Downside Rain: Downside book one (25 page)

Castle
ponders how Rain would feel should she read his mind, and takes a mental step
back. She’d accuse him of interfering, not watching out for her wellbeing. Imagine
her pain if he says he
knows
Sauvageau is a no good son of a bitch. She’d
be unhappy with him, for what he’d done and for breaking her heart with the
truth.

Yep,
she denies any feelings but contempt for the dude, but Castle knows Rain. He’s
given her plenty of opportunities to ‘fess up, but you don’t admit to your best
buddy what you won’t to yourself. She doesn’t know her eyes are warm when she
speaks Sauvageau’s name, or how her lips curve as if about to smile.

What
if Sauvageau
is
emotionally invested in Rain? With the man’s reputation,
Castle doesn’t think so, but what if he’s wrong? Could he bring himself to tell
her? Castle reluctantly admits his opinion of Sauvageau is biased. To jump at
the chance to tell her the man is a swine yet
not
tell her Sauvageau
cares for her would be crass.

He
sighs internally. There are some things he shouldn’t meddle with.
He’s
watched her back for five years, protected her, but he can’t shield her from
everything. Rain needs to find her own passage in life, walk her own path and
choose who walks with her. It’s time he respected affairs of the heart,
her
heart, are none of his business.

Time
to wing it, babe
.

But
letting go is hard. He doesn’t want to see her crushed.

As
for River. . . . Castle squints one eye at the youth. Maybe he can distract the
lad from his infatuation with Rain, take him under his wing, show him the good
times to be had Downside. His feelings for Rain won’t disappear just like that,
but time heals wounds.

“River,
my boy, how about you and me do the town tonight?”

River
raises gloomy eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You
heard of bar-hopping?” Castle hoists an imaginary pint.

River
eyes him sourly. “It involves getting smashed out of your mind and acting
stupid. I don’t want it and you can’t do it.”

“Aw,
come on. Two pals having fun, nothing better.”

A
tiny smile creeps over River’s mouth and he thumbs his chest. “Nope, it’d be
this
guy making an idiot of himself all on his lonesome.”

“What
you should do is look for an apartment,” Rain says. “And one for me while
you’re at it. Castle can help. I put my name on the register but if you nose
around, perhaps you’ll find when someone’s about to move out and I can go
directly to their landlord.”

Castle
sighs. Not as much fun as getting River pickled.

~*~

On
the bluff south of the smoldering Blayne mansion, naked, Alain Sauvageau watches
the three wraiths. Three.
“
Castle, you old hound. So you’re still here.”

He
releases his Sight and sees only Rain and River. They’re soon gone.

Warning
of what approaches, the ground beneath his feet trembles, though not enough to
damage the terrain. Alain knows the tremor for what it is: his transgression has
not gone unnoticed. His Lord forgot him until the moment, the second, the
instant he broke the cardinal rule and now he’ll pay for it. But better now than
waiting, so he has no time to dwell on what he’s giving up. He has regrets, but
made his choice.

He
knew it for the right choice when he saw Rain battered and bloody in Calla
Blayne’s mansion, and when she walked from it with her friends.

A
phantom pain pierces his chest.
Regrets. Rain.

He’d
like one more time with her. And to tell the Peralta he’s leaving. He’ll disappear,
as if he cares nothing for those left behind.

One
moment he surveys a landscape empty of people, the next a man is on the bluff
with him. Taller than Alain, the newcomer’s hair falls in coiling black
ringlets to his shoulders, pearly-white skin molds his bones and his eyes, like
the demon’s, have no pupils and are all gold. His sage-green, three-piece suit,
glaringly white shirt with white silk ascot billowing between the lapels and highly
polished black shoes are immaculate.

He
walks to Alain, looks up at the roiling sky and says in a rich baritone,
“Lovely day to die, my dear.”

Alain
makes a gruff noise deep in his throat. “I never thought to see you again,
Camael.”

“Surely
you didn’t believe you’d get away with this?”

“I
hoped He’d show mercy. I should have known better.” Alain looks inward,
remembering another age, another dimension, another life. He sighs slightly. “Let’s
get on with it.”

“
Tsk
tsk.
So eager to leave all this behind, are we?”

“I
have no say in the matter, so do what you must.”

 “In
all this time, I half expected you to eventually break the edict of
noninterference but I never imagined you would sacrifice yourself for a woman.”

“Do
not speak of her,” Alain hisses as red bleeds into his eyes.

“She
thinks you are a demon. You were beautiful, once, dark angel.”

