Reckoning: A Fallen Siren Novel (22 page)

“The forensic team will be here shortly,” he says. “Johnson’s on his way, too.”

“I’ll just be outside. I need a moment to collect my thoughts.”

Zack nods. He holds open the door to the courtyard for me. Then closes it again, giving me privacy.

I sit on the steps leading to the small garden between the chapel and the school and look up. Light from the sliver of moon glints off of the bells in the tower. The sirens are getting closer. I pull my knees up and rest my head on my arms and take a deep breath. The perfumed night air fills my lungs, jasmine and honeysuckle, rose and lavender. It does nothing to soothe my wounded heart.

What happens next is up to you.

Kallistos’ final words ring in my ear.

In the distance, the drone of a helicopter draws close.

The troops are about to arrive.

I stand up. Time to put on my game face and finish the job.

My job. It’s fortunate I’m good at it. Because, really, it’s all I have.

My legs feel like lead as I emerge from the chapel. It’s well after midnight, but you wouldn’t know it from the looks of things. The entire area is lit up. Three helicopters are buzzing overhead. The parking lot behind the mission is filled with news vans. Our SUV is, as Evan promised, parked in the west corner. I’m sure when he left it there, it seemed like a good idea. That was before the sea of reporters with cameras and microphones descended. A particularly perky blonde swoops down on us.

“Agent Monroe, may we have a word? We’re hearing it was your weapon that killed two men, one of which was on the FBI’s most wanted list.”

I hold up my hand and do my best to keep moving. “Deputy Director Johnson will be making an official statement.” The vultures move with me. There are more of them now.

“Agent Armstrong,” one begins.

I don’t hear the rest of his question. The cacophony around us has turned into a dull roar, an indiscriminate hum punctuated by flashes of light. I spare a glance in Zack’s direction. He’s talking with Johnson, who has my
gun in an evidence bag. Routine procedure, I know, for an agent-involved shooting. But nothing about this is routine.

Bits and pieces of the reporters’ conversations float to the top. The word
hero
is bantered about over and over. Some are asking about Cheng. Others want to know the names of the girls. I’m exhausted, physically and emotionally. I just want to get to the SUV. To shower. To scream. To cry. When I glance again at Zack, he catches my eye and motions toward the SUV. Johnson is giving me the go-ahead to leave. Tomorrow, though, begins the long slog through endless paperwork. I “killed” two people tonight.

Zack meets me at the car and opens the passenger door. I climb inside.

He has to push through the gaggle of reporters who followed him. Finally he makes it inside and slams the door.

The flashes continue. I raise my arm up to shield my eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

Zack doesn’t have to be told again. He’s as anxious to leave as I am. With a brisk nod he fires up the engine. The media throng parts like the Red Sea. In seconds we’re through the gate and navigating around the side of the mission, then down the long drive. I lean my head against the cool window. We’ve saved ten girls. Ten. I should be elated. But the deaths of Ford and Cheng are weighing on me. Zack’s silence is weighing on me.

We’re on Highway 8, heading west. It’s coming up on two and the traffic is light.

“You okay?” he finally asks.

I shake my head. I’m so far from okay I don’t even know where to begin. “I have blood on my hands.”

“And vampire King in you hair,” he adds. “I hear that’s tough to get out.”

I can’t help myself. Despite my dark mood, I feel the corners of my mouth curve up. “You sent one of the most powerful vampires in the world to his final death with a single shot.” Then the reality of the situation, the implications, come back. “The political ramifications—”

He meets my eyes for the briefest of moments. “Lamont wasn’t quite as affected by the paralytic as Kallistos thought. In part, he was biding time, waiting for Kallistos’ grip to loosen. He could have killed you. When you’re in a situation like that . . .” Finally he settles on, “I made the right call. I’d do it again.”

He sounds like Kallistos, though mentioning that would only break the mood. “But you knew I would eventually heal. That I wouldn’t die.”

Zack’s hand slides over to mine. He covers it, gives it a squeeze. “That’s what you tell me.”

The warmth from his skin penetrates mine. It radiates up my arm, into my chest, and wraps around my heart.

“Before you go down what’s come to be a predicable path,” he continues, “don’t believe for a second that Kallistos’ claim of killing Lamont is for my benefit. Or the benefit of the Weres. He’s doing it to send a message. He went in fully intending to take Lamont out. My stepping in when I did interfered with his plan. In his mind, I’m sure he’s merely taking back control of the scenario, setting things right in order to pave the way.”

“Pave the way for what?” I ask.

