Only flaw that he possessed was a black spot as big as her fist on his chest, just above his heart. The spot bled out in a few places, as if ink had been smudged. Wait. Nope. Not the only flaw. Whip marks seemed to wrap around his ribs, red and raw. And could she really call the snow still falling from his wings a sign of perfection?
He stopped when he spotted her. A second later, a white robe draped him. Also, his bed—and its prisoner— had vanished. “I had a do-not-disturb barrier outside.” His emotionless tone had returned. “How did you get in?”
“Um, sorry about that,” she said. “I just, uh, kind of willed myself here.”
No chastisement. Just a tight “What do you want?”
“I wanted to thank you.” He was the reason Paris and company lived. “You gave me water from the River of Life. I didn’t know what you had to do to obtain that water at the time, but I do now, and I’m aware you had to make some sort of sacrifice.”
Tidbits of information came to her at the oddest times now, and only this morning, she’d realized angels had to give up something they loved to even approach the water. And to leave with a vial? They had to bleed. A lot. Maybe that’s why he’d been whipped.
After the battle, as Paris’s energy had drained right along with his blood, Zacharel had traded her a vial of the stuff for a simple promise to help the angels in the coming war. Apparently, the battle against Cronus was not the one he needed help winning.
“I will do everything I can for you,” she finished. There were limits to what she could do, of course. She couldn’t bring her sister back, though she’d tried. She couldn’t find Kane. She couldn’t heal others. Cronus had never been the all-powerful entity he’d made himself out to be.
“You have much to learn about yourself,” the angel said. “You will spend the next few weeks with us, and we will teach you what you need to know.”
“As soon as Paris is up and around. He’ll be coming with me,” she said. And she prayed she was right, that he would want to.
“He shared his darkness with you, and you want him still?”
“Of course. I am a light for him, a way out, and somehow his darkness is my light.”
“That is—”
“Enough about this, I know. I want him with me, and that’s that.” She disappeared, having one more stop to make before she could return to Paris.
Galen’s home.
He and Fox were seated at their kitchen table, piles of guns and ammo spilled out around them. They were polishing metal, checking clips, fitting bullets.
Wrath growled, but didn’t say anything.
Galen looked upset. Fox looked strung-out. Her nostrils flared, and she sniffed, hard, and then her head was whipping around. Her gaze landed on Sienna and she jumped to her feet, about to lurch in Sienna’s direction, obviously craving another taste of her.
With a flick of her wrist, Sienna willed the female to the very table where Sienna herself had been snacked on, chaining her there.
Galen jolted to his feet, his chair skidding behind him. “You!”
“Me.”
“I want my women back. Legion
“And I want you to release Legion from her vow to you.”
“Never.”
“I thought you’d say that.” She glided over and eased into Fox’s seat. He made no aggressive moves toward her, but then, he knew what she could do now.
Maybe she should have killed him for all the wrongs he’d committed. But most of his Hunters were dead, decimated in the battle, so perhaps he’d suffered enough. Also, she didn’t want his demon loose, like Greed, who had belonged to Cronus, and Strife, who belonged to Rhea, the two now out there somewhere, no doubt plaguing the world.
“As you know, the Unspoken Ones were bound to Cronus. Now that he’s dead, they are free. I tried to keep them chained, but by the time I realized who and what they are, that I, too, could bind them, they were long gone.” Her gaze was piercing. “They want your blood, Galen. They want it bad. They’ll be coming after you hard-core.” And really, she was surprised they hadn’t gotten to him already. “Do you really want to put Legion in that kind of situation? That kind of danger?”
A long moment passed. His answer would reveal his true feelings for the girl.
His shoulders sagged. He sank back into his seat. “No. I do not.”
He cared for her, Sienna realized. Truly cared for the girl.
“I…release her,” he gritted out. “Release Legion from her vow to remain with me, obey me.”
Double wow, but she didn’t comment. She didn’t know what to say. So she moved them on to their next order of business. “You have something I want.”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “The Cloak of Invisibility.”
“Yes.”
“It’s mine.
How she wished she could make him give her the artifact, but free will was a greater power than what bubbled inside her. Whatever Cronus had told her, that’s why he’d worked so hard to convince her to do what he wanted. Immortal or not, king or not, you messed with free will, and you would be punished. Severely. She was pretty sure that’s why she had ultimately defeated him. Because he’d taken hers, he’d lost his own in turn.
“What will it take to convince you to give me the Cloak?” she asked. She’d learned a thing or two about bargaining.
His eyes narrowed on her. “Protection. You must protect me from the Unspoken Ones.”
And wouldn’t the Lords just
“Eternity.”
“Two years.”
“Eternity.”
“One year,” she said, her own eyes narrowing.
He popped his jaw. “Very well. Two years of protection. Maybe in that time, I’ll kill you and take those kingly powers for myself. Protect myself.”
By that time, she would have found Pandora’s box, but she didn’t tell him that. “Make a play for me, Galen, and you’ll find yourself in a special prison for immortals for the next two years.”
He paled.
Yeah. He caught her drift. He’d be rotting next to the Greeks he’d once betrayed. “Give me the Cloak.”
His motions jerky, he pulled a small square of gray material from his pant pocket and tossed it at her. “There. Yours.”
There was no time to bask in her victory.
“Sienna!”
She heard Paris’s bellow across the vast distance between them. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure as she stuffed the tiny, folded Cloak in her bodice. He was awake! “Gotta go,” she said, and willed herself back inside her bedroom.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
PARIS WAS JUST ABOUT TO GO on a rampage when his woman appeared beside the bed. He caught his breath and fell back against the pillows. Her dark hair tumbled over one shoulder. She wore a gown threaded with gold and emerald, jewels sparkling in the material. Her hair was brushed to a luxurious mahogany shine. Those black wings arced over her shoulders.
She had never looked more beautiful.
He sighed with happiness as she threw herself on top of him. “I’m so glad you’re awake!”
