my eyes. I was so sick of this look-over-her-head behavior the Dominus, and now the bloody celestial, were subjecting me to. God, I was mad. Chest-achingly mad, and yes, I wanted to unleash it, just let go and rage.
Bad idea. So bad. Control it, Fee. What the fuck. This was totally over-the-top anger as usual.
“Fuck, Fee, am I going to have to kiss you again?” Mal asked.
My head whipped around, and a feral growl clawed its way up my throat.
Mal’s eyes widened. “Fee …”
Whoa, where had that come from? Last I’d checked my body didn’t make that kind of sound. Breathe, dammit. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. I could do this. I could control myself.
The red haze retreated, and the vise around my chest eased its epic grip. I tucked in my chin, took a breath through my nose, exhaled through my mouth, then raised my head to lock eyes with Uri.
“I want to help.”
The corner of Uri’s mouth lifted slightly. “The rest of the watchers are on duty, so I would appreciate the assistance.”
Mal didn’t protest. Even if he had, I’d have told him where to shove it. But he was probably happy to wash his hands of me for now. Probably thought I’d forget about our little conversation.
“I’ll see you back at quarters,” Mal said, backing away toward the portal entrance. At least that’s where I thought it was because right now everything was forest.
I narrowed my eyes at him, shooting daggers of intent. “Yes, we can finish our chat then.”
I thought he’d argue with me, but he pressed his lips together and nodded. “I think it’s time we did.”
And then he was gone, just winking out of existence.
“Please make your deposit,” Celestia said for the third time.
Shit. “Uri?”
He tucked the huge book under one arm and tapped the pillar. “Just touch it with your scythe.”
I did as he asked. The blade glowed so brightly I had to turn my head away. When I looked back, the blade had dimmed to its usual glow, but the pillar had become almost translucent. White orbs swirled inside, sliding over each other, bumping into one another.
Souls.
These were human souls.
The pillar thickened to an opaque state and then slid back into the forest floor.
I looked up at Uri. “What happens to them now?”
His stormy eyes darkened, and his mouth turned down slightly. “We should go. The sooner we identify the stolen items, the better. Powerful artifacts do not belong in the hands of Dread.”
He held out his free hand. “I’ll have to touch you to take you with me.” He was looking at me earnestly. “Do I have permission?”
Permission-asking. There hadn’t been much of that for a while. “Yes. Yes, you do.” I took his hand and stepped close to him. A strange thrum vibrated between us, but it lasted less than a second.
“I will have to hold you,” he advised.
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” I looked up at his hard, stubbled jaw. “Celestials need to shave, huh?”
He looked down his nose at me. “Grigori do.” He curled his arm around my waist and gently pulled me against his torso. That thrum again. His grip on me flexed. Had he felt it too? “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“So that your corneas don’t burn.”
“Great reason.” I closed my eyes. “What happens no—”
My insides slammed into my spine, and then blood rushed to my head.
“You can open your eyes now,” Uri said.
I clung to his biceps, knees shivering as I obliged. Amber light, soft, like it was coming from a lamp filled the room—a room made of gray stone, a flagstone floor, and walls lined with deep shelves. Most were empty because the books and artifacts were piled onto a long table in the middle of the room. There was one door, a wooden one that was firmly closed, and no windows. This was the vault. He’d brought us straight here.
The Academy tutors must have picked up all the tossed artifacts after the raid, and everything on the table needed to be cataloged and put away according to the log. The log that Uri was still clutching while I continued to hold on to him.
“Sorry.” I released him and stepped away. “You made my knees weak for a minute.”
He arched a brow.
That hadn’t come out right. “I mean, the trip made my knees weak, not you. You don’t make my knees weak.”
“I don’t?” His tone was polite, inquiring, but was that a hint of amusement in his stormy eyes?
“I mean you’re beautiful in a my-face-may-be-chiseled-from-marble-but-I-will-cut-you