Page 20

I wake to the sound of the wind. It shrieks at the windows, and rain skitters sideways across the glass.

It’s freezing in my room. I sit up in the dark, lit only by the city lights outside.

I’m alone in my bed. What time is it? Memories from last night rush to the forefront: Orpheus inside me, all around me, touching me, speaking to me softly until I was limp and pliant.

Ian, missing.

Eros, violently exterminated.

The vision of Eros’s broken body grips me, and I throw my arms over my eyes, groaning.

God, if only it could all be nothing but a fucked up dream.

Orpheus is gone, but I know from the soreness between my legs, the dried sweat on my skin, that last night was all too real.

And lying here feeling sorry for myself won’t change anything.

Still naked, I roll out of bed and go to the bathroom. I run the tap and splash cold water on my face, relishing the soothing chill.

“Don’t be a pussy, Katherine,” I say, but it’s barely more than a whisper.

Lifting my head to face the mirror, I’m greeted with the reflection of a girl I’m not sure I know anymore.

Nothing about my outward appearance has changed.

My hair is a mess, sleep-mussed and tangled with sex.

But instead of a fringe science blogger with a penchant for bad choices, I see a girl who has witnessed things she’ll never forget.

Things she wishes she could scrape from her brain like cancerous tissue.

I pull my hair into a bun, tucking stray strands behind my ears. Then I lock eyes with myself in the mirror. “I’m leaving,” I say aloud. And I mean it.

But what about Orpheus? My heart betrays me, making me hesitate.

I turn away from the mirror. Grabbing whatever clothes are at the top of my duffle, I get dressed breathlessly.

Then I pack up my toiletries, shove them in the duffle, zip it shut, and heft it onto my shoulder.

Forget Orpheus. I’m getting out of here, and that’s that.

I’m never coming back to this house of horrors that sways among the storm clouds.

I’m going back to a world that makes sense.

A life that makes sense, a Katherine Fox who makes sense.

But my heart is already beginning to fracture at the thought of never seeing Orpheus again.

I jog down the spiral staircase. Unsurprisingly, the penthouse is empty.

These assholes keep disappearing on me. Afraid that if I stop moving, I’ll change my mind, I go straight to the hall closet and yank on my trench, then my boots, lacing them up messily.

My hands are shaking. The wind doesn’t relent.

It howls and howls until the building itself sounds like it’s about to fly apart in the gale.

When I’m fully dressed, duffle in hand, I speed walk across the living area, pointedly not looking out the window. I’m still utterly alone. A knot settles in my throat as I stop before the elevator.

A strong gust of wind drives freezing rain against the window, startling me.

But I still refuse to look. No, just go, I tell myself.

I exhale slowly, counting down from ten in a sad attempt to soothe my anxiety.

No matter what lies beyond that rain-blurred window, what buildings break the clouds and watch like blackened teeth, they won’t exist outside this place. They can’t.

I press the button to call the elevator.

The wind lets up for a moment as I wait. The rain stops pounding against the glass. And in that breath of quiet, I hear it: a distant moan. A cry of pain or fear.

My heart stops.

Then the wind picks up, and the sound is gone, washed away by the shrieking gale and the drum of rain.

The elevator dings. The door slides open, inviting me in.

Come on, let’s go , the empty elevator seems to say. Forget all of this .

And God, I want to.

But my traitor feet are planted to the ground. Because that pained sound is echoing in my head, curdling my stomach.

“Get in the elevator, Katherine.” But my voice is weak.

I put a hand inside the elevator doors, holding them open with light pressure. But I don’t step in.

Get in the fucking elevator .

No. I can’t. Because suddenly, I have this horrible, sickening feeling that Ian is here, back in the vault. That he’s going to tear Orpheus apart, just like Eros. Finally putting an end to the disobedient mistake.

The duffle falls from my fingers and clatters to the floor. I’m already halfway to the door to the vault when the elevator doors slide shut behind me. I key in the door code with trembling fingers, wrenching the door open the second it unlocks.

