The Hierophant (Book 1 in The Arcana Series) (26 page)

Trebor’s arms clamp around me.

His fingers press firmly into my flesh, pull me close enough to squeeze the breath from my lungs. One hand at my back pins me against his body, and the other travels up my spine, twining his fingers into my hair. He kisses me so hard, I forget where we are, who I am, that anything at all existed before, or will continue to exist after,
this moment
. Our hearts beat stronger, faster, and I know that we’re both crying, because I can suddenly feel a myriad of horrors that do not belong to me.

His mouth moves against mine in the dark, open, lingering, two spirits exchanging a currency of breath, triggering an urgency in our skin, our guts, our bones—

But Trebor breaks the exchange, moves his mouth to my ear. He takes a huge lungful of air and whispers, “
Deep breath
.”

— 58 —

I feel torn in half when it happens, but it happens so fast that there’s no time to consider the ripping apart and reassembling of my particles. Immediately, my body is shocked with cold—so shocked that I almost scream.

But I hold my breath, because—
holy shit
—we’re underwater.
Real
water.

I fasten myself to Trebor, his arms like steel around me as we torpedo up from the dark, muddy depths, towards the bright, low sunlight shining across the river. I’m exhausted and weak and everything hurts, but with Trebor in my arms—alive, awake, and moving—I dig a little deeper, find a little more strength to kick, propelling us just a little faster before the air in our lungs is spent.

We break the surface and my ears pop, lungs sing, rejoicing in real, normal, oxygenated air—

And we keep shooting upward, higher and higher, away from the water, until I can see the Buffalo City Harbor beneath us, and the old naval yard with the retired warships, and the arena, and all of downtown. There’s the city hall, Lafayette Square, sunlight dancing off the glass facades of modern office buildings mingled with old, turn-of-the-century architecture…

I hook my legs around Trebor’s, look up at him as we fly, and wonder if anyone down there can see us. Even if they could, what would they think?

With the sun shining behind him, Trebor’s wings are lit up silvery blue and green like the sea. I can see the texture of them more clearly this time, the fine feather-like scales covering thin, tough skin, stretched over bird-like bones. They’re a combination of animal and insect, surprisingly
solid
. I don’t know why it surprises me. Maybe I expected them to be like the wings of a fairy, more whimsical and magical, less gritty and real.

We’re descending. I look and see we’re still over the city, approaching an old, painted brick building that looks like it might have been built the year the city was founded—and empty ever since. The street comes up fast, and though I trust Trebor implicitly, I can’t help but feel nervous as the pavement approaches, faster and faster.

But we land almost too easily, and Trebor doesn’t stop moving. He carries me forward, wings folding back, breaking apart and dissolving into his skin, like they did before. I hold on tightly, staring into his eyes, getting lost as I try to read them.

And then my back is pressed against something hard and rough, and we’re covered in shadows, barely hidden inside the partially collapsed doorway of a small garage. My feet touch the ground. Trebor’s hands touch my face—my arms—my body—surprising me, inciting my flesh to riot. His lips are so close to mine that I can feel the electricity stretching between us, connecting us. He leans his forehead to mine, whispering fiercely: “
Ana, Ana, Ana…
” And when he squeezes his eyes closed, tears rush from the corners.

My heart clenches against the emotions welling inside of me, terror and disbelief, longing and denial. He is anguished, afraid—the ghosts of his memories flash before my eyes.

“Trebor,” I whisper, laying my hand against his cheek. “This is
real
. Those were
nightmares
. You’re okay now.”

“It will never be okay,” he whimpers between gritted teeth. “They’re going to kill you. They’re going to destroy you if we stay together and there is
nothing
I can do.”

“No, Trebor. That was just a nightmare. It was a trick. You were being held captive—”

“How do you know? How do you know it’s not real?”

“Because
I’m
real. Because this—” I grab one of his hands and squeeze as hard as I can. “Is real. I’m here. We’re safe. And the future is not set in stone.”

He grimaces, wraps his hands around my waist and pulls himself close to me, puts his cheek against my cheek. His hands slide up around my back, wrapping his arms around me, eliciting a pulse of pain from my broken ribs. But I don’t pull back. I hold him while he catches his breath, while his shaking subsides.

