Darkness Undone: A Novel of the Marked Souls Page 6

  Her gaze flickered with violet streaks, pupil and iris submerged beneath the demonic overlay. “You think I don’t know that?”

  The waves of pain thinned his patience. If he wanted to win the respect of the talyan, he couldn’t keep backing down. Plus, he was more than ninety percent certain she wouldn’t hit an injured man.

  “I think you were possessed less than a year ago,” he said. “I think I have almost three thousand years of written histories at my fingertips and another couple thousand of oral tradition on my tongue. So hand-to-hand, you might win, but in a debate I will wipe you out.”

  With a quirk of her lips, all signs of her demon vanished. “Well, hopefully the next feralis is willing to argue the finer points of possession with you. I’ll just tell you, this alleged rogue female isn’t a science experiment.”

  “Of course not.” A proper science experiment would be easier, tidier, and already under lock and key in the lab. He tried a little wheedling. “Don’t you want to know how the symballein bond works between you and your mate?” Women—even demonically possessed women—always liked to talk about their relationships.

  She snorted. “That’s not going to show up on any spectral analysis.” But her expression softened.

  He wondered if he could achieve the same tempering response if he asked Ferris Archer, Sera’s other half, about the bond. He rather thought his odds of not getting hit would drop well below the halfway point.

  But since Sera seemed to have mellowed, he might have a chance. “I want to go with the talyan tonight when you look for Alyce.”

  “Liam will let you know.”

  That wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no either. “I’ll be much improved by a nap. See you tonight.”

  She inclined her head, again neither yes nor no. He supposed ambivalence was as much a symptom of teshuva possession as violet-shot eyes. “Sleep well,” she said.

  He’d sleep like the dead. Or someone who’d narrowly avoided death. He nodded back and slipped into his room.

  Sera had left a pill bottle of analgesics by his bedside, and he dry-swallowed a tight fistful. It was not the recommended dosage, but the FDA had never anticipated off-label use as anti–demon spit painkiller.

  He kicked off his filthy jeans and eased out of his shirt. He noted the bloodstains from his draining wound, and suddenly he had a better understanding of the league’s rather shocking clothing allowance. Standing in his boxers, he wrapped his shoulder in gauze, then crawled into bed with a groan. The sagging middle where the springs had sprung sucked him down.

  But sleep circled in the same way his inbound flight had gone endlessly round O’Hare, so he grabbed his specs and pulled one of his favorite books into his lap. His father hadn’t been thrilled to part with the illuminated texts, but Sid had convinced him the opportunity to study female talyan with original manuscripts in hand superseded jurisdictional pettiness.

  He donned archival gloves in deference to the old man and the old paper and hoped if he fell asleep he wouldn’t drool on the pages.

  From somewhere on the street outside, a truck honked, but through the gray concrete walls, the cacophony of the industrial district was more distant than a dream, as if the real world weren’t allowed to intrude on this demonic sanctuary.

  His churning thoughts slowed. No wonder the talyan clung so tightly to their monastic seclusion. Personality studies indicated that disconnection from close human relationships made a person more vulnerable to demonic possession, so statistically more talyan would display antisocial behaviors. But the real reprieve wasn’t the teshuva’s escape from hell; it was the talya’s freedom from the tyranny of meddlesome life.

  With league training and Bookkeeper tricks, the talyan stiff-armed death and life for the sake of their mission.

  No wonder no right-thinking, right-souled woman would have them.

  He and the talyan had more in common than he’d appreciated.

  Eventually, his eyelids drooped. Through the haze of his eyelashes, the intricately drawn illustrations danced with strange wildlife, a tangle of angels and demons without clear distinction. That was probably true for most people—at least for those who’d avoided possession by some force more definitively aligned.

  He blamed his gritty eyes for making him blink dumbly when he looked up and saw the visitation, as if one of the ethereal figures from the primeval text had stepped off the page, a fever dream come to life. He fumbled his drooping specs higher. “Alyce?”

