Weakness. I’d been so careful not to become stained during my missions, after that disastrous one so long ago. I lifted my arm, glaring down at the souvenir I still bore from that trip to Earth. If anything, it had deepened over the years rather than faded, a map of my failure. Ironically, in the shape of the very place I’d made my greatest mistake. I’d been careful to keep that old stain hidden, though the High Angeli knew I still had that scar. They’d agreed to keep it secret while I worked to heal it, to purify myself. As far as anyone else knew, I’d been the strongest Protector for a century. The purest, up until that moment when she had touched her lips to mine.
I closed my eyes, remembering. Her brilliant green eyes had shocked me. Held me still long enough for her to take advantage of the moment. Hypnotized me somehow, into kissing her back. Those green eyes had gone wide with a matching surprise. She hadn’t meant to kiss my mouth; I could admit that. I’d turned my head at the last second, accidentally. It had to have been, right?
Her kiss had reminded me, viscerally, of my dream mate. That same pulsing magic and music had, for one moment, thrummed through me. But even thinking they could have anything in common was obscene. My dream mate had filled me with strength and vanished; Feather had wrecked me.
Now I was broken, obsessed. Jealous of any looks she gave to others, of the dark-haired escort that stayed in her room—in her bed. Somehow, she had infected me with her weakness. I would find her and force her to take the responsibility, take the blame. Take the smut back.
And if she wouldn’t, I would punish her until she broke, until she cried out under my hand, and begged me… No. I could not hear her weep again. I would unmake myself, throw myself into the gate. Voices in my mind supplied uglier and grimmer suggestions as to what the little wretch deserved.
Was I going mad? It was possible. But the voices said it didn’t matter. They promised I would get my revenge. I scrubbed at my old stain and my new ones, making unspoken vows to those voices, not noticing until too late that as I scrubbed and dreamed of foul deeds, the hems of my robes had grown more and more shadowed, until they were as covered in smut as my lips.
Until I was nothing but stain.
CHAPTER17
Feather
Over the past weeks, my life had assumed a sort of strange routine. Hours of agony spent in Mikhail’s workshop, interrupted only by meals, daily trips to the purification chambers, and late evenings alone in my room crafting while the rest of the Protectors partied at The Merge.
I was never alone, and not because Sunny didn’t trust me to stay put. No. Righteous had made it clear he was looking for some sort of payback for my “attack.” I wasn’t sure if that was social, physical, or some other flavor of revenge, but Sunny had assured me he was incandescent with rage. Apparently, he was taking twice daily purification baths, and still hadn’t managed to get clean enough to merge.
In fact, Sunny said he seemed to be getting worse. His Guide had pulled him out of Group and into solitary mediation practice to find out what was going wrong. Valor and Hope had taken over his duties as prefect, or whatever.
Since I was no longer welcome to eat in the cafeteria, Sunny and Mikhail were the only ones I ever spoke to. They both warned me to stay put. I wasn’t expressly forbidden to leave my room, but they’d made it clear there would be some sort of punishment if I was found deviating from my schedule.
Consequently, my room, which had seemed luxurious at first, now felt like a prison cell. “It just seems a bit harsh,” I complained. “Permanently grounded from the cafeteria—who does that? It was a one-time thing. Should have known Righteous couldn’t take a joke. Stick up his butt for sure.” At first, I’d worried that he had a “spiritual wound” or something, but Sunny had assured me Ry was the strongest, purest resident of Sanctuary, aside from Gavriel and Mikhail. So why was he making such a fuss?
“You assaulted a senior Protector,” Sunny finally replied, fighting to keep her face solemn. “You damaged him.” She popped a grape in her mouth.
“Damaged?” I winced. “Guess I need more kissing practice.” I actually felt terrible about the kiss. I hadn’t meant to hit his lips. I remembered from Earth what it felt like to be kissed when you didn’t want it, and it tore me up inside to think I’d been the one doing the “damaging,” as Sunny put it. Somehow, I’d make it up to him. Maybe he’d like a t-shirt, like the new one I was working on for Mikhail.
I peeked over at the stack of shirts; I hadn’t had the courage to give them to Mikhail yet. Some of them weren’t too risqué, like the one that spelled outAngel Daddyin hot pink sequins. But the newest one saidAsk Me About Knife Play, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. I had developed an embarrassing crush on the grumpy artist. Watching him work on creating sculptures and mosaics for the walls of Sanctuary’s many Assembly Halls, sometimes even forming what would become new Novices from glowing spheres of pure energy, had been unexpectedly arousing. He was so meticulous with those broad, rough hands, careful and precise, and focused his attention perfectly on each task he undertook.
I really, really wanted to be a task under those hands, if only once. I flashed back to my dream the night before, where Mikhail and Gavriel had taken orders from Rumple, while Righteous and I were tied side by side with an intricate web of colored rope. For some reason, Rumple had been the one in charge, not Gavriel or Mikhail. And Dream Righteous had been just as mad at me as the real one.
“I could tie Righteous up, somehow,” I muttered. “I bet Mikhail has some ropes in his closet.”
“Righteous?” Sunny screeched.
I shook my daydream away. “I need to talk to him, Sunny. I can’t stand knowing he’s out there, hating me. Plotting to kill me.”
Sunny let out a huge sigh. “He’s not plotting to kill you.” But she didn’t sound one hundred percent certain. “He wants nothing to do with you.”
I knew that was probably closer to the truth. That bothered me too, for some odd reason. Righteous was a jerk, but at least my interactions with him had seemed genuine. He genuinely hated me, and I genuinely enjoyed tormenting him. With Sunny, I still wasn’t as sure. The fact that she was getting paid to be my friend stood between us like an invisible wall.
Sunny was growing less grubby by the day, even though she didn’t shy away from hugging me. Heck, she even slept in my bed sometimes, since we’d fall asleep after crafting or playing cards late into the night. Her hair was silky and glowing with health, and her eyes sparkled with what looked like tiny stars. She shone almost as brightly as the others now, except for a few stains on her legs and feet. I wished I looked as good as she did; maybe if I was presentable, I could go out to the sex club. Or at least not be ashamed of everyone judging me for all the visible evil I wore.
Ugh, I was such a pitiful birch. “So, can you stay and play poker again tonight? Or we can do arts and crafts.” She didn’t answer, too busy picking glitter out of her curly hair.
My first stash of glitter had been confiscated after the senior Guides had found the shiny stuff in their wing of Sanctuary. I had no idea how it had gotten there; I sure hadn’t been on their side, and no one but Sunny came in here. When I’d cried to Mikhail that my craft project had been ruined by the repressive Guides, he’d snuck me another jar full of the stuff. Well, he’d left it on the bench next to the Torture Table. That was very close to giving it to me, I figured.Plausible? Meet Deniability.
Anyway, glitter was sort of like a virus—it found a way to thrive, even against impossible odds. “Hey, Sunny, what’s that creature they found in the Siberian permafrost, the one that can survive radiation, no oxygen, starvation, and acid baths?”
She rolled her eyes and gave up on grooming. “I told you, science is not my thing.”
I picked up a cheese cube and chewed it slowly, pretending it was really bad chocolate. “Rotifers!” I shouted with my mouth full. “They can survive 24,000 years. I wonder how long Growly Bear’s been alive.”
“Not that long,” Sunny said, pitching a napkin at me. “Why are we talking about immortal microbes again?”