I fly down the stairs. Barely thinking, barely breathing .

Another hoarse, pained cry cuts through the silence, the only other sounds my heartbeat and frantic footsteps on the stairs.

I miss the last step on the flight and skid, landing painfully on my tailbone. I hiss in pain, but I keep going.

It sounds like Ian is torturing Orpheus down there.

He might be cutting him apart right now, wrenching his limbs from his body with a horrible strength, driven by madness or rage.

I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there.

But the thought of Orpheus’s perfect body, his face so beautiful it could be holy, being ripped apart nearly drives me insane.

The vault door is still open.

I rush through it, heart pounding, my lungs aflame. My back throbs where I fell, but I’m here now.

I’ll save him. I have to.

The doors are open, just like before. I stop at Eros’s room and glance in, seeing only the remains of his beautiful mechanical body. I grit my teeth. There’s only one room left. The door stands open.

A strangled groan pierces the silence. It’s clearer now, and distinctly human in its agony.

Adrenaline spikes through me as I cross to the door. It has to be Orpheus, dying. Orpheus, his eyes darkening. No, no, no , not like this. Not before I have a chance to—

Just inside the doorway, I freeze.

Confusion grips me, and I stare dumbly at the scene before me.

Ian sits with his back against the far wall, slumped, his legs stretched out before him.

He’s breathing heavily, taking shallow, labored breaths.

Usually so well-groomed and pristine, he is strikingly disheveled.

Black curls hang over a pallid forehead.

His shirt is wrinkled and hanging open, the collar rumpled.

His sickly face is a mess of sweat. His eyes are bloodshot.

Blood drips thickly from one of his nostrils, staining his shirt.

Belatedly, the smell hits me, acrid and metallic: sweat, and the sickly tang of fear.

He seems to notice me slowly, lifting his head just enough to peer at me through half-shut eyes. “Kit?”

“Ian.” I inch closer, unsure of exactly what I’m seeing. I have even less of an idea of what to say. When I’m close enough that his smell nearly gags me, I stop. I think he might have pissed himself. His eyes have closed again; he’s breathing slowly but steadily.

“Ian,” I say again. But my voice is weak, unsteady, and breaks as I speak. “What the hell happened?”

His eyes flutter open. “Kit,” he croaks. “Help me.”

The wind howls a distant song all around us.

I stay exactly where I am. I’m not doing anything until I understand what the fuck is going on. “What happened , Ian?”

But he only laughs, a broken, mad chuckle.

“ Ian ,” I snap, hearing my voice as though from far away.

“Either help me,” he says, his head lolling so as to look at me head-on. He holds my gaze through wet lashes, with sweat or tears, I can’t tell. “Or fucking leave .”

Every instinct in me screams to obey. Ian is clearly in pain, delirious. “What do you need? An ambulance?”

He groans, closing his eyes. “No, no… I fucked up, Kit. I fucked up.”

I grit my teeth. Fine. If he’s not going to tell me anything, then I should go. Whatever happened to Ian is Ian’s goddamn problem now. It’s more than likely that he came home blackout drunk, wandered down here, passed out, and pissed himself.

But something in his eyes makes me stay. Something darker, something sharp-edged. “Where’s Orpheus?”

Ian laughs, another harrowing, unhinged bark. “Where’s Orpheus ? Fucking Christ. He has you twisted around his finger, and you don’t even…” He lets his head fall back against the wall as he trails off, eyes still closed. “Forget it. Fuck off and leave me here.”

My throat tightens. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Or you can stick around,” Ian mutters. “Find out.”

I’ve had enough of his self-absorbed bullshit. I kneel at his side, grabbing his shoulders roughly with my hands, and shake him. His eyes fly open, red-rimmed. “Tell me what’s going on , Ian. Now!”

He coughs, a spluttering, laughing exhalation. “Nothing, Kit. Nothing’s going on. All I did was follow orders.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

A sound, soft, almost imperceptible, catches my ear.

I look back. And there he is, shadowed in the doorway, draped in black with shining golden eyes: Orpheus.