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Our gazes met and I felt him want to give in. And then he did. The fight seemed to go out of Ambri, and he turned back to the fire.
“It matters little, I suppose, and changes nothing. But my death is the end of my ruination, not the beginning. That came earlier—a sad little tale of visiting uncles and carriage rides to hell.”
I looked up sharply from my work, a sudden dread gripping my heart.
Ambri waved a hand. “Another time. Tonight, you want to hear the one about how I gave my soul to the devil.”
I nodded, drawing the angle of his arm as he rested his chin in his palm. The line of his leg that was stretched out, the other bent. I knew Ambri would stop talking if he suspected I cared more than he already knew. More thanIknew what to do with.
“His name was Ashtaroth. I can say his name aloud because he’s gone to Oblivion. Destroyed by an angel, no less. But back in 1786, he was there to catch me as I fell.” Ambri cocked his head, as if thinking aloud. “They call itfallinginlove for a reason, don’t they? Because that’s what you do. You fall and if the object of your love isn’t there to catch you, you shatter into a million pieces. Or you burn to ash.”
“Armand,” I said gently.
Ambri winced but nodded. “He was sentenced to exile for his role in the Affair, while Jeanne was to be imprisoned for life. I thought myself lucky. They’d be separated and I’d have Armand all to myself. I’d take care of him anywhere he chose. Didn’t matter to me, so long as we were together.” His voice hardened, became brittle like it might crack. “But he didn’t love me. He loved her. I’d outlived my usefulness to him andhe—dirty and stinking of the chamber pot—rejectedme.”
Ambri’s gaze was on the flames but far away, trapped in memories.
“It was a final blow,” he said. “Another betrayal in a life that was rife with them. So I did what any poor slob in my position would do and got good and drunk. I mouthed off to some peasants and they locked me in a burning distillery. But just before the first flames found me, Ashtaroth appeared. He promised me that I’d be free from ever wanting the love or affection of another human.” Ambri slid his gaze to me. “And that is how a demon is made.”
He was making light of it but couldn’t conceal the pain that lingered. I recalled the night I stood at the bridge, staring into the black water, wanting to vanish and the pain to vanish with me. Wasn’t that what Ambri did? He’d been in agony and wanted it to stop.
But the darkness didn’t snuff him out. His light is still there.
Ambri got up and headed toward the cocktail table near the window. I set aside my sketchpad and moved to block his way. “Thank you for telling me.”
He frowned, but before he could speak, I put my arms around him and held him. He stiffened, but I didn’t let go. I embraced six feet of lean muscle wrapped in expensive clothing and doused in cologne. Beneath, a hint of ash. Like the embers of a low-burning fire.
“What are you doing?” he asked gruffly.
“I’m hugging you.”
“Why?”
“Because if you share a story with someone about beingburned alive, the very fucking least they should do is hug you.”
For a moment, I could only hear his soft inhale and our hearts beating together. I ventured one hand around the back of his neck, the other around his shoulders, still just holding him. My heart was in trouble—there was no denying it—but in that moment, this was enough. The crushing loneliness of the last few years receded, revealing a barren shore. I needed to give, too, to be there for someone. I needed a communion of souls, not merely a warm body in my bed.
It can’t be Ambri. You know this. It can’t be him…
I held him tighter.
After a moment, I felt Ambri’s hands come up and rest lightly on my waist. I thought he’d push me away, but he pulled me closer. His lips were against my neck; the heat of his breath wafted softly. Then he leaned back, so we were face to face. My desire for him was reflected in his eyes, a mirror of want.
“What you just told me was pretty intense,” I whispered. “I don’t want to—”
“Your compassion is endearing, Cole,” Ambri said. “But it’s killing the mood.”
He brought his face close to mine, our noses brushing, the blue-green of his eyes like an ocean I wanted to drown in.
“I thought you had rules,” he said.
“So did I.” My lips grazed his chin, seeking his mouth. “We shouldn’t.”
“You’re right,” he said, his tone still edged with anger. “You’ll be another death of me, Cole Matheson, and yet…”
I can’t stop wanting you.
I heard his words clear as day because Ambri wasn’t free of anything. He was trapped in a darkness built with empty promises.
