Of Alliance and Rebellion (17 page)

The sudden urge to hang her head was strong, and Anahita tipped her chin up to counteract it. “As a matter of fact, no,” she said. “As you can see: not Fallen.”

“Hmm,” Remiel hummed, his gaze penetrating. “I did not
watch
, as you so delicately put it. When I saw the direction things were headed, I called a quick emergency meeting of the brethren. We have already met and made a decision."

Anahita swallowed hard. All abandoned her except the sharpest despair. She knew she could not stop Remiel’s words, but she wished with every fiber of her being that he would delay telling her the result of that meeting.

“We are not confident that you are focused enough for this mission,” Remiel said.

“I am!” The words burst forth, childish and wild.

Remiel’s eyes traveled from Anahita’s face to the table on which she sat, the movement pointed and condemning.

“That was ... nothing,” Anahita mumbled, the words barely auditory and tasting horrible in her mouth, though they were the truth, as evidenced by her ability to speak them. “I was—” She swallowed again. “Curious. He sated my curiosity. That is all.”

“Sated it poorly, it would seem,” Remiel said, returning his eyes to her face.

With the last of her strength, Anahita cleared her expression. “Well then, all the better to assure you I will not be Tempted further, yes?”

“Perhaps,” Remiel said after a long pause. “But we know of something else that would assure us even more.” Remiel narrowed his eyes. “Set your Compulsion.”

Anahita’s stomach bottomed out even further. “I have not had the opportunity to think clearly—”

“I was not finished,” Remiel said, cutting her off. “Set your Compulsion ... or die.”

Anahita’s head felt loose on her shoulders. “What?”

“I believe I was more than clear,” Remiel said.

“
Why
?” she asked, her hand creeping up to her throat.

“We have already lost Jayden, and now he fights for the wrong side. We cannot risk you defecting to the side of the abominations.” Remiel leaned forward in his seat, looking suspiciously like he was feeling some very strong emotions indeed. “This was not my decision, you understand,” he said, “but the decision of the group. So, I repeat: set your Compulsion or die.”

The flaming sword was concealed beneath her wing, and for a fraction of a second, she pondered how long it would take as she reached over her shoulder to grab it before Remiel would catch on and defend himself. The moment she had the thought, she was appalled. Had she truly sunk so far that she would consider harming her leader? The head of the Warriors? “I will do it,” she muttered, the words tumbling out of her mouth and over each other in her haste to get them out.

Remiel leaned back in his seat slowly, a small smile tilting his lips. “I will wait while you do.”

That he did not trust her—at all—finally penetrated Anahita’s skull, and she was so ashamed of herself, she could hardly breathe. She nodded absently, and then, because she could not think while sitting on the table where she had experienced her first orgasm—disappointing though the aftermath had been—she stumbled to her feet and shuffled over to the sofa. She sank down, releasing a sigh as she did so. Just before she closed her eyes to focus her thoughts, she saw Remiel observing her through narrowed eyes, the smile he’d had moments before absent.

With her eyes closed, she focused on the three men: Oliver, Luke, and Max. She must decide on the order they should die. With reflexes that felt fueled by anger, Anahita pondered killing Max first, but immediately, a hidden part of her brain warred with it, and she admitted that she could not make so important a decision based on something as trivial as anger. If she were both honest
and
compassionate, Oliver should be first. His constant cycle of anguish needed to end, and she instinctively knew he would be grateful to her. Luke was the most innocent human she could imagine, and ending his life would cause her much pain. He would be last. That meant her Temptation would be second. The order was complete: Oliver, Max, Luke. She pulled in a slow breath and set her Compulsion. She felt it click into place, and immediately, the urge to find Oliver, to begin her mission, overwhelmed her.

She opened her eyes. Remiel was smiling once more. “It is done,” she said, though it was obvious she did not need to. “I will begin right away.”

Remiel was rising to his feet before Anahita was even done speaking. “This is wisdom, Anahita. You are showing wisdom, and it will aid the brethren well when you join our ranks officially.” He nodded at her and said, “Godspeed,” before disappearing.

