotel
window, she e-mailed the article to her editor, and blind cc’d
Adam, so he’d be prepared for the phone calls. Not that the public
would believe her claims, but at least she’d done what she’d come
to do. People were dying. A new age of magic was upon the world.
The Order might strive to reverse it, and Segue might try to
control it, but really there was no going back.
Having done her worst, she sought pen
and paper (more personal) to write a note to Talia, but after
addressing the sheet in her best penmanship (never good), she
couldn’t figure out what to say, and heart aching, she abandoned
the project altogether.
She turned when Shadowman shifted to
sit up, his physique glorious in the dappled morning light.
“Morning, sunshine.”
The black got deeper in his
eyes.
All right then, a kiss. Which rapidly
turned into more. And even though they had several hours of driving
ahead of them, they ended up in the shower together. Breakfast on
the road. Doom on the horizon.
The gate started rattling in her head
as soon as they turned onto Interstate 81 heading south. She tried
the radio to cover the sound, but it was no good. The metallic,
angry jangle only increased its volume until she could barely hear
herself think. And here she’d been looking forward to talking with
Shadowman, to having this last time together. The rattle made her
want to turn the car around for a little peace. To save
themselves.
kat-a-kat-a-kat: How
about just one more day?
Rose and Moira had tapped her deepest
fears. The gate was playing a crueler game, taunting her with her
forfeited future.
kat-a-kat-a-kat: A day
for love.
“I hear it, too,” Shadowman said,
massaging the muscles at her neck. He must have put some magic into
the touch, because she could breathe again. Focus.
’Cause, see, a day would never be
enough. Not with Shadowman, warm and vital at her side, not with
Talia, friend, sister, and so much more. The gate could only offer
portions, which was a cheat. And a mean one. With its destruction,
the danger would pass, and Layla would carry the precious memory of
love with her beyond. None of the nightmares that had plagued her
life. Just a bittersweet joy. She wasn’t afraid anymore, just
impatient.
She gripped the steering wheel and
floored the gas. Angels must have been on the road, parting the
traffic, turning the cops’ speed guns the other way, because she
got up to 120 and stayed there. Adam’s car could more than handle
it. The tolls were empty, gates lifted, metered exits flashing
green. The several hours were cut in half.
When she crossed the state line into
West Virginia, the rattle reached a crescendo, so loud she had to
grab her head to keep it from bursting.
Shadowman took the steering wheel,
while she curled into herself, her foot a brick on the gas. Tears
ran down her face as the gate to Hell shook every bone in her body
and chattered her clenched teeth. Hateful, hateful
thing.
The car bumped off the road and she
knew to release the gas. They bounced and skipped into a grassy
meadow, gone yellow for the winter, until the car finally came to a
stop. She felt Shadowman take her head into his hands. She looked
him in the eyes, and the rattle receded a bit.
She couldn’t drive like this anymore,
and he didn’t know how. They’d have to walk, though she really just
wanted to throw up.
They got out of the car, and Shadowman
took her hand as they made their way back to the road. She didn’t
notice the waiting van until she was being lifted inside, and then
she shuddered into Shadowman’s embrace on a bench in the middle.
She had identified Adam Thorne in the front passenger seat,
expression concerned, mouthing something she didn’t understand. She
was here, wasn’t she? That was all that was important. Custo sat on
her other side, his stoic face deep in concentration. The rattle in
her mind mellowed to a distant hum, as if that infernal voice had
been blunted.
And so they were delivered to Hell, its
dark mouth like the gullet of some long-dead dragon, their
destination its sulfurous belly. She was handed down into the
slippery, frigid black earth. Bones of rock hung from the ceiling
and reached from the floor, like fossils from ages past. Electric
torches lit their way, and every time she fell, Shadowman’s hands
were there to keep her upright.
Suddenly the gate was before them, a
black throb of iron. Tall and barbed, it loomed larger than ever,
its shadows reaching to the ceiling, reaching as if it could go on
forever.
kat-a-kat-a-kat: Open
me!
Layla swallowed. Pulled herself up.
Turned to Adam, who trembled, his eyes going bloodshot as he looked
on Hell. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The gate must’ve been
speaking to him, too.
“Adam!”
His attention snapped to her, violence
in his gaze. The cords of his neck stood out. His skin was flushed.
The man needed to get out of here. Bad.
“Talia, Adam,” Layla reminded him.
“Your babies. Michael and Cole.”
He teared as his jaw worked. Shame
brought his head low, but his chest moved in a deep
breath.
“Give them my love, okay?” she
said.
His nod brought tears down his face. He
made to speak, gaze filled with things to say, probably a message
of love from Talia.
“I know,” Layla answered. Talia had a
forever hold on her heart. “I felt it, too.”
Adam froze, surprised, nodded again.
Though he still faced her, his eyes were drawn back to the gate.
Abruptly, he rubbed a hand over his face and turned his back on the
thing. Still, two angels guarded him as he started his upward
climb.
kat-a-kat-a-kat: Open
me!
Layla felt a compulsive pull, like a
lash around her soul, yanking her forcibly toward the nightmare. It
turned her blood cold, made her limbs feel rubbery, her mind numb.
She glanced to Shadowman, who didn’t seem to have Adam’s
trouble.
kat-a-kat-a-kat: Throw
me wide!
Or hers, since she was
shaking.
“It’s time for you to go, too,”
Shadowman said. “This business is for me and The
Order.”
Not likely. She looked at the gate
again. Its bars seethed, constrained only by the vines that wrapped
around them, an occasional wicked flower here, there. That gate was
made for her.
kat-a-kat-a-kat: But it
is no longer you who will die with me. Open me, save
him.
