Shadow Fall (17 page)

This guy wasn’t the traitor.

Next?

Annabella sat up during the third soldier’s interrogation, after which Custo called a temporary halt. Adam was right—her color did look much better, though she kept her lips pressed tightly together, her body tense, startling easily. Still wouldn’t eat.

She was debating in her head whether to call Venroy and tell him she wasn’t going to the party, or to save herself the discomfort and blow it off altogether. She was leaning toward the latter, a very bad sign. She’d already discarded the impulse to call her mom.

A little more than twenty-four hours, and they’d come full circle. She was preparing to give up her dance. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Annabella.

“What time is the party?” Custo asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” she answered. “I’m not going anyway.”

Custo had been undecided until that moment, even though Abigail-the-psychic had said they should attend, per Zoe’s report. He didn’t like the idea of taking Annabella out in public again. Segue wasn’t safe either, but at least they had the home-field advantage. The defeat in her eyes, however, was as perilous as the wolf itself. She had to live her life, revel in her accomplishment with dance, or the wolf’s offer would become that much more tempting, her desire for Shadow that much more acute.

“We’re going,” he said.

“Custo,” Adam said, “I don’t know that…”…
going to the party is the best course of action at this time.

“No, Adam,” Custo said. Making allowances for her fear would only sap her energy and have her doubting herself more.

Adam shot him a look.
You said it yourself. She’s been through enough today.

Custo deliberately hardened his tone. “She doesn’t have the luxury of wallowing in her self-pity. She needs to go to the damn party. She needs to find her spine again. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”

Annabella raised fear-stricken eyes. Custo watched her fear transmute to recrimination and anger, but she didn’t say anything. He touched her mind: Her thoughts were full of murder, but not for the wolf. She wanted to scratch Custo’s eyes out.

Good. There was fire in her yet, though there was little chance he was ever going to get to touch her again. To move inside her. If that sacrifice weren’t angelic, he didn’t know what the hell was.

“Besides,” Custo said, “the wolf
wants
to take you away from the life you’ve fought so hard to build. It would be one more victory for him if you didn’t attend the reception. As one of the lead dancers, the reception would be in your honor, yes?”

He saw the delicate muscles of her jaw contract as she clenched her teeth, but she nodded, yes.

Her gaze darkened, and Custo knew that she was thinking about what he’d said. He felt the right decision form in her mind.

“Then we go,” Custo confirmed. “We don’t have to stay long.”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” she said, voice thick, “and I’m not going home for my dress. I’m never going back to that place again.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Adam said. “Custo, do you want my tux?”

After Peter’s murder, Annabella was definitely going to need a new place to live.

“Custo?”

The tux.
“The shoulders will be a bit tight, but it’ll do,” Custo answered by rote. It was an old joke between them, and a lame effort at lifting the mood.

It got a weak smile out of Adam at least, and a clap on the shoulder. Annabella turned sullenly away and climbed back on the bed. Adam brought over a laptop for her to pass the time during the soldier interviews. She downloaded a movie,
Dawn of the Dead
, so the sound of soft screams filled the room while Custo worked.

A more effective “screw you” he couldn’t imagine. Very well played.

Twenty-four interrogations later, Custo was beyond perplexed. He’d asked questions from every angle, but a more straight-up, true-blue batch of men he’d never seen.

He was stumped, and he was man enough to admit it. He had to have missed something somewhere, but he’d have to think it through before taking another approach. And it was getting late.

A garment bag hanging on the bathroom door presumably held their clothes for the evening. A glance at his watch told him they’d better hurry if they were going to make the party.

Custo showered quickly, stripping off the now unnecessary bandage, while Annabella put on her makeup at the sink.

When he got out, Annabella used the open shower door to shield herself while she dressed, though he knew she had no problems whatsoever with modesty, notwithstanding the fact that he’d seen all of her lovely body just that morning. But okay, he could take it.

Adam’s tux, classic in cut, was indeed a little tight across the shoulders, a fact Custo would point out at the first opportunity, but it looked good.

Annabella stepped out, devastating in a cobalt blue sheath, her skin a glowing contrast to the deep color and her rich hair, styled in a loose twist. Her eyes were luminous, her painted mouth set both to bitch and pout. When she turned to exit the room, she revealed a backless V that stopped at the last dimple of her spine, her supple, smooth body exposed, the cloth hugging at her waist and hips.

