Rebel (16 page)

Come to me,
he thought.
Martha, come to me.

In fact, the question that occupied her mind troubled his as well. There should have been no one in Sheol to prove a threat to the Source and her baby. Unless someone was working for Uriel. Uriel alone would have a vested interest in destroying the first sign of hope the Fallen had ever received. Cain had questioned Metatron, who’d answered in a stony tone that could only be honest. He hadn’t attempted to kill anyone in Sheol—he swore it on Uriel’s head and that of the Supreme Being. And Cain had had no choice but to believe him. He knew for a fact that Metatron had no way to be in touch with Uriel. Those avenues of communication had closed when Metatron had been killed.

He viewed it dispassionately. They had found no
trace of any poison, and there had been no lasting effect for Allie. The Fallen were already relaxing into their usual complacency, doubting Martha’s visions, which suited him just fine.

In the past those visions had proved unreliable at best, a fact he had every intention of using. Once he manipulated her prophecies, she could assure the Fallen of anything he wanted her to, and they would end up believing the opposite. It was infallible. Even if she was occasionally right, her reputation was ridiculed. Her only trustworthy vision lately was of Allie in danger—but she had no idea what that danger was. It could have been a simple matter of the pregnant woman passing out and falling from the bed. When it came to the miracle pregnancy, everyone was on edge, and Martha could simply have panicked, embellishing the warning vision into a conspiracy.

It was night, and he was alone, edgy. He’d kept away from Martha just to see her reaction, but the plan had backfired, leaving him sleepless and edgy. He sat back on his sofa and felt raw desire wash through him.

Come to me, Martha,
he thought again, his body hot and tense. He was hungry—for sex, for blood, all the appetites he’d kept banked—and he was tired of waiting, tired of parallel fantasies. He’d thought to control them, but Martha had surprised him, opening to him. They were still only dreams, though, and he needed more.

There were others who could assuage his body. He had only to snap his fingers. But he didn’t want any of the others. He could sense Martha in the other room, asleep, no doubt. Maybe lying naked in her bed, curled up, her small, perfect breasts soft in sleep. He could see the scars across her body, like ribbons of silk, and he wanted to kiss them, lick them, as he had in her dream. He would, soon enough.

A cold shower didn’t help. The beat of the water against his skin echoed the beat of his heart, and the beat of her heart, so close. God, he was like an adolescent boy entranced with his first fuck. He couldn’t think about anything but her.

He had brandy in the living room. The Fallen believed in appreciating the gifts of humanity, and fine liquor was a must. His current bottle of cognac was a monks’ brew from early in the last century, and it was so good it was sinful. Worth falling from grace for—if he hadn’t done so already.

He poured himself a snifter, warming the amber liquid in his hand. And then he reached for another glass and poured some in that one as well.
Come to me, Martha
.

He waited.

T
HE DREAMS CAME
again, but this time I had had enough. As much as I wanted to drift beneath the
seductive touch of him, I suddenly couldn’t stand it anymore, and I wrenched myself out of sleep, alone in my tumbled bed, blinking into the darkness. I was so tired I wanted to weep. To scream and cry and beat my fists against the pillows. I needed to sleep, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t go more than a couple hours before the dreams started and my body reacted, my skin dancing in response to the phantom lover’s touch, my body twisting in climax.

I was hiding from the truth. He was no phantom and I knew it. I knew who I dreamed was touching me, tasting me. Who made me want what I had always hated. I didn’t have to see his face, hear his teasing, drawling voice, to know who had me beneath him, who pushed between my legs, who did such shameful things to me that in the daylight my skin flushed and my heart pounded at the memory. It was the man I was beginning to fear most in the world. It was Cain.

I sat up, shoving my hair out of my face. I could hear movements next door—that must have been what had set off the dreams. I was so freaking tired, but I knew there was no way I could get back to sleep. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.

I crawled out of bed, stumbling slightly in my exhaustion, and went over to the small desk I’d set up, pulling out the lists. I had everyone in Sheol written down. Some, like Metatron, Rachel, and Raziel,
were crossed out, already discarded as possibilities. Some had check marks by them, meaning highly unlikely. And that left the rest of them.