I lean into his cheek, touch his forehead with my free hand, and whisper: “
Ahuvati sheli. Salah
.”

And he stills. I can feel him unclench, like I did—like I have. The flow is whole—immense—pure. I am still and quiet within myself, within the current of magic, within the world. I hold him, and he holds me, and everything is complete.

Almost.

“So this is it,” Trebor whispers, his voice scratchy and weak. “This is what it’s like to belong—to love someone completely, with everything that you are.”

“Trebor—” my voice catches. He is
so sad
. And he’s crying—I can feel the pain, the certainty of doom—and it has nothing to do with the nightmares he lived below.

He drags in a breath, shaking with grief. “We can never be together, Ana. Not so long as the Malakiim are in power.”

“Trebor, please—”

“It’s bad enough I’m being hunted.” He pulls back and stares at me with glistening eyes, vernal pools so huge and dark I’m afraid I might drown inside them. “If they know about you, about this bond we have, they’ll kill us both. Love between an Irin and a human is
absolutely
forbidden
. It breaks one of the greatest laws in Shemayiim.”

I shake my head, frowning, struggling not to cry. He’s going to leave.
He’s going to leave
. I knew it would happen, I knew it—but I hadn’t even come close to imagining how badly it would hurt.

“Trebor, I don’t care—I—” I try to speak, but the next thing I know, I’m kissing him.

Trebor’s restraint dies a fiery death. He presses his mouth against mine and the two of us smolder, urgent breath fanning ready embers glowing in the darkness of our hearts. Everything lights up inside of me, burns blissfully in the blaze. My lips part to let him inside of me, to touch every secret, every word, every whisper trapped behind my teeth.

Our hearts pound a rhythm that our bodies yearn to obey, drinking each other in, desert wanderers falling into an oasis. His hand slides down my side, discovering the cold, exposed skin at the hem of my shirt, stroking the long, lean length of my thigh. My hips rise towards him, and we push and pull each other closer, closer, never close enough.

He pulls away, but I suffocate without his lips on mine, grab him by the waist of his pants and pull him back to me. I spin us around and hold him against the brick, kissing him, running my hands up over the hard angles of his chest, pressing our bodies together. I touch his neck, trace the ribbons of black under his shirt collar, down over his heart, and I can
feel
something surge through him, electrifying his need for me in ways I can hardly fathom. His fingers dig into my skin, and I stop—overwhelmed—and rest my forehead against his, shaking.

“I don’t care if they hunt us down,” I confess. “I love you.”

“You have a chance to survive if I leave. We both do.” Trebor’s eyes narrow.

I start, but the knife goes in, silent, smooth, like the real blade I used to kill Ishmael. My heart wrenches with guilt, shame, horror. Would I take away his last chance at survival? No. Never.

“You have a chance at a real life if I go, Ana.”

“You’re the realest thing in my life,” I tell him, not for the first time. I frown, put my hand over his heart, but cannot meet his eyes. “I feel like we’re giving up.” It comes out as a sob.

“No. Never. Ana, I will do what I’ve always meant to do. I will find others who think as we do—I will bring them to my cause. We
will
free ourselves from angelic rule. One day, Ana, I’ll be free. Or die fighting.”

My lips tremble, open in a silent sob as harsh reality cuts deeper and deeper into my heart: it will take a revolution to make a love like ours possible at all.

Trebor holds my face in his hands and tell me, “I’ll never stop fighting for you.”

“I’ll never give up on you,” I say back, pulling myself to him. We kiss one last time, parting lips, tracing urgent promises on our breath:

I love you.

I will be strong for you.

I will start a revolution for you.

It’s different this time. It’s stronger—more solid. Everything about this kiss makes me feel real, in a world that seems so shaky and uncertain. It makes my bones feel heavy, my feet rooted, my heart sturdy.

It almost gives me hope.

“Ana!” Kyla calls my name. Her feet pound the pavement behind us.

I whirl around to see her coming, dreadlocks flying as she runs, Lykos floating just ahead.

