Graciela blushed. “Believe me, I don’t plan to see Zane ever again.”
He sighed, a weight catching and dragging down his chest. It darkened the shadows cast on his face. Bram made his way over to the door. The closer he got, the heavier Graciela felt too, like this would be the last she ever saw of him.
Before exiting the tent and leaving Graciela alone, Bram called back to her over his shoulder, “If you plan on joining your friends in battle, you’ll see Zane before the night’s up.”
The notion caused a heavy force to lodge itself in her throat. She had been delusional to think she’d seen the last of Zane, what with being in his encampment and a battle raging outside, but the thought had honestly not crossed her that she would have to face him again. And so suddenly.
“My advice?” Bram continued, not daring to look back. “Just leave. Run and never look back. When this is all over, and Zane finishes victorious, I won’t be there to save you again, and he won’t give you the privilege of a quick death.”
“We could win.”
“No, you can’t. But let’s say you do. Hope still has a target on its back. It’s a flourishing community, of Awakened no less, in a world with a shortage of welfare and security. Unawakened and Awakened alike will want it for their own. It’s just a matter of time before someone else strikes.”
Then he vanished out the door into the dawn.
The thought left her haunted. Graciela cradled her arms in the middle of the room, suddenly aware that she was bleeding in the middle of a Sanguinatore stronghold. She felt small, alone. But when she stared back at the death contraption, victory consumed her, and there was no denying the amount of pride and strength she felt. Today, life had won over death.
Graciela took in a deep breath. “No hoy.”
Graciela stepped outside the tent and started toward the sounds of battle, fueled with faith that she’d first cross paths with the people of Hope before encountering any more Sanguinatores.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mara
Another wave of nausea rolled over Mara at the precise time she decided that being the sole person guarding the eastern gate to prepare for the arrival of some unknown person wasn’t a very promising strategy. Based off Carson’s estimations though, she still had time to swap posts with someone before the stranger would reach Hope.
Mara hobbled to the infirmary, feet hardly feeling attached to her ankles, head adrift somewhere in the clouds. Or possibly dragging through the rocks behind her.
Inside the tent, she noticed Santiago first, unconscious on the nearest bed. Never before had she seen him so still, except during their first encounter. The empathic drain had taken him then, too. Only now he was burdened by seven hundred rather than fifty. She thought of her own current suffering and wondered just how much worse it would have to get to render her incapacitated.
A diligent Trey, muscles throbbing, stood beside him. He looked the part of a soldier with the way he rested his arms, clasped behind his back, even though he never had been in the military, at least to Mara’s knowledge. It was the way Mara herself usually stood, a physical show of her power and ability, of her formidable nature. She groaned in envy and resumed weakly stumbling toward the two of them.
Trey’s gaze followed the length of her. “Man, that guy really did a number on you. I hope you’ve come in here to lie down and rest.”
Mara cast him a sidelong glance.
Trey seemed to get the message. “They gone?”
Mara collapsed into the nearest seat she could find with a huff. “Just now, yeah. I’ve come to relieve you of your Santiago watch duty.” In short bursts of breath, she added, “Carson says there’s someone coming. Picked up on it before he left. Could be friendly. Could be…well.”
“Say no more. Darach should be back here soon to help you. He had to finish up with some of the folks who were injured. Maybe he can take a look at you?”
“I’m fine.” Despite wanting it, there was no force behind her words. In fact, the frailty of her voice only seemed to solidify what Trey was suggesting. “I’m not dying. Just need to…rest.”
Before she knew it, Trey had hoisted Mara and the chair into the air. He made it look as easy as lifting a pebble. She didn’t have the energy to ask what he was doing or why or to insist he put her down. Instead, she allowed herself the freeing journey of gliding across the room.
When he set her down, Santiago’s face was half a meter away from her own.
“Keep an eye on him,” Trey placed a pillow on the bed at Santiago’s side. “And rest. We don’t need one of our strongest people kicked back in this tent any longer than she has to be.”
The pillow was like a heavenly beacon. She had no choice but to agree to his terms. “Once Darach comes back… once I’m cleared… I’ll come find you.”
“Sounds good. See you soon then.”
