Simon stared at her, his face blank, his eyes cold. Without a word he stood and walked past her, down the stairs, out of sight. Never looking back.
Claire let out a shaky breath, swallowed past the grief lodged in her throat. Tears she rarely shed slipped down her face, only increasing the weight that pressed on her heart. She moved, slow and deliberate, like she had just been given life-changing bad news. Zach stood in the middle of the bedroom, bloody and bruised.
“You have been wounded.” He moved forward, his touch healing instead of hurting this time. “Down to the soul. What did he do?”
“Nothing I didn’t expect.” Her voice sounded flat, and she felt—heavy. “If you still want this, Zach, there are things you need to know. Conditions, risks—to both of us—what you will lose.”
“I do not care—”
“You should.” And the pain finally hit. Sharp, gut wrenching. She wrapped both arms around her waist, cold and vulnerable in her thin lace camisole. “What you want will rip out the core of you, the essence that makes you what you are. It’s agony, and you never get over it.”
His face was sheet white. “Will I—remember? What I was?”
“None of it.” She wanted to hate him—for forcing her to tell Simon, for having to confront the part of herself she never thought to touch again. But she couldn’t, simply because she understood his desperate need, and the anguish of being trapped by the consequence of his actions.
“How do I know?” His voice filtered through the wave of grief trying to drown her. “How do I know you can do this?”
“Give me your hand.” She held on to him with both hands, knowing he would recoil the moment he felt—all of her, pressed his palm over the scar between her ribs, and let go of her control on the fractured wall in front of her power.
They both gasped, dropping to their knees as his pure, blinding white light tangled with her shattered power. Agony drove through her, more excruciating than the moment she was ripped from Heaven, or banished from Hell.
Zach wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her in. Inch by inch, his soothing power crept in until it surrounded them. A different kind of pain enveloped Claire—the pain of remembering what she had been, before pride tore it from her.
“You are of the first.” His whisper brushed over her, awe and reverence like a balm. “You are of the fallen. I am not—”
“You are more than worthy.” She let go of his wrist, cradled the back of his head. It took all the courage she had left to meet his eyes. “You are precious, Zach—they have no idea, because they don’t understand what it is to feel, to care, to think for themselves. And you are more valuable, closer to human, because you do understand.”
She freed him, got to her feet, every inch aching from holding in the grief. “I will do this for you, because I understand what it is to be trapped, to face eternity alone and desperate. Look at me.” When he did, the anguish in his eyes clinched her decision. “I will help you.”
Hope flared through the anguish, fisted her heart. “Even after all I forced you to endure?”
“Not the best method, but I understand the reasons behind your actions. I just need you to do one thing for me. Unlock the doors, let Simon go.”
He closed his eyes, and the doors unlocked, one by one, slower than last time. His power was fading. “I am ready.”
She took his hand, his skin colder under her fingers. “If you want to fall, to experience all the pain and pettiness of being human, then I’m your girl. Now,” she tightened her grip on his hand. “I have a binding spell to break.”
FIFTEEN
“Is that Simon?” Annie pushed herself up, gripping the backseat when her hip screamed in protest. “What the hell—”
“Annie.” Eric kept her from standing, so she shouted at Simon.
“Where’s Claire?” Simon kept his head down, walking across the lawn. A sling supported his right arm—a sling she knew damn well Claire made for him. “Simon! Damn it—help me up, Eric.”
With a sigh, he pulled her out of the car, hovering in case she toppled. Using the length of the car as a crutch, she managed to reach Simon as he hit the sidewalk. He glanced up at her—and she felt the slap of his rage, his grief. Her sapphire sparked with it.
“Simon—”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Did you leave Claire alone in there?” Too angry to care about his reaction, she grabbed his good arm. He turned on her so fast she fell back against the car.
“I said don’t touch me. And you stay the hell out of this,” he said to Eric as he sprinted forward. “Don’t contact me. Ever.”