"I'm fine," I lie. Only it sounds like someone else speaking for me. The pitch of my voice—it's not that high. It doesn't chime like a bell, echo in my head. "It's. . . ." I can't shake the sensation, force it away. "Something's happening."
"I'm sorry?"
My eyes fly open as a car veers into our lane, cutting off the driver. The wheel spins as he swerves to avoid the collision, and my body slams into the door, head cracking against the panel. Luke's arm flies in front of me, restraining, pushing me into the seat. Tires grate the asphalt, squealing as we spin, and time folds into itself—time where seconds become minutes and minutes hours. Stopping altogether.
We hit the sidewalk, bodies jolting.
My heart drums in my chest, too fast, pounding in my ears.
"Are you all right?" Luke asks, fumbling for his seat belt.
A cell phone trills, punctuating the stillness. He reaches inside his coat pocket and examines the screen, then searches the world around us, face paling in the streetlight.
He grabs my hand, shoving my sleeve aside and flipping my wrist over and back again in an anxious search.
"What is it?"
"Your coat," he orders. "Give it to me!"
I shrug it off, trembling, wilting beneath the demand.
He sucks in a sharp breath, holding it, cool fingers wandering along my skin between my shoulders.
"Fucking Hell," he growls. He pushes against the door, stepping into the frigid air.
"What is going on?" I ask, following, trailing him to the dark SUV stopped behind us. "Luke?"
My bare skin burns with cold, breath frosting, arms hugging my elbows to keep warm.
"Lucien?" Our heads turn in tandem, toward this new voice emerging from the shadows.
My coat flutters to the sidewalk.
Luke pitches forward, fingers cutting into my skin as he wraps them around my arm, yanking me closer. His green eyes run cold, boring into me, hand slipping beneath the hemline of my skirt. He blinks, breaking contact, and, before I can think, breathe, protest, shoves me behind him. In a moment I'm trapped, pinned between Luke and the SUV, his one arm acting as a barrier, cementing me in place, and the other extended, aiming for the alley.
Shit.
The gun. He has my gun!
"It was a mistake," Luke insists, breaths heavy.
The man in the shadows: "You don't make mistakes."
"I want an audience with them."
A short, caustic laugh. "You're wasting an audience on her?" he asks, disbelieving.
"Send word to Silas! No one is to touch her until we've spoken. That is final!" His voice wavers, mangled, laced with panic.
Silas.
The Council?
A spasm of fear paralyzes my lungs at the name. Tears sting my eyes, streetlights smearing, fading around edges, smothered to a brilliant nothing.
Luke stands firm, gun pointed, finger curled around the trigger, primed. He shields me, protecting me, refusing to back down. I clench his coat with my fingers, holding on to him, feeling his entire body pounding, heart battering. It's wild and alive. Erratic and fierce and wholly out of control.
What is happening?
It's when he springs to action that I know we're safe again—for the moment.
"Get her to the hotel," he commands, scrambling for the SUV door. "Do not leave her until you hear from me." I jump inside. Luke places my coat on my lap, the gun on top. "Genesis? My escorts will accompany you to your room. I'll be there presently," he promises.
My seat belt is hardly buckled before we're moving—flying down the street.
"What's happening?" I ask as we bounce in and out of some kind of pothole. But no one will speak to me. I slip the gun back into its holster, turn to watch the road behind us—to see if we're being followed.
How did he know about the gun? He didn't even hesitate.
In minutes, the car pulls along the curb of the hotel, driver climbing out, tossing keys to the valet. The men follow me across the lobby and to the elevator.
"Good evening, Mrs. Fleming," the manager on duty calls.
I force a smile. "Good Evening."
The elevator doors close, the men flanking either side—dark suits and stoic expressions—reflected in platinum.
"What's going on?" I ask.
"Don't worry. This is just a precaution," one says.
"I don't believe that."
The door opens and I step onto my floor, moving toward the suite. I search my purse for my room key, men standing behind me, watching as I fumble through its contents, hands shaking.