Custo’s fingers itched to skim down her skin, to shed the fabric from her shoulders, to loose her hair, and graze the column of her neck with his mouth. That he couldn’t made him deeply regret pissing her off quite so much.

It promised to be a hell of a night.

A slash of Wolf’s claw shredded the bedsheets. Rage and want consumed him, blurring his vision until the hard lines of the room doubled, colors and edges shifting around him as his legs stumbled for purchase on the too-soft mattress. Pungent scents layered the room. Woman. Angel. Blood. And numerous other mortals, all masculine, but difficult to distinguish individually.

The sources of those thick, driving smells were gone now. The woman, too.

Shadow had offered him back to the world too late, too reluctantly, with too little substance to catch her and press his advantage. A little sooner and he could have compelled her acceptance, when she was too frightened and weak to fight.

Thus his own shadows betrayed him, but they had ever been variable, inconstant, like the shifting boughs of Twilight.

Wolf shook out his pelt. He had his form now. And the woman might not choose to use his name, but she could not take it back.

What he needed was to set a trap. Not a cage like those on the lower levels of this massive structure, housing the life-charged corpses humankind called wraiths.

No, he needed a human trap fitted to a human heart.

And the banshee mother had taught him how.

Chapter Fifteen

A
NNABELLA
got another round of applause when she entered the reception. She smiled and bowed, this time with only a slight inclination of her head. She was seriously done with bowing. It was way overrated.

The reception was held at the extravagant Upper East Side penthouse of one of the ballet company’s patrons. A champagne affair for the start of the season. The hosts boasted the kind of wealth her family had never dreamed of knowing, and they weren’t subtle about it. An enormous, colorful blown-glass dewdrop of a chandelier warmed an entrance hallway several times larger than Annabella’s studio apartment.

Talk about crossing over into a different world.

Custo’s hand was warm at the small of her back, as if he were her date or something. She’d be damned, however, before she’d lean against him and get another of his remarks about her lack of spine. A nightmarish snakelike shadow had slid all over her today; the man could do with a little sensitivity.

Annabella’s faith in the abilities of Segue or Custo to get rid of Wolf was rapidly diminishing. It would be much worse if he got a hold of her the way he’d gotten a hold of Abigail. Unimaginably worse.

Or better? In some very disturbing ways, she wanted what Wolf—damn it,
the
wolf—offered. Wanted it so bad that she hardly dared to admit the truth to herself, much less Custo.

She surveyed the crowded interior. The wolf was somewhere in this superstunning place, plotting how to ruin her life so much that she didn’t want it anymore. Should she hide under the covers, afraid of the wolf (and herself), or live her life?

Damn it, Custo was right. She’d worked too hard to get to this glittering apartment, to receive that welcome applause.

Okay, back to basics.

Chin up,
she commanded herself. The phrase was one of the most common corrections in the ballet classroom, especially for the youngest little dancers.
Shoulders back.
Another common correction.
Tummy in.

One hour, Custo had promised. She could manage a little poise for that long. Heck, she’d go for two. Poise was her specialty.

A glittering assemblage of people halted her progress with congratulations and effusive compliments. “Magical!” “Transported!” “Inspired!” The fact that these comments were close to the truth dampened any pleasure she would have taken from them. But she was an actress, too, so she smiled and blushed and thanked the company’s patrons for their kind words.

She double-kissed Jasper, who embraced her, and took a picture with Venroy, who was disappointed she’d missed company class that morning. Oh, well.

Custo steered her, unnecessarily, through the groups and into a gathering room off to the side. A large, gorgeous table was the only furniture in the room.

“Have a drink.” Custo shoved a glass of wine into her hand. “This party is for you; it’s okay for you to enjoy it.”

Annabella frowned at him as the fruity smell wafted up from the glass and tickled her nose. Maybe not a good idea on an empty stomach. “I am enjoying it.”

“Anna!” a familiar female voice shouted over the party din.

Annabella looked over her shoulder. Katrina beckoned to her. She stood with a circle of girls to one side, a group largely forgotten by the rest of the people at the party.

Annabella disengaged herself from Custo, though he grabbed her hand while some old cougar with obnoxious breasts purred at him.

“Hey,” Annabella said, faking a smile, “drunk yet?”

“You weren’t at class this morning. Everyone was looking for you.” Katrina’s eyes were bright, her face flushed. Yeah, a little drunk.

