All That Falls (16 page)

The ringing of her cell phone dragged Cerise to consciousness just as she began to fall asleep. As Alissa’s words penetrated her groggy brain, she rolled from bed and stumbled to her dresser to grab clothes.

If Lysander fell into the Etherlin, ES would be all over him. What if he fought and they shot him? Already wounded, he wouldn’t survive. Assuming he was still alive. The thought of him dying upset her more than it should have. Adrenaline poured into her veins as she yanked on her clothes.

Once dressed, she rushed down the stairs and shoved the door open. She sprinted away from the house along the lakeside path until she reached Alissa’s lawn. She raced across it to the tree.

His body lay bathed in moonlight.

With a hammering heart and twitching muscles, she dropped to the ground next to him. His right fist was closed around the hilt of a dagger. Skin that was alabaster pale testified to the fact that he was nearly bloodless. The bone root of his wing partially skewed his back where there was a sucking chest wound.

“Oh my God,” she said with a gasp.

His lids rose a fraction, and he squinted as though his vision
wasn’t clear. “Don’t,” he rasped. “You mustn’t touch my blood, Cerise. Back away.”

“Shut up,” she said and shoved the heel of her hand over where wine-colored blood leaked from his back. A shot of ice surged up her arm, knocking her back.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he growled, panting and struggling. “You are so reckless. So beautiful, but so reckless.”

“Save your breath,” she snapped, grabbing the cocked wing and yanking.

He roared and a hand shot out, knocking her back. “No!”

“I have to. It’s the only way to save you.”

Eyes the color of ferns implored her. “I would rather die.”

A rush of pain slammed through her. His pain, she realized.

She shuddered, unsure of what was happening. How had she felt that? Another wave hit her, and all her muscles locked. Keeping his wings was a need so deep she’d felt it vibrate through her soul. Nothing would ever convince him to give them up, which meant…

She watched the red pool spill over, crimson rivulets streaming down his side. She pressed down on the hole to stanch the flow, but the blood ran under and over her hands, making her palms and fingers slippery with it. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I’ll stay with you till the end,” she whispered.

“Help me.”

“Tell me how.”

“Push the wing in.”

“I can’t. The flesh is closed around it.”

“Cut it open. Please. I want it straight.”

“The bones are cracked.”

“Please, Cerise,” he whispered.

She swallowed against a tight throat. She tugged his fingers away from the hilt of the dagger and pulled the blade from the earth. She wiped the dirt off and through a blur of tears, she leaned over him.

He cried out when she cut him, and she froze.

“No, don’t stop! Hurry, Cerise!”

His urgency focused her. She forced the blade deeper, and blood poured from the wound.

Oh God. I’m killing him faster.

But through his groans of pain, he urged her on with a single breathless word.
Please.

She worked quickly to slice him open, cutting deep and wide. She dropped the dagger and used both hands to try to push the wing in. It was too heavy to move. She jerked forward, shoving her shoulder against it to lever it upward so the bone angled. It gave way and she guided the broken root into the hole in his back that she’d made.

The instant that his wing’s root was partially inside, his flesh clamped around it and her hands, trying to close the wound. She gritted her teeth till she thought they’d shatter. She held the bone and forced the rest inside with the strength of her entire body. Her muscles cramped and wailed. Sweat dripped from her brow as she tried to pull her hands out. Only the left slid free of his body.

With a sucking sound, his back muscles knitted themselves around her right wrist. She cried out at the pressure. It was like his flesh was a tourniquet strangling her arm.

She couldn’t pull her hand free.

No! Oh no!

She jerked and wrenched until her shoulder muscles felt like they were ripping from the bones. She screamed in pain and panic. She couldn’t get out.

She grabbed the dagger, hesitating only for a second. There was no help for it. She cut into his back, dragging the blade in a curve around her wrist, nicking her arm. She threw herself backward with all her might.

She landed hard on her back, jarring every bone. Except her hand.

Gone!

I tore off my hand!

Crying, she held up her arm. There, still attached, was a dusky blue hand.

Not gone! It’s not gone!

