The
other
’s golden light faded. As had happened in her living room, the creature’s shape became more definite, then gradually stopped glowing. Bones and muscles appeared, followed by skin, scar on the left arm, and finally Creed’s black hair. Naked. Splendid. But pale and shaking. Eyes closed, he fell forward, then curled into a ball.
Riana ignored the pain in her side and ran to him. She dropped to her knees and put her hand on his shoulder. He was saying something, so she bent forward to hear the words.
“Had to,” he whispered. “No other way. No other way. Had to save her.”
Her heart squeezed like it might stop beating. She wanted to curl up behind him and hold him, protect him from the prying gazes of all the people staring at him. Women who didn’t know him or understand him.
Like you do?
“What the hell?” Bela Argos, leader of the South Bronx triad, pulled off her leather face mask and turned on Riana. She had pulled her dark hair back in a tight bun, giving even more emphasis to the natural slant of her exotic eyes. The woman was hard as forged steel and utterly unforgiving, which Riana knew all too well from previous encounters. “Did you bring this
thing
here, Dumain?”
“What is it?” one of her triad asked.
“Exactly what I want to know.” Bela folded her arms. “Why did you defend it? And why are we letting it live?”
“Look, bitch.” Andy elbowed past Merilee and Cynda and walked right up to Bela, not seeming to care that Bela’s saw-toothed sword was still drawn and smoking from battle. “This is my partner Creed Lowell. He’s an NYPD detective and a good man, who just came here to keep me from getting my stupid ass killed. Which he did, in case you didn’t notice.”
“NYPD.” Bela snorted. “The bastards who arrested Alisa? Please give me an excuse to kick your ass.”
A chorus of grumbles agreed with her.
Andy got even closer to Bela and pointed her finger in Bela’s face. “Don’t give
me
an excuse, because I have a gun. I bet bullets work against your skinny ass just fine.”
Bela opened her mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and clamped her lips together.
Cynda and Merilee both turned around suddenly to keep from laughing in Bela’s face. Andy’s unrelenting attitude silenced the other Sibyls, too.
“We’re trying to clear your friend, by the way.” Andy swept her angry gaze over the group of warriors. “If she’s innocent.”
“She’s innocent,” Bela said immediately, then looked back at Creed. “Can you say the same for him?”
“Creed—and what he is or isn’t—is my problem, and I’ll handle him,” Riana said quickly, letting her eyes dare anyone to challenge her. Goddess, but her side hurt. She hoped she didn’t have to slug it out with anybody. “We need to see to Bette. She was injured—I think killed—and Camille’s with her up by the stone house.”
It took almost an hour to make certain no more Asmodai were getting ready to pop out of the old Croton Aqueduct stone house, and to determine that the Asmodai had used trash to target all of their biological signatures—Creed and Andy included, though the Goddess only knew why. Riana meditated for a few minutes to ease the pain in her side and start the healing process for her deep bruise. Nothing seemed seriously injured when Cynda checked, except of course Cynda’s ass, which was still wounded from Andy’s arrow-strike.
When Riana could move comfortably, she helped the group repair the damages to the area as best they could, and calmed Camille enough to prepare Bette’s body for transport.
After a brief discussion, they decided to send Bette’s remains and Camille home to their Motherhouses, with the help of the South Bronx triad. Cynda volunteered to accompany them to assist. The complexity of the communication necessary to open the ancient channels to transport living beings—even if the Mothers willed it and assisted on their end—was formidable. Most pestles could accomplish such a feat, but Cynda was the best of the best, and everyone knew it. Tonight, nerves and wills had been frayed to the breaking point, so no one even thought to refuse the offered help. Not even Bela.
Bela had, in fact, been remarkably quiet since Andy had threatened to shoot her, and since she realized Creed and Andy had been targets of the Asmodai, too. In fact, once they had found Camille huddled over Bette’s burned body, Bela had done what she always seemed to do best—offer motherly comfort to the younger, less stable Sibyl. Camille had always been troubled. She had barely made it through her fire training in Ireland, but Riana knew that Alisa thought the girl was worth the risk and took her as the third member of her triad. Bela treated Camille with kindness, speaking to her tenderly and guiding her gently through the grounding and wrapping of the corpse, using sheets that they retrieved from Camille’s nearby apartment.
