“You. . That is, Lugh, must come up with some kind of long-term plan. If that plan doesn’t involve me, I’ll understand.”
Maybe he’d expected me to rush in with reassurances, because when I didn’t say anything, his lips pressed tightly together, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Is that it?” I asked. “Can I go now?”
He stared down at his hands and nodded briskly. “Yeah, that’s it,” he said in his flattest voice.
I supposed I’d hurt his feelings, and a small part of me felt kind of bad about that, because I couldn’t help but see the occasional echo of myself in him. But I had little trouble hardening my heart. “If you want any sympathy from me, you need to stop holding my brother hostage.”
He raised his eyes to mine, and the expression in them chilled me. “Has it ever occurred to you that I trust you as little as you trust me?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Raphael’s capable of one of the most malevolent stares I’ve ever seen, and he was giving it to me right now. “It means you’re a vindictive, reactionary bitch, and if I weren’t inhabiting Andrew, you might do any number of unpleasant things to me—like send me back to the Demon Realm to face the brother I betrayed. That is not a reunion I anticipate with any great joy.”
I almost laughed. “So what you’re trying to tell me is that it’s my fault you’re holding Andy hostage? What a crock of shit!” His face turned a shade of red that should have warned me to silence. Naturally, I ignored the warning. “I’m not powerful enough to exorcize you, and I’m not about to murder your host just to get revenge on you. You’re the vindictive one. You’re holding Andy just to hurt me. And maybe hurt him, too.”
The fire flared in his eyes once more. I got the impression he briefly tried to control himself, but that effort didn’t last long. “Here’s what I’d do if I wanted to hurt you,” he snarled.
He moved so fast I didn’t have a chance in hell of protecting myself. He leapt out of his seat and crossed the distance between us in a heartbeat, taking my arm in a bruising grip to hold me still while his fist connected with my chin. My head snapped back with the force of the blow, my jaws clicking together so hard I think I cracked a tooth.
I’d have fallen down if he weren’t holding me up by one arm. I didn’t quite black out, but the room spun dizzily around me, and nausea roiled in my gut. I saw his fist coming at me again, but there was no escaping it. It occurred to me that it sure would be nice if I could voluntarily let Lugh surface just about now.
The second punch never connected, and through my blurry vision, I saw Raphael standing with bowed head, his fist clenched as his ribs heaved. I sure had a way of bringing out the worst in people.
He was still holding me up by my arm, though the floor was looking mighty inviting. I was pretty sure he hadn’t broken my jaw, but the nausea and blurry vision suggested I had a concussion. Still, enraged as he might have been, he’d pulled that punch, or I’d have been dead.
We stood like that for what felt like forever, my head throbbing in time to the beat of my heart as Raphael gathered the shreds of his temper together. By the time he managed that, I’d recovered enough that my legs could hold me, though I had a severe case of double vision.
Raphael’s voice when he spoke was soft and contrite. “It would hurt less in the long run if I went ahead and knocked you out so Lugh can fix you.”
The side effects of the concussion couldn’t stop the bark of laughter that escaped me. “Thanks for the kind offer,” I lisped, and realized for the first time that I’d bitten the side of my cheek and my mouth was full of blood. I spat the blood on Raphael’s carpet, but my vision was too blurry to make out the expression on his face to see how much that pissed him off. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Can you get home all right?” he asked. I wondered if he thought I’d missed the fact that, contrite though he might sound, he hadn’t bothered to apologize. “You can lie down on my couch if you want. I’ll go into another room and stay there until you’re well enough to leave.”
The idea of lying down held a great deal of appeal. But then, so did the idea of getting the hell out of there. I chose the latter.
“It’s been a pleasure,” I said as I made my way carefully to the door. Raphael didn’t answer, and that was just as well.
CHAPTER 7
I managed to get home without passing out on the sidewalk, but it was a close call. No doubt about it, I had a concussion. The doorman asked if I was all right as he opened the door for me. I lied and said yes.
The elevator ride almost made me toss my cookies, but I made it into my apartment and onto my bed without embarrassing myself. The bed felt like a combination bucking bronco and tilt-a-whirl, but I closed my eyes anyway and tried to let myself relax down into sleep. Eventually, it worked.
I half-expected Lugh to patch me up without bothering to talk to me. After all, I was pissed off at him for whatever he might have said to Brian, and he had a history of avoiding me when I was pissed at him. He’s nothing if not smart. This time, however, avoidance wasn’t his strategy.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a room I’d never seen before—a long, cavernous hall, its ceiling supported by massive stone pillars, its windows and doorways topped with Gothic arches. At the head of the room sat a dais, and on that dais loomed what could only be called a throne. In keeping with the scale of the hall, the throne was huge, its legs and back carved from some kind of dark wood, maybe mahogany. The seat, which didn’t exactly look comfy, was a thinly padded red and gold tapestry, and a swath of red velvet—a rug, apparently—surrounded the throne like a halo.
The only light in the room came from a series of candle-bearing iron chandeliers, which left most of the arches and corners in impenetrable darkness. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I shivered.
“Lugh?” I called out, my voice echoing against the stone as I turned in a circle, looking for him. When I came around full circle, the throne was no longer empty.
I had never seen him looking remotely like this before. He was dressed all in wine-dark red with accents of gleaming gold—a matching set of coat, waistcoat, and breeches adorned with buttons even where buttons weren’t needed. White lace frothed from the cuffs of his coat and foamed beneath his chin. White stockings clung to shapely calves and disappeared into red velvet shoes with gold buckles. His hair was unbound, held back from his face only by a simple gold band that I gathered was a crown.
The face beneath the crown was the same familiar face—Lugh, my demon and, maybe, my friend. But for the first time ever, I truly felt as though I was facing the demon king. My mouth went dry, my throat tightened, and I couldn’t think of a thing to say. How could I stand in a king’s hall and scold said king for speaking out of turn?
Lugh crossed those elegant legs of his at the knee and leaned back into the throne as if it were a cushy recliner rather than hard, carved wood. I wouldn’t call the expression on his face a smile, but there was definitely a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“Have I finally found a way to overawe you, then?” he asked.
I tried a snort, but the sound was feeble and unconvincing. “If I’d known this was a costume party, I’d have dressed up,” I said, determined not to let him make me feel uncomfortable.
He didn’t say anything, merely raised his eyebrows. With a sigh of resignation, I looked down at myself and found that I was dressed in a voluminous green brocade gown. My breasts were pushed up and in by what I could only assume was a corset, and were covered—barely—by a triangular, lace-covered panel that appeared to be pinned to the gown’s bodice. If I breathed too deeply, my nipples would probably make a surprise appearance. I was pretty sure I hadn’t been wearing this getup when the dream had started, but since I hadn’t thought to look at myself, I couldn’t be sure.