She sobbed. It was so numb, she couldn’t feel it at all. She shook her arm and the hand flopped limply. She couldn’t take her eyes from her useless fingers. Gradually, pins and needles began to sting her wrist and crept outward. The pain sharpened, and her hand turned an angry red.

I feel it! Pain is good,
she thought, shaking with relief.

Slowly sensation returned, and she moved her fingers gingerly. The pain eased as normal color returned.

She crawled to Lysander, whose skin was ashen and cool. She was relieved to find he was still breathing. She needed to get him in the house. With a bone-crunching sound, his wings folded and smooth slits opened in his back. There was no bleeding as the wings collapsed inward and were absorbed into his flesh with a soft sucking sound. He exhaled a sigh.

A bobbing light in the distance moved along the lakeside path.
Etherlin Security.
She knew their feelings on fallen creatures. She remembered the way they’d locked Merrick up when he’d infiltrated the Etherlin.

“Lysander, can you stand? We have to get you out of sight.”

He lay still as a corpse. She lurched up. If she could get him into Alissa’s house, she’d have a little time. She could try to arrange for a blood transfusion, though she wasn’t sure she could trust an Etherlin-affiliated physician to keep Lysander’s presence a secret. If the doctor told the council, ES would take over.

She glanced at Alissa’s house, which was dark and presumably locked tight. If she broke a window, ES might hear.

She needed a key. Instantly, she remembered Richard’s advice. She rushed to the purple trellis and knelt. Reaching into a hollow at the base she felt a smooth cold piece of plastic nestled among the dirt. She removed the plastic object, finding a fake gray rock. She flipped it and popped it open. A key lay inside. She extracted the key and rushed back to Lysander.

The lights were almost close enough to spot them, and the hazy orange of sunrise crept over the horizon.

His skin was frosty cold, but his chest moved more forcefully as he breathed.

She grabbed his arm and pulled, but he was much too heavy to drag, especially with the pain in her shoulder from where she’d wrenched her muscles.

She jabbed him with the key. “Lysander,” she whispered fiercely.

He stirred, and his eyes opened to small slits.

“C’mon. You have to get up. The security guys are coming.”

He moved, and she helped him roll onto his side. He panted from the effort, his lips pursed and bluish.

“I can’t stand yet.”

“You have to. C’mon. Try,” she said, pulling on him.

He took her hand and rose partially, then toppled, knocking her down with him. She gasped in pain. There was no way she could lift him. If he couldn’t stand, it was over.

Her gaze darted from side to side. She spotted the gardener’s shed. She jerked to her feet and ran to it, careful to avoid the motion sensors. It was lucky that she’d come across the property so many times before on her clandestine escapes.

She pulled the shed door open, wincing at the creaking sound. Finding a wheelbarrow, she hurried back to him.

It took two attempts to get him half into it and then she rolled it back to the shed, closing the door. She held her breath and peered out a small hole. The ES officers were nearly silent as they combed the grounds. If they got close enough to the tree, they’d see the blood. And, shit, find the dagger. Her heart thumped. She imagined herself trying to explain what she’d been doing in the shed concealing a mostly bloodless fallen angel.

They scanned the area and a beam of light ran over the ground at the base of the tree. She froze.

Damn it! We’re done. When they see the knife and the blood, they’ll search every inch—

But the flashlights moved on.

What the hell?

Her heart banged inside her chest. Moments passed, and she couldn’t believe it, but they didn’t close in on the shed. Why had they ignored the knife? They moved farther away.

Cerise turned her attention to the rising sun. She didn’t have much time before it was full light. Her only chance of getting him inside without anyone seeing was to move him immediately.

She turned and bent over the wheelbarrow where he was draped with the edges of the barrow cutting into his flash.

“Hey,” she whispered. “I have to move you, and you have to help by staying absolutely silent. Can you do that?”

He didn’t move a muscle. She put a palm above his nose and felt cool misty breath against it.
Still alive. Just unconscious.

She opened the door, which creaked. She winced, gritting her teeth, but there was no sign of ES returning.

It’s now or never.