I couldn’t imagine any of them wanting to hurt the Source. She was central to the running of Sheol, the well-being of the Fallen. Without her, the life we had would be in chaos. Azazel had always been Alpha, and he’d lost his mate before; so many times. Alphas were immortal; Sources were only human. Even if their lives were extended, they still eventually died.

But if something happened to Allie, Raziel would . . . well, I couldn’t imagine what Raziel would do. It would be bad enough to lose Allie. If he lost the miracle child as well . . .

And how would the unmated get sustenance? The Fallen could drink blood from their bonded mates or the Source. Anyone else would kill them—we all knew that. If someone wanted to destroy the Fallen, they couldn’t find a better way.

I looked at my pages and pages of lists. I needed to start a new one, I decided, grabbing a fresh pad of paper. Just the ones who were left, not those crossed out or even checked. I picked up my pen and wrote the first name.

Cain.

I put the pad down again, staring at it. Staring at his name, in red, the color of blood. I didn’t even
remember how I got that pen. It must have been one of Allie’s, the kind she used to make corrections when she was writing her mysteries. The ink had leaked onto my hand, and it looked like . . .

I got up and rushed into my tiny bathroom, scrubbing at it, but the stain lingered, and my skin crawled. Blood on my hands. I looked up at my reflection in the mirror, and a stranger looked back. I’d gone to sleep right after my shower, and my hair was wilder than ever, thick brown curls all around my face. My eyes looked haunted, too big, with shadows under them. I was gnawing on my lip, and I stopped that immediately, trying to smile. The attempt was pathetic. I looked like a sleep-deprived mess, and it was only getting worse.

“You should face your fears, you stupid coward,” I scolded myself. “He’s . . .” All the comforting words died. Harmless? Hardly. Just a man? No. Devoid of supernatural powers? Uh-uh. He was trouble, and I had every reason to be wary.

He’d offered to help me find out who had endangered Allie. Considering he was at the top of the list, that could prove very useful. Sooner or later he’d either betray himself or prove his innocence. Keeping close to him, observing him, made good sense.

Yeah, right, Martha,
I thought. I was looking for an excuse.

Come to me
.

The words danced into my head, and I had no idea where they’d come from. A whisper on the night air, a promise, a sweet taunt.
Come to me, Martha,
the words came again, and I shook my head to clear it, pushing away from the sink and heading back into my room.

I didn’t bother looking around me for hidden speakers. I knew the words hadn’t been spoken out loud. I’d felt that kind of communication before, the rare mental bond that sometimes existed in this misty world of shadows.
Come to me, Martha
.

Come to me, Martha
. He called me.

I went.

H
IS DOOR WAS UNLATCHED, AND
the pressure of my knock made it glide open. I stood there, frozen.

Cain was sprawled on his sofa, his long legs propped up on the coffee table. His feet were bare, and he was relaxed, lazy, a book in his hand. He glanced up at me, unsurprised, almost as if he’d been expecting me, and his eyes were devilish. “Strange time of night for a visit, Miss Mary,” he drawled. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about my suggestion.”

“I did.” I was astonished at how composed my voice was. “May I come in?” I figured studious politeness would keep things on a professional level. Keep the memory of those insidious dreams at bay.

He raised an eyebrow. “Need you ask?” He waited until I closed the door behind me. “So you decided I could show you the wonders of sex after all?”

“No!” All calm vanished momentarily. And then I realized he was teasing me again. “No,” I said more evenly. “I decided I would let you help me find out who’s trying to hurt Allie.”

“I don’t believe that was the way I phrased my original offer, but it’s close enough,” he murmured. “Have a seat and we’ll talk.” He gestured to a place beside him on the large sofa.

I took the seat opposite him primly enough, folding my long skirts around my legs as I tucked them up under me. I looked at him, then my gaze skittered away. He was shirtless, and the top button of his jeans was unbuttoned. I understood the reason for it—the waistband could dig into your stomach. But Cain had absolutely no excess flesh—he was lean and strong and there was no stomach for that button to dig into. It was merely unfastened as a temptation, I decided. Which was ridiculous—how could he know that I would choose this night to come to him?

Come to him? Hardly. We were joining forces, that was all.

