Now he understood why she'd grinned over his proclamation. He wanted to whoop with satisfied laughter.
"If we're going to be together-" She stopped, waiting. When he nodded, she relaxed and continued, "Then I guess I could only steal from the wicked. Or not at all. I don't know. Argh! I need to think about this some more."
It was a concession. A concession he'd never thought she would make. She truly must like him. Must want more time with him.
"So listen," she said. "My sister is getting married in a week, as I told you before. Do you want to, like, come with me? As my guest? I know, I know. It's short notice. But I didn't intend to invite you. I mean, you're a Sent One." There was disgust in her voice. "But you make love like a pro so I guess I should, I don't know, show you off or something."
He opened his mouth to reply. What he would say, he didn't know. They could not tell others of their relationship. Ever. But a voice stopped him.
"Lysander. Are you home?"
Lysander recognized the speaker immediately. Raphael, the warrior. Panic nearly choked him. He couldn't let the man see him like this. Couldn't let any of his kind see him with the Harpy.
"We must discuss Olivia," Raphael called. "May I enter your abode? There is some sort of block preventing me from doing so."
"Not yet," he called. Was his panic in his voice? He'd never experienced it before, so didn't know how to combat it. "Wait for me. I will emerge." He sat up and slipped from the bed, from Bianka. He grabbed his robe, or rather, the pieces of it, from the floor and wrapped it around himself. Immediately it wove back together to fit his frame. The material even cleaned him, wiping away Bianka's scent.
The latter, he inwardly cursed. For the best.
"Let him in," Bianka said, fitting the sheet around her, oblivious. "I don't mind."
Lysander kept his back to her. "I do not want him to see you."
"Don't worry. I've covered my naughty nakedness."
He gave no reply. Unlike her, he would not lie. And if he did not lie to her, he would hurt her. He did not want to do that either.
"So call him in already," she said with a laugh. "I want to see if all Sent Ones look like sin but act like saints."
"No. I don't want him inside right now. I will go out to meet him. You will stay here," he said. Still he couldn't face her.
"Wait. Are you jealous?"
He gave no reply.
"Lysander?"
"Stay silent. Please. Cloud walls are thin."
"Stay...silent?" A moment passed in the very silence he'd requested. Only, he didn't like it. He heard the rustle of fabric, a sharp intake of breath. "You don't want him to know I'm here, do you? You're ashamed of me," she said, clearly shocked. "You don't want your friend to know you've been with me."
"Bianka."
"No. You don't get to speak right now." With every word, her voice rose. "I was willing to take you to my sister's wedding. Even though I knew my family would laugh at me or view me with disgust. I was willing to give you a chance. Give us a chance. But not you. You were going to hide me away. As if I'm something shameful."
He whirled on her, fury burning through him. At her, at himself. "You are something shameful. I kill beings like you. I do not fall in love with them."
She didn't say anything. Just looked up at him with wide hurt-filled eyes. So much hurt he actually stumbled back. A sharp pain lanced his chest. But as he watched, her hurt mutated into a fury that far surpassed his.
"Kill me, then," she growled.
"You know I will not."
"Why?"
"Because!"
"Let me guess. Because deep down you still think you can change me. You think that I will become the pure virtuous woman you want me to be. Well, who are you to say what's virtuous and what isn't?"
He merely arched a brow. The answer was obvious and didn't need to be stated.
"I told you that from now on I'd only hurt the wicked, right? Well, surprise! That's what I've done since the beginning. The pie you watched me eat? The owner of that restaurant cheats at cards, takes money that doesn't belong to him. The wallet I stole? I took it from a man cheating on his wife."
He blinked down at her, unsure he'd heard correctly. "Why would you have kept that from me?"
"Why should it change how you feel about me?" She tossed back the cover and stood, glorious in her nakedness. Her skin was still aglow, multihued light reflecting off it-he'd touched that skin. Dark hair cascaded around her-he'd fisted that hair.
"I want to be with you," he said. "I do. But it has to be in secret."
"I thought the same. Until what we just did," she said as she hastily dressed. Her clothes were not like his, did not repair on their own, and so that ripped shirt revealed more than it hid.
He tried again. Tried to make her understand. "You are everything my kind stands against, Bianka. I train warriors to hunt and kill demons. What would it say to them were I to take you as my companion?"
"Here's a better question. What does it say to them that you hide your sin? Because that's how you view me, isn't it? Your sin. You are such a hypocrite." She stormed past him, careful not to touch him. "And I will not be with a hypocrite. That's worse than being an angel."
He thought she meant to race to Raphael and flaunt her presence. Shockingly enough, she didn't. And because he hadn't commanded her to stay, when she said, "I want to leave," the cloud opened up at her feet.
She disappeared, falling through the sky.
"Bianka," he shouted. Lysander spread his wings and jumped after her. He passed Raphael, but at that point, he didn't care. He only wanted Bianka safe-and that hurt and fury wiped away from her expression.
She'd turned facedown to increase her momentum. He had to tuck his wings into his back to increase his own. Finally, he caught her halfway and wrapped his arms around her, her back pressed into his stomach. She didn't flail, didn't order him to release her, which he'd been prepared for.
When they reached her cabin, he straightened them, spread his wings and slowed. Snow still covered the ground and crunched when they landed. She didn't pull away. Didn't run. Something else he'd been prepared for.
Clearly he knew very little about her.
"It's probably best this way, you know," she said flatly, keeping her back to him. The wind slapped her hair against his cheeks. "That was my afterglow talking earlier, anyway. I never should have invited you to the wedding. We're too different to make anything work."
"I was willing to try," he said through gritted teeth. Don't do this, he projected. Don't end us.
She laughed without humor, and he marveled at the difference between this laugh and the one she'd given inside his cloud. Marveled and mourned. "No, you were willing to hide me away."
"Yes. Therefore I was trying to make something work. I want to be with you, Bianka. Otherwise I would not have followed you. I would have left you alone from the first. I would not have tried to show you the light."
"You are so arrogant," she spat. "You're still in darkness yourself and you want to show me the light? Please! You claim to do good, but your actions don't fit your words. You took something that belonged to me."
"What?"
"My hea-freedom. And you know what else? You're rigid. I will never live up to the person you want me to be. No one can."
"You could try."
She laughed again, this one bleaker, grim. "The scarves I took were made by child laborers. So I haven't really done anything too terrible yet. But I will. And you know what? If you were to do something nauseatingly righteous, I wouldn't have cared. I would still have wanted to take you to the wedding. That's the difference between us. Evil or not, good or not, I wanted you."
"I want you, too. But the way you feel now was not always the case, and you know it. You would care." He tightened his grip on her. "Bianka. We can work this out."
"No, we can't." Finally, she twisted to face him. "That would require giving you a second chance, and I don't do second chances."
"I don't need a second chance. I just need you to think about this. To realize our relationship must stay hidden."
"I'm not going to be your secret shame, Lysander."
His eyes narrowed. She was trying to force his hand, and he didn't like it. "You steal in secret. You sleep in secret. Why not this?"
"That you don't know the answer proves you aren't the warrior I thought you were. Have a nice life, Lysander," she said, jerking from his hold and walking away without a backward glance.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LYSANDER SAT IN the back of the Budapest chapel, undetectable, watching Bianka help her sisters and their friends decorate for the wedding. She was currently hanging flowers from the vaulted ceiling. Without a ladder.