Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,13

neck, it fell around him like a cloak. It made him look imperial, regal; a fitting look.

He schooled his features to a mask of polite disdain. The growl died away. “Lance,” he said, coldly. “A friend. Of course.”

Slowly, Lance lowered his hands, but made no move to come closer. He darted another look toward Rose, uncertain, questioning.

“Tell me, Lance.” Beck said his name like it was a form of bacteria. “How did you manage to go from one of Castor’s thugs to being Rose’s friend?”

Lance started to answer, but Rose dug her fingertips into Beck’s chest and said, “He was working undercover back then. It’s a long story, but he was never one of Castor’s people, not really. He’s military.”

“A Rift Walker,” Lance added, “if that means anything to you.”

“He is.” Her chest tightened, and she breathed through it. “And so am I.”

His eyes widened, and his gaze slid toward her, gilded and burning. She felt his pulse give a hard bump beneath her palm. “Well, then. I suppose you’d better explain from the beginning.”

~*~

She’d known all along that there were things she wasn’t going to tell him, when he asked about the five years he’d missed. She had always been so honest with him, before, but there were times when secrets were a blessing. When they prevented hurt, and preserved love.

She’d known that, but she’d been fixated wholly on the ritual. The sacrifice. The crazy chance of it all. And now here he was, and he wanted answers – some of which she couldn’t give him.

She relayed what she could. Told him about Lance getting her out of Castor’s mansion that night. About the way, even then, the cracks were already appearing in the fabric of the world; hell open, and the Rift on the verge of cleaving the sky again.

Told him about going back to the house. About finding Kay. She stumbled over that bit when she was reminded of the fact that she hadn’t tried to drag Kay’s body to the car; hadn’t tried to give her a proper burial.

“It wasn’t her anymore, sweetheart,” Beck murmured, his hand warm and grounding on the back of her neck.

She told him about Lance’s offer to join up, and about the way, after a few weeks on the streets, amidst the rain, and the screaming, and the fighting, and the ugliness, she’d sought the recruitment office.

“It was a way to stay alive,” she explained. “A way to maybe, one day, get you back. I knew you weren’t dead.” She lifted her face to seek his gaze, and found it troubled, poorly-disguised. “And now here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“I came as quick as I could.”

“I know you did.” He fingered a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid. Coiled it around his finger, his expression softening fractionally. “You learned that it suited you, though, didn’t it?”

“What did?”

“Soldiering.” He let the hair slip free, and drew his hand back into his lap. “You’re a ferocious little thing. You needed an outlet.” He nodded. “I understand.”

“It was something to do,” she hedged, shaking her head. “I was – I was so angry. And I thought if I could just figure out…The military was access to resources I could never have gotten on my own. It’s the reason I’m here now. Why you are.”

He smiled. “Well, that’s worth something, isn’t it?”

“It’s worth everything.”

He took both her hands into his, staring down at the way their fingers laced. The claws were there, hard and black, in place of his regular nails. But, as she watched, they lengthened, sharpened, and thick, black veins crawled beneath his skin, streaking back across his knuckles, his wrists, disappearing up his sleeves.

“Well. That’s a trick,” he murmured. Let out a breath, and the veins faded. The claws shrank back to a manageable size.

“What else can you do?”

“I’m not sure, yet. Fly, I’m assuming.” His wings twitched, and they sounded like the rustling of her leather coat. “This must be good for something.” The spade tip of his tail lifted up like a periscope, startling a laugh from her.

One that quickly threatened to dissolve into sobs. He was here, Beck was here, and she couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it had worked.

When he reached for her, she went readily, let herself be bundled like a little girl onto his lap, her face against his throat again, breathing in the new brimstone and ash smell of him.

“You remembered Derfel,” he murmured, wondrous, stroking her neck and shoulder. “You found