Zeke sighs, dropping his head and rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his forehead. Sterling trails his fingers idly over the outside of my arm, not daring to speak.
“IfI tell you the truth, will you finally accept this? Me and Sterling? Will you stop fighting us and let yourself be desired,wanted?By both of us?”
I don’t answer right away. I just watch him for several silent moments. For someone who just ran out on me not even half an hour ago, he’s fighting incredibly hard for this. And for all the times he’s treated me like shit, I think of how many times I’ve still sought after him. How many times I caught his eyes on me or longed to be near his presence for some unknown reason.
“Okay,” I say at last. It’s just one word, but the tension in the room melts away at it.
“Okay,” Zeke repeats, almost as a sigh of relief. “Then let me tell you a story.”
Isit with my arms crossed, feet up on Aamon’s desk as I await his return from the Esbat celebration. I pull a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of my cut, grabbing one between my lips and lighting it hastily. The smoke grounds me, and I take several more drags as I lean back in the rickety old chair, staring up at Aamon’s ceiling.
I try not to let my mind linger on what exactly it is he’s doing to celebrate tonight. Seeing Sterling disappear beyond that red room door was punishment enough. But I can’t help the way my mind wanders as the minutes tick by, the thought of my Sterling with them—withher.
It should have been me enjoying his company tonight.
The door opens, causing me to sit up. I take another drag from the cigarette, making the end glow orange. Itgives away my position—the only light in the otherwise dark room.
“Ezekiel.” Aamon’s voice is low, satiated. And it makes me sick. “You were missed tonight.”
I lean forward, fingers flexing as I resist the urge to punch him square in the jaw for bragging about what he’s taken from me. “Not missed enough to keep you lot from having a grand ole time without me, it would seem.” I make a show of checking my watch, clicking my tongue against my teeth. “It’s three hours past sunrise. Reckless of you to keep the fresh one out so late, is it not?”
He hums, his lips tipping up. “Kind of you to be so concerned. But she was fed well enough.” He’s practically assaulting me with his words, making sure to let me know just how much I missed out on. “A little sun wouldn’t damage her too badly.”
He must see my disdain, because the smirk on his lips grows as he leans against the wall, watching me. “But I know you’re not here to check up on her after Esbat. So what brings you to my room—uninvited?”
I hold his gaze for a moment, taking another pull from my cigarette before snatching the papers off his desk and tossing them haphazardly onto his bed. He cocks his head, letting his eyes linger on me for a moment before dipping down to the pile of papers between us.
“While you were busy fucking the High Quarter whore’s brains out, I was made privy to some information I think you’ll find interest in.”
“And what is that?” All of the amusement drains from his voice.
I nod towards the papers and he takes a tentative step forward, reaching out to pick up the top few. “It seems that daddy dearest has been plotting against you.” I think about my word choice, before correcting myself. “Technically against her. But I figured with how close the two of you have gotten, I’d lump you in too.”
“What is the meaning of this?” he asks, flipping through the papers. His eyes wander over the text, trying to make sense of it.
“I overheard Andras going after Laurel in the alley behind BloodLust tonight for disobeying orders concerning the girl. So I figured it was high time to do some snooping.” Aamon raises an eyebrow at me but doesn't interrupt. “The clubhouse was essentially vacant with everyone celebrating Esbat, so I figured there was no time like the present.” I rise from my chair, pulling the cigarette up to my lips and taking the last drag before snuffing it out in the ash tray on his desk.
“Imagine my surprise when I found a whole paper trail of correspondence between Andras and Raziel.”
Aamon’s eyes cut hard to mine, narrowing. “That can’t be.”
I shrug. “That’s what I thought. But the proof is in the pudding. Or the paper, I suppose.” I gesture to the stacks of letters dating back years spread out atop his mattress. “If you ask me, Andras has been plotting things with Raziel for quite some time. I’d dare to speculate the two of them are colluding. One keeps the mortals secure and content while the other keeps the Arcane-touched in line? If you think about it, it’s the perfect system.”
“But Andras hates Raziel. We’ve been at war with him for longer than I’ve been alive.” Aamon shakes his head, looking back down at the papers in his hands.
“Perhaps.” I bob my head back and forth. “But war keeps people disjointed. Fearful. What better way to keep the territories of Requiesse separated and the Arcane-touched suppressed than to keep them at war against each other?”
“You’re erring on the side of blasphemy, Ezekiel,” Aamon says carefully. “Those are heavy accusations to throw around based on a few letters.”
“Damning letters,” I correct him. “Read them for yourself if you don’t believe me. Come to your own conclusion.”
Aamon runs a hand over his face, skin flaring red as the implication of what I’m sharing sinks in.
“But my point in coming to you tonight was not to convince you of the sinister plot at hand within Requiesse. I have my own opinions on the Watchers and I’m not here to make anyone believe the same as me. I’m merely hereto warn you. He’s actively planning something, Aamon. Something with Raziel. The girl is not safe here.”
Aamon takes to pacing the room, mumbling under his breath as he processes all I’m sharing.
“You don’t believe me.” I click my tongue against my teeth. “Hasn’t it struck you as odd that Andras would accept her so easily? She is the daughter of Raziel, after all. Andras doesn’t have a kind or sympathetic bone in his body. He doesn’t do anything without it benefitting him, one way or another.”