Annabella opened her mouth to speak, but Katrina continued, “Ohmygod! You have to tell us. Is there something between you and Jasper? We thought he was
gay!
”

The others shushed her, but Katrina went on, full voice, “And there he was fighting that hot guy over you—who is
he,
by the way?—as soon as the curtain went down. Venroy is soooo pissed, but somebody heard him on the phone singing your praises, so he can’t be that pissed, if you know what I mean. What is going on?”

Damage control. Annabella mustered some calm to dampen Katrina’s spirits. “Jasper is still gay, as far as I know. He just took something that screwed things up in his head. Some weird herb, I think. He’s okay now.”

“And him?” Katrina grinned stupidly at Custo’s back. A couple others giggled into their glasses.

“A friend.”

“A
good
friend,” Katrina corrected.

Annabella shrugged. “I honestly don’t know what he is.”

“Look, if you don’t want him—”

Custo chose that opportune moment to turn back and whisper in her ear. “If you are done here, you should probably do a little more face time with the big patrons, or we’ll be here all night,
friend.
”

“I’m done,” Annabella answered, but not because he said so. She loved gossip; she just couldn’t stand to be on the exciting side of it. If she tried to tell them about the wolf, they’d call a bunch of men in white lab coats to lock her up.

Oh, wait…that had already happened, at Segue.

She and Custo moved beyond the hallway into a receiving room of sorts. Still no wolf, but plenty of moody shadows. The room had little furniture to accommodate the party, only a console table along the back wall and some trim, upholstered chairs. The walls held family portraits, tiny museum spotlights highlighting their faces.

“Brava!”
a woman’s voice announced as they entered. A small circle opened to admit Annabella, with Custo at her back.

“Thank you so much, but it’s really the whole company—” Annabella broke off as Custo’s arm circled her waist and pulled her hard against him. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Oh, no. Something was wrong. Again. Where was he? Where was the wolf?

Her heart gulped into acceleration. She glanced over her shoulder at Custo to find the source of the danger, but his gaze was fixed on a man, not a monster.

The man was older, but not old. Tall and broad across his shoulders. Maybe in his fifties with dashing branches of laugh lines winging out from his eyes. He had a full head of salt and pepper, and the same strange mossy green eyes as—Oh. Small world.

“I thought you were dead,” the man said.

“I am,” Custo answered, dang cold for speaking to his father. If she ever dared answer her mom that way, there’d have been hell to pay.

“I went to your funeral,” the man insisted.

Talk in the circle of wealth and congratulations halted completely.

“You shouldn’t have bothered.”

“Was it a ruse?” the man demanded. “Are you in trouble again?”

Custo seemed to attract trouble. And he was contrary and difficult, and sometimes outright mean. The man’s conclusion that Custo might have faked his death did actually seem more plausible than the truth.

The man stared unblinking at Custo for a moment, a million disquieted thoughts in his eyes, but even she could tell that theirs was a conversation best saved for someplace private.

Custo’s arm constricted further at her waist as the man’s gaze shifted down to her. “I’m Evan Rotherford.”

Custo pulled her back so that the man’s outstretched hand was beyond her reach. Annabella leaned forward anyway. Her fingertips were grasped in a polite, old-fashioned nice-to-meet-you.

“Astonishing performance last night. You held me spellbound,” Mr. Rotherford said. His voice had that flat New England inflection. Money. “I’ve been a ballet aficionado all my life, but I have never been so moved.” He glanced over at Custo. “The appreciation for ballet must run in the—”

“We’re done here,” Custo said. He towed her back, and the connection between her and Custo’s father was broken.

Custo assumed most of her weight as he propelled her toward the arch of the room’s entryway. Annabella adjusted her bearing to make their partnered exit look as natural as possible, but it was a little difficult what with her feet barely touching the floor. A lifetime of dance classes for this? They pushed across the hallway into the opposite room, architecturally similar to the other, but with an open arrangement of sofas occupied by little old ladies nursing short, strong drinks.

Annabella tried to look back, but Custo gave her a rib-cracking squeeze.

Custo’s father had seemed nice enough to her. He’d gushed over that cursed performance, which proved he had taste. Whatever had happened between him and his son couldn’t have been
that
bad. He was genuinely shocked by Custo’s appearance, though not by Custo’s rude behavior, so it had to be old history. Weren’t angels supposed to be forgiving?

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Custo said, preempting any discussion.

“But you’re his son.”

“I’m his bastard,” Custo bit out. “He taught me the word himself. When I was four. When he fired my mother from his staff and kicked us out of his house.”

