as he checked for spectators on the observation deck. A young couple rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Alban shifted in Margrit’s arms, clearing the safety mesh with an easy leap. “But I will do it for you.”
CHAPTER 28
THE DISTANT STREETS seemed as serene as they had from the building, New York’s frenetic pace left behind. Margrit turned her face against Alban’s shoulder, trusting him to hear even as the wind ripped her question away. “Is it always like this?”
Above her, Alban shook his head. “It’s not always so calm. These last few days have been unusually so.” He paused, then added judiciously, “At least, as far as the wind is concerned.”
“The calm before the storm? I wonder what’s coming, then.” Margrit lifted a hand to block wind from her eyes, watching Central Park increase in size as they soared closer to it, banking to the west. “It doesn’t look like there’s anything but peace down there. Maybe that’s why you’ve been able to stay out of it for so long. Because you see the world from above.”
“You are too generous.” Alban’s voice was a basso rumble by her ear before he nodded below. “The cathedral.”
Margrit twisted, looking down. “Huh. It really is a cross.”
“Cathedrals usually are.”
Margrit tried to elbow him without unwinding her arms from around him, then merely wrinkled her nose. “I’m not used to seeing them from above. Some of us don’t get the bird’s-eye view as a matter of course, you know.” She studied the cathedral as they soared over it, Alban keeping high in the sky as he made slow loops through the air. “I live at the other end of the street and haven’t even been here since the fire,” Margrit admitted guiltily. “I used to do the vertical tours, but you can’t anymore.”
“I’ve never been on one.”
“You could climb to the top of the cathedral on the spiral staircases. I loved it.” Margrit paused. “If she was here, where would she be?”
“ I would be at the tower,” Alban replied after a moment’s hesitation of his own. “The highest point. Hold tight.” He dropped into a dive tempered by the flutter of wind against partially folded wings.
Margrit swallowed a yelp, knotting her arms around his neck and struggling with laughter that was half terrified, half gleeful. Their plummet ended with a snap of his wings, catching air again to bring them up in a swoosh only a few dozen feet above the cathedral tower. Margrit’s heart hammered against Alban’s chest, giggles running through her.
“I can’t decide if that’s the best thing ever or tantamount to suicide,” she said against his collarbone.
He tightened an arm around her briefly, solid and comforting. “I’ve been doing this a long time. You’re in no danger.”
Margrit nodded, then loosened one arm to look down as Alban circled the tower. “I don’t see anyone. Should we land?”
Alban rumbled disapproval. “I’d prefer not to endanger you in that way. It may be that I can’t fall, but you don’t share that advantage. I see no one, either. Perhaps the carving is nothing more than a warning.” His wings pumped as he spoke, bringing them higher into the city night.
“Maybe. But why would she bother? It seems more like a game of cat and mouse to me. Like it’s a clue.” Margrit twisted to look back at the receding cathedral. “I think we should look more carefully.”
“I will,” Alban promised. “But not with you so vulnerable. Do you have a rooftop access key?” He wheeled again, bringing them down on top of Margrit’s apartment building.
“Uh. Yeah, I think so.” She stepped out of the gargoyle’s arms to gingerly slide her hand into a pocket. It came out with keys dangling from her fingertips. “Here we go.”
“All right. I’ll check the tower and come to your balcony in a few minutes.”
Margrit laughed. “That’s going to be kind of hard to explain if either Cam or Cole are home, Alban. I can wait here.”
A furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.”
Margrit’s laughter faded to a crooked smile. “I’ve gotten along without you for this long, Alban. Look, if you don’t want to leave me, we can walk down to the cathedral after you try the gestalt for information. All right?”
He tilted his head, birdlike for all his size, and murmured, “You’ve gotten along with me guarding you for this long,” before nodding. “All right. I hadn’t thought of the balcony being a problem,” he admitted as she unlocked the rooftop door. “Too accustomed to flight, I suppose.”
“Isn’t that a sort of dangerous habit?” Margrit’s question echoed in the stairwell, the fire door clanging shut behind them. “Wouldn’t it be safer to walk places instead of risking a fire escape or an alley for changing your form?”
“Yes.” A note of strain came into Alban’s voice and Margrit glanced over her shoulder at him, curious. He’d returned to his human form while she wasn’t watching, his expression dark, eyebrows drawn down and his mouth thin. “It would be much safer. There would be no chance of being noticed in the skies, or caught unawares by a deal going on in the dark.”
“So why risk it?”
“Margrit.” His voice altered, deepened even more, and she turned again in time to see his wings snap out, flaring in the narrow stairwell. He looked barely contained, all raw earthy power, with one taloned hand turned up in supplication. The other curved around the railing, less for support than to show the dangerous strength in those hands: beneath his grip, steel buckled, all too ready to give way to his demand.
Embarrassment and desire crept up by degrees, heating Margrit’s cheeks as she stared at the unearthly being on the stairs above her. His chest rose and fell in tight breaths, as if the air wasn’t enough to sustain him, and his gaze, usually so colorless, was dark and demanding. Margrit took one step toward him, reaching out to put her fingertips against his diaphragm. He shuddered under the touch, and his upturned hand slowly closed in a fist. “I have lost much to your people.” Gentleness was gone from his voice, leaving granite to scrape across Margrit’s ears. “I will not let you take the skies.”
“I’m sorry.” The words were a blurted whisper on the edge of a rising tide of overwhelming sorrow. Margrit slid her fingers up his chest, marveling at the smoothness of his skin, like polished stone. She pulled herself onto the stair with him, then onto the one above, where she was tall enough to sink her hands into his hair. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, and found his mouth with her own, driven by a desperation she’d never known.
He made a small sound, surprise coupled with urgency, and lifted her as easily as he had earlier. Margrit wrapped her legs around his waist, fingers knotted in his hair, her tongue seeking his insistently. Her heartbeat took the air from her lungs, turning it into heat that spilled through her body. She laughed, breathless soft noise that bounced against concrete walls, and shimmied out of her jacket, letting it fall to the steps.
“Margrit.” Alban rasped her name, breaking the kiss long enough to put his forehead against hers, his breath coming in quick gasps. “Margrit, we’re in a stairwell.”
She leaned back, looking down nine floors to the bottom of the shaft, then turned a sly smile on the pale creature who held her. “Yeah. We are.”
“You can’t…” His protest trailed off as she deliberately undid the buttons of her blouse and let it slip from her shoulders with a whisper of silk. Alban’s gaze slid from the curve of her breasts within her bra, to her eyes, then back again, astonishment warring with prudence and want.
“Yeah. I can. I really can.” Margrit laced her fingers into his hair again, teasing his earlobe with her lips and tongue. “If I take your pants off you now, will they be gone in your other form?”
Alban laughed, a throaty sound of amazement. “No. You’ll have to do it all over again.”
“That,” Margrit breathed, “has promise. But not right now. Sit.”
“What?” He sank down even as he asked the question, wings folding behind him. Margrit unwound her legs from around his waist, settling on his lap as she slipped her hand over his shoulder and traced one of the delicate- looking tarsals. Alban caught his breath, arching under the touch, and Margrit laughed, a quiet sound of delight.
