He fled, steeling himself against her voice, calling out his name. He tore through so many cars he lost count, elbowing people aside, until he reached the cargo car.
Weak from the poison, shaken by what had just happened, and battling the intense desire to return to Serena, he collapsed onto a crate. An ache in his chest tugged at him, and he knew that if he gave into it, it would take him straight back to Serena.
Maybe he didn’t have to leave. Maybe he could stay with her until the last possible minute, spend his final days—hours, probably—with someone who gave him a reason to live.
Right, because she’d no doubt love to care for him as he lay dying.
He wanted to stay with her, but for the first time in his life, he was going to do the right thing, not the selfish thing. He wouldn’t make her watch him die. He’d go home, and she’d remember him as he was, not as some frail, failing shell.
He glanced at his watch again. Half an hour. He’d call Tayla, have her meet the train in Cairo and take care of Serena. Then he’d find a Harrowgate and be back at the hospital before things got really bad.
His brothers would take care of him like they always had, if they forgave him for signing their death warrants, that is.
Twenty
Serena sat in her compartment, wondering what had just happened. Josh had left her because she might have sex with him? Why would he think that?
Last night she’d wanted to pleasure him as he’d done to her, and then… then… what? She blinked against the flood of fuzzy memories.
Make love to me.
Oh, God. She’d said that. She’d really said that. She’d been all over him, begging him for sex. Humiliation made her skin crawl and her face burn. What had he said, that someone must have slipped a Mickey into her drink at dinner?
Her clothes from last night lay scattered all over the tiny room, evidence of her lapse of control. Stomach turning over, she got dressed, cursed the wrinkles in her olive skirt and cream blouse. She looked like she’d been pulled out of a suitcase.
I want to feel you inside me.
Mortified, she groaned and sank down on the bed again. Everything came back to her, clear as crystal. She remembered how Josh had taken care of her but hadn’t taken advantage of her hyper-horny state. He could have, but he didn’t.
He’d wanted to save her life.
And how had she thanked him? By going into a rage, yelling at a dying man when he said he was leaving.
Leaving. Fear flickered in her chest. He’d said he was dying, but she wouldn’t lose a single minute with him. And maybe… maybe The Aegis could help. Maybe Val knew of some curative magic or artifacts.
She could not lose him.
Someone tapped at the door. Oh, please, please, let it be Josh.… She leaped up and whipped open the door. “Jo—” She cut off with a gasp.
Leaping backward, she tried to slam the door shut, but Byzamoth, looking as he had the first time she’d seen him—angelic and beautiful—blocked her effort, moving inside as sinuously as a snake. He closed the door behind him.
She opened her mouth to scream, but he crushed her to the wall, his hard, muscular body against hers. “If you keep your mouth shut, I won’t hurt you.” He dragged his tongue up her cheek, and she shuddered. “Not much.” Terror turned her legs to jelly. He laughed, the sugary sound tangled with a thread of sinister darkness. “But I am going to rob you. Of both your charms.”
His fist closed around her necklace, and she almost smiled, because that sucker wasn’t going anywhere. Then, to her horror, it broke free of her neck and dangled from his hand.
He slipped the necklace into his dishdasha and hiked up her skirt. “Now, the other one.”
He tore open his robes. His form morphed and, like a shapeshifting sequence in a horror movie, he went from being beautiful to the hairless gray thing with a batlike, veiny wing she’d seen at the Regent’s place. Between his legs, his huge penis jutted obscenely upward, oozing a dark substance from the tip.
Sweet Jesus, he was going to impale her with that hideous thing. Her blood congealed. Petrified, shaking, she tried to scream, but nothing came out. Not even her breath made it past the lump of terror in her throat.
“What’s the matter, love? Say something. Your fear arouses me.” He inhaled. “The scent of your fear is intoxicating, but even more so is the sound of your voice. The tremor. The pitch. Say something.”
“Fuck you,” she croaked. “That’s something.”
He backhanded her so hard she saw stars. “Bitch. I’m going to fuck you until you’re dead.” He smiled cruelly, trailed his fingers over her cheek. “You’re afraid to die, aren’t you? The smell of your terror is spiking. So arousing.… now, ask me why. Why I’m doing this.”
She didn’t want to, but at this point, humoring him seemed like a better idea than mouthing off. “Why are you doing this?”