the waiting night sky.”
The shudders that wracked Kalona’s body began to lessen almost instantly. The winged immortal drew a deep breath. Though his hands trembled, he clasped Neferet’s tightly, removing them from his face. Then, opened his eyes. They were the deep amber color of whisky, clear and coherent. He was completely himself again.
“You’ve returned to me!” For a moment Neferet was so filled with relief that he was awake and aware that she almost wept. “Your mission is complete.” Neferet brushed away the tentacles that clung stubbornly to Kalona’s body, frowning at them because they seemed so reluctant to withdraw their hold on her lover.
“Take me from the earth.” His voice was gravelly with disuse, but his words were lucid. “To the sky. I need to see the sky.”
“Yes, of course, my love.” Neferet waved at the door and it reopened. “Warrior! My Consort awakens. Help him to the castle rooftop!”
The Son of Erebus who had annoyed her so recently obeyed her command without question, though Neferet noted he looked shocked at Kalona’s sudden reanimation.
It was past midnight. The moon hung toward the horizon, yellow and heavy though not yet full.
“Help him to the bench and then leave us,” Neferet ordered, gesturing to the ornately carved marble bench that rested near the edge of the castle’s rooftop, affording a truly magnificent view of the glistening Mediterranean. But Neferet had no interest in the beauty that surrounded her. She waved away the Warrior, dismissing him from her mind even though she knew he would be notifying the High Council that her Consort’s soul had returned to his body.
That didn’t matter now. That could be dealt with later.
Only two things mattered now: Kalona had returned to her, and Zoey Redbird was dead.
CHAPTER TWO
“Speak to me. Tell me everything slowly and clearly. I want to savor each word.” Neferet went to Kalona, kneeling before him, stroking the soft, dark wings that unfurled loosely around the immortal as he sat on the bench, face raised to the night sky, bronzed body bathed in the golden glow of the moon. She tried to keep herself from trembling in anticipation of his touch—of the return of his cold passion, his frozen heat.
“What would you have me say?” He didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he opened his face to the sky, as if he could drink in the heavens above them.
His question took her aback. Her lust abated and her hand ceased stroking his wing.
“I would have you give me the details of our victory so that I might savor the retelling of it with you.” She spoke slowly, thinking that perhaps his brain might still be slightly addled from the recent displacement of his soul.
“
Neferet’s green eyes narrowed. “Indeed. You are my Consort. Your victory is mine, as mine is yours.”
“Your kindness is almost divine. Have you become a goddess during my absence?”
Neferet studied him closely. He still wasn’t looking at her; his voice was almost expressionless. Was he being impudent? She shrugged off his question, though she continued to watch him closely. “What happened in the Otherworld? How did Zoey die?”
She knew what he would say the instant his amber eyes finally found hers, though childishly she covered her ears and began to shake her head back and forth, back and forth as he spoke the words that were like a sword stroke to her soul.
“Zoey Redbird is not dead.”
Neferet stood and forced her hands from her ears. She stalked several paces from Kalona, staring unseeingly out at the liquid sapphire of the night sea. She breathed slowly, carefully, attempting to control her seething emotions. When finally she knew she could do so without shrieking in anger to the sky, she spoke.
“Why? Why did you not complete your quest?”
“It was your quest, Neferet. Never mine. You forced me to return to a realm from which I’d been banished. What happened was predictable: Zoey’s friends rallied about her. With their aid she healed her shattered soul and found herself again.”
“Why did you not stop it from happening?” Her voice was frigid. She didn’t so much as glance at him.
“Nyx.”
Neferet heard the name leave his lips as if he’d spoken a prayer—soft, low, reverent. Jealousy speared her.
“What of the goddess?” She almost spat the question.
“She intervened.”
“She did what?” Neferet whirled around. Disbelief tinged with fear made her words breathless, incredulous. “Do you expect me to believe that Nyx actually interfered with mortal choice?”
“No,” Kalona said, sounding weary again. “She didn’t interfere; she intervened, and only after Zoey had already healed herself. Nyx blessed her for it. That blessing was part of her and her Warrior’s salvation.”
“Zoey lives.” Neferet’s voice was flat, cold, lifeless.
“She does.”
“Then you owe me the subservience of your immortal soul.” She started to walk away from him, toward the rooftop exit.
“Where are you going? What will happen next?”
Disgusted by what she perceived as weakness in his voice, Neferet turned to him. She drew herself up tall and proud, and held out her arms so that the sticky threads that pulsed around her could brush her skin freely, caressingly.
“What will happen next? It is quite simple. I will ensure Zoey is drawn back to Oklahoma. There, on my own terms, I will complete the task you failed.”
To her retreating back the immortal asked, “And what of me?”
Neferet paused and glanced over her shoulder. “You will return to Tulsa, too, only separately. I have need of you, but you cannot be with me publically. Do you not remember, my love, that you are a killer now? Heath Luck’s death was your doing.”
“
She smiled silkily. “Not according to the High Council.” She met his eyes. “This is what is going to happen. I need you to regain your strength quickly. By dusk tomorrow I will have to report to the High Council that your soul has returned to your body, and that you confessed to me you killed the human boy because you thought his hatred for me a threat. I will tell them because you believed you were protecting me, I was merciful in your punishment. I only had you flogged one hundred strokes and then banished you from my side for one century.”
Kalona struggled to sit. Neferet was pleased to see anger flash in his amber eyes.
“You expect to be bereft of my touch for a century?”
“Of course not. I will graciously allow you to return to my side after your wounds have healed. Until then I will still have your touch; it will simply be away from the prying eyes of the public.”
His brow lifted. She thought how arrogant he looked, even weakened and defeated.
“How long do you expect me to skulk in the shadows, pretending to heal from nonexistent wounds?”
“I expect you to be absent from my side until your wounds