As for Creed, he slowly returned to himself, but he remained seated on the ground with his face averted from the group. Riana figured he was being quiet because he was exhausted, not to mention naked except for a towel, also borrowed from Camille’s apartment at the edge of the park, and unarmed in a large group of women who had recently tried to kill him. She sensed that he realized he was a liability, that his presence had placed Riana in a tenuous position with the other New York Sibyls who saw his transformation. She appreciated and respected him for minimizing the damage. Not every man knew when to keep his mouth shut and his participation at a minimum.
In the end, Merilee went with Camille, too, as did the other air Sibyls, an honor guard for Bette’s final trip back to Motherhouse Greece. Riana watched Camille and her triad sisters go with a hollow ache in her chest. How would she feel if her chosen family had been ripped apart, jailed or killed? She didn’t know how Camille would survive such blows. If she lost Cynda or Merilee, she would lose part of her own heart.
And yet…hadn’t she taken such horrible risks only a day or two ago? Hadn’t she brought Creed into her home and kept him there?
He stood, as if sensing her attention had turned to him. Andy came up beside him. The three of them remained in the clearing, a quiet trio, until the other Sibyls were well on their way. Then Andy said, “I’m so sorry. I never should have come here. Creed kept saying it was a bad idea, but I just had to…I thought I needed to see things. For myself, I mean.”
She covered her own mouth and looked at the ground. Then she pulled her hand away, took a deep breath, and said, “I got her killed somehow, didn’t I? She wouldn’t have died if I hadn’t been here.”
Riana shook her head and gripped Andy’s elbows. “Sibyls die, Andy. We’re soldiers in a war, and we get killed. Bette never even knew you were here.”
Andy wiped her eyes, nodded, then started crying again, and Riana held her until she got control of herself. When she finally felt like Andy was okay, she stepped away, only to notice Creed’s dark eyes appraising her tenderly, as if he wanted to hold her the same way. Riana felt flutters in her belly, then pushed the feelings away. She couldn’t let that continue, even though she had to deal with Creed and keep him locked away until they understood more about what he was and the danger he truly posed.
“I’m going home for a shower,” Andy said shakily.
“Too dangerous,” Riana countered. “You’ve been targeted by the Legion. Pack some things—fast, don’t linger—and come back to my place. Use your cell if you run into trouble.”
Andy looked like she wanted to argue, but she glanced back in the direction of the stone house and shivered instead. “Ooookaaaay. Going home to get my suitcase.” She flicked the edge of Creed’s towel, making him slap it down to keep his cock off display. “Guess you’re going back to sex-jail, so I’ll head by your place and get you some clothes. Uh, maybe a lot of clothes, partner. I’m sick of staring at you naked.”
“Shoelaces,” Creed said instead of telling her she didn’t know how lucky she was. “Don’t forget extra shoelaces.”
Andy gave him the eye. “Right. You planning to garrote the monsters next time?”
Creed shook his head. “I’m planning on pissing off Cynda a few more times. You probably will, too. Shoelaces burn fast.”
In any other situation, Andy might have laughed her ass off over that. This weird night, however, she just nodded, and he saw her making a mental note. “Shoelaces,” she muttered. “Gotcha.”
Creed and Riana walked Andy to her Crown Vic, then cut back through the park to reach Riana’s Jeep. Creed remained silent most of the way, wary and tense, darting glances at the shadows over and over again. Riana felt stupidly safe with the big man next to her. She couldn’t get over the sight of the
other
destroying an Asmodai with its bare hands. Even though she knew Creed had no control over that aspect of himself, she couldn’t help thinking that he—it—did it for her, at least on some level. For her, for Andy, for the rest of the women.
Not just for its own survival. I hope it isn’t that feral.
She cut her eyes to Creed’s watchful profile and sighed.
Even if it is, Creed isn’t. He took that ring off to save Andy. To save all of us—even though he knew the other Sibyls would probably kill him.
She stopped walking.
Goddess. Did he want them to kill him?
Creed turned back to her. His expression allowed no interpretation except that he was a cop on alert, ready for anything, even if he was wearing nothing but a towel.