  She ghosted across the room, her bare feet silent on the linoleum despite the slight hitch in her gait. Through the dark curtain of her tangled hair, her pale eyes glittered, amethyst over ice. “Shh. I’ve come to free you.”

  A ping raced through his body, from the sudden acceleration of his heartbeat to his extremities, like a warning signal. “Free me?” He pushed the book aside, careful not to wrinkle the pages. “Did Liam let you in?”

  “There was a devil-man at the gate.” She fisted her hands in her skirt. The grandmotherly housedress lacked the ichor stains of her last ensemble, but the powder blue polyester was worn to near transparency in places. And now—this wasn’t a good sign—there were fingerprints of blood in the folds. “I did not stop to ask his name, but I saw the devil in his eyes.”

  The ping went round his innards a few more times, gaining particle-accelerator speeds. Had she killed Liam or one of the other talyan? That would put a wrinkle in his reintroduction strategy. “They are possessed,” he admitted, “but not by devils—or not evil devils, anyway. Their teshuva—the demons inside them—are like yours.”

  “Evil,” she whispered. “Like me.”

  “Repentant,” he corrected. “Fighting for the light now.”

  “There is no light for me.”

  “Not before, maybe. But now that you’re here, everything is different.”

  She pressed her bloody palms together and raised her hands until her fingertips brushed under her chin. Despite the prayerful pose, her gaze speared him without mercy. “Is this where I die?”

  He recoiled. “God, no!”

  “Won’t you banish the devil from me?”

  “I can’t.”

  Her hands fell back to her sides, and she averted her face. The reven around her neck guttered with a few violet lights, then faded to black, as if her teshuva hadn’t the strength to maintain its outrage.

  But she had incapacitated at least one of the talya to get this far. What was she?

  Slowly, keeping his eye on her, he climbed out of the bed. His navy boxers weren’t suitable for an audience with the Queen, but he wasn’t indecent.

  Alyce stood back, showing no signs of bolting. Instead, her gaze flicked back to him, touching on the gauze at his shoulder, the bruise on his forehead, and various contusions in between. “Were you badly hurt?”

  He gave a one-sided shrug, sparing his wounded shoulder. “They were able to patch me up here, so it can’t have been too bad. It would have been awkward at the hospital to explain the bite pattern.”

  “Don’t. They won’t believe you.”

  His fingers itched for a pen and paper. “You’ve tried? When?”

  “I don’t quite remember.” Her wintery gaze darkened. “It did not end well.”

  That reminded him about the talya at the gate. “We need to go pick up the pieces of the welcoming party you left in the dust.”

  “He was rude.”

  “That happens with talyan. But you still shouldn’t break them.”

  She nodded. “I did not understand they were yours.”

  He halted in the middle of grabbing his jeans. The Chicago talyan? His? Hardly. He was a loaner, not a keeper; they’d made that clear. But he didn’t want them either. He wanted London. Hopefully not until well in the future, when his father retired to putter around his garden.

  Alyce was watching his face, her expression mirroring the furrow of his brows. “I’ve saddened you. But I had to come to you, and he was in the way.”

  He smoo
thed a hand down his face, erasing the quick, helpless calculations of his father’s chances of surviving till spring, much less retirement. “You didn’t make me sad. In fact, I can’t possibly explain how happy I am to have you here. There’s so much we can learn together.”

  He stepped into his jeans, wishing she weren’t watching quite so closely, but intrigued by her empathic responses. How could a talya—endlessly driven by the teshuva to the farthest reaches of violence and destruction—keep any semblance of softer emotion and not go mad? Had the symballein link evolved precisely to provide an outlet for the emotions? For the madness?

  What a spectacular find. Or, more to the point, how spectacular that she’d found him.

  He had a half second to wonder how exactly she’d found him, when she reached out and flattened her palm over his belly, just above the unbuttoned fly of his jeans.

  CHAPTER 5

  Alyce held her hand against Sid’s warm skin, though he sucked in a harsh breath to pull away.

