Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,79
I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She shivered again – and leaned back into him.
The door on the training room didn’t lock, but it was late, and they were alone, and would probably stay that way.
When she pulled loose, he let her go, so she could spin, stand up on her toes, throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.
They stripped off sweaty training clothes, hands sliding and skidding over slick skin, and crashed together in passion just as they’d crashed together in their match – a different, but equally fierce kind of violence. She started out on top, but then he flipped them, gleaming muscles flexed and straining, and pinned her like he had before, between her legs this time, hips driving, until she came with a cry she muffled around her bitten palm, and felt him shuddering through his own release above her.
They lay slumped and tangled, after, skin gluing together, and to the mat. The competing push-pull of their breathing echoed off the concrete walls.
Eventually, he took a huge breath and said, voice full of doubt, and even fear, she thought, “We’ve called it a war this whole time. Through two Rifts. And in a lot of ways it’s felt like one. But I don’t think it’s actually been one until now.”
“Hm,” she hummed. “The conduits from the First Rift wanted to exterminate humanity. Punish us for our sins.”
“But we were like roaches to them. They blindly destroyed whatever fell into their paths.”
“Except Gabriel.”
“Except Gabriel,” he agreed. “Working with Castor the way he did didn’t fit the mold. And this time around, conduits are gangsters themselves – and they’re targeting our military people, and then bragging about it afterward. That’s war in the literal sense: sending your best fighters after ours, rather than merely targeting humanity itself.”
“Shubert and his conduit are sharing the body. They’re working together.”
“So it makes sense some of Shubert’s plans and ideals will rub off on the angel. Jesus.” He rubbed at his eyes, and when he pulled his hand back, his expression was writ with a dozen kinds of worry, and the sort of fatigue that sent people into nervous breakdowns. “We can’t keep doing things the way we always have. We have to step up our game. Now we’ve got angels and demons to fight, and one conduit to our name, who passes out for a week after fighting one hell beast.”
Rose stroked his chest, soothing up-and-down drags of her nails. “We’ll figure something out.”
“I didn’t realize you were an optimist.”
“Hm.”
She wasn’t and didn’t think she ever would be – but innovation had always been fueled by vengeance, for her, and she wanted another crack at Shubert. Even worse: she wanted to understand how it was possible for a human and angel to share the host body equally, and speak through the mouth with two separate voices.
Morgan seemed equally baffled the next day, when Rose went to have lunch with her.
The conduit still looked too-pale and unsteady, and she only picked at her food, though Rose had brought all her favorites: pudding, cake, French fries. “I’ve not ever seen the like,” she said, shaking her head, dragging a lone fry listlessly through a ketchup puddle. “But the line between possible and impossible is flexible and inconstant for my kind.”
“Is that what was happening? Could you tell? That they were sharing the body?”
“Yes, I believe so. A true symbiotic relationship.” She frowned, the grave expression at odds with her young face. “I did not recognize the angel in residence.”
“Not one of the big ones, huh?” Rose asked, half-teasing.
But Morgan shook her head, still coldly serious. “No.”
Huh.
“That hell beast,” Rose started.
Morgan set the fry down and gave over her full attention.
“What did you do to him, exactly?”
“I sent him to hell.”
“Body and all?”
“Extracting the demon and preserving the conduit takes time and a great amount of energy – energy I did not possess at the time, after having dealt with the guards.”
Rose let out a breath. “Right. Well. I’m not criticizing.” The girl’s gaze was fixed on her, so blue and deep and inhuman. The prickling buzz of awareness on the back of Rose’s neck had never been the needling of other conduits; never felt like a threat. Carefully, she said, “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me your real name? It can be just a secret between us. I don’t have to tell Lance and the others.”
But Morgan shook her head, and picked up the cake.