Crave (Fallen Angels 2)

"You're the one making a mistake, son. And I'd be calling Matthias right this second if you hadn't already done it yourself. I will not be a part of any conspiracy against him--and I refuse to help you." Childe let out a curse. "I need a drink."

With that, he turned away and headed across the room.

At which point, Grier grabbed the front of Isaac's windbreaker and yanked him head-to-head with her. In a nearly silent hiss, she said, "Before either of you even thinks of hitting me with another round of classified-info crap, you can shut it."

Isaac popped his brows clear to his hairline as her father opened the door to the cellar.

Shit, he thought. But she obviously was not going to budge on this one. Besides, maybe being involved would help her and her father patch things up. "Ladies first," Isaac whispered, indicating the way with a gallant hand.

Chapter Thirty

Heaven, South Lawn

Nigel granted an audience to his two favorite warrior angels not out of the goodness of his heart and not with anticipation--and in spite of the fact that he and Colin, Bertie, and Byron were in the midst of a repast. There would be no turning these visitors away, however: He knew why Edward and Adrian were coming and they were not going to like what he had to say.

Thus he felt as though he should handle them in person.

And indeed, when the two angels took form far across the lawn, they strode o'er to the grove like the avengers they were.

"I'm terribly sorry," Nigel murmured to his advisors, "but will you please excuse me for a moment."

He folded his damask napkin and rose, thinking there was no reason to ruin the meal for the others--and what was about to transpire verbally was going to be a gastronomic murder of the very bloodiest sort.

Colin got up as well. Nigel would have much preferred to do this alone, but there would be no dissuading the angel. No one and nothing could change Colin's mind about what to have for his pudding, much less on matters of import.

He and Colin met their visitors halfway between where the pair had entered and where the fine table was set amongst the elm trees.

"She has him," Edward said as the four of them came together. "We don't know how it happened--"

Nigel cut the angel off. "He gave himself so that another could have a chance at life."

"He shouldn't have done that. He's too valuable."

Nigel glanced in Adrian's direction and found that the angel was silent for once. Which was a surer sign of trouble than any other.

Nigel tugged at his cuff links, smoothing the sleeves of his silk shirt inside his linen suit. "She shan't kill him. She cannot."

"Are you positive about that?"

"There are few things you can trust her on, but the rules were not laid upon us by her. If she kills Jim, she forfeits not just the match, but the game in its entirety. That will keep her in check."

Adrian's voice drifted over, thin and hard. "There are some things worse than death."

"Verily, you are correct."

"So f**king do something." The angel was all but vibrating, his body like a Christmas popper on the verge of being pulled asunder.

"We could get him out, though," Edward said. "That's not against the rules."

"Of course you may."

Long silence.

Edward cleared his throat and appeared to gird his tongue for polite restraint. "The picture she sent us suggests that he is held within her world."

"He is not upon the earth, 'tis true."

"So how can we get to him."

"You cannot."

As Adrian cursed, Edward clapped a hold on the other angel's arm, but that didn't shut the male up. "You said we could get him out."

"Adrian, I said you `may.' As in, you are permitted under the rules to do so. I did not, however, make a comment upon your ability. In this case, you are unable to reach him without sacrificing yourselves, thus leaving him with no support and no guidance during this crucial, early time--"

"You little prick."

Before Adrian could do something daft, Edward transferred his hold to the male's heavy chest and kept him back.

Nigel cocked a brow at the two of them. "I did not make the rules, and I have no more wish to be disqualified than my opponent."

"Do you have . . ." Adrian choked on his own words and had to breathe deep to finish. "Do you have any idea what she's doing to him. Right now. As we're standing on your f**king lawn and dinner is waiting for you?"

Nigel chose his words with care. The last thing he needed was the pair going vigilante. Anew. They'd already been through that mistake once, hadn't they.

"I know precisely what she is bringing to the table, so to speak. And I also know that Jim is very strong--which is the worst tragedy of all. Because she shall resort to tortures that . . ." There was no reason to go on: Adrian's eyes carried the glassy look of someone reliving his own nightmare. "I would say unto you, however, that Devina cannot keep him for long or she risks a forfeit. Things are coming to a head, and if she prevents Jim from participating fully in the outcome, then there is no fair contest."

"What about Jim?" Adrian demanded, shoving himself free of his best mate. "What about his suffering. What about him!"

Nigel glanced over at Colin, who was utterly silent. Then again, the expression on his gorgeous, familiar face said enough: His fury was so deep and wide, oceans would pale in comparison. He'd always hated Devina and this was not going to be of aid on that front.

There were enough hotheads herein, however.

Nigel shook his head with honest disappointment. "There is naught I may do. I am sorry. My hands are tied."

"You're sorry. You're f**king sorry." Adrian spit on the ground. "Yeah, you look it, you cold bastard. You look really f**king torn up. Asshole."

With that, the angel dematerialized.

"Shit," Edward muttered.

"A coarse but accurate word for it." Nigel stared at the space Adrian had just filled. " 'Tis early for him to be so battle-fatigued and fragile. This does not bode well."

"You're kidding me, right?"

He glanced over at the angel. "Surely you must see the madness in him--"

"FYI, big shot, not less than four days ago, Devina worked the guy over but good. And you think he's going to be head-tight now that Jim's being put through the same wringer? Are you serious?"

"May I remind you that you swore to me he could handle this." Nigel found himself leaning forward in confrontation. After all, he might have been the captain of this side, but that didn't mean he was above fisticuffs. "You told me he could withstand the stress. You promised me and I believed you. And if you think it shall get easier as we proceed, then you are as crazy as he appears to be."

Edward raised his arm and drew back like he was going to throw a punch. "Fuck you, Nigel--"

Colin was all over the angel in the blink of an eye, attacking from the right, tackling the male, restraining him facedown on the bright green grass.

"You don't hit him, mate," Colin growled. "I know you're pissed off, and you want to get Jim sorted, but I can't let you pop Nigel. Not going to happen."

Nigel glanced back at the dining table. As Bertie and Byron looked over, he saw they were both sitting like worried birds, their bodies stretching up long, their arms down at their sides, their eyes wide. Tarquin had lain down on the ground and put his long-muzzled face under the tablecloth so he couldn't see anything.

The meal was beyond ruined. And not just because the show o'er here was a dramatic disaster to watch: indeed, Nigel wasn't going to be able to stomach a thing. This match with Devina was heading in bad directions on so many levels . . . and he was paralyzed by the rules.

"Let me up," Edward grunted.

Colin might have been a stone or two lighter in the frame than the other angel, but he had tensile strength beyond measure. "You're going to be nice, mate. No more fists or you'll get another bullocking."

"Fine."

The one word was not a capitulation of any sort, but Colin jumped free anyway--likely because he knew he could just subdue the male again if that was necessary.

Edward brushed off the blades of green that stuck to his leather coat like tinsel. "Just because Jim can live through it, doesn't mean it's fair."

With that, he disappeared into thin air.

Upon a vicious curse, Nigel regarded the disappearing imprint of Edward's heavy body, the grass springing up, righting itself.