  She had never touched a man of her own will. She knew she should not touch him now. But now was all she had. He was all she had.

  The textures of him tingled in her fingertips: the smooth planes of his flanks where hard sheets of muscle wrapped around into his rippled abdomen; the thin line of hair that connected the shadowed indent of his navel to the darker mysteries behind the button of his pants. …

  “You are real.” The icy places between her bones softened in relief, and she swayed closer. She had not imagined him. He was wounded, but alive. Here, now. And oh-so warm. “Not one of my delusions.” She canted her head to gaze up into his eyes—eyes the same dusty brown as the leather of the book laid on his bed. “You won’t disappear?”

  He had to let out the breath he’d held to answer. “I am real. As real as you.”

  Slowly, as if she might run—or attack—he lifted her palm from his belly. He laced his fingers through hers and raised her hand to his chest. Against her knuckles, his heart pounded. The reverberations echoed through her veins.

  “As real as you,” he said. “See?”

  She nodded in time to their linked pulse.

  She might have stood there as day turned back to night, entranced by his touch, but he untangled their fingers. “Can we go find the other talyan? Don’t be afraid. They won’t hurt you.”

  The loss of his touch stung like ichor burns, and she tensed again. “They’ll want to.”

  “They’re just nervous.”

  “Of me?”

  His lips quirked, and suddenly she wished she’d touched him there instead, to feel that soft curve. “You are very scary.”

  She lowered her head, letting her hair fall over her eyes.

  “Alyce, I was teasing.” He hesitated. “Well, exaggerating. Or maybe … Never mind.”

  That was the problem. She rarely minded. His mind, though, whirred with every word he said, taking him farther away from her.

  Her chest tightened with dread. So long alone and adrift … She couldn’t lose him, not when she’d just found him. But Thorne had tried to warn her. Even the devil knew she wasn’t suited for proper company, despite the unstained frock. How sad that all those times she had fought him, when she’d clung to the ongoing battle as a reason to exist, she’d also been pitifully thankful that he had not feared her, that he didn’t think her a worse monster than himself. Damned with faint praise by a man possessed. She took a sidling step away.

  Sidney followed. “Alyce. Look at me.”

  She did. Or she looked at his mouth again. Words came from him so fast and furious, faster and more furious than the devil’s. Yet she very much liked his mouth.

  When she focused on his intent brown eyes, a hint of heat uncurled through the fog that had been her only companion, and she grasped at it like a lifeline.

  What did Thorne know anyway, him and his devil’s whispers? Well, he had mentioned that one thing, that thing old as evil. That required no words at all. And as the wanting burned away the confusion, she’d never felt more human, more alive.

  Maybe the devil had one good idea.

  She rolled up to the balls of her feet and pressed her lips to Sidney’s.

  So soft—his lips were every bit as soft as she’d remembered from that first fleeting kiss. And wonderfully warm, they curved around hers, like a secret smile she could feel but not see—a smile only for her. She supposed she could get used to being teased.

  “My Sidney,” she whispered against his mouth. Or she meant to. What came out of her was a moan, even softer than his lips.

  She reached up to sink her fingers into his hair. The russet locks were just long enough to tickle the backs of her hands and send delightful shivers through her. Then she remembered the rest of his hair, the light sift of curls on his chest, and tighter lower down, and she wondered where else that might tickle her, so she let her fingers trip over his breastbone and down his belly. Ah, rougher than the silk of his hair, but every bit as pleasing to her touch.

  His fingers wrapped around her upper arms. Good, or she might have fallen as her knees weakened. Mouth to mouth, their breath swirled and merged, a close, sultry mingling that promised deeper intimacy if they just—

  He pulled away, and their lips parted. “Wait.” He locked his elbows and his grip on her arms kept her from stepping back into his embrace. “Alyce, wait.” His grasp wasn’t really strong enough to stop her—and shook slightly besides—but she waited because he’d asked. “What are we doing?”

