I love him! I’ll always love him! I promised him we’d be together! I screamed inside my head, because the words were too jagged to push out. They scraped like nails in my throat.
I turned my attention out the window. I stared at the night, at the blur of trees and fields and fences, here one moment, gone the next. The words in my throat coiled into a scream, all sharp edges and icy pain. The scream hung there, swelling and hurting while my world unraveled and drifted out of orbit.
A pile of twisted metal blocked the road ahead.
Scott swerved to miss it, slowing as we passed. I didn’t wait for the car to stop; I threw myself out, running. Patch’s motorcycle. Beaten and battered. I gaped at it, blinking over and over, trying to see a different picture. The demolished metal, twisted over on itself, appeared as though the driver had raced at top speed—then jumped through a hole in the wind.
I ground my palms into my eyes, waiting for the awful picture to clear. I searched the road, thinking he must have crashed. In the impact, his body must have been thrown a distance. I ran farther, a little farther, searching the ditch, the weeds, the shadows off in the trees. He could be just ahead. I called his name. I paced up and down the roadside, my hands shaking as I plowed them through my hair.
I didn’t hear Scott come up behind me. I hardly felt his arms around my shoulders. Grief and anguish rattled me, a living presence, so real and frightening. It filled me with such cold, it hurt to draw breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.
“Don’t tell me he’s gone,” I snapped. “He crashed his motorcycle and kept on walking. He said he’d meet me at the studio. He wouldn’t break his promise.” I said the words because I had to hear them.
“You’re shivering. Let me take you back to my house, your house, his place—wherever you want.”
“No,” I barked. “We’re going back to the studio. He’s there. You’ll see.” I shoved out of his embrace, but I felt unsteady. My legs shuffled one numb step after another. A wild, unforgivable thought gripped me. What if Patch was gone?
My feet drifted back to the motorcycle.
“Patch!” I cried out, dropping to my knees. I stretched my body over his motorcycle, strange, powerful sobs erupting from deep in my chest. I was slipping, sliding into the lie.
Patch.
I thought his name, waiting, waiting. I sobbed his name, hearing myself make uncontrollable noises of anguish and despair.
Tears rolled down my face. My hmy face.eart hung by a thread. The hope I’d clung to untethered, drifting out of reach. I felt my soul shatter, irreparable pieces of me flying outward.
What little light was left inside me flickered out.
Chapter 39
I GAVE MYSELF UP TO SLEEP. DREAMS WERE THE only place I could reach Patch. Holding on to a phantom memory of him was better than living without him. Curled up in his bed, surrounded by a smell that was distinctly his, I summoned his memory to haunt me.
I never should have trusted Pepper to get the feathers. I should have known he’d screw up. I should not have underestimated Dante. I knew Patch would dismiss my guilt at once, but I felt responsible for what had happened to him. If only I’d arrived at his studio ten minutes earlier. If only I’d stopped Marcie from lighting the match . . .
“Wake up, Nora.”
Vee leaned over me, her voice hurried and charged. “You have to get ready for the duel. Scott told me everything. One of Lisa Martin’s messengers came by while you were asleep. The duel is at sunrise in the cemetery. You have to go kick Dante’s butt to Jupiter. He took Patch away from you, and now he’s out for your blood. I’ll tell you what I think about that. Hell, no. Not if we have anything to say about it.”
Duel? The idea seemed almost laughable. Dante didn’t need to clash swords with me to steal my title; he had more than enough ammunition to blow apart my credibility and reputation. Every last fallen angel had been chained in hell. The Nephilim had won the war. Dante and Marcie would take credit, explaining how they’d bullied an archangel into giving them the feathers, and how they relished every moment of watching them burn.
The thought of Patch imprisoned in hell slashed a fresh wave of pain through me. I didn’t know how I would hold my emotions in check as the Nephilim cheered wildly over their triumph. They would never know that up until the last moment, Dante had been helping fallen angels. Nephilim would sweep him into power. I didn’t yet know what it meant for me. If the army was abolished, would it matter that I lost control of leading it? In retrospect, my oath had been too vague. I hadn’t planned for this.
But I had to assume Dante had plans for me. Like me, he knew the moment I failed to lead the army, my life was over. But in the name of covering his bases, he’d likely arrest me for the Black Hand’s murder. Before the day was out, I’d either be executed for treason, or at best, imprisoned.
I was betting executed.
“It’s almost sunrise. Get up,” Vee said. “You aren’t letting Dante get away with this.”
I hugged Patch’s pillow to me, breathing in the lingering smell of him before it was gone forever. I memorized the contours of his bed and nestled into the imprint of his body. I shut my eyes and imagined he was there. Beside me. Touching me. I imagined his black eyes softening as he caressed my cheek, his hands warm and sturdy and real.
“Nora,” Vee warned怅o.
I ignored her, choosing to stay with Patch. The mattress dipped as he scooted closer. He smiled and slid his hands beneath me, rolling me on top of him. You’re cold, Angel. Let me warm you.
