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It might be all I have left of him.
That and the “official” portrait I’d done of him. His two lives.
“I admire you, Cole,” Jane said. “I don’t know that I could walk away from two million so easily.”
I looked around the packed gallery. I was more financially secure than I’d ever imagined. I had all the success and adoration I could handle…and I’d have walked away from all of it, if only I could have Ambri back. No amount of money or fame would ever be enough. He was priceless.
Where are you, baby?
I blinked hard and shook more hands and made more small talk. When the hour came where it wouldn’t be considered rude if I bailed, I headed back to the flat.
Jerome was at his post, as usual. I mustered a small smile.
“Good evening, Jerome,” I said, then asked the same question I asked every time I’d been out for a while. “Has Mr. Meade-Finch come in?”
“No, sir.”
Always the same answer. I started for the elevator.
“Thanks, Jerome. Have a good night.”
“Sir?”
This was new. I turned. Maybe it was my imagination, but he seemed as if he were fighting for composure.
He cleared his throat. “If you do hear from Mr. Meade-Finch, would you be so kind as to leave word here at the desk?”
I swallowed hard. “I will.”
Upstairs, I took off my tux jacket and bowtie and tossed them on the couch. No sign of Pico and Friends. I eased a sigh and sat down. Now thatTransformationwas finished, a long stretch of time opened in front of me—the rest of my life. I couldn’t let myself believe Ambri wouldn’t be in it, but if I’d lost him forever, I had two choices: to give in and call Pico and drown in my pain, or I could live and channel it all into my art.
“I’m really fucking scared that second option isn’t going to be enough,” I said to Ambri’s portrait. “I miss you so much.”
He peered back at me, the barest hint of his sly smile on his lips.
Christ, if only I could kiss him one more time…
A thudding crash sounded from the back of the flat, shaking the beams, and my heart crashed with it. I tore off the couch and raced down the hallway. My door was open, my room empty. Another sound—Ambri’s strangled cry—came from his room.
“Ambri? Ambri, is that you?”
His door was shut and as soon as I touched the handle, it locked. I shook at it, then pounded on the wood. “Ambri! Let me in.Let me in!”
There came another thud and an inhuman scream of terrible agony that ripped my heart to shreds.
“Ambri!”
I threw my shoulder against the door again and again until it gave. I charged in and then nearly fell to my knees in horror. Ambri was on his stomach near the window, naked and in his demonic form. His pale white skin was splotched with grime and what looked like black blood, and his back…
“Jesus Christ…”
Where his wings had been, was now splintered bone jutting from torn flesh, all of it splattered with that same black blood. He lay panting on the floor in agony with one hand clutching a fistful of curtain. Because he’d tried to cover himself.
To protect me from this.
I rushed to him and knelt beside him. “Ambri. Oh, God, baby, what did they do to you? What did they do…?”
Tears were choking my air, rage making my heart pound. But he needed me to keep my shit together. I covered the lower half of his body with the curtain and carefully took his hand—scraped and bloody. I put my head down to his, stroking his hair gently.