"You're not coming in," I tell them, shutting the door between us, locking it, flipping the deadbolt—even when I know not a deadbolt on this earth could keep me safe. I strip off my coat, pull the gun out of its holster, remove the magazine. Still fully loaded. Still ready. Still waiting for me. For that perfect moment.
When I turn I hit something—hard. A hand covers my mouth, a cool voice insists: "Shhh. Don't say anything."
A deep knot jams my throat, rendering me breathless, unable to swallow, to think. Seth's arms wrap around my waist, pulling me tight against his body. His mouth brushes my cheek. I feel his warm breaths. Faster. Faster. Until my eyes close, a rush of warmth consuming me, heart on the verge of exploding.
"Shhh," he urges, whispering into my lips. "They'll hear you."
And suddenly he's kissing me, hungry and urgent, driving against me, moving us backward. I'm lost. Thoughts tumbling. A hundred real and imagined moments just like this one pulsing beneath my skin, lonely months melting between us, slipping into nothing—like we were never apart at all.
We stumble into the bathroom. He separates us, turning on lights, the fan, the shower—making as much noise as possible.
"It was you! I saw you—at the restaurant! How did you . . . ?" I hiss, fighting to control my hammering heart, to keep my voice low. "I thought Viola had you!"
His eyes narrow, accusing, the sparkle behind them faded. They're tired. Empty. "After everything we've been through, you actually think I'd just give up? That I wouldn't even put up a fight? I made a promise, remember?"
"How was I supposed to . . ."
"I will always find a way back to you, Genesis," he interrupts. "Always."
I drag my fingertips across his forehead, sweeping hair aside, touch the lines of worry, the blue shading beneath his eyes. His face is thinner. Cheekbones more prominent. My throat constricts, a hard lump thickening with agony.
"What did they do to you?"
"It doesn't matter. We have to get you out of here."
"What?"
"He's marked you," another voice says. Mara. She spins me around. I turn my head toward my reflection, as far as my body will allow, straining to see. It's there. Just below my neck. In the deep "V" of my dress. Between shoulder blades. Black pathways where Luke's finger roamed at dinner. No rhyme, reason, or pattern, just . . . rubbish. And a smear running across the middle, where something else passed through.
"It was inadvertent," she says, touching it gently. "He didn't understand the depth of his feelings. Still."
"What do you mean still?" I ask, struggling to keep my tone level.
"Lucien Castellani can never love another."
"I don't understand."
"The story is as old as time—a thousand variations told in a hundred languages. Lucien—he was the first of the angels in Heaven to fall. When he left, one-third of the hosts followed—bound for earth, destined for Hell. Part of his punishment was that he could never fall in love with anything—anyone—else. If he did, they would be marked. Eliminated."
Eliminated.
Killed.
"Shit. So how does he un-mark me?"
"He can't," Mara says.
Seth extends his hand, revealing fingers—forefinger and middle finger—smudged gray.
"You have to leave," she urges. "They're coming for you."
"Who?"
"The Council. All the Warriors of Heaven."
"Are you kidding me?" I reply, panic winging through my veins. "They were the ones who asked me to kill Luke in the first place! You're a Warrior. You're in charge. Tell them to stop!"
"The order comes from above me."
"What about Viola? I still have a job to do!"
"It's over, Genesis."
"I can fix this," I assure her. "Whatever Luke's done, it doesn't matter if he's gone. And I think—I mean, I know how to do it. It's clear now, after tonight. It's his side. His hip. When we were practicing . . . the hip represents lust, remember? His assistant—Charles—made a comment about how I'm not the first girl to wake up in his penthouse. And others made similar comments. He admitted he liked me. And if he marked me, then his weakness is women."
"No," she says.
"I can do this, Mara. I have to."
"Pack your things. Carter is bringing the car around. We'll take you somewhere safe." She eyes Seth cautiously, as if to gauge his reaction. "And then, if you're still adamant about becoming one of us, I'll change you, I promise."
Change me.
