And when it had, his fierce desire might have frightened her—if it hadn’t matched her own so perfectly. Thrust for thrust, raking nails against taut skin, each gasp had driven them closer together until, in the darkest part of the night, on the edge of exhaustion, they’d come one last time with an intensity that eclipsed even the fireworks of their demon-streaked auras. It might have been just the twinkle lights, but she was pretty sure she saw stars.
The marks of his passion were still imprinted on her, his scent on her skin. The violence of their joining hadn’t fazed her, but the sense of possession made her heart trip treacherously close to dangerous thoughts.
She was being forced to give up her past; her future was murky at best. She had no business thinking beyond the glorious release from today.
She leaned forward to press her lips to his forehead. No thoughts of more, she warned herself, just a bit of sweet revenge that he might be as invisibly marked by their night as she was.
He murmured against the pillow and let out a sigh. She fought off the reluctance to leave him. She’d be back in a moment.
She might be in paradise, but padding naked through the garden felt too weird, not to mention chilly without him beside her. She pulled on her clothes—including fresh underwear; he’d judged her size exactly right, so perhaps demon-enhanced powers of perception were good for more than hunting evil—took a square of chocolate, and headed for the office area.
After taking care of nature’s call, she returned to the kitchenette. She heated two mugs of water in the microwave and threw in tea bags to steep. She wasn’t sure what Archer had planned for the day—although his more lurid whispers last night gave her some ideas—but she figured she’d go mad if she sat twiddling her thumbs again. Apparently, a paradise vacation wasn’t her cup of tea.
She eyed the computer at his desk. At least she could check her e-mail, see if Bookie had replied. She nudged the cups away from the keyboard. The system didn’t require a password, so she logged in to her account.
A red exclamation point flagged Bookie’s message.
She opened it and scanned the message: Tonight at the lab? Archer wouldn’t be thrilled with the location. He’d said the hotel still stunk of birnenston—not that the demon-free Bookie would care.
She wondered if Archer would give her a hard time about going. He hadn’t checked in with the league last night, hadn’t even called for an update on the search for Corvus. But if he didn’t want to take her, she knew the way. Just as well he’d removed the tracking bracelet.
She e-mailed Bookie to confirm.
Before she shut down, the reply pinged back in a chat box: Sera, are you all right? Where are you? Where is Archer?
She sat back in the chair. Suddenly, Archer’s not being in contact with the league seemed ominous.
Her pointer hovered over the little x in the upper corner.
Instead, she typed: I’m fine. Archer is fine. Why?
He kidnapped you.
“Nobody tells me anything,” she murmured. She typed: No, he didn’t.
Niall wanted to try your baited-trap idea. Archer refused. And then you were gone. Bookie outlined the meeting Archer had told her about. Except he’d told her almost nothing.
She bit her lip. Bookie explained that they’d all—all but Archer, apparently—agreed she was strong enough and clever enough to take her place as a talyan warrior. They trusted her not to get herself killed unnecessarily.
Don’t know what Archer planned, Bookie sent. Since he never fights alongside the league, maybe he didn’t think they’d be there for you. Doesn’t seem to realize he’s the one who’s never around.
And if Bookie had sounded a bit obsequious—strong and clever enough, indeed—he knew Archer painfully well.
How could a man who fought alone submit to a tactic that involved making himself helpless, trusting in someone else to save him? No one had been around to save Archer before. Could a man who’d lived into his second century change?
But Bookie was wrong to think Archer didn’t know the name of his pain. She’d seen his grief and guilt at Zane’s death, knew he blamed himself for not being in harm’s way. She also knew he’d be infinitely more determined not to let it happen again. Never mind what hung in the balance.
Say, the fate of the world.
He was so used to losing, he’d sacrifice himself every time, even if his pain wasn’t the price to be paid. She knew it only hurt him more that his suffering wasn’t enough.
The demon had promised her answers to the philosophical questions of life and death, salvation and damnation, good and evil. As it turned out, death, damnation, and evil were a little less theoretical and a lot better armed than she’d anticipated. Fighting for life, salvation, and good meant leaving her old life behind but brought her to Archer.
And Archer really wasn’t going to appreciate the irony that he was the one who’d taught her not to let a battle go by without making her mark.
She typed one last message. The dark letters burned on the white screen: Set the trap. I’ll be there.
She sat, lost in churning thoughts going nowhere. Finally, she rose. She turned away from the path into the garden and went instead down the cinder-block corridor to the front door. She punched in the code Archer had given her.
Just hours ago, he had explained the code came from the Song of Solomon, a passage his farmer father often quoted: “For, lo, the winter is passed. The rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, and the time of the singing of birds is come.”
The latch released under her thumb, letting in the stinging Chicago wind. She slipped out quickly.
The real problem with suddenly acquiring the knowledge of good and evil wasn’t simply the knowing part. It was deciding what to do about it.
If she wanted to fight, wanted to matter, she had to go.
She’d just kicked herself out of the garden.
A touch of cold roused Archer. He reached for Sera, but his arm closed around empty air.
He rolled onto his back, staring up at the canopy. She’d be back in a moment and he’d have to decide what to tell her about his revelation in the night.
Love conquers evil. How simple that was. Not easy necessarily, but simple. God knew, it still took a sharp blade, not Air Supply ballads alone, to subdue a rampaging feralis.
All this time, he’d held himself apart, dealing death and refusing to lose again, when only partnership with the woman he’d come to trust and admire could make a difference.
Eager to share his insight, he called her name. Water murmured over rocks in the little stream, and leaves rustled gently.
But no answer.
He slid out of bed. Without pausing to gather his clothes, he circled the paths. Empty.
Kitchen and bathroom. Empty.
In the doorway, he stopped, backpedaled, looked at the two brimming cups of tea beside the computer.
When he jostled the mouse, the black monitor brightened. He reviewed the history. Within a minute, he’d read everything she’d typed.
Fury pulsed through him, pushing back the chill gathered on his skin. Damn Bookie. That wasn’t how it had gone down. The historian hadn’t liked the baited-trap idea either; he must’ve caved in.
Of course, his own version had missed some key points too. And she’d obviously decided who was to be believed. And where she wanted to be.
He crossed his arms against the chill.
She’d rejected the kidnapping charge, but now she knew he’d tried to keep her from a path she’d chosen. He, the great talyan warrior, was afraid of death—not his own, but hers.