“His taking over the South. Merging the two Kingdoms under his rule. Ending the unrest.”

“You think he plans on taking over the Southern Kingdom?” My head is spinning.

“Absolutely. And he’ll be met with significant opposition. The unrest is likely to get worse before it gets better.”

We drive past the turnoff to the 163, the road that would lead us to my place. For the first time I realize Zack isn’t taking me home. I look back, over my shoulder.

“Don’t be afraid,” Zack says, softly. The statement is punctuated with another squeeze of my hand. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

The words I uttered when we were together in his closet come back to haunt me.

What we have. It isn’t meaningless and it does scare me.

We pass Interstate 5. I feel my anxiety mounting. I try to tamp it down, but I can’t. I roll down the passenger’s window. The wind rushes in; it’s bracing. I turn my face into it and close my eyes.
I don’t expect anything from you.
“Trouble is, you deserve everything,” I mutter, brushing the wetness from my cheeks.

I know he hears me. But he doesn’t respond.

We take the West Mission Bay Drive exit. I can smell the salt in the air. Taste it in my tears. My face is numb.

Zack pulls into his driveway. Kills the engine. Rolls up the windows.

I step out of the Suburban. My body aches from head to toe. I look up at the night sky and remember the words Demeter spoke to me in this very driveway, not six months ago.

I will be watching you, watching you with this man. He’s different. You and I both know it.

I feel Zack’s hand at the small of my back. “It’s late.”

I turn to face him. “Why am I here?”

He guides me to the door and unlocks it. “Because you don’t want to be alone. Because you don’t want to be with him. Because you’re tired and confused.”

All true.

He goes to the fridge, grabs two beers, and twists off the tops. “Come on. I’ll get you some fresh towels. Sheets on the guest bed are clean.”

I follow Zack up the stairs, past his room and into another. The walls are a soft yellow, the bedding a light sage. He goes into the attached bathroom, comes out with a stack of cream-colored towels.

“Need anything else?”

I shake my head, tilt the bottle to my lips, and take several long pulls. The beer is ice-cold and it soothes my throat. Unlike just about everything that’s happened in the last few hours, it goes down easy.

Zack turns to go.

“Wait.”

He’s halfway out the door and pauses midstep.

“Maybe a shirt or something to sleep in?”

“I’ll leave it on the bed,” he says without looking back.

Then I’m alone. I walk stiffly into the bathroom, shed my clothes, then step into the shower. It’s stocked with body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. I lean into the hot spray and let it wash over me. The shampoo smells like citrus, clean and fresh. I mechanically work it into my hair. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. When I reach for the conditioner, my hand begins to shake. Gooseflesh covers my backside. I hear crackling and popping. My toes curl as
the water on the floor beneath my feet turns to ice. Snow falls from the showerhead, assaulting my bare skin. It’s like being hit with thousands of needles. Within seconds my body is covered in a dusting of fine white powder that burns. Icicles form in my hair. I know what this means.

She’s here.

Demeter.

I fumble with the taps, trying to turn off the water. It does me no good. The faucets are frozen in place.

“Oh, this is just fucking perfect.”

I struggle with the glass door of the shower. It, too, is frozen in place. With a loud shattering sound that makes me fear I’ve broken the glass, it finally lets go. I toss one frost-covered towel on the floor, wrap the other around me, and, fueled by the anger and resentment of scores of lifetimes, I round on perhaps the most powerful goddess in the pantheon.

“What?” It comes out as a hiss.

A slow, satisfied smile forms on her mouth. It does nothing to soften the chill in her cobalt blue eyes. Everything about her is cold. The sheer fabric of her long gown is woven from frozen crystals. Her translucent alabaster skin is covered in a web of ice, sparkling like hardened diamonds. Her stark white hair flows past her waist and hangs over her breasts.

“You did well tonight, Ligea.”

Her declaration almost knocks me off my feet. Is she here to take me back? To release me? It’s the moment I’ve been working toward, dreaming about—for thousands of years. But am I ready?

“I’ve come to grant you a reprieve. You need it. More
importantly, you’ve earned it.” Demeter holds her hands out, palms up, and gestures toward the doorway. “Go to him.”

I can’t believe my ears. I wrap the towel tighter around my body. “Right. And risk—”

“Nothing. No repercussions. Not from me. Not tonight.”

“And after tonight?”

“Speak plainly, Ligea. I have little time and another Siren to torment. How long has it been since you’ve seen Leucosia?”

Her voice is cold and calculating. She knows exactly how long it’s been since my sisters and I separated. She doesn’t bother waiting for a reply.

