The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(39)

His brows shot up. “You’re actually agreeing with me?”

She huffed. “You say that like I’ve never agreed with you before.”

“You haven’t. Or, at least, if you have, I can’t remember when.”

She injected a hint of humor into her voice. “Are you kidding me? I give in to you all the time.” This was a bald-faced lie and a running joke between them.

He gave the answer he always did. “In what universe?”

She laughed, and he did, too. She was so relieved to see him smile, she nearly started crying. Which would’ve really alarmed him. She didn’t cry.

She scooted to the edge of the mattress and fished her blouse off the floor. Abandoning the blanket, she shoved her arms through the sleeves, and kept her tone casual. “Just tell me one thing. Did you like it?”

“Arguing with you?” He shook out his crumpled tee.

“No, of course not. Did you like what we did? The sex? Um...what you remember of it?”

He paused in the motion of pulling on his shirt. “Now who’s being ridiculous?”

“I’m not. You’re an adept now, and I’m still just a dormant. I can’t—”

“Cybele.” He looked up, his eyes searching the ceiling as if reading something written up there. “You have to know by now that you’re everything to me. Life and breath and heart and...well, if the Nephilim had souls, you’d be that, too.”

She never cried. So why was her vision suddenly all blurry? “What did the Ordeal do to you? Scramble your brains?”

He pulled his shirt over his head. When he faced her again, a red flush burnished his cheeks. “Damn it, Cybele. Aren’t you always telling me I should be more romantic?”

“Well, yes. But I didn’t really think you had it in you.”

“I’ve always felt this way. I’ve just never had the guts to tell you.”

“You don’t need to tell me. I know. Oh, Arthur, I was so afraid when you left. Afraid you wouldn’t survive the overdose. Or if you did, you wouldn’t survive the Ordeal. And if you did get through it, I was afraid it would change you.”

“It did change me. But not in that way. Nothing in this life could change my feelings for you.” His gaze slid away. “It’s only—”

“Only what?”

“I don’t know how long that life’s going to be.” He met her gaze squarely. “I don’t know if I can defeat Mab.”

***

Luc’s thrallstone began to burn even before Zephyr disappeared into the brush.

The ruby lay, at all times, in unbroken contact with his skin. Mab had closed the twisted wood collar around Luc’s neck before allowing him to exit his Ordeal. From that moment, his life had been hers to command. The stone, aided by the oak, made his magic her own.

Until it happened, Luc hadn’t believed Mab would enthrall him. She’d promised not to. Despite Arthur’s warnings, despite Cybele’s pleas to listen, he’d stubbornly refused to consider the possibility she was lying. Why should he risk facing the Ordeal alone, as Arthur had urged? He’d already been in Mab’s bed, where she’d let him do whatever he’d wanted to her. In his lustful stupidity, he’d believed he’d mastered her.

How could he have been so na?ve? Mab’s docility had been another one of her illusions, and Luc, like an idiot, had fallen for it. He was damn glad Arthur hadn’t been in Demon’s Hollow when Luc returned with Mab’s thrall collar around his neck. Cybele’s horror, and the pity in her eyes, had been almost too much to bear.

His shoulders tensed at the thought of his twin. Where was she? Didn’t take half a brain to know that she’d run after Arthur, but did that mean Arthur had survived his Ordeal? Or had Cybele only hoped he had?

He couldn’t blame her for leaving Demon’s Hollow, Arthur or no Arthur. Cybele had always had more than her share of spunk. It was no secret that Mab had chosen her favorite thrall, Rand, to guide Cybele’s Ordeal. Rand was a snakebit son of a bitch if Luc had ever known one. Of course she’d run.

What was amazing was that she’d gotten away with it.

The thrallstone burned hotter, sizzling like a branding iron. The pain was getting bad, real bad, but he fought it as long as he could. He wasn’t sure why he still bothered. It was a pointless rebellion, one Mab could snap like kindling wood. And yet he kept at it.

Eventually, the compulsion to go to her overpowered his resistance. His feet moved him, against his will, to the north wing of the main house. Even though Mab spent little enough time in Demon’s Hollow, no one dared enter her exclusive domain uninvited. Luc approached the shining black door, dread twisting his insides into knots. He hadn’t been on the other side of that door since before his Ordeal.

His fear disgusted him. What could Mab possibly do to him that was worse than what he’d already endured? Plenty, a malicious voice in his brain whispered. And you know it. A cold sweat broke out on his brow.

He rapped on the cool steel. The door swung open into a room of red velvet, black leather, and shining chrome. Hunter, another of Mab’s favorites, stood with his hand on the doorknob, smirking. When Luc stepped past him, he shut the door and turned the lock.

“‘Bout time you got your ass here. Not smart, making her wait. She’s madder than a rattler now, and I can’t say as I blame her. Why in hell didya let Cybele get away?”