The beast surges before he beats it back down.
This is what you
become when you’re not only cast out, but cast down into the Pit and escape through
the Fire.
“I have not been an angel for millenniums. He sent
me below and made me a monster, a brute.”

“Twice
cast out, twice cursed, above and below,” Camael muses, for he hears Alain’s
thoughts. “How the mighty hath fallen.”

“I
was not cast from the Pit, I fought for my freedom.”

“It
hardly matters now. You are right, laddie, time to finish this.” Camael’s voice
turns sharp-edged. “Kneel.”

Alain
sinks down with head held high, looking up at the red sky.

“Are
you ready?”

“One
moment.” Alain looks over the expanse of buildings and open land to where the
streets merge in a tangle which is Gettaholt City. What will the Peralta think
when he doesn’t return? Foolish, to let that concern him. In a moment he’ll
have no concerns, he won’t exist.

“Now,”
he says. He knows what comes next. Camael will wrest him from this body and
destroy him. Camael will unmake him.

Alain
thinks he is prepared, unwilling yet compliant. Nothing in heaven or hell can
stay this course. He thinks he’s ready, but grunts and calls out when Camael’s
hands plunge into his back through flesh and muscle. Rigid, he strains against
the agony; veins pop out on his forehead, his eyes bulge and express bloody
tears. He has never experienced such pain, not when his Lord cast him out, nor when
the Fire scalded him.

He
does not go easily. Drawn out slowly, agonizingly, the survival instinct makes
him fight to remain, howling, clawing at the body which houses him.

Alain
draws in a lungful of warm moist air; it is heavy and damp on his skin, it
tastes different. His cheek rests on disturbed soil.

I’m
alive?
He clearly recalls the incredible pain, trying to
hook his talons into anything of substance, senses fading as he’s wrested from
the body.

He
lifts his head and looks at muted colors through lashes caked with dirt. Grass.
A tree. Smoke lingers in the air.

“What
have you done?” Camael asks.

Alain
pushes up on his elbows. Dirt and a few blades of withered grass stick to his sweaty
body. He has never been this filthy. “Camael? I don’t. . . .” he begins, and
stops as he remembers where he is, and an idea of what happened comes to him.
An idea, because lacking his angel-self to probe his inner and outer aspects, everything
is conjecture.

His
mouth curves. He chuckles. The chuckle becomes a deep belly-laugh and Alain
curls on his side with hands clutching his stomach.

After
a few more chuckles, he sits up, then gets to his feet. He draws in a huge,
satisfying breath and shows his teeth to Camael in a way which cannot be
described as a smile. “Camael, how nice! I didn’t expect to see you again so
soon. Actually, I didn’t expect to
see
anything.”

“What
are - ?” Camael cries, bending to grasp Alain’s shoulders. He drops his hands
as though his fingers burn and jerks upright.

“You.
. . .” he continues. “You are an abomination.”

Alain gives Camael an
amused look. “You think? But a
living
abomination.”

“This
is impossible.”

“Has
no one told you? This is Downside. Nothing is impossible.”

Alain
lingers on the bluff and takes stock, and all traces of self-satisfaction dissolve.
The cold realization that his true self is no more and he can never have any
life but this one is a crushing weight which makes him sink to the ground with head
in hands. This body should have crumbled to dust, yet it lives. He’s human; he
knows this by the steady pulse beating rhythms through his veins. He fears
being locked in this body with all its frailties. He’s been many things in his
long, long life, but never before a simple human male.

But
the turmoil passes and he can look ahead. If he’s learned anything in his
lifetime, it’s that you do the best with what you have. He still has something
to build on, an established life to continue and perhaps better, challenges to
meet. He’s no longer an angel, that part of him is no more; Camael unmade him.
But he sacrificed his life for another and Camael couldn’t destroy a soul
infused with the purity of a selfless act. His Lord didn’t allow it.

Alain
smiles. His Lord knows all. Neither forgotten nor forgiven, he’s been given a
stay of execution. He’ll die as a human male, how long does he have? Seventy,
eighty years if he lasts into old age. It will have to be enough. So much can
happen before then, the possibilities are endless.

Far
from despairing, he feels reborn and it is invigorating, frightening, exciting.

There
has never been a shapeshifter such as he, who can lose one part of himself and
the other survive. His soul keeps him alive. Hopefully, it will keep him sane.

He
won’t call Clide, he wants to walk and enjoy the day. So, immediate problem
first - how does a naked man walk through Gettaholt without raising eyebrows?

