All That Falls (25 page)

He charged and with a vertical leap he sailed over the heads of the guards, taking himself out of the closing circle.

He toppled them like bowling pins, weaving and spinning and jabbing them with their own tranquilizer darts.

Dorie screamed, Dimitri shouted, but Cerise watched him in silence. He didn’t dance. There was no flourish or showmanship. It was ruthless efficiency. It was moves that defied gravity. And it was all over in moments.

When the last of the guards lay unconscious on the ground, Lysander strode to her.

“None is dead. You’re welcome,” he said with the flash of a dark smile. He pulled her up from the ground and clasped her hand over his thundering heart. “Not easy to overcome instinct. Reward me later.”

For a moment, she only stared at him with her own heart hammering.

Realizing she was stunned, he said, “Everything’s all right now. Killing averted.” He nodded to reinforce his words.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want words,” he said in Etruscan. He bent his head to whisper in her ear. “Later, I want a physical reward.”

She continued to stare at him, her body traitorous and perfectly ready to be the reward he had in mind.

Dorie tried to get a hand on them, but Lysander swatted away her grasp and pulled Cerise out of reach.

“Cerise,” her father said. She looked at him and sympathized with his shocked expression.

Still a little dazed herself, Cerise opened her mouth, but words failed her. What could she say? That she was going with Lysander because the way he moved was unbelievable and he deserved a reward for such a sublime demonstration of nonfatal ass-kicking?

“Dad—” she began haltingly, but Lysander shook his head, cutting off the beleaguered exchange.

Lysander’s voice carried through the clearing, over the bodies that were strewn like fallen trees after a storm. “Once victory speaks, nothing more need be said.”

Soot-covered and crusted with dried blood, Merrick would’ve liked a shower before Alissa saw him, and he could’ve had one in the building’s gym, but the gym might be in use and he wasn’t in the mood for any company that wasn’t his wife’s.

He’d been in Jacobi territory and had waged war until Tamberi’s men had been beaten and forced to retreat. In the wake of his bombings, the syndicate had accepted a temporary stay of aggression, so he could afford to return home for the night.

He punched the code into the security pad of his place and entered, finding Alissa, Richard, and Ox all awake.

Alissa sat in a chair, making notes with a purple gel pen on a manuscript that had come by FedEx. Her aspirants weren’t aware that the Varden was at war…or maybe they didn’t care. If Richard was anything to go by, authors could be so obsessive about their work that they were oblivious to the state of the world at large. Since working would distract Alissa from worrying about Lysander and Cerise and about the syndicate, Merrick was glad the delivery had reached her.

Ox stood. “All right, boss?”

Merrick nodded. “There’ll be a cease-fire while Victor’s death is investigated.” Merrick tilted his head toward the door, indicating Ox could go.

“I’ll be around. Let me know if you need me to do anything.” Ox strode out, waving good-bye to Richard, who was
discussing novels with an empty chair presumably occupied by either his wife’s ghost or his delusion of her ghost.

Richard’s deep purple bathrobe was embellished with a garish gold logo and stitching that made it look like it belonged in the closet of a royal or a drag queen. Under it, Richard wore battered slippers, a white cotton shirt, and frayed khaki pants like safari wear gone wrong. They looked absurd with the bathrobe.

“Nice outfit,” Merrick said.

Richard slid his reading glasses down and looked at Merrick over the top of his frames. “You feel in a position to criticize? I admire that unflappable confidence of yours. I also enjoy it when I’m not the only madman in the apartment.”

Merrick smirked and went to the bar. He mixed himself a Scotch Lime and drank it down.

Richard pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Is there a grocery market open this time of night?”

Merrick paused, glancing over his shoulder at Richard. He was used to the non sequiturs from his father-in-law, but he knew better than to ignore them. “Why? What do we need?”

Alissa stepped close, smelling like pears and vanilla. His abs tightened. More than a shower, he wanted his wife’s skin under his mouth.

“You smell like smoke. Are you burned?” she asked.

“Nowhere that counts,” he murmured as she kissed his jaw. “But I need to scrub off the war before I’ll be fit for those lips.”

“That’s not what you promised.”

“What do you mean?”