"Does he know? Did you tell him?" I don't wait for a response. I turn to Seth, anxious to reveal everything, to fit that final piece in the mystery his life has become. "The Council was using you. That's why you couldn't remember anything before me—why you couldn't stay away from me. You were never supposed to be a Guardian. You were . . . like me."
Seth fingers the wisps of hair at my ears, runs his thumb across my lips, says nothing.
"Let me make this right," I beg him.
"You can't," he says. "There's something else. Something about Viola. She never had any intention of letting me go. She knew me, somehow, before. Before you, I mean. This whole thing was just a ploy to keep us separated."
The words rip through my body like knives, shredding the inside. "What?"
"We were friends—I don't know. But she knew me before you. We were connected, somehow. She was never after you. She wanted me."
"What? How do you . . ."
"We have to hurry, Genesis," Mara interrupts. "Please. If this is true, Seth is in as much danger as you."
His eyes burn into mine, flecked with fear, the entire world collapsing around us. Of course he's in danger. He's here. If Viola finds him. . . . If the Council. . . . I can't lose him again. "Okay. We'll go."
I shut off the water, the fan, the lights, slip out of my dress and into jeans and switch out holsters, exchanging thigh for hip. I grab a sweater from my suitcase, a sweater long enough to conceal the handgun. It's fully loaded, fresh magazine bulging in my back pocket, silencer nestled beside it.
"We can't get out," I remind them. "They're right outside."
"I'll create a diversion," Mara whispers. "When this door opens, run. Head straight for the parking lot. Carter will be waiting out front."
Seth and I exchange anxious glances, passing messages through our eyes, our thoughts.
Be careful.
Get ready.
I'll see you on the other side.
He nods. Mara retracts the deadbolt, unlocks the door.
I suck in a breath, door swinging wide. Mara exits, turns right, racing down the hall, away from the elevator. The men charge after her.
"Go!" Seth orders, forcing me into the hallway. Our feet pound carpet. I hear them—the men—calling for me as we reach the elevator. I press the down arrow, willing the machine to hurry. I press it again. And again and again and again.
"Come on," I beg, heart pounding in my ears.
Footsteps draw closer.
"Shit!"
I run to the end of the hall, crashing into the stairwell door, Seth on my heels. We skip down steps, one by one. One flight lower and the door opens above.
They're going to catch us.
I suck in a breath, jump the next six steps, crouching on the landing. My lungs burn, flaming. I jump the next two sets, skip down a third, pull on the door, and enter a hall.
An older couple waits by the elevator. I stop, out of breath, sweat beading along my hairline, still manage a polite smile.
I check over my shoulder.
Seth is gone.
Shit!
The elevator dings. Opens. The man, eyeing me cautiously, tips his head, offering to let me on first.
"I'll, um, just take the next one," I say, body shaking, aching with dread.
It takes forever for the doors to close, forever before I can sprint back to the stairwell.
"Seth?" I scan stairs above and below.
Nothing. No one. I've lost him.
"Seth?" I plead.
"Elevator," an angry voice commands. "Now."
THIRTY-TWO
The point of a knife digs at my back, piercing skin, pain shooting through every nerve. My body tenses.
Viola.
I swallow hard, head toward the elevator, push the button that will take us to ground level. My stomach drops as we descend.
Please stop. Please let someone else get on. Please, someone, help me!
But there is no stopping her.
"It's over," she mutters with an icy vehemence.
I struggle to even my erratic heartbeat, thoughts lagging, trying to make sense of this night, this summer, this lifetime of setbacks. "You were trying to keep me and Seth apart," I say. "Why?"
"That's none of your concern."
But it is. Seth is my concern. Seth is my only concern.
"Where is he?"
"Lucien's men. And you're going to get him back."
We step into the lobby. Viola removes a key from her pocket, a key that accesses the penthouse elevator. My key. The door whooshes open.
Luke glances up, surprised, just returned from dinner.
"Christ," he hisses, fighting to keep his voice low. "I asked them to keep you in your room!"
