“Better.” She breathed deep, as if to fill herself up with courage. “I like it. I want it.”
He smiled at her possessiveness. It wasn’t in her nature to acquire or want, except if something had real value. This knife was of the best quality. “You’ll have to take the matter up with Adam.” After. Mason would make sure there’d be an after.
She sighed. “Are we ready then?”
His smile faded. It was time for the beacon to draw the angel here. He parted the dark mist that covered his soul. Bastian had said any angel could find him. Well, here I am.
Cari looked forlorn.
“I’d give it up if I could,” he said of his soul. Be like Fletcher. Like her.
Her eyes gleamed and she shook her head, pain twisting her mouth. “Please don’t. You make me want one of those, actually.”
He couldn’t help but love her. He’d always loved her. What she did to him. He cupped her head and drew her forward to kiss her. She rose on tiptoe to make the press fiercer. More desperate. His mage princess, Martin dagger in hand, rocking his soul.
“How much time do we have?” she murmured against his mouth.
He shifted his grasp to lift her without breaking the kiss. “Could be hours, could be days.”
Her legs came around his waist, and he supported her . . . forearms to her hips, hands to her ass. “Did I ever give you a tour of the house?”
She brushed her lips across his, a slide of her satin. “Nope.”
“My apologies. Let’s start upstairs.” His feet knew the count of every step. The choreography of dodging a mess in the upstairs hallway was ingrained in his muscle memory, past Fletcher’s room and the bathroom, to the third door, where in the seven-plus years he and Fletcher had lived here, Mason had never brought a woman. The bedroom was tiny compared to his suite at Dolan House. No more than a closet with a double bed.
“I love it,” she breathed, but she hadn’t even looked at the room. She’d been looking at him, her mouth full and soft—truth-telling.
He loved her back. “You’re welcome any time.”
Chapter Thirteen
“What are you doing?”
Fletcher whipped his attention around. His heart whammied. But it was still kinda fun.
Mr. Webb, his archnemesis. The skinny old man’s bushy eyebrows drew together. His cheeks went hollow.
Now we meet.
The flash drive was still in the laptop. Getting the passwords had only been a matter of watching Mr. Webb at work through the walls. The screen restored after the files finished copying. Stealth didn’t know what bad stuff would be in them, but he was sure it’d be something his dad would want to know, especially since Webb thought he could boss the Strays around. Webb couldn’t tell his dad what to do.
Bran peeked into the office behind his father. Traitor.
“How did you get in here?”
Answer nothing. Stealth doesn’t speak. Stealth is a ghost.
Stealth gave Webb his best, hard glare.
Turned out Stealth could not only see through walls, he could move through walls, too. It’d been so easy—all he’d had to do was try. Now he was a master spy who could creep undetected in and out of anywhere. He reached up and pulled the drive out of the side of the computer. Maybe they’d make a movie about him.
“What is that?”
Stealth backed to the side wall.
Mr. Webb held out his hand. “Come on, boy. Give it up.”
Ha. The fate of magekind rested on the information on the drive. Probably. He didn’t know what some of the words meant.
“Stop this foolishness.”
This was not foolishness. This was life and death.
He gripped the drive in his hand and worked his magic. He didn’t know if the wall itself changed, or if he did. Fireworks burst in his sight. The fae whispered strange words—could Mr. Webb hear them, too?
. . . run run run run run . . .
“What are you doing!”
Stealth grinned. Now you see me, now you don’t.
He dodged into the next room. A woman—Bran’s aunt—stood up abruptly. So he kept running. Through the kitchen—smelled like roasting meat and potatoes—where someone was shouting. Too many people. Keep running. Pantry. Butler’s office.
“Sir, he just went through the wall!”
Stealth crawled into a space underneath the stairs. It was dirty and webby, but no one could get him if there was no door. The hiding place smelled cold, felt cold, too.
He pumped his fist in a yes of victory.
His breath slowed. Heart cooled off.
Uh . . .
Now what was he supposed to do?
Shouts moved far away.
Time passed.
He got colder.
And it came into his brain that he was trapped.
Somehow Mr. Webb had got him anyway; he just didn’t know where Stealth was in his web.
Fletcher’s stomach hurt, but he could only keep hiding.
Mr. Webb would be so mad at him. What if there was really bad stuff on the flash drive?
“Fletcher!” an angry voice said, suddenly close.
Everyone was mad.
If they caught him, he didn’t know what they’d do. Torture? Death?
He had to find a way to call his dad. Wait until he came and got him.
Then they’d finish Webb together.
Xavier looked out upon the silver of the bay where a blue lantern had been lit, calling to him. He knew the blue light better than the face of the man himself, Mason Stray. More distinctive than a fingerprint, the light was the real person, and couldn’t be faked. The air smelled like rain mixed with the scent of spruce trees. The wind lifted his stale hair and the collar of his shirt, felt like a caress, a promise of relief that the end was close. He was so weary of this. So tired of blood.
But he had to be sure. Xavier moved into Mason’s mind, and intruded on one of the most common of human activities.
Caught a vantage of rising breasts, and the long, lovely column of a woman’s neck. A stray thought . . . So beautiful . . . Cari . . .
Cari Dolan. Whoever was with Mason had no soul, which meant mage, so it was probable that it was the Dolan with him. Mason had, after all, been steadily falling in love with her. The rapture of Shadow. The beguilement of the witch. Mason, human and Maker, should have learned this one thing by now: All magic is black.
Was this a last chance? Had the lovers come here, now that Dolan House was nearly unapproachable?
The angels’ pursuit had broken off miles ago, leaving him to the boundary of the shore. A trap? A new tactic? Or did they at last believe in his glorious purpose?
All he’d been able to glean from the Order was that the High Seat of the Council was battling his blood. Was it actually possible that he would prevail after all? The Council broken. Cari Dolan within his grasp?
He didn’t trust this sudden good fortune, it was too fae.
. . . sweet Shadow, so good . . . think of something else . . . baseball . . . goddamn, Cari . . .
Xavier peered down the shore on both sides of him. If there was a boat, it was pulled up into the grasses, but the distance was an easy swim.
This would be the end, one way or another.
Mason was leaning forward on his kitchen counter, a cold beer in his hand, when he felt Shadow moving behind him. Cari. “You should be sleeping.”
Her hands brushed the bare skin on his back, which made his blood move faster, and he couldn’t help but want her again. And the fact that it was her? Made him feel like anything was possible. He was old enough to know better—experience had been his teacher—but he was starting to think that maybe something unexpected would happen—like when Fletcher was born.