The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(15)

Arthur didn’t move. She looked up at him. He’d gone motionless, his gaze fixed on her hand. His breathing was harsh.

“Arthur? Are you all right?”

“No. I...your blood.” He shuddered. “It’s so...beautiful. I want...to see more of it. All of it. Spilling into the ground—” His skin darkened, lights pulsing just under the surface in opalescent shades of blue, gray, and green, lit by a touch of crimson.

Was he shifting? Her head jerked up. Their gazes clashed. His eyes had turned red. They seemed lit by a light burning in his skull.

He looked at her with an odd expression, as if he didn’t recognize her, as if he’d never seen her before. Fear squeezed her chest. How could she have forgotten? Fresh blood could trigger deathlust in a new adept. Arthur had warned her he was out of control. She hadn’t really believed him. Yes, he’d attacked her on the stair, but he hadn’t known who was there. She couldn’t believe he’d ever actually want to kill her.

She was an idiot. Because she’d bet money that right now, right here, he wanted to kill her. Deathlust, hard, cold, merciless, shone in his eyes. A low growl vibrated in his throat. The fine hairs on the back of her neck lifted. His scent, raw and elemental, terrified her.

Every muscle in his body spoke of his tenuous hold on his lust to kill. Cybele fisted her bloody hand and whipped it behind her back. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Her legs felt like so much jelly, but she knew better than to cower, or turn and run. Instead, she stiffened her spine and met his gaze squarely. Slowly, slowly, his eyes tracking her every movement, she backed away.

His body went even more rigid, if that were possible. A sheen of sweat broke out on his brow.

Their gazes locked. “You’re shifting,” she whispered.

A flicker of the Arthur she knew showed in his eyes. The tip of his tongue darted out from between his lips. His jaw clenched. “I...can’t...control it.”

He closed his eyes. Cybele moved back another step. Her butt hit the sink. Without looking, she felt along the edge. Her fingers closed on the old tea towel. She fumbled with it behind her back, winding it around her injured hand, pulling the ends into an awkward knot. Half-turning, she pulled it tight with her teeth.

“I’ve covered it,” she said.

His eyes slit open. His body jerked, but his feet stayed where they were. His chest expanded in a slow breath. He exhaled even more slowly.

“Any better?”

“The cloth helps. But not with the scent. Or the sound.”

“Blood has a sound?”

“I hear it. Rushing. Calling. Mocking. But maybe...” He swallowed thickly. “Maybe the noise is in my head. Maybe...my brain is damaged. Permanently.”

“It’s not,” she said sharply.

“You don’t know that.” He arched his back, hissing through his teeth. “I’ve got to...to get away.”

The opal lights under his skin were a wild, shifting swirl. A red glow consumed his irises and pupils. His body was changing, seeking its demon form. Cybele wasn’t a stranger to the shifting. She’d seen the adepts of her clan change countless times, mostly from afar. This shift was different. For one thing, it was so close, barely an arm’s length away. And it was Arthur.

He labored over each breath. Sweat drenched his shirt. He staggered toward the door, shucking the garment over his head as he went. He flung it behind him and wrenched open the door.

He threw himself headlong into the night. By the time Cybele followed him out the door, he was at the garden gate. He gripped the iron bars with both hands, flung back his head, and groaned.

It was a low, inhuman sound, infused with primitive pain. As the cry died away, he turned and dropped into a crouch, head bowed. Cybele stopped some ten or fifteen feet away, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. She wanted to look away. She couldn’t. She could only stand, transfixed, while Arthur changed.

The skin over his shoulder blades melted. Wings emerged, slowly at first, then with a rush of power. The joints snapped open, charcoal feathers fanning wide. Under his skin, a dark rainbow of color ran wild.

He straightened. Drops of sweat poured down his torso, shimmering like jewels. He lifted his head and looked at her. She resisted the urge to shrink back. Arthur loved her. He would find control somewhere, somehow, rather than do her harm. She had to believe that.

He pinned her with his crimson gaze. He stood, still and silent, for what seemed like an eternity. He made no move toward her. His eyes didn’t even flick toward her bandaged hand. Cybele took that for a good sign.

“That looked...painful,” she said.

“Like being flayed alive.” His voice was low and rough. “The first time...was much worse.”

“This is the second time?”

“Yes.” He grimaced. “Or maybe the third. I don’t know. Cybele, I...” He dragged a hand down his face. “I have to go. I want...I need...to kill.”

At least they were in the countryside, where livestock likely outnumbered humans. “Go,” she said. “Do what you need to do.”

“I don’t like leaving you alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“If Mab comes...”

“She won’t. Not this quickly, anyway.”

“But if she does—”

“I’ll hide,” she told him. “You know how good I am at that. I’ve fooled her for years. Now get out of here.”