As soon as he was gone, Anahita, too, got to her feet. She could feel the flames of the sword heat with intent along her back. She was three trivial steps away from achieving her life’s ambition.

It was time to take the first step.

Anahita walked to the door, entered the hallway, and headed toward the medical wing and one Oliver Phillips.

As she walked, the world faded to black and white, shadows and light. She paid no attention to the people she passed, even when one or two of them—she did not stop to identify who—attempted to talk to her.

When her feet met the floor of the medical wing, the sword grew even hotter. Her palm itched to snatch it, but she made herself wait, knowing that if any of the humans saw her wielding the sword while her eyes were the solid black of a Compulsion-driven Warrior, she would face difficulty in ensuring there were no unnecessary casualties.

Someone was leaning up against the wall beside her first target’s door, but she paid him no mind.

However, that someone straightened and spoke. “Anahita?” he said.

Anahita continued walking toward the door.

“Fuck, pretty baby, what happened to your eyes?”

Something in that question made her pause. Anahita frowned and turned her head to examine the person who had spoken. Long, tousled black hair; compelling, mismatched eyes; trim beard that she knew was softer than it looked.

How do I know that
?

“Anahita?” the man asked again, a scar that crossed his face stretching as his brows met in the middle.

A swirl of color snaked its way through her vision before expanding and driving away the black and white focus she needed to complete her mission. She blinked at the man before her. “Max?”

Max blew out a breath, his shoulders falling while doing so. “There’s my angel,” he muttered.

Pretty baby
. He’d called her pretty baby again, and it had distracted her enough that she had been pulled out of her mission.

Temptations were strong stuff. Nothing should be able to do that.
Nothing
. “I cannot talk right now,” Anahita said, her tone distant. “Or whatever it is you wish to do with me this time. I am in the middle of something.”

Anahita turned to walk into Oliver’s room, the world already shifting to black and white again, but Max’s hand shot out and lightly wrapped around her upper arm. As light as his touch was, Anahita froze on the spot, her gaze finding his fingers against her skin.

“About that,” Max whispered. “I owe you an apology.”

The black and white vanished once more. Anahita let her eyes travel from his fingers up his forearm to where his bicep stretched the shirt he was wearing to the point of breakage. Finally, she looked at his face. She could tell she was staring, but she could not make herself stop. How had this man’s face become so precious to her in such a short amount of time
and
when they could not seem to be in a room together without catastrophe?

Max dropped his hand from her skin and raked his hair over his golden eye and most of his scar.

“I wish you would not feel the need to do that.”

Max’s eyes shifted to the floor. “Do what?”

“Max,” Anahita whispered, but he would not look at her again. Finally, she placed her finger beneath his chin and directed his face up until she could see it again. “I think you know what,” she said.

His hair fell from his face, and his eyes widened with a vulnerability that she had not seen in them before as he visibly struggled not to hide behind it again. As he vibrated with tension before her, Anahita slowly and meticulously looked over every plane, raised line, and hollow of Max’s scarred and beautiful visage. “There is nothing here to hide,” she said finally.

Max swallowed hard—she could feel it beneath her finger—and pulled back until Anahita’s hand perched awkwardly between them. She let it fall back to her side.

“Anahita, I—” Max rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I don’t know what to do around you,” he muttered.

Anahita blew out a quick breath. “Nor I,” she admitted. As she looked at him, a sudden surge of her Guardian side nearly toppled her over. Her set Warrior Compulsion roared within her skull, and she swallowed a moan as they battled with each other. She felt her eyes widen as her mind recognized she
still
had two missions in the man before her: one to kill him, one to protect him. But her Warrior Compulsion was set. She should be able to put aside this undesirable feeling that she needed to protect Max.

“Anahita?” Max said, reaching toward her arm again.

She jerked it out of his reach, and, blessedly, her vision snapped to black and white again. Focus poured through her. She reached over her shoulder for the hilt of her sword. She had work to do, and if this human before her inhibited that, she would simply dispatch him now rather than later.

“No,” the human muttered. His fingers stretched toward her face, their obvious aim her cheek. “Your eyes. Anahita, talk to me.”

