Rapture's Edge

“Yeah. Welcome to the party.”

Constantine leapt to his feet and Lix followed, the two of them flexing and snarling like the animals they were. They’d been lounging on a velvet sofa watching as Celian spoke on the phone with Leander before trying, in vain, to reach D, but their quiet repose had been replaced instantaneously with fierce readiness, and the willingness to rip out the throat of an enemy and lay down their own lives in order to protect their colony.

Celian turned and stared at them. “Get the Legiones ready. Call the elders to order and make sure everyone knows what’s at stake. Get the women and children to the Domitilla; the sunken church is the farthest outpost, and they can escape easily from there if worse comes to worst. And then join me in the armory. We’re going to lay some traps for these rats.”

He smiled, mirthless, his lips curving cold red.

“There’s a thousand secret passageways in these catacombs, a million black, dead-end corridors to get lost in. If they do invade, that British peacock and his friends won’t be getting out of here alive.”

33 Love Like Drowning

“We can’t stay here long.”

D was turned away from her with his hands on his hips. His voice was low and solemn.

She’d found him this way, staring out the curved bay window in the living room into the pale, shifting light of dawn. She’d eaten, checked on Mel—no change—and then wandered around the safe house aimlessly, not realizing until she found herself at the top of the stairs of the main level that she’d been looking for him.

“Why not?” She thought of his ringing cell phone from before, and her heart fluttered in panic. “You’ve had news?”

A nod of his head, almost imperceptible. His shoulders were stiff, pulled back in a way that accentuated their breadth and belied his inner tension. He seemed to be scanning the street outside, looking for something. Or someone.

“They’ll be checking everywhere now. This place isn’t safe anymore.”

Eliana swallowed. “They?”

He turned and looked at her. His face was set in a grim mask, and his eyes were dark and fathomless. “Mel has to be moved. This Alexi”—his voice took on a dangerous edge when he said his name—“his place is secure?”

With that question, Eliana understood with perfect, terrible clarity that there was a choice to be made, a choice between her nemesis, Faith, and her old, comfortable friend, Doubt.

She would need his help to safely move Mel. And where else could Mel be moved but to Alexi’s, where she could be given care and watched over? But then he would know where Alexi’s was, and all the other members of the colony who’d fled there. She had few options, little time, and no money on hand to secure them other lodgings, and only his word that he would never hurt her to go on. His word and the look in his eyes when he said it, which had almost, almost made her believe.

If she took him to Alexi’s, there would be no more hiding. There would be no more secrets. There would be nothing but hope and desperate, blind Faith.

She was going to have to trust him or stay here and risk death for herself and Mel. Either way, she suddenly realized, their lives were already in his hands.

And he hadn’t let her down yet.

He watched her face as these thoughts crowded her mind, watched her silently and unmoving, until finally she drew in a slow breath and chose.

She nodded. “Yes. It’s secure. I’ll give you directions in the car.”

Let the chips fall where they may, she thought, turning away. I can always kill him later.

Alexi’s place turned out to be far more than a mere place. It was practically its own postal code.

Six stories tall, nearly as wide as a city block, the modest, classic stone exterior hid a lavishly opulent interior of cream silk furnishings, polished marble floors and antiques, and a collection of modern art to rival that of the finest museums, which hung in vivid pops of color from walls painted delicate eggshell white. Located on the Avenue du President Kennedy directly across from the Eiffel Tower, it also sported a rather awe-inspiring view of the Seine.

“Let me guess. Rich parents? Trust fund?” D said sourly to Eliana as he stood beneath an elaborate chandelier in the grand foyer that threw sparkling prisms of color in rainbow radiance around the room.

She shook her head. “He’s self-made. Came from nothing. Hard work and talent got him where he is. He’s a genius, really.” Her lips lifted to a faint, fond smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised if someday he rules the world.”

D began to hate this rich, genius Alexi with an almost biblical wrath. He hadn’t made an appearance yet; they’d been admitted to the foyer by an arch, elderly butler in a tuxedo who took one look at the two of them and pursed his lips, then glided away to inform the master of the house more “guests” had arrived.

“Does he know what you are?”

Eliana contemplated that for a moment, staring at a crystal Lalique figurine on a nearby table of a couple entwined in an embrace, and then murmured, “He knows what I’m not.”

“Which means?”

She slid him an indecipherable, sideways glance. “He’s doing me an incredible favor, Demetrius, letting us stay here. Please don’t antagonize him.”

D ground his teeth together, and all the broken things inside him ground together, too. He said between clenched teeth, “He should take care not to antagonize me, Ana. I suddenly feel like ripping someone’s head off.”

“Which won’t help anything—”

“No, but it would make me feel a hell of a lot better—”

“Demetrius, please—”

“You can’t expect dogs and cats to play nice together—”

“Alexi is not a dog!”

D smirked, and Eliana glared back at him. “He’s a dog, all right. I noticed him at the catacombs, Ana. He’s a pedigreed, pampered little yipper who likes to bury his bone all over town.”

Eliana’s mouth dropped open. Her face went pale and then flushed red. She opened her mouth to, no doubt, excoriate him, but at that moment the little yipper decided to show up.

He burst through a set of etched glass doors at the opposite end of the glistening foyer with his arms held out, worry lines bunching his golden brow. Blond and tanned and fit, he was one of those men who managed to look well groomed and wealthy even in bare feet, torn jeans, and a tight Rolling Stones T-shirt, which served double duty as an “I’m-too-rich-to-be-bothered” fashion statement and a showcase for his gym-hardened physique.

Without a glance in D’s direction, Alexi enveloped Eliana in a tight, possessive embrace.

D’s hate ratcheted up to a thermonuclear malignity. He did want to see this poser’s head torn from his body—torn from his body and impaled on a post. A growl, low and threatening, rumbled through his chest, and he stepped forward, bristling.

Eliana broke away from Alexi and angled her body between them. Alexi looked at D, and to his credit, he didn’t balk. He gave him a swift, disdainful once-over, as if just noticing his presence, and then said, “Ah. You.”

“The feeling is mutual, pretty boy,” D snarled, curling his hands into fists.

Without looking back at him, Eliana reached out and laid her hand flat on his chest. It had the intended effect. D stopped dead in his tracks, distracted—disabled—by her touch.

“What he meant to say was thank you,” Eliana said smoothly, “for what you’ve done. We’re in your