“She still pines for your vampire, you know,” she says with a smile.

Leucosia is the reason Kallistos is a vampire. Although, to be fair, it was more that she was the catalyst. Demeter the cause. My sister and Kallistos were once in love and, presumably, happy. Something Demeter wouldn’t tolerate. Like so many before him, he fell victim to the curse. Only his death wasn’t final—not yet.

“I would hardly call him mine,” I say.

She leans forward and does something she hasn’t done in centuries. She touches me. Her palm caresses my cheek. Despite the burn, I stand my ground.

“You want to call the Were yours. Yet you resist. You deny yourself. Go to him. As long as it lasts between the two of you, I’ll allow it. You didn’t just save ten girls tonight, Ligea. With this new venture, who knows how many more would have suffered in the future?”

“You’ll allow me tonight?” I ask. “No harm will come to Zack?”

Demeter’s said what she’s come to say. Her image is fading. “I’ll allow it for as long as it lasts.” Her final words hang in the air. Water begins to once again flow from the shower. I reach in and turn off the taps. I look at my reflection in the mirror. My skin is red from the cold.

Go to him.

I rush across the guest room floor, down the hall, and into the master suite. Everything feels surreal. The carpet beneath my feet is lush and warm. Tears fall, unbidden, and roll down my cheeks. I reach out and brush my fingertips across the duvet covering Zack’s bed. The door to his bathroom is open. Steam is rolling out. The shower is running.

Zack’s back is to me as I step into the room, but I have no doubt he knows I’m here. I let the towel fall. He waits, still, silent, giving me every chance to leave. I don’t. Instead I take a step forward, then another, and another. My hand is on the door. I pull it open. Step inside. My arms slide around his waist. My body molds to the back of his. I want to melt into him. To get lost in his flesh.

He turns to face me. “Your skin is like ice.” He runs his hands over my arms. “Let me warm you. You’re in shock. Not thinking clearly . . .”

I move underneath the spray. Let the water run through my hair and cascade down my body. I place my hand on his chest. “I’ve never been so clear, so certain of anything. And I’m no longer afraid. I want this.” My hand slides down over his stomach and wraps around his cock. “I want you.”

Zack’s mouth crashes down on mine.

I’m lost.

His sense of urgency, of need, takes my breath away.

I gasp and his tongue slides boldly inside my open mouth, plundering it with a sweet and desperate abandon that makes me ache even more. My hands grasp his biceps. I pull him closer, relishing his feel, his taste, his smell.

He pulls back. Takes a moment to run his hands over my face and neck. “Are you sure?”

“About nothing in this world but you, this moment.”

He reaches for my hand, raises it to his lips, kisses it tenderly. Then he turns off the taps.

I take advantage and let my gaze run over his body. Fully clothed, Zack is an imposing man. He’s tall and broad shouldered. His muscles are well defined. His body chiseled to perfection from years of hard training. Strangely, it’s not his body that I want most right now. It’s to hear the words. Words that I’ve avoided hearing for centuries. Words that I thought I’d never be able to welcome and repeat again.

Kallistos has been my lover for the past five months. But deep down inside I’ve known on some level that for each and every one of those days, Zack has loved me.

I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder, let it slide down his back.

The spell of the tender moment is broken as he spins around and with a primitive and playful growl tosses me over his shoulder. Wet and dripping, I’m whisked out of the shower, through the bathroom, and into Zack’s bedroom. A squeal erupts from within me followed by laughter, bubbling up and escaping as I’m tossed onto
the bed. I feel so light I could float. If it weren’t for the fact that Zack’s body is now covering mine, I’m certain I would be.

“I love hearing you laugh,” he says, pushing a strand of hair off of my face.

“I love seeing you naked.”

His expression turns suddenly serious. He rests his forehead against mine. “This isn’t casual for me, Emma. If it is for you, I need to know. I need for you to be honest with me. I need to know where I stand.” He pauses, pulls back, and searches my eyes. “This bed isn’t big enough for three.”

He’s referring to Kallistos. I open my mouth to say something but he silences me, placing his fingertips over my mouth.

“It’s a metaphor.”

I wrap my hand around his wrist. “I know,” I assure him. “It’s just you and me. With us, that’s all it’s ever been.”

He kisses me softly on the lips. Again and again, before moving down to my neck. His hands are on the move, fingertips dancing across the canvas of my skin. His already-warm skin becomes even warmer with each passing breath. His hand glides over a breast. I arch up, my body wantonly begging for more of his touch.