luminescence that made the tilt of her eyes less exotic-human and more, distinctly, Other. Looking at her now, on the flip side of mortality, there was no doubt she was fae.
Dr. Gillian Powell, a longtime member of Segue’s staff, examined a strip of paper printing from a machine to the left of the bed. Gillian was good, thorough. She’d stitched him up more than once in the Jacob days. She’d save Talia and the babies if they could be saved.
Talia winced, straining her head to the side as Custo came through the doorway after Adam.
“More contractions?” Adam asked as he rushed to the bed and knelt on the floor, eye level with Talia.
“They’d stopped, and I thought I had it under control, but now…” Gillian trailed off. She frowned at another machine, her mind saying, That’s not right. A rapidly blinking heart accompanied escalating numbers, but the doctor put her stethoscope to her ears and checked Talia out for herself.
Talia groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “Too bright.”
Adam leaned in closer. “What is, honey?”
“Custo,” she gasped.
Custo took a step back. Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a great idea. A banshee and an angel in the same room—something about the combination felt inherently wrong. Fundamentally at odds. Maybe the barrier between their worlds was there for a reason. Maybe light and darkness were exclusive by necessity. Maybe he was hurting her.
Talia whimpered. Custo gripped the doorway. He wanted to help if he could. He was a goddamn angel. He should be able to do something. Ease her. Heal her.
Adam looked over at him, confusion and alarm on his face. “What’s happening?”
Talia shuddered and Custo backed into the hall. “I don’t know.” When she next groaned, he took himself out of the infirmary altogether.
In a long, thin, windy tunnel between two rooms, the hunter collected himself. The darkness deepened here, almost to pitch, and fed the slow reformation of his body. Shadow condensed, thickened, to form a twitching ear, a sharp claw, burning eyes. Air blew through the tunnel, rippling with the shudder of his new fur. He trembled, still variable, still weak, but growing.
Smell came first: bland and acrid, and over it all, the heady scent of a mortal woman, filling his Shadow mind. Then sight: the tunnel terminated near the top of a room, where a bright square patch gleamed, reaching like flame. And sound: a woman wept with choking sobs.
Finally understanding, born of walking human steps and stroking exquisite skin: Mortal. Woman. Magic. A harsh, vicious longing twined with his new awareness, stoking his animal hunger and transmuting it into something else, something almost human, and thus unbearable.
The hunter wanted it all. Mine.
Now, how to get her?
Custo raised his head as Adam approached. He’d been sitting on a stack of crates and, God help him, praying. Not that he expected an answer; he’d been an utter fool.
“So you’re an angel,” Adam said. He was stating fact, echoing the realization in his mind, not mocking, not questioning. Finally. “You deserve it. You were… are the best man I’ve ever known, after my father.”
Custo steeled himself against the unwarranted comparison. What could he say to that? Adam didn’t know about some of the bloody things he’d done. Couldn’t possibly guess what he was responsible for. “I’m sorry I endangered Talia, your children, Segue. I had no idea that the wolf would or could follow.”
“Gillian gave her something to stop the contractions.” Adam sat heavily next to him. “It’s working for now, and her heart rate dropped when you left the room. She’s on strict bed rest and will be until she delivers.”
Custo nodded. The contractions had stopped. He had to repeat it a couple of times to himself before the anxiety in his blood, heavy and poisonous as lead, thinned enough for him to breathe.
“I think I hurt her by just being in the room.”
Yes, Adam agreed. “I would
Dr. Gillian Powell, a longtime member of Segue’s staff, examined a strip of paper printing from a machine to the left of the bed. Gillian was good, thorough. She’d stitched him up more than once in the Jacob days. She’d save Talia and the babies if they could be saved.
Talia winced, straining her head to the side as Custo came through the doorway after Adam.
“More contractions?” Adam asked as he rushed to the bed and knelt on the floor, eye level with Talia.
“They’d stopped, and I thought I had it under control, but now…” Gillian trailed off. She frowned at another machine, her mind saying, That’s not right. A rapidly blinking heart accompanied escalating numbers, but the doctor put her stethoscope to her ears and checked Talia out for herself.
Talia groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “Too bright.”
Adam leaned in closer. “What is, honey?”
“Custo,” she gasped.
Custo took a step back. Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a great idea. A banshee and an angel in the same room—something about the combination felt inherently wrong. Fundamentally at odds. Maybe the barrier between their worlds was there for a reason. Maybe light and darkness were exclusive by necessity. Maybe he was hurting her.
Talia whimpered. Custo gripped the doorway. He wanted to help if he could. He was a goddamn angel. He should be able to do something. Ease her. Heal her.
Adam looked over at him, confusion and alarm on his face. “What’s happening?”
Talia shuddered and Custo backed into the hall. “I don’t know.” When she next groaned, he took himself out of the infirmary altogether.
In a long, thin, windy tunnel between two rooms, the hunter collected himself. The darkness deepened here, almost to pitch, and fed the slow reformation of his body. Shadow condensed, thickened, to form a twitching ear, a sharp claw, burning eyes. Air blew through the tunnel, rippling with the shudder of his new fur. He trembled, still variable, still weak, but growing.
Smell came first: bland and acrid, and over it all, the heady scent of a mortal woman, filling his Shadow mind. Then sight: the tunnel terminated near the top of a room, where a bright square patch gleamed, reaching like flame. And sound: a woman wept with choking sobs.
Finally understanding, born of walking human steps and stroking exquisite skin: Mortal. Woman. Magic. A harsh, vicious longing twined with his new awareness, stoking his animal hunger and transmuting it into something else, something almost human, and thus unbearable.
The hunter wanted it all. Mine.
Now, how to get her?
Custo raised his head as Adam approached. He’d been sitting on a stack of crates and, God help him, praying. Not that he expected an answer; he’d been an utter fool.
“So you’re an angel,” Adam said. He was stating fact, echoing the realization in his mind, not mocking, not questioning. Finally. “You deserve it. You were… are the best man I’ve ever known, after my father.”
Custo steeled himself against the unwarranted comparison. What could he say to that? Adam didn’t know about some of the bloody things he’d done. Couldn’t possibly guess what he was responsible for. “I’m sorry I endangered Talia, your children, Segue. I had no idea that the wolf would or could follow.”
“Gillian gave her something to stop the contractions.” Adam sat heavily next to him. “It’s working for now, and her heart rate dropped when you left the room. She’s on strict bed rest and will be until she delivers.”
Custo nodded. The contractions had stopped. He had to repeat it a couple of times to himself before the anxiety in his blood, heavy and poisonous as lead, thinned enough for him to breathe.
“I think I hurt her by just being in the room.”
Yes, Adam agreed. “I would
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