Shadow Fall

be on her own.

Peter opened right up, his expression avid.

“Annabella.” His voice was deeper than usual, almost gruff. He reached out a hand to touch her, but must have thought better of it because he dropped it back to his side to grip his thigh. And he was shaking.

“Hey, Peter…I just wanted to let you know that I’m probably not going to be around for the next few days. I’m…um…” Annabella heard Custo on his call, something about stage security, and glanced toward him.

Peter leaned his head out to look himself, and abruptly pulled back, wincing in pain. Yeah, Custo was hard to compete with, especially with that possessive lock his gaze had on her.

Peter’s expression changed from excited to betrayal. “I don’t understand,” he said, almost a growl. “We should be together. You came to me.”

Annabella flushed to hear him admit his interest. He never had before, though she’d suspected he was working up to asking her out.

What was with impossible men today? Annabella had never meant to lead him on. She had no idea when his feelings had gone past friendship to more. Maybe he’d always wanted more. He was attractive—tall, with dark-toned skin and expressive black eyes, though in his late thirties, a little old for her. And maybe there had been a window of opportunity somewhere in the past couple months when romantic feelings could have developed. But once Venroy had asked her to be Giselle, all her attention had abruptly shifted to the studio.

“I am so sorry. We just didn’t work out that way.” It was particularly awful that gorgeous, glowering Custo was standing in the doorway of her place while she tried to let Peter down easy. Talk about adding insult to injury.

“I could take care of you,” Peter said. “Give you what you need.”

She’d been about to offer the standard ongoing friendship, but his last comment, way too desperate, stole the words from her tongue. The conversation had just gone from uncomfortable to disquieting. Time to go.

“You’ve already helped me so much,” Annabella said. “I have to go. I’m late for the theater already. I just didn’t want you to worry if I disappeared for a couple of days. After the performance, I’m probably going back to my mom’s.” A lie, but Peter didn’t have to know that.

“The performance?”

“Yeah.” He should’ve remembered; she talked of little else for so long. “Tonight’s the big night. My dream come true. I get to dance Giselle for CBT.” She stepped back to signal a close to the conversation. She really did have to go.

“The dance is your dream?” He leaned forward to follow her, but pulled back with a hiss.

“You know me.” She shrugged and took another step back. And another. “Everything is dance, dance, dance.”

“I’ll be there,” he said.

Oh, no. The last thing she needed was more stress. Besides, if poor Peter tried to see her, or…or…come on to her, Custo was likely to wipe the floor with him.

“I’m pretty sure it’s sold out,” she said, turning to her apartment.

“It’s your dream,” Peter repeated to her back. “I’ll be there.”

Custo leaped out of the Segue SUV at the City Center’s Fifty-sixth Street entrance and reached back for Annabella. What he got was her tackle box, retrofitted to hold stage makeup. She clambered out in jeans and an emerald green peacoat, wooly gray scarf at her neck, a massive duffel on her shoulder. Her hair was pulled back in a slick, tight ponytail that made her face teenage young, accenting her luminous skin and exquisite eyes. Her excitement brought faint, delicate color to her cheeks. The air around her crackled with energy.

“I’m late,” she said, but she grinned.

She was hours early, so she had to be very nervous if she was worried about the time. “All you have to do is dance,” Custo said. “I’ll be just offstage, watching you every second. Everything is going to be fine.”

“It has to be perfect,” she corrected, and stalked toward the door.

Custo slammed the door closed behind Annabella and hit the roof of the SUV for the driver to move off. Other Segue vehicles crowded the street, but so far it seemed Adam hadn’t elected to use his dispensation from the government to close off the block. If everything went as planned, the measure wouldn’t be necessary.

Custo moved to follow Annabella, but a tingling feeling had him turning back.

Luca. The last time Custo had seen the angel was in a backward glance thrown at Heaven’s Gate just before plunging into the water and making a break for the Shadowlands. Now Luca stood on the other side of the street. Come to fetch him, or worse.

Though traffic passed on Fifty-sixth, Custo met Luca’s gaze and held it. The world disappeared for a moment; only Custo’s heart, pounding furiously, and Annabella, thoughts full of dance, existed.

One night, Custo begged. He fisted his hands to control himself. He couldn’t leave Annabella now.

Luca’s hard expression didn’t change, though Custo knew the angel had the same capacity to read minds as he.

One night. That’s all I ask. I have to help her.

Luca frowned. You never understood.

Angels’ minds were so much easier to discern than mortals’—clear, uncluttered, full of purpose.

One night, Custo repeated. He didn’t wait for an answer—there was only one: he was staying. As he turned away from Luca, breaking the grip of his gaze, Custo could feel the shear of the universe, as if he were ripping himself out of its fabric to hurtle headlong into his own darkness.

So be it. Custo doubled his step to catch up to Annabella, who was just opening one of the building’s brassy doors. He could feel Luca’s eyes at his back, his condemnation rolling across the street. Well, Luca could chastise him for eternity, but later. After tonight. There was no way anyone was going to drag him away from Annabella’s side until the wolf was back in the Shadowlands. This performance had to succeed.

And afterward? Annabella would have to develop a mastery over the magic, just as she had her dance. Talia could guide her, following the birth of her babies. This wasn’t the way he wanted to leave. He’d wanted to help her himself.

Annabella hurried across the lobby. “Where’s the warm-up class?” she asked a harried-looking woman carrying a frothy pile of white.

“Fifth-floor studio. They’re starting now.” The woman had a needle dimpling her blouse, thread cascading over a breast. Must be someone in charge of costumes.

“Thanks,” Annabella said, hurrying to the elevator and hitting the up arrow.

“Class? You don’t have time for a class,” Custo said, utterly bewildered. He’d wanted to brief her on his team’s assessment of the building’s exits, introduce her to the team members she’d be able to turn to for help, take a moment to tell her that everything was going to be fine, to trust him.

But she was beyond that. The elevator binged almost instantly. “Oh, no no no.” She shook her head as she unbuttoned her coat. Class is essential. “I have to warm up. I have to be ready.”

“But Anna—”

She shoved her coat into his arms. “I can’t dance well tonight without taking class. And we both know I need to dance well.” She flashed him a smile. “So deal with it.”

They took an elevator to a private dressing room, secured by Segue away from the other dancers for their protection. Annabella dropped her bag on a chair and started to strip. “Turn around,” she said, but not before he caught a glimpse of her bra, shocking fuchsia lace, as she peeled off a snug sweater in cornflower blue.

He turned, but watched her anyway in the reflection of the dressing room mirrors, hungry like a man at his last meal: Pale, slender body, naked. Raspberry nipples soon covered by a flesh-colored insult to women’s underwear. His gaze roamed down the long, flat flanks of her legs, which dimpled her ass as she bent over, and formed lovely, smooth planes to her knees. A swell at her calves tensed as she found what she wanted in her bag and stood. Beauty.

“Custo!” Annabella complained, though she smirked as her chest and face swept with color. He doesn’t seem mad about this morning, she thought.