Chapter 30 Leo
The hot water was scalding, just the way I needed it. It poured over my shoulders and down my back in steady sheets, crawling over muscle, steam climbing in waves off my skin. The safe house only had one room and this tiny bathroom attached, the whole place nothing more than a sealed, reinforced box in the middle of the dead zone. But right now, this shower was the entire world.
I leaned into the tiled wall, letting the spray hit the back of my neck. I braced one hand against the stone. The other slid over my chest, slow, fingers carving through the layer of lather already slick across me. My body was sore and wound tight, but I wasn’t scrubbing to get clean. I was trying to think.
Trying, and failing.
Edward and Andy were still out there running sweeps, chasing rumors, gut instincts, shadows. The gargoyle was loose. Somewhere in the city. Worse, it had slipped out through a gate I should have never left vulnerable. Now we were playing catch-up in the dark, and I hated that. I hated not knowing. I hated the clock ticking louder every time I closed my eyes.
But that wasn’t what filled my head.
It was her.
Kristen.
I could feel her inside me, even now. Not literally. Not yet. But the shape of her stayed behind, like heat in the sheets after she left the room. Her voice. Her mouth. The way she tilted her head when she was amused but trying not to show it.
I dragged the soap lower, working it across my abs, my hips, sliding over my thigh. My hand hesitated. Then dipped between my legs, brushing the base of my cock, which had already begun to respond.
I closed my eyes and exhaled through my nose.
She wasn’t even here. I hadn’t seen her since yesterday, hadn’t touched her in longer, but the memory of her in my arms felt recent. She’d worn that soft grey T-shirt that hung loose off one shoulder. The collar had slipped down far enough to show the faintest curve of her collarbone and the line where skin met bra strap.
I imagined her standing in the doorway now, barefoot, damp from a rain she hadn’t mentioned, her lips parted like she was about to say something but hadn’t yet decided if she should. Her hair a little messy. Her cheeks flushed from the cold. She would step inside this one-room shelter without fear, without hesitation. She’d see me standing here in the water and take in the sight of me like it was hers to look at.
And I would let her.
God, I would let her do anything.
I pressed my palm more firmly against myself and groaned.
The sound of it echoed faintly off the tile. I didn’t care. My cock was stiffening in my hand now, thick and hot, already dripping precum in slow pulses as I stroked the soap along the shaft.
I shouldn’t. Not now. The city was vulnerable. She was vulnerable. But my body didn’t care. It had waited long enough.
I thought of her fingers sliding across my chest. The ones that always moved without fear, like she knew exactly how far she could go before I broke. Her tongue against my jaw. Her thighs straddling mine. I pictured her on this floor, the steam curling around her body as I slid her jeans down inch by inch and—
I choked on the groan and squeezed harder.
The slick from the soap mixed with precum, and I felt my knees go weak. My rhythm slowed, drawn out, savoring the burn of heat that coiled lower and lower with every stroke. I imagined pushing into her. The resistance. The tight, trembling warmth of her wrapped around me as she gasped and bit her lip and buried her fingers in my hair to pull me closer.
I hissed and leaned my head against the tile.
My cock jerked in my grip. I was close. Too close.
And then—
A sound.
Barely audible, but sharp enough to slice through the fog in my brain.
My eyes snapped open. I froze. Water kept running down my back, but everything else in me locked up.
It wasn’t the building shifting. Not pipes. Not the old radiator settling. It was… a breath. A shoe against the floor. The smallest scrape of air displaced in the wrong way.
I shut the water off without thinking.
The sudden silence roared louder than the water had.
I stood there for a beat, breathing shallow. The only sounds were the last few droplets hitting the floor of the shower. I grabbed the towel from the rack and wrapped it around my hips, one-handed, then stepped out into the main room of the safe house.
It wasn’t much. Concrete floor. One bed. Small table. A single flickering lamp in the corner. No windows. Just one locked door and no reason for noise.
But the air felt different now. Heavier.
I moved slowly, not bothering to dry off. My bare feet made no sound on the cold floor. I walked to the table, where I kept a hatchet tucked beneath the top drawer. I pulled it free. The metal was cool in my hand, comforting.
I swept the room with my eyes. No shadows out of place. No scent of sulfur. No breath but my own.
Still, something felt wrong. Like something had just been here. Or was still here, hiding in a fold of space I hadn’t noticed.
I moved to the door and checked the seals. No breach. No flicker of warning from the warding marks I’d etched along the frame.
But I didn’t let go of the axe.
The silence held too long. Too steady. Like it was waiting for something.
Eventually, I dressed. Tactical shirt. Lightweight armor under my jeans. I slid knives into my boots and holstered the silver dagger inside my waistband. I kept the axe.
I couldn’t risk staying still.
By afternoon, I stepped through the veil.
The Dark Realm welcomed me the way it always did. No sunlight. No time. Just layers of wind and broken stone and sky that didn’t look like sky. The trees were bent in permanent recoil, and the smell of wet metal clung to everything.
The Oracle sat in her usual spot beside the cracked pool. Her hair pooled over her shoulders like ink spilled from a bottle, and her skin looked like it had been carved from pearl. No eyes, but she saw more than most with them shut.
"Choosing a feminine form today, huh?"
“You reek of sweat and frustration,” she said calmly, ignoring my question. I suppose when you're a shapeshifting master of knowledge, you can do whatever the fuck you want.
“I reek of the human world,” I muttered in response, my voice dim.
“You never left it.”
I crouched near the edge of her pool. “The gargoyle that escaped. I have questions.”
She tilted her head. “Ask.”
“It was black-winged.”
She went still.
I saw it immediately. That tiny shift in the angle of her chin. The way her breath hitched just enough to register.
“Say that again,” she said.
“Black-winged. The markings on the edge of the gate. Wings curled back, obsidian tips. You know what that means, don’t you?”
Her lips parted slightly.
“It means your problem just changed shape,” she said softly.
“How bad is it?”
“The black-winged aren’t just mimics,” she said. “They’re evolution. They don’t need the body to obey the laws of flesh. They wear it like a disguise, yes. But not only human. Not anymore.”
I straightened slightly. “What else?”
“They can imitate the gifted.”
I stared at her.
“Superhumans. Hybrids. Any powered creature with an energy signature they can taste. They can wear those too. Not just faces. Powers. Status. Memories. They become whatever they consume.”
“Anyone could be compromised,” I said.
“Now you understand.”
I stood. My heart felt slow and loud in my chest.
“That thing could already be in my network,” I said. “Pretending to be someone I trust. Someone she trusts.”
“She?” the Oracle asked.
I ignored the question.
“You said they can imitate power. Are there signs? Weaknesses?”
“Only one,” she said.
I waited.
“They overplay it.”
I frowned.
“They study. But they lack instinct. Emotion. Their mimicry is exact. Too exact. Watch for someone too perfect. Too composed.”
I closed my eyes and let out a long, bitter breath.
“Fuck.”
Because that meant anyone could be it. Any familiar voice. Any ally. Any innocent.
And Kristen would never see it coming.
Protecting her had already been hard.
Now it might be impossible.