She needed to know the truth about herself and her gift. About the father the matriarch claimed was a demon and the urchin whose breath tasted of disease and whose touch brought remembered nightmares of plague and death.
“I can’t accept your offer,” Rebekka said, her voice little more than a whisper.
The Iberá gave a barely perceptible shrug. “As long as I’m alive you may change your mind at any time. Will you accept a detail of guards to assure your safety?”
Rebekka nearly smiled at that, imagining men in pressed, black uniforms bearing the Iberá crest and trailing behind her as she went from brothel to brothel. “No. But I would accept transportation through the Barrens.”
She paused, then decided to trust him with a truth few people knew. “My mother belongs to the Fellowship of the Sign. I need to visit her as soon as possible.”
“I will arrange for you to be taken there tomorrow morning.”
Addai
THE morning sun kissed Addai’s back through the window as he was greeted by the sound of soft moans and the subtle slide of flesh against flesh, by the sight of a delicate feminine spine and the play of muscle underneath deeply tanned skin as the woman rose so the man she straddled followed in a desperate lift of hips off the mattress lest his cock be cast from the hot, wet heaven it was buried in.
Black wings spread across the bed, trembling in pleasure. Black hair spread across the pillow, a match to the woman’s.
Another might have turned away. Another might have left and reappeared after moans gave way to the sharp cry of release.
Addai remained.
He waited for the hate that had once festered to come. For the rage that had been his daily companion to return. Remembered well the consuming fury that had led him to the Djinn Abijah and the betrayal of the brother he now watched taking pleasure.
Thousands of years of being enslaved and at the mercy of humans had seemed a fair price for Tir to pay for what he’d done. But as Addai saw Araña and his brother making love, it was anticipation that stirred inside him, not to join them on the bed but to have once again what they had now.
His cock hardened as another scene overlaid the one in front of him. As a different woman took Araña’s place and black feathers became the snowy white of his own wings.
Soft, teasing laughter replaced murmurs and Addai’s heart swelled, ached, as in his mind he looked into the face of a woman who had been dead before the birth of Jesus of Nazareth and Mohammed and a thousand other prophets and saints.
Sajia. A single instance of indecision had cost him the one whose soul completed his own.
He’d found her alone, drawing water from a village well in preparation of leaving as the rest of her family packed their trade goods onto camels. Djinn. Long-ago enemy. Sloe-eyed and gentle-spirited. He’d been hers from the instant she became aware of his presence.
Her fear had ripped through him. Shredding his sense of purpose as she backed away from him, water jugs shattering as they fell from trembling fingers.
How could he kill her? How could he see her enslaved, her will bent to that of the human priests who were given the captive Djinn?
He couldn’t. Not when he wanted to possess her himself.
In the desert they’d become lovers. Husband and wife, mates, though his fear of becoming Fallen had kept him from saying the binding words, from tying his fate to hers and irrevocably making this world his own.
Addai’s chest grew tight, his throat constricting against tears as he remembered the last time he’d seen her. The kiss they’d shared before he lifted her onto the back of a camel and watched her go, heat rising in shimmering waves off the sand as the caravan headed toward the distant mountains.
They went not to trade, but at the calling of the Djinn by The Prince who ruled them.
He’d fought the urge to go after her, not yet ready to say the necessary words so the gathered Djinn would accept him among them as ally and not enemy. He’d turned away, but even so, some part of her spirit already lived in him.
He’d felt the moment of her death. It was a searing blaze of pain across his soul. A chasm of emptiness that filled with terrible rage and hate when he went to the place where her body lay among others in a scene of devastation.
Tents burned and goats bleated in terror.
Camels ran through the encampment, freed from hobbles and ropes.
Angels bound captured Djinn in sigil-inscribed shackles or urns.
And amidst the carnage Tir stood with blood on his hands, thinking himself righteous. Glorious in victory.
A flash of movement, the rush of power over his skin brought Addai back to the present. To the sight of Tir in front of him, sword held ready, Araña only a step behind him with her knives.
“What brings you here?” Tir asked.
Addai’s smile was as sharp as the weapon in his brother’s hand. “The priest, Ursu. He continues to hunt for the healer in the hopes she will lead him to you. It’s time you paid him a visit to show him you are now beyond his reach, and to make him cease his attempts to have Rebekka found and brought to the Church.”
“Kill him?” The question held the anticipation of pure pleasure.
“No. His life still serves us.”
The sword in Tir’s hand disappeared, returned to the cold pocket of light and air that was its sheath. “I’ll ask again in the future.”
Addai looked to Araña, his gaze lingering on the spider-shaped mark riding her shoulder, proclaiming the nature of her Djinn soul and the House she was called to. “Neither you nor Tir may directly help the healer now. But she might have need of your boat. Will you leave it in Oakland for a while?”
“It can remain there for as long as it’s needed.”
Addai bowed slightly in acknowledgment, his attention returning to Tir. “Speak with Ursu.”
“Should I strike a deal with Rimmon for Rebekka’s protection while she’s on the Constellation?”
“No. Let your previous bargain stand. Only the boat is to be guarded. When the time is right, the healer can learn she has access to it, and that the threat presented by the Church is over. I’ll let you know when that time arrives. You can serve as messenger since you are familiar to her and to the werelion Levi.”
“I’ll leave now.”
Addai’s gaze dropped to the tattoolike spider above Tir’s heart, the mark he’d gained by having the courage to speak the forbidden incantation and willingly bind himself to Araña. For an instant the past reached into the present, bringing with it memories of a different mark, a different choice. But the festering hate, the rage that had once accompanied those memories didn’t come. Only anticipation filled Addai, and a desire hot enough to burn through eternity.
Iyar en Batrael, the most powerful of the Raven House, had gone to the fiery birthplace of the Djinn and called Sajia’s name. After thousands of years she was reborn. And though she would hold no memories of their life together, soon she would be returned to him. His to love and possess.
“It is good to have you back among us, brother,” Addai said, clasping Tir to him before letting go of his corporeal form, along with the past.
Closure
OAKLAND. There’d been nothing to explain the sense of anticipation, the exhilaration and hope that filled him when he first heard mention of this city.
Shackled, sold like an animal, he couldn’t have predicted he would find freedom here—love—and with it redemption, a purpose other than vengeance and retribution.
Araña. Her name was a joyous shout in his soul, her body sweet pleasure and carnal torment.
Thinking about her made him harden. Being away from her was a scraping of sharp edges against his skin, a piercing of his heart, though with the binding of their spirits and the sharing of breath, Tir knew she lived and was safe.