Annabella ignored Custo’s vise grip and craned her head over her shoulder to see if she could get another glimpse of the man. She had to have read him wrong. Someone that cruel couldn’t look so handsome, so charming.

Evan was crossing the hallway in pursuit.

“Just make your rounds so we can get out of here,” Custo said.

She couldn’t very well say anything to anyone while he was holding on to her so tightly. And besides, the little old ladies looked like they were more interested in Custo than her.

“Hear me out,” Evan said, as he caught up with them, “that’s all I ask.”

Custo ignored him, growling in her ear. “Who do you need to talk to?”

Uh…“I should probably check with Mr. Venroy again…” Annabella’s answer trailed off. She didn’t think Custo was paying attention to her anymore. Or looking out for the big bad wolf. Custo’s eyes were unfocused, fixed on a blank wall, but his expression was hard.

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Custo said. He dragged her on, leaving his father agape behind them, an arm lifted, empty palm up.

Whatever Evan had done in the past, he was obviously very sorry.

Custo was having none of it. He plowed through the crowd to the door, dragging her with him.

Custo had said that she needed to attend the reception for an hour. She’d vowed to herself to try for two. And yet, here they were leaving not twenty minutes after arrival, and it was Custo who was running away. The irony was killing her, though with the current drama unfolding, she didn’t have the nerve to point it out. Later, for sure.

She bit her lips in the elevator when Custo couldn’t get a mobile phone signal to call their driver. He was cursing when he finally connected in the lobby and hauled her out of the building to the curb to hail a cab. “I don’t care that you thought we’d be longer,” he snarled into the phone. “I needed you here now. It’s unconscionable that you would leave your post for a moment.”

Cabs rolled down the street, but none stopped at Custo’s wave.

Behind them, the door to the apartment building gasped open. Custo’s father emerged. Tenacity must have run in the family, too.

“I was wrong,” Evan said. “Even then, I knew I was wrong.” His words had a gravity decades in the making, a note of pain that only profound loss could create.

Custo kept his face turned away, arm raised. “I don’t care. Leave me alone.”

“No. I left you alone for too long, and you died.” That last little word ripped a hole in her heart. “Or at least I thought you had. If I leave you alone now, I know I’ll never see you again.”

“You made that choice a long time ago.”

A cab finally took pity on Custo, and he wrenched open the door before the car came to a full stop.

Annabella didn’t need the hard yank toward the waiting seat to know he wanted her to get in quickly. The combined smells of urine and cigarette smoke were bitter, but faint. She sidled over to make room for Custo, then leaned back toward him when he didn’t immediately get in himself.

“—you stay the hell away from her,” Custo was saying.

“Our family has been donating to the ballet since its inception. I’m not going to stop now. You’ll just have to deal with it. With me.”

“Get your hand off me.” Custo’s voice came out in a guttural rumble that had her cringing. His body jerked and he lowered himself abruptly into the cab, slamming the door.

Only Evan’s dark suit was visible through the partial obstruction of the window.

“Go!” Custo shouted at the driver, who had to wait several beats for a break in traffic.

Annabella was glad Evan kept back. In the two days since she’d known Custo, he’d been beaten, distressed, angry, but never…undone. Near frantic. How was it that this strong man, an angel, could face all sorts of monsters but not his own father?

The car nosed out to the blare of a horn, and then bullied its way into the slow stream moving toward the traffic light.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

Custo didn’t answer. His gaze hovered on the door handle, distracted. His shoulders and chest rose and fell with great, unsteady breaths. His skin, usually a very pale gold, had reddened with feeling.

Annabella sat forward. “Umm…” She had no idea where Segue was, and her place was definitely out of the question. She never wanted to go back there again. The wolf could find her anywhere, eventually, so why not…

“A hotel,” she said. Give Custo some space to breathe and get a grip on himself.

The cabdriver scowled. “Which one?”

Her credit card had about $300 left on it. Her bank account had half that. “Somewhere inexpensive, but close.”

In the corner of her eye she saw Custo shift. “Scratch that. East Thirteenth Street and Broadway.”

“Where are we going?” Annabella ventured, sitting back.

“Nowhere,” Custo answered. “I’m sorry about your party.” His voice had mellowed, but he still wouldn’t look at her.

“I didn’t want to go anyway.” Not the time to needle him about their length of stay. She needed him back in the present, ready to face whatever came out of the shadows. If the wolf were looking for a weak moment, this was it. Anna-bella glanced around nervously.