“The spirit of the vows covered all eventualities. Sickness. Health. Rich. Poor. Battle-bloodied or scrubbed clean, you’re mine no matter what shape you’re in.”

He smirked. “No arguments about me being yours, sweetheart, but we’ll have to throw out the mattress and the sheets if you don’t douse me in some soap and water before you take me to bed.”

She laughed softly. “Give me a kiss while I think it over.”

The silk lace trimming her neckline was as pristine as her luminous skin, so he clasped his hands behind his back to keep the grime off her. Still, he couldn’t resist bending his head and capturing her mouth in a deep kiss.

When the kiss ended, Richard was still reading pages from the working draft of his novel and chatting with the chair.

“Richard, what do we need from the grocery store?” Merrick asked.

Without looking up, Richard murmured, “The duke of Edinburgh said, ‘Champagne and orange juice is a great drink. The orange improves the champagne. The champagne definitely improves the orange.’”

Merrick smiled. “Our friend the angel will be back soon.”

“With trouble in tow.”

“Trouble for us?”

Richard shook his head. “All his.”

Merrick shrugged. “He knows his own prophecy better than anyone.”

“No doubt, but when fate offers an Amazon warrior queen with sable hair and plum-colored lips, no man stands a chance. Not even an archangel.”

Alissa sighed. “I’m concerned for both of them, but selfishly I can’t help but be pleased that she’ll be here again soon.”

“The barn’s burned down. Now I can see the moon,” Richard quoted.

Merrick and Alissa both laughed.

“Nothing wrong with reaping the silver from the lining,” Merrick said to Alissa, leading her toward the hall. “Why don’t you and your optimistic outlook come wash my back for me?” Over his shoulder he added, “And Richard, you better check your powers of perception. We don’t get oranges from a store this time of year. There are orange trees on the roof.”

Richard mumbled something that even Merrick’s superior hearing didn’t catch. Merrick would’ve asked him to repeat it, but Alissa’s fingers trailing along his throat raised ideas for better uses of his time.

Cerise decided that even though they probably wouldn’t find Troy at home for questioning, they should check his house for evidence of his involvement with anything demonic. She’d also decided that she didn’t want to see Lysander’s restraint tested in another confrontation with ES. Now that she wasn’t trying to conceal Lysander’s presence in the Etherlin, driving seemed
a better idea than walking where they might cross paths with ES foot patrols. So they headed to Alissa and Richard’s to borrow a car.

She glanced at Lysander frequently. With shorter hair, he looked less like Tarzan straight from the jungle. His face was young and handsome, but the way light fractured around him still marked him as more than human. And his scars spoke to his dangerous nature. Cerise didn’t mind. She enjoyed his looks and that threat of wildness. Cerise understood Alissa’s move to the Varden better and better.

The whipping wind made for turbulent waters as they walked the cobbled path along the lake. He had an arm casually around her shoulders, affectionate and intimate. Young lovers on a stroll. Except that their topic of conversation was darker than midnight.

“After I trained Merrick to fight demons, I gifted him with a pair of antique blades that were forged with my blood. When we return to his building, I’ll ask him to give you one of them, and I’ll show you how to use it.”

She’d always loved martial arts training. To be able to fight with a fraction of Lysander’s skill would be incredible. “I look forward to that.”

“I warn you though: you’re talented physically, but fighting should never be your first strategy if you encounter a demon. Even with training, you’ll only be able to kill one if you take him by surprise. We—angels—move too fast. Even in the flesh, we’re too powerful for a human to defeat. You understand? I’ll teach you as a precaution…” He cast a sideways glance at her and smiled. “And because I think I’ll enjoy challenging your body to reach its peak performance.”

“You will, huh? How does that work with the law about defending yourself? Come to think of it, on the night we met I busted your face with my head. If you’re bound to defend yourself, why didn’t you break my neck?”

“I defended myself. If you recall, I subdued you.”

“Subdued, yes. Injured, no.”

“Well, bare-handed you weren’t a serious threat. And…”

“And?”

“You’re a woman, so my instincts don’t dictate a violent
response.” His smile widened. “In a physical confrontation, my urge isn’t to kill you. You may have noticed.”