I step inside, turning to find Viola gone. Vanished.
I swallow hard, eyes closing as we rise. This is it. I have no choice.
"You can't be here, Genesis. You've no idea the danger you're in."
"I do."
"No. There are things you don't know about me," he insists.
"There are things you don't know about me," I counter, voice barely a whisper.
"I know your intentions, if that's what you mean."
The blood in my veins runs cold, heart tumbling, crashing against ribs, ready to pound its way out of my body. "What?"
The Stop button lights against his finger and the elevator lurches, halting between floors. "I know why you came. Why you've been spending time with me." He lifts the edge of my sweater, pulls the gun from its holster, hands it to me.
"How long?"
"The news came to me before you even checked into this hotel. I sought you out."
"Why didn't you say something?" I ask him, eyes narrowing.
"Did you really think you're the first to try this? There was no reason for me to fear you. Once I got to know you I . . . I hoped to change your mind. I can see now that I've failed."
My head goes light, spinning, swirling.
He knew. The whole time he knew. The dinners. The dancing. The almost kisses.
He let me play him.
"What does the mark mean?" I ask.
His jaw tightens.
"The mark," I repeat. "It's the fine print, right? You never know what you've lost until it's gone?" I can almost feel the spirit sinking, life draining from his eyes. It's all there. Every hopeful defeat, every regret, an entire universe of disappointment. "It's the Council, isn't it?"
"What do you know of the Council?" he asks.
"Enough."
He clears his throat. "Then you know who I am."
Silence answers for me. "This changes things, doesn't it." It's not a question.
His eyes refuse to drift from mine, shadows of dread darkening his features. And it's like he's staring past surface, directly within. As if he can read the words written across my soul, see the part of me I never believed existed. The part of me worth saving.
"
No," he finally says. "It doesn't. It doesn't change anything." He reaches for the release and we're climbing again, rising to the penthouse. "Please. Let me handle this."
Just as we begin to slow the world goes weightless, blackness crowding my vision. I see stars.
This can't happen. Not now.
I exhale an angry breath, trying to focus, to push the vision away.
I have to be able to see.
The elevator bell dings and Luke steps into the massive room. "Have they sent word?" he asks Charles. But, before Charles can even answer, something else snatches his attention. "What's this?"
Seth.
The two men who accompanied me to the room—Seth stands between them, caught. Thick hands grip his arms, lock him in place.
"Who are you?" Luke asks.
Seth's lips remain pressed in a firm line, defiant.
"We found him with the girl," one says.
Luke turns to me. "Do you know him?"
I watch Seth, paralyzed, unable to reply.
"Someone answer me!"
"I'm her Guardian," Seth finally says.
"Her Guardian," Luke whispers. Then, to me: "You're not guarded."
I swallow hard, hold his eyes, try to explain. "I know. Seth was my Guardian. I had visions. After the accident. I could see things that were going to happen, so the Council asked for my help. Things got . . . complicated with one of the Diabols, so they trained me to fight them. Seth fell trying to protect me."
"The Council," he mutters, rubbing his thumb beneath his chin, considering. "I should've known Silas was involved. Is he the one who sent you?"
My head shakes, refusing to answer or denying—I'm not quite sure—but he sees something—something carved into my expression. Months of training. Sleepless nights. Unadulterated Fear.
"They sent you," he confirms. "What were you promised if you were to succeed?"
I stand still, stone-lipped, afraid to speak the name out loud, afraid if I do, I've already lost him.
"Genesis, please," he begs. "We ask for nothing without offering something in return. What were you offered?"
A tiny voice sings his name between my ears.
"I can't help you if you won't tell me!"
My eyes squeeze shut, willing time to stop, to go back—before summer, before the accident—back to a time when Seth was safe. Not fallen. Not a Guardian. Human. Protected. Even if it meant never knowing him. . . . Because now I feel . . . The End. It's closing in on us, suffocating. When I open them Luke is watching Seth carefully, studying him, that dull ache permeating his beautiful features.