“Ana, Trebor, run!” she yells, not so much afraid as she is determined. “The Sura are coming!”

Trebor curses. “The thin spots.” He shakes his head, eyes going wide. “It’s May first, isn’t it.”

My heart sinks. I clutch Trebor’s hand, ideas flying through my head even as Kyla collides with me, grabbing me, pulling me away from the shadows—

“That won’t be a problem,” a familiar voice purrs. Raven steps into view from around the front of the abandoned house, lean muscle and curves clad in that frictionless black uniform, baring the same tattoos up her arms as Trebor. Five other Irin fill in around her, Faye included.

We’re trapped.

“So, Trebor,” Raven sighs, hands on hips. “Are you going to hand yourself over, or are we going to have to do things the messy way?”

“It’s about to get messy whether you like it or not, bitch,” Kyla barks. “There’s a goddamn
pack
of demons on their way here, so you’d better get ready to fight or—”

“Quiet, girl,” Raven snaps.

Kyla’s eyes go wide. “What did you say?” She growls.

“Don’t test me.” Raven narrows her eyes at Kyla. “I’m not above collateral damage.”

“Raven,” Faye scolds her. “Some of us
are
above abusing our power.
We’re supposed to be protecting humans, not fighting with them.”

“So long as they stand between us and our target, I consider them in collusion with the traitor.”

“Do I even get a chance to explain myself?” Trebor asks.

“When you stand before the Angelic Court for judgment.” Raven cocks her head, and listens.

Trebor’s eye go wide. “Get down!” He roars, jumping higher than (humanly) possible. He whips his arm out, and a pale blue net flies from his fingertips as the other Irin spin, and drop—

And just as they hit the ground, the most hideous creature I’ve ever seen lunges through the very place where Raven was standing, jaws and fangs slavering, eyes blazing white. It looks like a horned hyena, only instead of fur on its back there are scales, slick with some kind of pale biological lubricant or ichor, and boney spikes like raised hackles along its spine. Trebor’s net connects with it mid-leap—the beast yelps, and seemingly implodes.

The other Irin move into defensive positions, crouching low, hands glowing with ready ammunition. The street behind them is filled with beasts.

“What the hell are they?” I ask.

“Hellhounds,” Lykos drawls. “They’re some of the
old
demons. Wherever there are hellhounds, there are always skinwalkers. They’re their keepers.”

Trebor curses under his breath. “Raven,” he says calmly as she rolls deftly into a fighting stance, positioned between Trebor and the hellhounds. “Whatever you think about me, we both agree that the skinwalkers can’t get Anastasia.”

“Do we?” She snarls.

“You know what a disaster it would be if a skinwalker got hold of the living body of a human who can use magic.” His voice is shaking—just barely, but I can hear it, like I can feel it, in my heart.

“I suppose we do agree on something.” Raven frowns. “Protect the humans!” She calls to the other Irin. “Get them to safety if you can.” She looks miserable as she says it. “We’re not done here, Trebor.” Raven turns to face the snarling threats in the street.

Kyla presses into the brick, contemplating the situation, glaring at Raven’s head.

“Trebor,” I say quietly. “I’m not leaving you. Not again. Not yet.”

“You have to,” he whispers, and I feel the heartbreak in both of us.

And then, like a bomb, the hellhounds explode in a frenzy of fangs and claws, launching themselves at the Irin. A fury of magic erupts around us, nets and bolts and blasts, each Irin with their own method, their own strategy. I see a hellhound knock one of the Irin down, raking its claws across his throat. He cries out in agony—a cry so raw and visceral, I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the sound.

I see it lunge for his throat, and without thinking I run forward, shouting a war cry as I raise my hand. Magic rushes from my toes to my fingers, blasting out, into the hellhound, zapping it back to Sheol.

“Oh my god,” I murmur. That was so easy. I didn’t even prepare. I didn’t even try, I just did it…

“Ana!” Trebor shouts, reaching for me, throwing another blue net. He pulls me in, holds me for a moment as something yelps behind me. “Ana, Kyla, you need to run. We’re cornered here. If you run, you have a fighting chance.”

My brow furrows.