She swung her gaze back up to her
black-eyed lover. No wonder he was so calm. He’d bartered his life
in his deal with the devil.
“But Rose is dead,” she argued,
horrified. “You won the fight.” She whirled back to the gate. “He
won the fight.”
kat-a-kat-a-kat: He won
the right to die in your place. Will you let
him?
No, no, no. She’d thought this through
carefully. Had it all worked out.
“You’ve got to think bigger,” Layla
said, grabbing Shadowman by the front of his shirt. “I can come
back again.” She hoped, upon her second death, that she could sign
up to be an angel. She’d beg to return to Earth, like Custo, and
work with her family against the wraiths. “And you can help Adam
with the wights, while I can’t.”
His arms came around her. “But I made
the gate.”
“You made it for me!” She gestured
wildly toward it. “Even prettied it up.”
He shook his head, expression going
painfully serious. “The flowers were my hope that you’d endure in
that hot place, but you didn’t need them. Never needed them. You
won your life on your own. You should live it. ”
kat-a-kat-a-kat: You’ll
be alone again.
“Shut up!” she yelled at the gate. She
was finished with the alone crap. She had what she wanted, and damn
it, she was holding on.
kat-a-kat-a-kat: Throw
me wide. You can have the ones you love
forever.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I got a
glimpse of Hell yesterday. It’s not for me.”
Custo emerged from the gathered angels.
Approached. “Going or staying, kiss him now. We’d better get
started before someone cracks.” He flared his nostrils with a hard
breath. “I’m halfway there myself.”
Custo walked to the cold, dead forge
off to one side. On the anvil lay a hammer and another of the black
metal flowers. Probably the one she’d found in the warehouse.
Shadowman’s hope that she’d endure.
kat-a-kat-a-kat: Will
you witness his destruction? Will you watch his body break and
bleed for love of you?
No. She didn’t think she could. But she
still wasn’t leaving.
Shadowman lowered his head to her ear.
His breath caressed her skin. That one spot warmed the rest of her.
“Layla, it is done. I beg you to go now. I want you to remember
last night, not this.”
Custo lifted the hammer. The violence
of his motion sent the black flower to the cave floor.
Layla shook her head. She couldn’t
leave him. Couldn’t endure this either. That was Kathleen’s thing,
endurance. Not hers. She’d been broken from the beginning. All her
life. Set apart. Yes, alone. And why? So she could betray the only
one who’d ever loved her.
And he wanted her to remember last
night?
kat-a-kat-a-kat: I’ve
got all your memories right here.
“Help me,” Shadowman said.
Took a second for her to realize he
wasn’t talking to her. Then she was surrounded by angels, ready to
forcibly restrain her.
“I’ll make it quick,” Custo promised,
his voice a rasp of soul-deep reluctance.
But Layla looked at the gate. All her
memories? The temptation grew silky, twining around her soul. What
she wouldn’t give for Kathleen’s memories. . . .
“The gate has her,” someone
said.
Years of happy childhood. Family. Her
sister. How she and her Shadowman had first fallen in love. The
birth of Talia, which now, a lifetime away, still made her heart
thump hard with a wrench of timeless connection.
Shadowman drew her up for one last
kiss. Even as his mouth pressed to hers, hard, dark, full of
passion, the gate spoke in her mind. kat-a-kat-a-kat: What do you think he made me of ? Every strike
has a piece of you.
And those flowers, so she’d endure.
Hold out, against all odds.
“Get her out of here!” Shadowman
roared.
Then he frowned in confusion when the
angels drew back, as if a thought had been shared among them. They
looked at her. At each other. At the gate.
Layla knew what that thought
was.
Those memories sure would be nice.
Better than most of what she had in her head. But Kathleen had
given them up for another chance at the real thing. And Layla
wasn’t about to let it go.
She met Shadowman’s tortured gaze. “The
flowers, love.”
The flowers made the gate, the keeper
of the memories, endure as well.
She had to be right because the gate’s
rattle grew stronger, shaking dust and loose rocks from the cave’s
dark ceiling and tumbling rocks down the narrow opening at its
mouth. The gate knew she had the answer. The angels ducked as the
debris rained down. One or two made a dash for the gate, giving in
to temptation as the opportunity to open it presented itself in the
chaos. These were knocked back by the blond-haired angel and Custo,
whose veins had turned to lead.
Layla darted toward the gate herself.
An arm went around her middle, whipped her back as a large boulder
careened in a blue-black arc of Shadow magic and cracked to the
cave floor. She took the hammer from Custo, unafraid of the chaos
in the cavern. She was well protected. Always had
been.
The tool made her arm buzz with a
tingling-glowy feeling. This was not any old hammer.
kat-a-kat-a-kat: Open
me! Open me! OPEN ME!
The cave rolled with a great earthquake
as she stepped up to the gate. Eyed the first flower on it, drew
her arm back with all her might, and struck.
The flower’s stem bent, and the petals
pointed downward. She liked the flowers so much, better even than
her gorgeous red roses. When this was over, she wanted to gather
them into a black bouquet. His hope that she’d endure. Well, she
was right here to prove it.
She struck again as the ground lurched,
and the flower fell into the dirt. One, two, three more . . . no a
fourth, right there.
The gate stood naked before her,
rocking on its posts.
kat-a-kat-a-kat: He
loved Kathleen more.
Layla held out the hammer to Shadowman.
“You want to do the honors?” kat-a-kat-a-kat:
Desired her more.
“It would be my pleasure.” His
expression was savage, violent and ecstatic. kat-a-kat-a-kat: He’ll never—
And the gate was silenced with
Shadowman’s first strike.