Torn(65)

“I don’t,” I said as the air cracked between us. “I wish I did, but I’ve seen things, Deacon.”

“What things?”

“Dangerous things,” I whispered, pitching my voice low and bringing my body in close. I wanted him—so help me, I did—but right then I wanted the truth more. “Why doesn’t Clarence want you dead? Why did the demon I killed earlier believe that you’re on a quest for the Oris Clef? How did you know that we were in China?” My lips brushed over his ear, and I heard a low growl rise in his throat. “You’ve been playing me, Deacon, and I don’t much like it.”

The growl turned into a roar, and he grabbed my shoulders, whipping us around and slamming my back to the wall. “Playing you?” he asked, his hand skimming down my thigh, then gliding back up to cup my crotch. “Have I been?” His mouth closed over mine, and my knees went weak. I was held up only by his kiss and his intimate touch, and dammit—dammit—the man had me losing my head.

“Maybe I have been playing you,” he continued as soon as he broke the kiss. This time it was his voice that was low, edgy. “But only because I want you. Because I need you. And not to find the Oris Clef. If I wanted to, I could find that key all on my own.”

My heart was pounding in my chest. “What do you mean?”

He slid his hands up my body, bringing his hips in close. I could feel his erection, and I wanted him. Wanted him so desperately, and I hated myself for craving him. For needing him. He was darkness. He was danger. And yet somehow, when he touched me, the darkness inside seemed to fade, and the demons I’d absorbed backed off.

I needed that.

I needed him.

Right then, however, was not the time.

I needed answers, not lust, and I was determined to get them.

Before he could react, I reached up and ripped his glasses off. His eyes met mine, and I held on, my hands on either side of his face, holding him still. I felt the snap, had one moment of regret that I’d yet to learn stealth, and I let myself get sucked inside even as Deacon’s guttural curse echoed in my ears.



Darkness. Darkness and blood and the scent of rotting, moldering flesh.

Tentacles, long and deadly.

And an open mouth, saliva dripping, teeth gleaming. All searching. All looking. Trying to find the one who betrayed.

Huge wings spread wide. Flapping as they moved through the night. Searching . . . Searching . . .

Finding.

He’s there. Deacon Camphire, and the beast swoops down and gathers him up.

“You will give it back. You will return what you took.”

And then the darkness. And screams. And the pain, the pain, the unyielding pain. Hot needles to the flesh. Poison in the veins. A hammer to the head. And worse, worse, so much worse.

Until it fades.

A respite.

A gift.

A woman.

Alice.

No, me. Lily.

And I’m touching him. Touching the pain, soothing the pain.

Taking the pain in and changing it. Making it bearable. Making it fade.

I save him.

But I don’t understand from what.



Snap. I was out, and Deacon had backed off, his breath coming fast, his expression furious. “Goddamn it, Lily.”

“You don’t want it,” I said, the pieces I’d seen finally coming together. “You weren’t trying to find the Oris Clef. You were trying to hide it.”

“I worked for Penemue,” he said, his voice dark. “When he realized I was no longer loyal, he tossed me into the pit.”

I licked my lips. “That’s how you became a Tri-Jal.”

He met my eyes. “I deserve the mark of the Tri-Jal, Lily. The things I have done—”

“—you tried to rectify.” I took his hand. “Deacon. Do you know where the third piece is?”

He shook his head. “I’ve already told you, Lily. It’s too dangerous. The key restored is too dangerous to be in the hands of Penemue or Kokbiel.”

“I would never let them get it.”

“It is too dangerous even for you.”

“But—”

“I destroyed it,” he said flatly.

“I thought it couldn’t be destroyed.”

He looked me dead in the eye. “I managed.”

“I—”

But I didn’t get the chance to speak. Because at the end of the alley, I saw Kiera, her eyes wide, her expression one of utter betrayal.

I realized my clothes were askew, and that she’d seen me clinging to Deacon. Not the vision. But the wildness of our bodies. Of our touch.

She’d seen.

And she’d assume I was cavorting with the enemy.

“Kiera!” I called, but it was too late. She was gone.

I turned to Deacon. “She’s going to go to Clarence, dammit. She may not understand completely, but he will. He’ll know exactly what game I’ve been playing.”