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Lying on that filthy, blood-splattered floor in hell, I let myself feel his love for me. It’s more astonishing than I ever could have imagined. Fuller and deeper and so rich. As rich as his brown eyes and his smile and the beauty of his soul that looked through the monster I’d become to see me.
“Thank you,” I whisper to whoever is listening, because now I see the path to my salvation.
The only way to survive the next millennia of this torture is to tell Cole the truth. Tell him my terrible plan and how I could never go through with it. Because I love him. I love him with all that is left of me, and I always will. But I never said the words and now I have to say them. I can’t let him believe he’s gone through all this madness alone. Even if he hates me, he’ll know. I just need a few precious moments with him, and they’ll see me through whatever is to come. Because Casziel was right; I’d die a thousand deaths for Cole Matheson.
I’ll love him and let him love me.
I lay my cheek to the stone and wait for my bones to slowly knit together. For the torn flesh to slowly mend itself.
Inhale, exhale.
Time passes in Cole’swhen. He’s no longer at the door. Maybe the Vices have him. My wings aren’t remotely close to being healed but I can wait no longer. I inhale again and imagine strength is filling me instead of pain. It’s not much, but it has to be enough; I’ll have only one shot at this.
The dungeon is quiet. Asmodai is off torturing some other unfortunate soul. The golem stands somewhere behind me, doing nothing but waiting for fresh, strong wings to rip.
Piss off, pebble boy.
With an agonized cry, I hurl myself through the Veil and Cross Over.
I land with a heavy thud in my bedroom suite in Chelsea. My scream is cut off by thewooshof air that is pushed out of me. For long moments, I can’t move but only whimper softly. I’d love to pass out from the pain, but I can’t, and there’s no time anyway.
“Ambri?”
Cole, calling from elsewhere in the flat. He can’t see me like this. I try to take my human form, but I’m too weak.
“Ambri? Is that you?”
He’s almost at the door. Mustering a desperate thrust of energy, I throw the lock with my telekinesis. The handle twitches and he bangs on the wood.
“Ambri! Let me in.Let me in!”
I pull myself along the floor on my elbows, grunting, biting back more screams, until I’m close to the curtains. Reaching out for them makes me retch, but there’s nothing left in me. I grip the material in a fist. Shivering and whimpering at the pain that’s coming, I grit my teeth and give it a hard yank.
The agony is a flash of white and then someone screams as if the world is ending.
I’m fairly certain it’s me.
The curtain lies in a pile of velvet in front of me, but now I’m too drained to cover myself. It’s useless anyway; Cole has busted open the door and he’s running to me.
thirty-one
An hour earlier
Gallery Decora was packed. I had a feeling of déjà vu from my first gallery show. Gold light filled the space as champagne-drinking artists, gallerists, critics, and buyers meandered about, taking in the collection I namedTransformation.
Jane popped up at my elbow now and then to keep me appraised of the sales. In less than an hour, the entire collection had sold out.
“The numbers aren’t all in, but it’s looking like it’ll be in the realm of ten million, Cole,” Jane whispered. “Ten.Not that I’m surprised.Stormlightwas incredible, but this…” She gestured around us. “It’s next level. You have officially arrived. You changed your style, changed methodology, experimented, yet kept what made your first collection so special. It’s genius.”
“Thank you, Jane.”
“And that last painting of him in the window?Morning Light?” She dabbed her eye. “Jesus Christ, I’m emotional just thinking about it.”
“You didn’t sell that one, right?” I asked with sudden panic. “Tell me you didn’t…”
“Of course not, darling,” she said, giving my arm a squeeze. “I remembered to leave it off the ledger. I understand why you want to keep it, but it’s a shame. A certain buyer—I won’t name names, but let’s just say he hastitles—offered two million for it alone.”
I sipped my sparkling water. “I’m sorry, Jane, but I can’t part from that one.”
