He spins me, and now my back is against the cool brick wall. He lifts his eyebrows, a question:Shall I continue?I pull him by his shirt collar to me, to my lips.
His touch is like lightning, my heartbeat as loud and rumbling as thunder. Is that a message from Spirit, or my own yearning?
I’m panting; I am shortened breath and red, swollen lips. He leans in to kiss me again and again, and each kiss is a raindrop opening a parched flower. It heats every part of me. I run my fingers down his chest, his abs. He inhales sharply.
His chest heaves against my chest, both of us grasping each other, grasping for breath between long, deep kisses. I feel nothing but want. It’s overwhelming, my ache for him. I can almost taste his darkness, as strong as hunger. It makes my very teeth ache for moremoremore. I am losing myself in his shadows. Here is where I can hide.
No. This is an avalanche. Too dangerous, too fast.
Did I hear a scream, or is Spirit sending me signals of danger?
It takes every bit of my willpower to pull out of this kiss. Our lips part with an audible pop. I am stunned and breathless and dizzy and weightless. Lost. “What wasthat?” I meant the scream. I meant the kiss.
We stare at each other, transfixed.
And then I hear it again.
A long, terrifying scream.
A scream that guts me to my core.
I snap backward. “Did you hear that?” Did I hear it, or did Spirit make me hear it? I never know!
Pax’s brow furrows. “No, I—”
The screams continue. Screams, now. Plural.
Bile creeps up my throat.
I peer over Pax’s shoulder. There, a mere two blocks down Washington Place, stand the shadowy remains of the Asch Building, its burnt, ten-story façade looming like a giant blight.
The metallic tang of the Dark Trio makes me salivate. I am freezing, my blood ice. My hands shake as I point to the building over Pax’s shoulder. I don’tseeanything—no flames licking the sky, no plumes of black smoke. But I hear things, like echoes—bodies plummeting toward earth. Oh, heavens, I hear the roar of the inferno. I hear their screams.Feelthem, all around me. Falling.
Daisy is here with us, the Dark Trio whispers like a blade scraping bone.Join us. Come see your sister.
NO. Lies!
Pax takes long, steadying breaths. “How did we end up here?” he mutters. He looks back down Broadway as if it’s a mystery, how we arehere, at this place we both so adamantly avoid. The site of our sisters’ murders. His jaw tightens.
I realize: His pain is as vast and piercing as my own. He is just as hurt and vulnerable as I am.
He grabs one of my hands, then the other. His silver eyeslock on mine, and even though he can’t hear the screams, can’t feel the evil lurking nearby, he seems to know they’re there. “I am making a vow to you right now, Stella Bohdan.We will be okay.”
He swallows hard, and his hands, knotted in mine, tighten. It almost hurts, but I need his hands, his eyes, his warmth, to ward off the cold Trio.
He lowers his chin so that he’s looking at me through the very tops of his eyes, his dark brows lifted high. “Stella? I always pay my debts. Trust me. Max Blanck is about to get what he is due.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Julia’s Bureau stays busy in the days leading up to the party, and I’ve passed many an hour staring into space, reliving every second of that kiss: When our teeth clicked together. When my hairpin loosed. When Pax moaned.Moaned.
Sorting out my feelings for Pax is like trying to assemble a complex jigsaw puzzle, one with an elaborate out-of-focus design, and possibly with some pieces missing. I keep trying to make the pieces fit together, but they don’t quite match up. The end goal is unclear. It’s frustrating, and it gives me a stomachache. Why can’t I sort out these pieces?
And today Pax has been odd, cold, removed, and I’m fearful we’ve pushed our relationship onto thin ice. What did we do? That kiss—it was a mistake. He didn’t want that. Sure, heinitiatedit. But he didn’t want it. He was just trying to placate my hurt feelings, keep me involved in this elaborate scheme. He needs my gifts.
A few customers trickle in. I manage a small smile for the woman who sits across from me, desperate to get in touch with her father. “He was murdered,” she says, and my stomach flips.Why now?I ask Spirit.
Spirit answers no questions.
