Page 15 of Vanish Into Light

She sniffed again, the tears rolling hot down her cheeks. The dark, their closeness, their hushed voices, felt safe, for the moment. A temporary respite from her need to be steel-backed and hard-hearted. Here, she could breathe, and she could cry, and in the morning could pretend that what she’d said hadn’t mattered.

It had always been that way with Beck, after their hunts: soaking in the claw-foot tub, ensconced beneath cool sheets.

It was like that with Lance, too, even if she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that for a long time.

“I love him,” she whispered.

He sighed. His hand continued its slow sweeps up and down her back; gripped her hip and pulled her in tighter. “I know. I’ve always known that.”

“And I love you.”

His breath hitched; his pulse stuttered. “You do?”

“Of course I do. But I have no idea what that means.”

He was silent a long moment – too long, really. His hand paused – and then resumed. “I don’t either, honey.”

~*~

Mint. That’s what Rosie’s Lance had tasted like.

It had only been a small taste; a tease along the tip of his tongue, but sharp nonetheless. A cool, clean, honest taste that spoke of noble, sincere emotions.

But something underneath that was darker. A hint of chocolate. Something thathungered.

Du Lac thought he could save Rose, that he could love her better – but he liked her darkness, too. Oh, yes.

Beck found himself smiling as he paced the width of Anthony Castor’s grand hall, bits of shingle, and wood, and plaster debris crunching underfoot. He paused, and turned; lifted his head to regard the throne – and the stained glass behind it.

Lightning flashed, and for a moment, Saint Michael, and his wings, and his sword, glowed bright as daylight, in all their resplendent, victorious colors.

He chuckled.

Then he sent a text.

FIVE

“Why there?” Bedlam asked, brow furrowed the next morning. “How could it possibly be safer in the heart of the city, cut off from resources?”

Rose had awakened with sore eyes, a puffy face, and a text from Beck – though she had no idea when he’d picked up a phone since his return. It had read, simply,Bring your team to Castor’s. I think it’s the best place to start.

Before Rose could offer her reasons, Lance did it for her, much to her shock. When she’d shown him the text earlier, his lips had pressed together into a thin line, and he’d gulped audibly, but he’d said, “Yeah, we can do that.”

Now, he said, “Castor’s mansion was the place where the last rift was opened. It’s a bit of a wreck, now, but Castor had people researching round the clock, trying to figure out how to open a gateway to hell. If there are clues about how to do that again, they could be there. Not to mention: Shubert said that Castor – that his conduit back in the day – knew more about the rift than anyone, whatever his word is worth.”

His expression, Rose noted, was an attempt at resolution; but she saw the lines of tension in his jaw and throat.

She didn’t ask him about it, though, not with the rest of their company standing behind them.

In the end, Bedlam gave them permission, the keys to a vehicle, and stern orders to radio in at regular intervals. “If you find anything of importance, report back.”

“Yes, sir.”

A light mist hung over the car park as they walked to their designated Humvee. Lance hadn’t said anything since they’d left Bedlam’s office; held the keys now in a white-knuckled hand, and Rose wanted to ask, to press a little.

But Gavin said, “So Becket’s just running the show now, huh?”

Lance halted – Rose did, too, and turned to see Gavin nearly run into Lance’s back. He pulled up short, inelegantly, which prompted matching smirks from Tris and Gallo (she was convinced those two were slowly merging into one entity: Tris softening, and Gallo hardening).

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