Page 56 of Dead Beat

“You think it’s rightfully theirs?”

“I think stealing from thieves doesn’t make you less of a thief. Would you really take it?”

“Of course not,” she said and ducked under the casket again. “Not unless I had a fence lined up.”

He bit back a laugh. “You really are a heathen.”

“I’m a pragmatist.”

He slid the plate into his bag, and they set to work restoring the hinges.

Dawes and Tripp were waiting in the alley behind the Wolf’s Head tomb so that Alex and Darlington could pass the plate over the wall. Then they would remain at the Hall until the ritual was completed.

“Let’s go,” Alex said, but Darlington stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“We need to wait for the right moment in the ritual. If we break their rhythm, the results could be disastrous for the supplicants.”

“And they’ll know we were in here.”

“That too. The chant is still rising. When it starts to ebb we can step out.”

Through the glassy sheet of the waterfall she could see the flicker of torchlight and the delegates bowing and bending over the supplicants. They were the anchor that would allow those who had transformed to return to their human forms and hopefully their humanity. Or maybe they’d spend the next week trying to live life to the fullest and burying their faces in any flower they could find.

Now that she and Darlington had acquired the heart, there was nothing to do but wait, just bide their time and stroll on out with a priceless artifact. But it was hard to keep still. She was too aware of Darlington behind her in the dark. They’d been together too often lately, fighting side by side against Kittscher, researching the artifacts, then preparing for this ritual, the conversation in the blue twilight by the ash tree.

It was too much to be tucked into this cramped space, in the deep gloom, the air damp with moisture from the river, pollen glittering on the air, the buzz of the hive merging with the steady rush of the water, the rise and fall of the chant. It felt like they were keeping a secret together, like they’d slipped into a space between the known and unknown. It didn’t feel real and that was dangerous. They needed to get back to the others, to the safety of the group.

The chant rose higher, louder. Another gust of pollen burst through the room.

His hand was still on her shoulder, his palm warm against her skin. She felt the sudden prick of claws.

“Shit,” he said.

That was bad. Darlington did not swear unless truly provoked.

She could see their reflection in the side of the glass casket. His horns had emerged. His eyes were glowing.

“Stay with me, Danny,” she whispered. “Don’t let it get you.”

She saw his eyes flash brighter. His nostrils flared as he lowered his head to her hair and drew in a long breath. He reached for her with his other hand but stopped, his claws hanging in the air. The narrow space between them felt like it had come alive, a slippery thing, heat coiled between their bodies.

She should step away, broaden the distance between them. He would never know that she knew, what she’d seen. They’d still be safe. Virgil and Dante. Just as it should be.

Instead, she eased her body backward, the barest movement, closing the gap.

He flinched. He was hard against her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean—”

He was still Darlington. The demon had not truly taken hold. There was still time to stop, to prevent this, to make this something they could laugh over and move past. But she didn’t want to. She wasn’t a careful person, but she’d been so careful with him. He’s expensive, she’d told Mercy. Something marvelous and finely made you could look at through a shop window but never keep. But why did that have to matter? Why couldn’t she steal a little bit of him for herself, just for a while? She arched her back, pressing her body against his.

A growl rumbled through him and his hands gripped her hips. She felt the points of his claws through her jeans.

“Alex.” Her name in his mouth, his breath hot against the curve of her neck, the echo of the monster beneath his human voice. Wanting had always been easy for her. It was only in the after, in the getting of what she wanted, that everything fell apart. Longing always turned to ash, a fleeting thing that couldn’t quite stand up to the clatter in her head. But this was a lightning bolt pinning her to the earth. “Stop me.”

She reached backward, let her hands drag through his hair, cool silk against her fingers. She gripped the ridges of his horns. She knew she was probably damning them both. “I don’t want to.”

Another growl, deeper now, rumbling through his chest. His hands slid under her T-shirt, tracing her ribs, pushing beneath her bra, nudging the fabric up. His hands cupped her breasts and she moaned.