Page 61 of Shadow Man

My hand flies to my face again, this time to catch my pain. I can't stop crying today. I’m like a cracked faucet.

Gabriela crouches down next to me and pulls me into her soft embrace. She lets me grieve without expectation, the same as Vi. She doesn't need to know the reasons why I’m hurting, but she’ll comfort me all the same.

“Is the man upstairs your lover?” she murmurs into my hair.

“He’s my shadow,” I sob.

“All the beauty in life is made up of light and shadow,” she quotes softly. “Leo Tolstoy. A man of great wisdom and folly, as so many of them are.” I sit up and wipe my face, but it’s a futile effort when the tears keep streaming. “Tell your shadow your story. Maybe he’s the one who can bring you back your light.”

An older man appears in the doorway and beckons to Gabriela.

“News,” she states, and we both rise to our feet.

I try to translate their conversation as we hurry upstairs, but they’re talking too fast. In the end, I can't stand it any longer.

“Gabriela, tell me!” We’re standing outside Joseph’s door. “Is he…?” I can’t even bring myself to say the word. It’s too hazardous. It’s like taking a zipwire through Jurassic Park.

“He’s going to be okay, Anna. But there’s something—”

“He is?” Without waiting to hear more, I barge into the room, and then I come to a crashing stop in the doorway.

Joseph’s lying on the bed, unconscious, but he’s not alone.

The devil himself is standing with his back to the window, dressed in his usual black and casting his sin and darkness over everything; destroying any relief I may have been feeling with a flash of those cruel, dead eyes.

“Shut the door,” orders Dante, dispensing with the formalities. Not that he uses them anyway. “You have exactly sixty seconds to convince me not to kill you. Starting now.”

“Fuck you!” I fire back, slamming the door with as much force as I can muster. “How about you have exactly sixty seconds, you soul-burning bastard, to convince me not to call the CIA!”

25

Anna

Ignoring the imminent explosiontick-tockingover by the window, I cross the room to reach Joseph’s side. His huge frame is dwarfing the small single bed. He’s shirtless—his skin as carved and golden as any god’s—but it’s tarnished today with a white bandage tied tight around the top left of his chest and shoulder. There’s a darkening red stain marring the center of it.

I trail my gaze slowly, feasting on it all because I don't want to miss a thing, from the massive biceps swathed in black tattoos to the numerous old scars, and then to the silver chain around his neck with the two gold wedding bands that tug at places inside I’ve yet to visit. Before I can stop myself, I’m leaning over and pressing my lips to his, rejoicing in his warmth; willing him to open his eyes and shoot me with those chilly gray-blues I’ve grown to love because the secrets behind them are ours to share now.

Moon.

I break away, frowning.

He made me a promise.

How am I only remembering this now?

“You look like shit,” I hear Dante say, his black boot stomping all over another precious moment.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” The dried blood has been wiped away from Joseph’s skin, or maybe it’s because I’m wearing most of it. “Did the doctor get the bullet?”

“Yes.”

“There was so much blood…” I sound lost suddenly. “Does he need a donor or—?”

“Taken care of.”

I turn to find him rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to show me an angry red puncture wound in the crease of his elbow. “We’re a match… Found out in the military. We’ve been sharing blood for a long time, Miss Williams.”

I hear the warning, and I choose to ignore it anyway.

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