Page 132 of A House of Gold
I brought his image to my mind’s eye. Nope. Not someone I want to go up against. "And if he decides I'm useful?"
"Then you'll have the most powerful fighter on your side." He pauses. "But don't mistake his protection for kindness. Kael serves his own interests. Always."
I nod, filing that away. "The others?"
"Lysander, Lust. Charming, seductive, and completely amoral. He'll try to seduce you within five minutes of meeting you. It's not personal. It's just what he is."
"I remember."
"Dorian is Gluttony. Excess in all things. He'll want to consume you, your power, your uniqueness, everything that makes you interesting." Croesus's eyes narrow. "Don't let him touch you if you can help it. His power is...invasive."
"Noted. And the last one? The one who was absent at your political council?"
"Caspian." Croesus's voice goes flat. "Sloth. Apathy. The absence of caring made manifest." He's quiet for a moment. "He's the most dangerous of all of us, in his way. Because he has nothing to lose. Cares about nothing. Feels nothing. He'll help, or he'll watch us die, and either outcome will mean the same to him."
I set down my spoon, suddenly not hungry anymore. "So basically, we’re about to meet with six angels who are either going to help us, kill us, or stand by while someone else does it."
"Yes."
"And you think this is a good idea?"
"No." He meets my eyes. "I think it's the only idea. Alone, I can protect you from assassins and collectors. Maybe even from lesser angels. But if this conspiracy goes to the highest levels of Heaven, if archangels are involved, then we need allies. Even dangerous, self-interested ones."
He's right, damn him.
"Okay," I say finally. "Tomorrow night. I'll convince them to help."
"You don't have to convince them of anything." His hand finds mine. "I'll do the talking. You just need to survive the meeting."
"Such low expectations."
"I'm practical." But his thumb strokes the back of my hand, gentle, almost unconscious. "These angels have survived three thousand years by being ruthless. They don't help out of kindness. They don't protect the weak. They serve their own interests and nothing else."
"Except you." I squeeze his hand. "You're helping me."
"You're mine." Like that explains everything. And maybe it does. "I protect what's mine."
Through the binding, I feel the truth of it, the way his nature as greed has twisted into something that might be love. The way possessing me has become needing me. The way keeping me has become choosing me.
It's not healthy. It's probably not even sane. But it's real.
"Get some rest," he says, taking the tray from my lap. "You still look half-dead."
"Such flattery."
"I'm practical," he repeats. But there's a softness in his face that wasn't there before. A vulnerability he's not quite hiding. "Sleep. I'll wake you when it's time."
"Will you sleep too?"
"Eventually."
"Croesus, "
"I'll sleep when I'm sure you're okay." His voice is firm. "Not before."
I want to argue. Want to tell him he needs rest as much as I do. But exhaustion is pulling at me, heavy and insistent. And the bed is soft, and he's here, and I'm alive.
Tomorrow, I'll see six more fallen angels and probably get threatened six different ways. I push the thought of what Idris might to do in retaliation for our earlier theft. That can wait for later.