~
* ~

I
finish assembling the last cardboard box I got from the market. Are they
enough? I didn’t realize I own so much stuff. River and Castle are still out looking
for apartments. I’m number one hundred and four on the register, so will move
into a room at the Meridian Motel on the north side tonight. It costs less per
week than the apartment so I won’t suffer for cash, but the room is a rat hole
and the motel is next to the freeway. I’ll go deaf from traffic noise and
suffocate from lack of oxygen in the tiny room.

I
hope Castle doesn’t drive River batty. Nah, a big dose of Castle will be good
for him, they have to get used to each other if we’re going to work together.

I
phoned Val and he’s not happy I didn’t bring his pack in on the kill. I didn’t
explain I couldn’t, nor tell him what happened, only that the spell caster
can’t bother his family now. Will he be suspicious when the story comes out in
the newspapers? Mysterious fire destroys Blayne mansion. Chairperson Calla
Blayne is missing. Will everyone presume she’s dead?

I
don’t particularly care. She’s gone, along with Phaedra, Wool and the nameless elf.

I
want to call Alain. Thinking of him, m
y stomach performs a
slow flip.
I want to see him. I won’t do either.
It’s
too ridiculous for words, a wraith pining for a crime baron who sees her as nothing
more than another pair of tits, so it will all go away if I ignore it. Ignore
him.

I
groan. I’ve had enough of my emotions flip-flopping. Are everyone’s feelings
this conflicted? No, not feelings. I know what I feel for Alain but that
doesn’t mean I like it. Commonsense and the survival instinct tell me to stay
away from him, even though my heart says otherwise.

The
doorbell rings. It must be River. I slide between the bed and boxes to open the
door.

Alain
stands outside. What’s that old saying? “
Speak of the devil and he’ll surely
appear.”

He’s
. . . . Gods, what
is
he wearing? He’s soaking wet, which not only molds
the red T-shirt to arms and chest thick with muscle, it accentuates how tight
the shirt is to begin with and how it strains at the seams. The hem barely reaches
his navel and leaves his hips bare, and a damp, sparse line of dark hair
disappears in the low-slung jean’s waistline. The blue jeans are snug, too. Oh
boy, are they snug. His hair is messy, untidy, not stylishly rumpled, and
dripping on his shoulders. No shoes or socks, dirty bare feet and dirt smudges
his face and arms. He’s thoroughly bedraggled.

He
looks ridiculous and at the same time amazing.

I
hoist my jaw back up. “Alain, you look . . . um. . . .” I hide a smirk behind
my hand. “I’ve never seen you in jeans.”

He
smiles broadly and gestures at his clothes. “These? I stole them off a washing
line.”

Good
grief.
I tip my head slightly on one side and give him wide
eyes. “Are you going to tell me about it?”

He’s
still grinning. “Later.”

There
is something different about him and I don’t mean his clothes or the filth. It’s
his attitude, a boyishness in his smile and the relaxed posture.

He
loses the grin. “I came to see how you are.”

“I
called Clide. Didn’t he tell you I’m okay?”

“On
the phone.” He glances to one side. “I needed to know firsthand.”

“I’m
fine.” I bend over a box and check the taped seams.

“Why
the boxes?”

“I’m
moving out.”

“Of
Gettaholt?”

The
tight tone makes me glance up. “No, just to another apartment.” When I get one.
He doesn’t need to know where I’m going, I’m sure he can find out if he wants
to. I concentrate on a seam, running my thumb along it. “I expect you have
things to do.”

But
he doesn’t take the hint. I look up again to see him wearing an indecisive
expression.

If
Alain doesn’t start acting like Alain, I will freak out.

“I
do have business, Rain. With you,” he says gruffly, coming nearer. “I’ll come to
the point.” He sucks in a breath before continuing, and speaks slowly, as if to
ensure I don’t miss a word. “When I last saw you . . . don’t deny you have
feelings for me.”

I
come upright. Blazing hells in a hand-basket. I don’t know where to put my face,
so turn away to hide my expression. “Yes, I do. Indifference.”

His
arms come around me, his hands clasp over my breastbone. “Don’t lie to me,
Rain.”

I
should move, but his body pressed to my back and corded arms surrounding me
feel sublime.

“Be
with me, Rain.”

“Haven’t
we had this conversation a dozen times already?”

“I
want you, you want me, discussion is redundant.”

I
wriggle in his arms but they don’t budge. “Until you have me, and everything
will change, won’t it.”

“Why
should it?”

“I’ve
seen your women. Here one minute, gone the next.”

“They
weren’t you, my sweet.
”

He
nuzzles my hair. His voice is low and so damn sexy I quiver. “I’ll tell you why
you rebuff me. Your feelings for me scare you. You don’t want to be hurt. But
life is an adventure, Rain, you have to take risks when you want the rewards.”