I thought I’d lost you, Patch.
I’m right here. I promised we’d be together, didn’t I?
But your feather—
Shh, he soothed. His finger sealed my lips. I want to be with you, Angel. Stay here with me. Forget about Dante and the duel. I won’t let him hurt you. I’ll keep you safe.
Tears burned at the backs of my eyes. Take me away. Like you promised. Take me far away, just the two of us.
“Patch would hate to see you like this,” Vee chided, clearly trying to appeal to my conscience.
I pulled the covers up to form a secret canopy above Patch and me, and giggled in his ear. She doesn’t know you’re here.
Our secret trick, he agreed.
I won’t leave you, Patch.
I won’t let you. In one swift movement, he reversed our positions, pinning me to the mattress. He bent over me. Try and escape now.
I frowned at the glimpse of icy blue that seemed to lurk under the surface of his eyes. I blinked to clear my vision, but when my eyes came into focus, I was very aware of the sizzling blue that ringed his irises.
Swallowing, I said, I need to get a drink of water.
I’ll get it for you, Patch insisted. Don’t move. Stay in the bed.
I’ll only be a second, I argued, trying to wiggle out from beneath him.
Patch seized my wrists. You said you wouldn’t leave.
I’m only getting a drink, I demurred.
I won’t let you leave, Nora. The words resonated like a growl. His features contorted, twisting and morphing, until I saw flashes of another man. Dante’s olive skin, cleft chin, and those hooded eyes that at one time I’d actually believed were handsome appeared before me. I rolled away, but not fast enough. Dante’s fingers dug painfully into my shoulders, shoving me back under him. His breath felt hot on my cheek.
It’s over. Give up. I’ve won.
“Get away from me,” I hissed.
His touch dissolved, his face hovering briefly over mine like a blue haze before it disappeared.
Ice-cold water struck my face, and I bolted upright with a gasp. The dream shattered; Vee stood an arm’s reach away, holding an empty pitcher.
“Time to go,” she said, clutching the pitcher as if preparing to use it as a weapon of defense if she had to.
“I don’t want to,” I croaked, too miserable to get angry over the water. My throat tightened, t tighteand I feared I was going to cry. I only wanted one thing, and he was gone. Patch wasn’t coming back. Nothing I did could change that. The things I’d thought were worth fighting for, the things that burned and raged inside me, even beating Dante and destroying devilcraft, had lost their fire without him.
“And Patch?” Vee demanded. “You’ve given up on yourself, but have you given up on him, too?”
“Patch is gone.” I pressed my fingers into my eyes until I’d ground out the urge to cry.
“Gone, not dead.”
“I can’t do this without Patch,” I said, my breath catching.
“Then find a way to get him back.”
“He’s in hell,” I snapped.
“Better that than in the grave.”
I drew my knees up and bowed my head against them. “I killed Hank Millar, Vee. Patch and I did it together. Dante knows, and he’s going to arrest me at the duel. He’s going to execute me for treason.” My mind conjured up a very real portrait. Dante would make my humiliation as public as possible. As his guards dragged me from the duel, I’d be spit on and called a myriad of vile names. As for the execution, how he would go about ending my life—
He would use his sword. The one Blakely had enhanced with devilcraft to kill me.
“That’s why I can’t go to the duel,” I finished.
Vee’s silence stretched out. “It’s Dante’s word against yours,” she said at last.
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
“You’re still leader of the Nephilim. You’ve got some street cred. If he tries to arrest you, challenge him.” Conviction flashed in her eyes. “Fight him to the end. You can make it easy for him, or you can dig in your heels and make him work for it.”
I sniffled, wiping my nose on the back of my hand. “I’m scared, Vee. So very scared.”
“I know, babe. But I also know that if anyone can do this, it’s you. I don’t tell you this often, and maybe I’ve never told you, but when I grow up, I want to be just like you. Now for the last time, get out of bed before I drench you again. You’re going to the cemetery. And you’re going to give Dante the fight of his life.”
The worst of my burns had healed, but I felt drained and weakened nonetheless. I hadn’t been a Nephil long enough to know the mechanics behind my rapid healing, but I imagined I’d unwittingly expended a lot of energy in the process. I hadn’t checked the mirror before leaving Patch’s place, but I had a pretty good idea of how miserable and downtrodden I looked. One glance at me, and Dante would call his own victory.
As Vee and I pulled into the gravel parking lot overlooking the cemetery, I reviewed my plan. After Dante announced he’d banished fallen angels to hell and won the war, he would most likely accuse me of murdering Hank and proclaim himself as my replacement. At that point, I would not step aside and relinquish my title. Vee was right; I wou right; ld fight. Against all odds, I would fight. Dante would lead the Nephilim over my dead body—literally.
Vee’s hand closed over mine. “Go secure your title. We’ll figure out the rest later.”