Xavier and I crash together onto a stone floor—me on top of him. My landing is probably gentler than his, but not by much because there’s nothing soft about him. He sits up, reaching beyond my shoulder. I clutch his chest as he catches a spinning, silver compact out of the air. Snapping the portal closed, he holds it. Its shape resembles a snowflake, etched in silver filigree.
The shiny metal disk jumps in Xavier’s palm. The lid dents from the inside out, lurching violently. Xavier’s eyebrows slash together. He growls and crushes the portal until it’s a silver pebble.
I let out a relieved breath. His eyes move to me, cataloging every scratch and bruise. He smoothes down my torn shirt. I hear a ragged sound—I’m breathing hard. My hair is in my eyes. He sweeps strands of it away and tucks them behind my ear. I stare at his colorful eyes. His thumb touches my bottom lip. I wince—it’s sore.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
I just stare are him. I’m starting to hate that question.
The firelight casts waves of light over one side of his face, leaving the other side in shadow. His eyes almost appear equal for a moment. “Do you have internal injuries—broken bones?”
Xavier’s hands go to my sides where Emil had sunk his magical hooks into me. I flinch. I’m tender. This is how a fish must feel when it’s thrown back for being too small. “Illuminate room,” Xavier says. Teardrops of crystals that comprise the beautiful chandeliers overhead switch on. The white light sparkles over the slate floors, showing thick, white rugs.
He lifts my shirt. We both see giant bruises on my abdomen. He lets it drop, and then leans his ear against my chest and listens. Slowly, he lifts his ear from me and the smile he gives me is beyond intimate. I’m sure the look goes back hundreds of thousands of years. “Nothing sounds off.” His voice is a breathy sound.
I feel as though I can’t hold my head up. I lean my forehead against his chest. He threads his fingers in my hair, holding me. I shift, resting my cheek against his chest so I can see his face. “I killed a human,” I finally say numbly. “I tore his heart out. Owen—his name was Owen.” My hands are still bloody from it. I whisper a magic spell. It cleans the blood from my skin, but not the memory of it.
Xavier’s hand slips from my hair to my back. “I didn’t see a human—”
“Emil possessed him. I thought he was Emil, but it was Emil inside of Owen.”
“If Emil possessed him, then Owen allowed it.”
“And I murdered Owen for it.”
Xavier pauses, and then asks, “What do you think it’ll be like leading an army, Evie?” My mind lurches back to the murderous street I just escaped—a street lined with fallen angels. I shudder. “It’s what you said you want, isn’t it? An army? You’re going to make decisions that will kill angels, humans, and any other creature that chooses to join the fight. You’ve made your friends part of this—insisted they help you in a war they’re wholly unprepared to battle.”
“I didn’t kno—”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” Xavier straightens. “I told you. Get used to this feeling—it won’t go away. When one of them is killed—your family—it will be infinitely worse.”
No longer in the mood to comfort me, he slips me off his lap and stands. He walks past a low glass table and blue silk-covered chairs, to an elegant doorway on the far wall. Pausing, he says over his shoulder, “This is your room. You’ll be safe here.” He leaves me alone, closing the double doors behind him.
With my head in my hands, I come apart. I pull my knees to my chest to hold myself together as I sob. Emil plans to kill everyone I’ve ever loved just to make me watch. I wipe my face on my sleeve and look around my ornate room—a bedroom. There aren’t any windows, but that doesn’t make it any less angel-chic. The walls are stone. Rounded archways and pillars make it look like a palace, but the walls aren’t erected; they’re carved out of rock. The air is thick—entombed. It’s similar to what I experienced while in Brennus’ underground lair in Houghton.
Cool colors of ice blue, chocolate brown, and white soften the look of the room in a decidedly feminine way. A bed juts out from against the wall. Its tall bedposts and massive headboard are caved from alabaster and piled high with white pillows. The white fur-like coverlet looks soft and inviting. Directly across from it, the stone fireplace cradles aspen logs. They crackle with flames in the grate. The scrolling stone supports beneath the mantel are positioned well above my head—I could probably stand in the fireplace with no problem.