Silence

wasn’t sure he’d guessed my intentions just yet.

“I’m not going to lead your Nephilim uprising,” I told him, “because you’re not going to die. In fact, you’re going to live quite a bit longer. Granted, you won’t be living at the Ritz. Unless Patch intends to upgrade this chamber.” I raised my eyebrows at Patch, asking him to weigh in.

What are you doing, Angel? he murmured to my thoughts.

To my amazement, my ability to speak to his mind came naturally. An instinctive switch flipped in my brain, and I channeled my words by sheer mental power. I’m not going to kill him. And you aren’t either, so don’t get any ideas.

And the archangels? We had a deal.

This isn’t right. His death shouldn’t be our call. I thought this was what I wanted, but you were right. If I kill him, I’ll never forget. I’ll carry him with me forever, and that’s not what I want. I want to move on. I’m making the right decision. And though I kept it to myself, I knew the archangels were using us to do their dirty work. I for one had had enough of getting my hands dirty.

To my surprise, Patch didn’t argue. He faced Hank. “I prefer it cold, dark, and cramped. And I’ll soundproof it. That way, no matter how loud or long you holler, you’ll only have your own misery to keep you company.”

Thank you, I told Patch, putting all my sincerity behind my words.

A wicked smile crept to his mouth. Death was too good for him. More fun this way.

If the mood hadn’t been so grave, I might have laughed.

“This is what you get for believing Dabria,” I told Hank. “She’s not a prophetess; she’s a psychopath. Live and learn.”

I gave Hank the opportunity for any final words, but as I expected, he was speechless. I’d hoped, at the very least, for a fumbled attempt at an apology, but I hadn’t set my heart on it. Instead Hank’s final exchange came in the form of a strange, faint smile of anticipation. The effect unnerved me slightly, but I supposed that was what he intended.

A hush filled the small cell. The tension crackling the air ebbed away. Banishing all thought of Hank, I became acutely aware of Patch standing behind me. There was a distinct change in the air, shifting from uncertainty to relief.

Exhaustion drained through me. Its first casualty were my hands, which started to shake. My knees also trembled, then my legs. The draining sensation swept through me like a dizzy spell. The walls of the cell, the stale air, even Hank seemed to spin away. The only thing keeping me grounded was Patch.

Without warning, I flung myself into his arms. He pressed me back against the wall with the force of his kiss. A shudder of relief rippled through him, and I sank my fingers into his shirt, dragging him against me, needing him close in a way I never had before. His mouth pressed and tasted mine. There was nothing expert about the way he kissed now; in the cool darkness of the cell, hot urgency bound us together.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured into my ear.

I was about to agree, when I saw fire out of the corner of my eye. At fist I thought one of the torches had fallen from a bracket. But the flame danced in Hank’s hand, a mesmerizing, unearthly blue glow. It took me a moment to understand what my eyes were seeing but refused to believe.

Realization dawned one piece at a time. Hank juggled a ball of sizzling blue fire in one hand and Patch’s black feather in the other. Two vastly different objects; one light, one dark. Moving inextricably closer together. A thread of smoke coiled up from the tip of the feather.

There wasn’t time to shout a warning. There wasn’t time at all.

In that thinnest of moments, I raised the gun. I squeezed the trigger.

The shot flung Hank back against the wall, arms outstretched, mouth open in surprise.

He never moved again.

CHAPTER 33

PATCH DIDN’T BOTHER DIGGING A GRAVE FOR THE body. It was dark, an hour or two before sunrise, and he dragged it to the coast, just beyond Delphic’s gates, and with a nudge of his boot, rolled it off the cliffs and into the raging waves below.

“What will happen to him?” I asked, huddling into Patch for warmth. The icy winds ripped at my clothes, painting a layer of frost over my skin, but the real chill came from within, cutting bone deep.

“The tide will drag him out, and the sharks will have an easy meal.”

I shook my head to signify he’d misunderstood. “What will happen to his soul?” I couldn’t help but wonder if the things I’d said to Hank were true. Would he suffer every moment for the rest of time? I shook aside any remorse I felt. I hadn’t wanted to kill Hank, but in the end, he’d left me no choice.

Patch stayed silent, but I didn’t miss that he held me tighter, closing his arms protectively around me. He ran his hands briskly over my arms. “You’re freezing. Let me take you back to my place.”

I held my ground. “What happens now?” I whispered. “I killed Hank. I have to lead his men, but what will I do with them?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Patch said. “We’ll come up with a plan, and I’ll be by your side until we see it through.”

“Do you really believe it will be that easy?”

Patch made a short sound of amusement. “If I wanted easy, I’d chain myself in hell beside Rixon. The two of us could kick back and soak up the rays together.”

I gazed down at the waves, dashing themselves to pieces against the rocks. “When you made the deal with the archangels, weren’t they worried you’d talk? This can’t look good for them. All you’d have to do is spread rumors that devilcraft can be harnessed, and you’d incite a black-market feeding frenzy among Nephilim and fallen angels.”

“I swore an oath not to talk. That was part of the deal.”

“Could you have asked for anything in exchange for your silence?” I asked quietly.

Patch tensed, and I sensed he’d guessed the direction of my thoughts. “Does it matter?” he said blandly.

It did. Now that Hank was dead, the haze shrouding my memory was burning off like clouds under the sun. I couldn’t remember entire reels of memories, but pictures were there. Flashes and glimpses that grew stronger by the minute. Hank’s power, and control over me, was dying alongside him, leaving me wide open to remember everything Patch and I had struggled through together. The tests of betrayal, loyalty, trust. I knew what made him laugh, what set him off. I knew his deepest desire. I saw him so clearly. So breathtakingly clearly.

“Could you have asked them to make you human?”

I felt him exhale slowly, and when he spoke, there was a raw honesty in his voice. “The short answer to that question is yes. I could have.”

Tears blurred my vision. I was overcome by my own selfishness, even though rationally, I knew I hadn’t made Patch’s decision for him. Still. He’d made it because of me, and my guilt tossed and churned as stormily as the sea below.

Upon seeing my reaction, Patch made a sound of disagreement. “No, hear me out. The long answer to that question is that everything about me has changed since meeting you. What I wanted five months ago is different from what I want today. Did I want a human body? Yes, very much. Is it my top priority now? No.” He looked at me with serious eyes. “I gave up something I wanted for something I need. And I need you, Angel. More than I think you’ll ever know. You’re immortal now. And so am I. That’s something.”

“Patch—,” I began, shutting my eyes, my heart hanging from a thread.

His mouth brushed my earlobe, a searing flutter-weight pressure. “I love you.” His voice was straightforward, affectionate. “You make me remember who I used to be. You make me want to be that man again. Right now, holding you, I feel like we have a shot at beating all odds and making it together. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

Just like that, I forgot that I was thoroughly soaked, shivering, and poised to be the next leader of a Nephilim society I wanted nothing to do with. Patch loved me. Nothing else was important.