Page 62 of The Heir
"So, she's weaker?" Dante muses.
"Not necessarily. But she is singularly obsessed with the destruction of you and your wife." Her smile fades, and it's replaced by a stern expression. "My medical teams are attending to your remaining guard under the watchful eye of Helena. I would imagine they are excluded from any offensive team headcounts. That may be for the best, truthfully. Their emotional entanglement with the situation would likely be a detriment."
"Okay, but what do we fucking do?" I ask with irritation. I don't really give a shit about the postulation and psychoanalysis of Ella. I don't give a shit aboutemotional entanglement. I want Ella to be dead in the ground.
"Straight to the point, I see." The Eligos fiddles with something that's just out of view. "There are eight Beacons. Well, seven, now that Ella has ascended. As far as my intelligence goes, she has not appointed a replacement. That leaves South America, Europe and the Middle East, Australia, Northern Africa, Southern Africa, and two in Asia. The Belial and I have been discussing a coordinated attack on the remaining Beacons. We aren't under any illusions that it will destroy the entirety of the Seraph—their network is vast, of course—but it will knock them down a few hundred pegs."
"When?" Dante and I ask at the same time.
"Soon. With her hierarchy in disarray, she will be scrambling. And that's when we strike her. The details of the killing blow for her are nebulous. She may flee anywhere in the world, but we will be ready." The Eligos frowns. "We willnotlose."
Dante
Thoroughly exhausted after our call, Elliott leads Melody and me to our accommodations. The utilitarian theme from the Appalachian bunker follows here, though the living quarters are on the second floor instead of underground. I do appreciate the terracotta tile floors in place of concrete, and the yellow painted walls provide a somewhat cheerier feeling. The door to our room is still steel, though.
"Helenawill be staying across the hall from you, here," Elliot says as he points to another steel door. "That is, if we can convince her to leave Melnyk's side for rest."
"Good luck with that," Melody quips.
"Yes, well. You have a bathroom attached to your sleeping quarters, and we've provided clothes for each of you in the dresser." He points to a frosted glass door—the bathroom, I assume—and a small wooden chest of drawers. "They are not high fashion. But they are clean."
"Thank you for your hospitality." I nod to the man as he silently takes his leave.
"Ugh," Melody groans as she flops onto the queen-size bed. "Oh, my god. It's a real bed. It's not a fucking prison cot. It's not a hospital gurney. It's a real, honest-to-god bed."
"Smaller than a king bed, though." I sigh and perch myself on the edge next to my wife. "I'll have to curl in very close to you, love."
"Oh no!" She pops her head up with a smile. "My hot, tattooed husband has to snuggle me? All night? How will I ever survive?"
She pulls a chuckle out of me, and my heart aches. Through everything, even in her darker moments, she's still her. Ella didn't break her spirit. "It'll be rough, but I believe in you."
Melody rolls over and props her head up with her hand. She leans on her elbow and kicks her legs, looking very much like a stereotypical teenager at a slumber party. "So… remember how you said you would tell me something in private?"
"I do," I admit.
"Is this private enough? Or do you want me to ask Elliott for a room with a six-inch thick steel door, instead of the paltry five inches?"
I reach over and cup her cheek, stroking the soft skin with my thumb. "I can't get anything by you, can I?"
"Nope!" She leans into my touch. "Spill, babe."
"Well… I had a dream. In the hospital." Images of my former best friend grimacing flash through my mind. A chill runs down my spine as I try to find the words. "It started off wonderfully. We were at a beach—you, Helena, me, and… our daughter."
Melody lets out a gasp, her eyes wide, but she motions for me to continue.
"Everything was perfect. You and Helena played with our little girl in the gentle waves. Seagulls flew overhead, trying to snatch whatever food they could find. It was… joyful. It all felt so safe, and so real. Our—our little girl, love, she looked so much like you. And me. She had your expressive eyes, but they were green, like mine. She had your hair. Your smile. Your infectious laugh. She was sohappy."
"And then?"
I take a breath, steeling myself. I can't look at her. Not for this part. "Gunshots. In an instant, everything changed. What was happy and free became terrifying. I dove on top of our daughter, shielding her. I kept her under a beach chair. You and Helena hid… somewhere, I don't know. Our girl followed my directions perfectly, but I could feel her shaking with fear. It felt like a knife to my gut."
"Oh, god, Dante…." Melody turns over and sits behind me, wrapping her arms around my stomach. I can feel her heartbeat against my back. It's comforting. Her warmth is comforting. I slip a hand into hers and squeeze. "I'm so sorry, babe."
"It was Roman. He kicked the chair away, he aimed a rifle at me—at ourdaughter—and it's the most painful fear I've ever felt." Terror and fury roll through my body at the thought. The memory is hazy, as dreams remembered usually are, but I still have a visceral reaction. Cold sweat beads on the back of my neck. The only thing that breaks through is the warmth of Melody's body pressed against mine.
Silently, she shifts her position and pulls me down with her. With a sigh, I settle into her arms, resting my head on her lap. She toys with my hair and runs her nails along my scalp. Goosebumps erupt all over me, and I shiver with contentment.
"I'm so sorry, babe. That sounds… intense, to say the least," she whispers. "But… he's dead. He can't hurt you, and he can't hurt our babies."