  “I know the answer to this one,” she said quickly.

  His laugh was no more steady than his grasp. “How did you stay so innocent with a demon inside you?”

  She froze. “I am not innocent.” The eerie shiver in her voice made her wince. She didn’t want to display more of her oddity to him, but neither did she want him to believe something of her that wasn’t true. “You said we would learn together. You will not hurt me with your trials. And even if you do, I will heal.”

  His fingers tightened reflexively, then slipped slowly down to rest just above her elbows. “Hurt you with my … Alyce. I swear I won’t let that happen. Not to you.”

  He closed his eyes, as if reaching inside himself—for patience, maybe, or tolerance, or another reason to push her away. Whatever he was looking for in there wasn’t about her, because she was out here.

  She rolled her shoulders against his hold, and his eyes popped open. Through the dark depths, his willpower glinted at her, just as a fire-blackened iron, nicked by some harsh blow, revealed bare metal.

  Whatever forces had shaped him were more merciless than mere demons.

  Since he still held her at arm’s length, she raised her hands to grasp his forearms, pressing the pulse points of their wrists together. She scolded herself for taking advantage of him. It had been so long since anyone had spoken kindly to her, she had been selfishly basking in his attention. It was past time she gave some back. “Who was hurt, Sidney, that makes you afraid you will break me?”

  His heartbeat raced against hers. “No one’s going to get hurt. Everything will be okay. We are both here for a reason, you and I, and figuring it out is the only trial we’ll be undergoing.”

  “Maybe we are here for this. To kiss.”

  He did kiss her again, on the forehead this time. It was sweet, but not as sweet as on the mouth.

  Oh, she had never had such a wicked thought. This strange rush through her veins that blushed over her skin—it must be the demon that possessed her.

  For once, she was rather glad of the devil inside.

  She tilted her face up to him, wishing she were taller. She could take him down, as she’d done the devil-man at the gate, but she’d never pitted herself against an opponent she wasn’t trying to incapacitate. Perhaps now was not the time to practice. But maybe soon …

  He gave another low laugh, somewhere between shaky and husky. “Stop looking at me that way.”

  “I am scary,” she reminded him.

  He stared down at her, t
hen gave his spectacles a nudge higher on his nose. The reflected light disguised his eyes. “Right then. Let’s go see who else we can trick or treat.”

  He donned his shirt, and she helped ease the long sleeve over his wounded arm. Though the blue-and-white-striped cotton was finely woven, it was not as soft as his lips. She restrained a sigh to see that lovely warm skin hidden away.

  “It will be okay,” he told her.

  His anxious tone told her he was trying to reassure himself as much as her. “I won’t hurt your friends again,” she said. “I surprised the one because he was tired and distracted, and when I stepped in front of him, he dropped his cigarette down his shirtfront.” Otherwise, he would have been able to kill her with one blow—maybe two if she’d ducked. The lethal energy in him was much stronger than anything she could summon. “If they want to destroy me, I cannot stop them.”

  Leaving off buttoning his shirt, Sidney pulled her into his embrace, though she felt him cringe at raising his wounded arm. “I will stop them.”

  She nestled into his side and took the opportunity to slip her hand across his bare chest. Her hectic pulse settled into time with his. “I trust you.”

  His breath hitched under her palm. “You’re going to kill me first, Alyce.”

  She tilted her face up to his. He did look flushed. “Fever,” she guessed. “The devils are rotten with pestilence. I did not get to you soon enough.”

  “You’re here now. Just stay close.” When she tucked herself tighter against his side, he chuckled. “Maybe leave us room enough to walk.”

  She settled for holding his hand as they walked out into the hall. With only one hand free, he couldn’t finish buttoning his shirt, and the intermittent glimpses of his skin soothed her. Walking these halls was better with him. The intense echoes of conflicting power that had nearly frozen her when she snuck into the building were muted when she stood with him, as if when they were together she could rise above her fear, control it.