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Rebecca opened the door so I could step inside.
Hardwood floors. A roaring fireplace. It was cozy.
But terrifying.
Rebecca waited.
I’d left my knife behind for Claire. But I had a feeling I was the one who needed it tonight.
I sucked in a breath and crossed the threshold.
Rebecca shut the door.
But she didn’t lock it.
Forneus was on the couch in front of the firelight, in his sweatpants, totally jacked. Rivers of veins were all over his shoulders and arms, up his neck, the muscles were so big and the skin was so tight over the surface. He could probably pick up one of those statues and throw it at me, he was so strong.
I stood there, unsure what to do.
It was a living room with couches and a rug, a large hearth for the fireplace. There was no TV. Just a bookshelf with books that had the same titles as the ones in my bedroom. There was a hallway that probably led to his bedroom and bathroom.
It was strange to see him in a setting so…normal.
Forneus stared at me, the firelight highlighting this face, illuminating every detail of his expression. He was a handsome guy, with a sharp jawline, masculine features, intelligent eyes. But instead of enjoying his attractiveness, he decided to start a cult…and destroy lives. “S-sit.”
I hated that shit. It was like he was speaking Parseltongue from Harry Potter. I didn’t want him to say that again, so I sat on the couch across from him, uncomfortable because of the present company as well as the bulky gown and annoying wings that were always in the way.
His stare continued, endless, taking me in like I’d really descended from the heavens to spend this evening with him.
My eyes glanced down the hallway, afraid that’s where we’d end up.
What would I do if that’s what he wanted?
I’d fight—even if it got me killed.
“Did you heal the angel?”
A conversation had never begun that way, with a personal question. It was always some stupid shit about divinity and forgiveness. “Yes. She’s doing better…for the most part.”
He leaned against the back cushion of the couch, his hands planted on his thighs, still like the statues outside.
“Why did you help me?”
The smile started. It stretched. Grew bigger. Wider.
I hated to look at it.
“Because you asked me to.”
What else could I ask him to do? I dropped my gaze because the smile was too grotesque. It wasn’t endearing or charming. It practically dislocated the bones in his face. “What else can I ask you to do?”
“Anything.”
My eyes shifted back to him. “Why?”
“Because you’re my an-gel.” He moved his arms to the back of the couch, spreading them apart, taking up more space on the furniture. His size was immense, like an ox or a stallion.
“So…would you let me go?”
His smile remained, every single tooth in his mouth visible, like he was in a dentist’s office getting his X-rays taken. “You’re free to come and go as you please as-s I’ve already s-said.”
I was in the middle of nowhere with no reasonable transportation. Having permission to leave was no way to attain freedom. “Will you take me back to Paris and let me go?” Was it really that easy? Just to ask to be released?
His smile went in reverse, slowly fading, returning to his cold hardness. “Yes.”
What? Was he lying? “You would just do that…right now?”
“It’s dark. Cold. Dangerous. But if it’s what you command, then yes.”
What I command? Was this a trap? “Then I want to leave first thing in the morning.”
There was no reaction.
“And I want to take the rest of the angels with me.”
He stared for a long time, his eyes shifting to different parts of my face, from my eyes to my cheeks to my lips. “That is something I cannot grant.”
“You said I could ask you for anything—”
“And you can. But they aren’t my angels. Only you are.”
If this wasn’t some sick game or a trap, I could get out of here by morning. They would probably drug me again so I wouldn’t know the way, but I could go straight to the police and tell them about this insane cult. I could save everyone else. It was the perfect plan. “Then take me in the morning.”
“Yes, An-gel.”
The anxiety was worse now, because I had to be missing something here. It couldn’t be that easy. It just couldn’t. “Why are you willing to let me go?”
“Because you’ll always be my an-gel—wherever you are. I will still worship you. I will still confess my sins to you.”
So, he’d stalk me again. At my apartment. In the street. Until I got him locked up for good. That was fine, because I would go straight to Benton, tell him about his daughter, and he would help me get this freak in prison for the rest of his life.
