Page 10 of Vanish Into Light

“One they’re using to sell drugs?” Bedlam asked. “Is that a fallen angel thing?”

“No, the drugs are about control,” Becket said. “It’s a means to enslave the population; you can’t resist the grand plan when you’re strung out and your overlords are your only source of relief.”

“Not much sense asking me anything, is there?” Shubert asked.

“You–” Lance started.

In the span of a blink, Becket’s tail shot out and coiled around Shubert’s throat. It tightened, and Shubert choked.

“Beck,” Rose said.

But she was across the room, and too far to do anything.

Lance reacted on impulse. He reached for Becket the way he would have reached for anyone in this situation. He gripped his shoulder, and dragged him back.

At least, that was what hetriedto do.

Beneath the leather of his jacket, Becket’s shoulder tensed, hard and immovable as marble. Lance felt him gather a breath, a coiling of tension through that deceptively lean body, and suddenly there was a hand around his throat. And Becket’s face was in his own, gold eyes gleaming, high cheekbones throwing shadows down across his almost-gaunt jaw.

Lance gasped. The hand at his throat tightened – but held. It didn’t squeeze. He felt the faint scrape of claws at the back of his neck, and the heat of Becket’s skin, the promise of pain, the promise of his neck snapping like a twig – but he felt the restraint, too. Pressure, potential – and a holding back.

I could kill you anytime, anywhere, that hand said.You are alive at my pleasure.

The mouth, a flat unreadable line, was immobile. But Becket’s gaze was alive and flickering; Lance imagined flames danced in the gold irises, sparks of amusement, and something else, something deeper and darker.

And all the while, the tail held steady around Shubert’s throat, slowing choking him.

In a very level voice, Rose said, “Beck, don’t.”

Just as levelly, Becket said, “My mistake, love. Reflexes.” But he didn’t move, not for several long, fraught heartbeats. His gaze never left Lance’s, and Lance found he couldn’t take another breath, even though the hand at his throat was downright gentle.

Thoseeyes…Panther-gold, and hell-dark, and brimming – brimming with–

As quickly as he’d grabbed him, Becket released him, and turned away. “Apologies, Lieutenant. One grows used to reacting quickly in the pit.” His attention was all on Shubert again, who emitted a high squeak as Becket’s tail tightened another fraction.

Lance could only stare. There was a faint buzzing in the back of his head, and a crawling numbness under his skin. His gaze followed the dramatic, ram-like curve of Becket’s nearest horn; trailed through shining black hair, and settled on the pale, ordinary, human and oddly-vulnerable shell of Becket’s ear, the tiny capillaries just visible beneath the skin.

“Du Lac,” Bedlam snapped.

Startled, he gave himself a firm mental shake – and realized that he’d raised a hand to his own throat, fitted to the place where Becket had held him…almost gently.

Stop, he told himself, viciously. He curled his hands to fists, blunt nails biting into his palms.

“Mr. Becket,” he said, levering authority into his voice – shocked and ashamed by the underlying quaver in it – “the prisoner is no good to us if you choke him to death. Stand down now.”

“Beck.” That was Rose. While Lance was lost somewhere in his strange, buzzing thoughts, she’d moved to stand behind Shubert, Morgan at her side. It struck Lance that she was facing off from her lover, with an angel for backup, no less, and he had no idea what that meant, only that it meantsomething.

“Let him go,” Rose said, and her tone was made of steel.

Becket responded to it. His tail slackened, fractionally, enough so that Shubert drew in a gasping breath, and then erupted into a coughing fit. Beck’s head lifted, and he met Rose’s gaze.

With a jolt, Lance realized why he’d found Becket’s regard so arresting – because it was Rose’s regard. Because he’d been stared at by her like that for months, for five years: the expressionless face, and the unfathomable, burning eyes.

The two of them stood locked, gazes trained on one another, statue-still. Shubert coughed, and stuttered, and regained his breath, but neither of them paid any attention. They might as well have been alone, and the world fallen away.

They’re the same, Lance thought, with something like despair. The reason she couldn’t condemn Beck’s actions was because they would have been her own actions, if not for a modicum more restraint.

Morgan touched the top of Shubert’s head, and he quieted, eyes popping wide a moment, then settling. He breathed easier. “Rose. Arthur,” she said. “There are questions to ask.” It was said gently, despite her usual flat tone.

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