Faint moonlight spilled onto the trail, giving the impressive cut of his muscles a silvery sheen. Riana’s heart raced as she stared at every gorgeous inch of him, caught between the urge to kiss him and hit him.
“You wanted them to kill you, didn’t you?” Her voice came out with a quaver that grated on her nerves. “You intended to save Andy, save us, then figured they’d take you out. Easy solution for everybody, right?”
Creed stood very still. His expression didn’t change, and his lack of denial answered her question.
“I don’t ever want to hurt you,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on hers.
Riana launched herself at him. “You son of a bitch!” She swung her fists and hit him in both shoulders. “Nobody kills you but me, understand? Nobody!”
He stood still for her assault, then simply took her in his arms and kissed her long and hard and deep. Riana didn’t fight his embrace. She returned it and held on to his neck like a drowning woman. His tongue found hers, blending, pushing, and he tasted so incredibly hot and powerful and male. She dug her fingers into his shoulders. Every muscle in her body ached, and she thought her sore side might split open. Still, she wanted to rip off his towel and ride Creed until morning, feel his cock thrusting inside her until they couldn’t begin to move again.
How dare he think about dying?
How dare he think about leaving her?
I’m getting in trouble fast. Real trouble.
Creed broke off the kiss and pushed her gently away. Instantly, she hated the loss of his body against hers, and almost cried out in frustration. His nostrils flared and his fists clenched, and she could tell he was struggling with himself.
With the
other
?
“This isn’t safe,” he said in rough, gravelly tones. “Not here, not now. This thing in me—it’s making everything crazy.”
Riana didn’t know what to say. Her body pulsed and throbbed. Her arms wanted to be filled with him again, and her mouth, and the rest of her.
When he looked at her, she saw agony etched across his face, and she didn’t want to do anything other than kiss him again.
“Take me home and put me back in that jail,” he instructed. “I’ll go to work as usual, but I’ll come back every night until you’ve figured out what I am—and how to control me.”
14
Creed lay on the cot in his cell with his hands behind his head, actually grateful to be behind bars—and under a sheet Riana had given him to replace the towel that covered him on the ride back to Manhattan from Van Cortlandt Park. Thank God it had been too early for most people to be out on the street when they got to the brownstone. Steely gray light had just begun to push aside the darkness, and not even a cab had driven past as they hurried inside from Riana’s Jeep. He hadn’t been up to facing strange neighbors wearing nothing but a prissy pink towel. And a little towel, at that.
Most of his muscles still burned and ached, but he couldn’t rest. He couldn’t stop thinking. Mostly, he was stuck on the fact that Asmodai didn’t attack at random. They had to be targeted—and an Asmodai had attacked Andy and him.
What did that mean?
Somebody saw us enter Riana’s house and didn’t like it. Or Andy told somebody about the Sibyls and word got around. But who? And once again, why? What difference do
we
make in the big picture?
Creed didn’t fully understand what Asmodai were, but one of the monsters had tried to kill him. He had killed it instead. The memory of crushing the thing’s head still played through his mind, and he didn’t know whether to feel sick or elated. Mostly, he just felt exhausted—and Andy was taking forever to get back with his clothes. He knew he could sleep if he could just make himself close his eyes, but with Riana in the lab, that was hard.
Every time he heard the rustle of her clothing, he could swear he smelled that enticing spring rain laced with lavender. It reminded him of everything beautiful, and he had already fused the scent with the image of her beautiful face and blazing green eyes. The smell alone made him want her now.
Everything made him want her.
“Are you sure the Asmodai won’t jump Andy while she’s alone?” he asked, trying not to look at her, but unable to help it. She was sitting about ten feet from him, working on that double-barreled science fiction pistol he had seen before Andy shot Cynda in the ass with an arrow. “If they have pieces of our trash, they have our biological signatures. They can attack us wherever, whenever, right?”
“Asmodai don’t move in the daytime,” Riana murmured without looking up from the telescope lens she was adjusting. “Only at night. The ritual to create them has to be done at night, too, and the demons only last a few hours before they disintegrate. Whoever sent that mob figured a bunch of us would answer the call for help, that we’d be overmatched and lose a lot of fighters.”