Cerise pushed the door wider and then lifted the wheelbarrow and pushed it. She bit her lip against the ache in her shoulder and wheeled him to the back door, keeping a steady watch. The lights weren’t far.

Don’t look this way.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside. She entered the date of the spring equinox on the security pad, and the light on the alarm pad turned green.

Thank you, Richard.

She returned to Lysander’s inert body and with a heave, tipped the wheelbarrow sideways. He rolled out and landed with a thud.

She shoved his body so it slid over the tile, then wheeled around and returned the empty wheelbarrow and closed the shed. She couldn’t resist veering to the cherry blossom tree to retrieve the knife. She noticed the blood was gone, as though it had been completely absorbed into the earth.

Not a speck on the grass? That’s a little…miraculous?

She returned swiftly to the house and closed the door. Once it was locked, she slid down to sit next to Lysander, trembling from the exertion and the adrenaline rush.

We made it, and he’s alive. At least for now.

Cerise’s head ached from lack of sleep, but she couldn’t simply cover Lysander and leave him lying on the cold hard tile. Her sore shoulder complained when she rolled him onto a blanket and then held the edges in her fists and dragged him across the floor. It was tougher to slide him when the blanket hit the carpet, but she kept pulling and then rolled him the rest of the way. Finally, she dropped onto the carpeted floor alongside him and covered them both with the blanket.

She opened her phone and called Alissa and Merrick’s landline. Alissa answered immediately.

“It’s me, Liss.”

“Are you all right? Merrick just got back. He looked for Lysander in the Varden and the Sliver, but he wasn’t there. Did you—?”

“Yes, I found him.”

“Thank God.”

“He’s alive, but he lost a lot of blood. I got him inside your house. I’m going to call Dr.—”

“Did you remove his wings?”

“No.”

“Is he still bleeding?” Alissa asked, alarmed.

“No. I put his broken wing back inside his back, and the skin sealed over it.”

“Oh good,” Alissa said, exhaling in relief. “Don’t call anyone. If he’s taken to the hospital who knows what they’ll find
in his blood or on his X-rays. ES considers fallen angels the same as ventala. The minute they hear what he is, they’ll try to take him into custody, which would be a disaster when he wakes up and decides he doesn’t want to be in custody.”

“He’s cold, Alissa.
Really
cold.”

“He’ll survive. Just keep him warm.”

“I don’t know.”

“Look, call if you feel you have to, but I promise he’ll be all right.”

Cerise stared at the ceiling, and moments ticked away. Alissa would never risk Lysander’s life. “If he’s going to stay here to recover, no one can know. I notice your house is shiny clean and smells of Pine-Sol.”

“That’s Mrs. Carlisle and the maids. She wants everything ready for us to come home. I’ll call and inform her that you’re house-sitting and working there. I’ll make sure no one comes to the house.”

“That would be good.” Cerise paused, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Cerise, thank you for helping him. It means a lot.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You must be so tired. Try to get some rest. Call me when you wake.”

“I will.” Cerise closed the phone and let it drop onto the carpet. Her eyes burned as the lids closed over them. She moved closer to Lysander, putting an arm around his cold chest. His muscles twitched, and she pressed against him, shivering at the chill.

“Alissa and I are just becoming friends again,” she whispered. “If you die, I won’t be able to forgive her or myself for not calling you a doctor. So that’ll be on you.” She put her cheek against his neck. “Better if you survive.”

She woke slowly, the smell of sandalwood and earth filling the air. She breathed deep against the pressure on her chest. She opened her eyes. Tangled strands of dark gold hair blocked her view. She brushed them away and took in the state of things.

Lysander’s hand held her hip, his head rested on her chest,
and his body was pressed to hers. The intimacy of their positions made her skin tingle and tighten.

He’d warmed, or her body had chilled to match his. She stretched her shoulders and the lack of stiffness seemed a good sign.

Her fingers combed his hair, then rested on the back of his neck.

“Are you awake?”

“No,” he murmured. “I’m dreaming.”

She smiled. “How’s your dream?”

“Soft. Sweet. And smooth.”