The room was warm, and the French doors were open to the night air. I looked at him and shivered anyway. He made me so damned nervous. “I was thinking . . .” I began, looking past his left shoulder. Unfortunately, that brought my gaze to the bedroom beyond and the huge bed with its rumpled sheets, and for a moment I wondered what it would be like
to lie in a man’s bed, to lie in a man’s arms, after all this time. To feel him all around me, hot and heavy and—

I tore my gaze away. I was going crazy. The dreams were bad enough. If I indulged in the real thing, I’d be in very big trouble, despite Allie’s encouragement. I met his amused eyes, and for a moment it seemed as if he knew what I’d been looking at and what I’d been thinking. No. “I made a list,” I said.

“Of course you did. More than one, I expect.”

I was
so
glad I hadn’t brought my multiple lists with me. I’d meant to, but I’d decided to make this move at the last minute, and I hadn’t thought things through. If I had, I never would have come. “Of course not,” I said self-righteously. “Just one master list, with the names of the obviously innocent people crossed off and check marks against the unlikely.”

“And color-coded and cross-referenced for motive and opportunity?”

“Shut up. So I like to be thorough. It’s a useful trait.”

“You’re a control freak, Martha,” he said frankly. He used the right name. That was at least the second time he’d done it, revealing that he knew perfectly well what my name was. Getting it wrong was just one more way to annoy me. “Fortunately, I can use a control freak right about now. So tell me, whom have you ruled out?”

“Rachel, Tory, and me, to begin with.” Why couldn’t he put on a shirt?

His honey-gold skin was smooth—no bristly hair dusting his chest. Funny that it seemed so familiar. I hadn’t touched him—only in my dreams—so how could I possibly know? And I wouldn’t touch him, not if I could help it.

“What are your reasons for ruling you three out? Just because you’re all female isn’t good enough. The demon Lilith is famed for bringing about the deaths of infants. The Roman goddess of war is merciless.”

He was annoying me. Good. If I was annoyed, I didn’t feel that awful pull toward him. “We call the Lilith Rachel,” I corrected him. “And if it weren’t for her, Allie wouldn’t be pregnant in the first place. Besides, the stories about her were lies. She cared for the lost babies, she didn’t kill them. So it couldn’t be her, and it couldn’t be Michael’s wife either. Why should Tory want to hurt her?”

“Because she’s jealous?” he suggested.

“No. Maybe in a few years she’ll start wishing for children—I don’t know. It seems to take about that long for the reality to set in, to know that life will be barren.”

“Is that how long it took you?”

My hands were hidden from his view as I clenched them. “Thomas didn’t live long enough for me to get to that point,” I said, hoping to shame him. “I was
only twenty-two when he died.” Of course, nothing shamed Cain. And it was a lie. Oddly, I didn’t lie to anyone else, but I lied to Cain without compunction. I had known when I went with Thomas, when he took me away from that awful place, that I would have no children. The knowledge had grieved me, but I’d told myself it would be a worthwhile trade-off. I hadn’t had time to regret it.

“All right, you’ve managed to convince me. Not Rachel or Tory. What about you?”

“How could it possibly be me?” I demanded. “Don’t you think I would have noticed?”

He shrugged, drawing my attention to his sleek, smooth shoulders, distracting me.

“You could have done it in an altered state of consciousness.”

“I don’t do drugs,” I said sharply.

“Of course you don’t. There aren’t any drugs in this benighted place. At least, not good ones. There are other kinds of altered states, like hypnosis, or psychotic breaks—”

“We can rule all of those out.”

“—or visions. People have been known to commit crimes and not know they’d done them,” he continued before I could protest.

“Don’t you think we’d be better off spending our time looking for more likely suspects? After all, I’m the one who came to you.”

“So you did,” he said softly, and I was distracted again. Remembering the taste of him. He leaned forward, and I realized there were two brandy snifters on the table. He pushed one toward me.

I looked at it suspiciously. “Were you expecting someone?”

“I was expecting you, my pet. And searching for the perpetrator isn’t necessarily a sign of innocence. After all, half the reason you decided to help me was to ascertain whether I’m the actual villain. You figured this would give you a better vantage point, right?”