“We’ll make it,” she promised him, steadied by the possessive grip of his hands on her waist and the comforting scent of thyme and musk that she couldn’t live without.
Breathing in her ear, Silas gave her his own promise, “I won’t let anyone take you from me.”
“Good,” she whispered back.
Pressing his forehead to her temple, he rasped, “The thing you said earlier. It’s true.”
“What thing?”
“That I love you too fuckin’ much.” His breath hitched. “I have to, right? Or this wouldn’t feel like I was putting my heart in front of a firing squad. It wouldn’t… it wouldn’t be thishard.”
“You do,” she answered, feeling too full and hollowed out all at once. “I know it because I feel the same way.”
With one last kiss, she forced herself away. He hovered behind her, ready to slip out into the shadows. She could feel his tension in the air and could only imagine the force of will it took for him to let her do this, let alone the respect he must’ve had for her to take the risk. If he didn’t respect her so much, she had no doubt that she’d be back in another closet, locked away while he dealt with things as he saw fit.
I hold the power,she thought, steeling her spine.
Forcing her hands to stop shaking, Petra opened the door and walked calmly down the short hallway. Her heels clicked a rhythmic beat on the red-brown tile floor.
Click-clack, click-clack.She focused on the sound, on Silas’s presence, and touched the shadows around her throat as the low roar of the gathered worshippers grew louder and louder.
A discreet screen obstructed her view out into the belly of the beast, but she knew what she’d find: a thousand people crammed cheek to jowl, laden with offerings for the sacred fire that burned inside Glory’s statue, and every last one of them eager to get their eyes on the sovereign couple.
Glory,she prayed, edging out from behind the screen to face the crowd,please let this work.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Silas knewhe could live for a thousand years and he’d never, ever forget watching Petra ascend the dais. Someday his shadow might live on, separated from his flesh, and even that echo of his soul would remember her.
Crowned in gold, dripping in pearls and red gemstones, and draped in the nearly translucent white fabric of her veil, she appeared utterly ethereal in the dark alcove. Light hadn’t yet touched the massive stained glass window behind the altar, leaving her illuminated by hundreds of flickering candles and her own magic. Fragrant smoke curled in the air, softening the edges of her until it appeared as though she emerged from a wispy fog.
Gasps of delight popped like bubbles in the suddenly still, fragrant air of the packed cathedral. Murmurs followed, hushed exclamations of surprise and speculation about Petra’s unannounced return, but those soft waves of sound came to an abrupt stop when she took her place before the altar. Haunting music, slow and rich with low notes, flowed from red-robed musicians tucked into the smaller alcoves that lined the sides of the cathedral’s main floor.
Silas sat in the front row, his seat stolen from a person who didn’t have the guts to deny him when he demanded she move, his unblinking stare fixed on his mate. Although he appeared more human with his shadows forcefully tucked away, he didn’t feel it. He hadn’t been nervous about much until now. There were no real stakes for him when he didn’t give a damn if the entire continent burned, but seeing her up there, exposed to a thousand strangers — any one of them a potential threat — made him want to rip his hair out by the roots.
Acid singed the back of his tongue as he tracked Petra’s graceful movements and those of the senior acolytes arrayed around her. They were all swathed in veils and long crimson robes, but none of them matched the sheer resplendence of his mate. He thought he recognized all of them, or at least what he could make out beneath the fabric, but what if one was an impostor hiding a weapon?
Petra wasn’t Vanderpoel and Red’s target, but that hadn’t stopped her from getting shot before.
Planning had never been his forte. He liked the excitement of jumping right into the thick of things with only his brain, his skills, and a goal in mind. Life was more fun when he had no idea if he’d live or die from one moment to the next, and the rewards for his efforts always felt a little bit more satisfying when he managed to come out on top.
But that was yet another thing that had to change. Sitting in the pews, watching Petra stand up there despite everything they knew might happen, made him question every decision he’d made. Allowing her to come, not simply taking care of the soldiers himself, leaving Tal at the house rather than having him do recon in the cathedral — all his choices flashed before his mind’s eye as a ripple of excitement passed over the crowd.
There was so much more to think about now, too many precious things at risk, and the only reward he sought for his efforts these days was the life he wanted to build with his mate.
Every head turned around him as all eyes except his own were drawn to the entrance. Silas risked a glance at his watch and bit back a venomous curse. His program was still chipping away at the failsafes. At any moment the grid would go down and his message would be sent to all Patrol units in the greater San Francisco area, but every second that passed was torture.
I should’ve checked on the soldiers myself. I can’t believe I let her go up there. What the fuck am I doing, letting this happen?Silas gripped the polished wood armrest of the pew, ready to sayfuck itand drag Petra away from the altar, consequences be damned, when everyone around him climbed to their feet.
Not wanting his view of any threats obstructed, he did the same. His attention was caught by the entourage that flowed down the aisle. An almost fearful hush descended on the crowd as the Sovereign’s Guard, dressed head to toe in black and their faces obscured by sleek helmets filled with smoky glamours, prowled ahead of the sovereign couple themselves.
They passed him on silent feet, their movements fluid and predatory, as they moved to take their places to the sides of the altar. None of them, as far as he could tell, spared him a glance, and if they were unsettled by Petra’s unannounced appearance, it was impossible to tell.
The sovereign couple were a different matter.
Margot Goode, dressed in a white off-the-shoulder gown, wore the serene expression of a seasoned healer. With her pointed chin up and her almost fox-like features set in calm lines, she appeared perfectly relaxed as she held her husband’s arm. In her free hand she held a ceremonial bundle of smooth, perfumed branches wrapped in silk cord. Adoring looks followed her every soft step down the aisle.
But for all that her expression remained placid, her lips fixed in a soft half-smile for the fawning crowd of worshippers, her copper-colored eyes were keen. They landed on Petra unerringly. They narrowed, and Silas could practically see the wheels turning in her mind as she tried to puzzle out why his mate would appear without warning.