Anahita turned, giving the man her shoulder. Her fingers were nearly to her sword.

“What’s
happening
to you?” the man beside her shouted. And then a horrible crunching sound rent the air.

Anahita paused, an undeniable pull upon her. With reluctance, she glanced in his direction, her eyes passing over a crater in the wall before finding him cradling his right fist in his left hand. Blood marred his knuckles.

Her lips parted. Her black and white vision vanished within one heartbeat. And before she could stop it, her Guardian Compulsion struck. As she looked at Max’s wounded hand, the Compulsion to Guard him—to keep him from
ever
being harmed again—set as firmly as though it had been carved in stone.

Her vision went into shades of gold, everything cast in the shimmery aura, with dangers to Max’s safety glowing especially bright—such as the wall upon which he had just broken his hand.

“No,” Anahita moaned. “Oh, God, what have I done?” She had never once, in her entire existence, used the name of God so lightly.

A horrendous pain burst through Anahita’s skull, and she irrationally thought for a moment that it was because she’d used God’s name in vain. But the pain grew worse, and Anahita knew it was something else entirely. A groan was ripped from her chest, and she clutched her head with both hands, pushing in with all of her might to keep it from exploding as it felt it was about to do.

“Anahita!” Max said. He grabbed her by her upper arms and shook her. “What’s wrong?”

Anahita couldn’t speak, but another moan poured from her.

“Open your eyes, pretty baby. Come on. Open your eyes for me.”

She forced her eyelids open, feeling as she thought those who sleep must feel when they were attempting to pull themselves from a horrid nightmare. When she succeeded in getting them open, her head burst with a new supernova of pain. Her vision was cast in two: her left eye seeing black and white; her right eye seeing gold.

Max’s face, right before her and bizarre looking in the multihued competition of her inner self, blanched, and his lips parted. “Okay,” he said quickly, bending at the knee in the next moment and scooping her up into his arms. “You’re gonna be okay.”

He began walking down the hall with her resting her cheek on his chest, and every one of his harsh, booted steps reverberated up his body and through hers. She moaned again and clenched her eyes shut. “My head.”

He cupped her head with one of his massive hands and pressed her face more firmly into the pad of muscle beneath her cheek. “Shhh.” He paused, but then she felt him twist his hips, and with a mighty crash, he kicked a door open and strode into a dark, cool room. Through her closed eyelids, she could already appreciate the lack of lighting, and she felt her rigid spine relax slightly.

The world tilted, and she felt the crisp sheets of a bed beneath her wings. She adjusted them so they would not be crushed, and Max lowered her until she was lying down completely. He brushed her hair from her forehead with a rough, calloused palm, and Anahita opened her eyes again. Her vision was still split in two, and she saw Max wince when she looked into his eyes. “That can’t feel good,” he whispered, brushing his hand through her hair again.

“Does it look that bad?” she asked.

“You have one completely black eye, one completely golden eye,” he said. “It doesn’t look like it feels great, that’s for sure.”

Anahita moaned and turned to her side, curling into a
C
. “I am ruined.”

She felt Max straighten. “I’ll go get help.”

Before he could step away, Anahita’s arm shot out, and she grabbed a fist of his shirt. “No!”

Max froze and blinked down at her before placing his hand over her fist and squeezing gently. His brows rose, an undeniable question.

There were two reasons he could not leave. She could not bear for anyone to know that her Guardian side had been strong enough to set its Compulsion. And as an unfortunate side effect of that Compulsion, she could not let Max out of her sight. She had to Guard him. She felt so helpless. “Do not leave,” she said, her voice breaking. “Please.”

Max’s nose wrinkled, but, blessedly, he sank to the bed’s surface, sitting in the curve of her body. He patted her shoulder awkwardly, and Anahita blew out a breath and relaxed some more, though her split vision kept her from relaxing completely. She gazed up at him, knowing her eyes were wide and displaying her weakness for him to see, but unable to look away from him. She suspected that it was for a different reason than that she needed to keep an eye on him, to keep him safe.