“I could be your Achilles’ heel then.”

His smile faded. “Yes, that’s always the biggest threat to me. Allowing someone I care for to get close enough to betray me.”

She stopped and turned to him. “I wouldn’t do that. I might fight with you or try to get rid of you, but I won’t do it by lying or stabbing you in the back. I’ll tell you to your face that we’re over. You can’t count on me to be easy to get along with, because I’m not, but you can count on my honesty. I’ll never betray you, Lysander. You can rely on that.”

He stared at her for a moment and said, “I believe you.”

“So Reziel,” she said. “What does he want with us?”

“With muses? I couldn’t say.”

“Does he think we could help raise him? What does that entail?”

“Blood. For a demon of Reziel’s stature, a multivictim human sacrifice would be required. And the ritual would have to be performed by someone who’s studied and is skilled in black magic.”

“Ileana would never perform a black magic ritual. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t know how. Could she be used as one of the sacrifices? Alissa said the ventala were going to use her as a sacrifice to open a portal to bring forth vampires, so the ventala syndicate must have some knowledge of black magic.”

“Yes, the female ventala, Tamberi Jacobi. Merrick said that she had an ancient grimoire that was used to raise lesser demons. But an archangel, Nathaniel, recovered and destroyed it, so she shouldn’t be able to raise them anymore. Unless—” He paused, rubbing his lower lip thoughtfully. “If Reziel’s had contact with her, he might be able to reach her to instruct her on how to raise him. He would need a tight bond with her. I can’t see how he could’ve achieved that. It would’ve required close contact like sexual intercourse. To have that kind of interaction with her, someone would’ve had to raise him in the flesh first. I would’ve felt his presence in the world. I didn’t.”

Lysander looked over thoughtfully, then continued. “But if
he is somehow communing with Tamberi Jacobi, it could be with the objective of furthering her plan to bring forth a vampire apocalypse. She and her syndicate tried to sacrifice Alissa to open a portal for the shapeshifting species of vampires to return. That would appeal to Reziel. The last time vampires came through in droves, they slaughtered millions. If there was a way for him to assist in keeping the portal open, the world could be overrun. And recently, someone opened a hole that allowed several lesser demons to come through. Ileana Rella may have been sacrificed to allow for that.”

Cerise paled. “So she may already be dead.” She swallowed hard, stunned by the thought that her friend might have been slaughtered when none of them had even realized she was in trouble. “It can’t be true,” Cerise mumbled, her mind racing. “When a muse is out of the Etherlin, her security detail reports in every two hours. If they’d lost contact with her bodyguards, ES would know Ileana was in trouble. She’s still alive. She must be.”

The thought of Ileana being sacrificed made Cerise’s stomach knot. “Isn’t there anything else a demon might want with her? To use the power of Ileana’s voice to influence people? To manipulate them into starting wars or doing other destructive things?” Cerise asked as they reached Alissa’s house.

“Perhaps, but then she would have to knowingly cooperate. Would she?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, but given how much I didn’t realize about Alissa and Troy, I’m not sure I really know what any of my friends are capable of.”

Jersey was making tea when she heard the key in the front door. She gasped in relief. “Hayden!”

But when the door swung open it didn’t reveal her missing brother. Instead the smooth and devastating Troy Rella walked into the apartment. She stiffened. Despite his good looks, for Jersey there was nothing appealing about him anymore.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, supporting herself against the counter.

Troy looked her over. She was so glad she’d showered and
dressed. Even in a thick sweatshirt and jeans, she felt as raw and vulnerable as sushi.

“I could ask you the same,” he said, walking down the hall to the bathroom. He closed the door and she heard him opening and closing the cupboards under the sink.

“So,” Troy said when he returned. “Why are you here?”

What the hell was he looking for?

Her gaze moved to the front door. Should she bolt?

No. No way. He’s the one who needs to go. Tell him to get the hell out.

“It’s Griffin’s apartment. The rent’s paid until the end of the year,” she said, pushing the damp bangs back from her eyes and tucking the fringe behind her ears. “What are you looking for?”

“Where’s Hayden?” he asked, opening the desk drawers and pawing through them.