Flustered by being so useless, but also extremely allured by the cloudlike option for her head, Mara folded over unabashed. As she let her head form into the lumpy pillow, sleep escaped her. Her mind couldn’t be put to rest. All she could do was lay there, with her eyes closed, and think. Something she didn’t enjoy doing. Not alone, in the quiet, when the first thing that came to mind was always her family.
Defiant to fall down that abyss, she pried her eyes open to find herself staring at Santiago.
Still. Quiet. Santiago lay seemingly unaware of her. She watched him carefully, head slumped against his pillow, jaw slack but lips still stuck together, giving his face an elongated look. It was a very unattractive position to find him in, which she smiled inwardly for. Rare was the occasion to find Santiago disheveled and embarrassingly normal.
“Santiago,” Mara whispered, her voice so quiet she could barely hear herself.
There was no response.
She should move, she thought.
Before he awakens, she could tiptoe to the next bed, and he would never even know she had been there.
However, the thought of staying taunted her, allured by the sudden awareness of the body warmth seeping from him. By the thought of not being alone. She very well might’ve died earlier had it not been for him. Or quite possibly almost died because of him and his stubbornness. Both thoughts left Mara amused.
Regardless of where the fault lay, or what might or might not have happened, after the excitement earlier, all she wanted was to feel safe, and something about him, in this moment, made her relaxed.
“Santiago,” she tried again.
Still he said nothing back. He only continued breathing at the same tranquil pace. It was safe to assume he’d remain that way until receiving an insert.
Her eyes worked to adjust to the waxing darkness. She couldn’t help but think that by conventional standards, he was a looker. However, Mara usually looked for something more, something beyond the exterior. She always found it most attractive when men were a bit full of themselves, like someone showing off, though she would never admit it out loud.
What called to her heart the most, though, was someone willing to fight for those they cared about, and not just fight, but literally give their all to protect those they were loyal to. It was something Mara could relate with, being as she would do the same for her family, for Sean, for the people of Hope. Even for Santiago. It was moments like those, when a person was given a choice to run and hide or to put themselves in harm’s way, when true character shone. Today, Santiago’s true colors had blazed brighter than the sun.
A tuft of hair fell over his forehead, and she relished in knowing that not he, nor anyone else for that matter, would fix it for him.
In this moment, he’d have to be simple Santiago, no hair gel to mask his true identity. He was a young man who had fled his home to find safety and security in the Pacific Union. He had to abandon everything he once knew for a chance to live another day. Not just to live a better life, but literally to live. This was a man who stayed by his sister’s side while she battled a life-threatening illness. Not once
did he leave her even when things took a turn for the disgusting. She hadn’t really thought about it until now, but his life struggles unexpectedly hit her with force. To top it off, he was also a man who had sacrificed his own safety to risk saving another person’s life, Mara’s life.
“You’re not so bad, for a coglione.” One hand extended, aching for the touch of him. She caught herself just before her palm caressed his hair, the urge bringing up the strongest dismay in herself. Mara took a step back. What was getting into her?
Still, her craving fingers lingered there, above his forehead.
For the briefest, most minute moment, she let them fall. If he didn’t know then maybe there was no harm. It wouldn’t give him hope, and then she could continue on with her goal undistracted.
Never again would she allow some guy to get between her and her family.
Since Santiago was sound asleep, since there was no way he’d ever know, Mara would enjoy the moment and, if she needed to, if anyone ever asked, she’d deny it ever happened.
She closed her eyes and drifted away, dreaming, like the rest of Hope, of long forgotten nightmares. Tormented by frightening imaginings of the gruesome deaths that could have befallen her family, each evening a different version played: burned alive, stabbed brutally, held captive by some anti-Awakened group and tortured.
Fortunately, the micro-nap didn’t last long as someone entered the tent and shook her awake.
“What is it?” she asked, recognizing the person as one of the clothing vendors from the market, but not knowing her name.
“Trey sent me,” the alarm in her words was unmistakable. “Someone’s approaching the town. He thought you’d like to be there.”
In a blur, Mara bolted out the infirmary doors, a ruffle in the sheets the only piece of evidence left behind that she’d been nuzzled at Santiago’s bedside.
Chapter Forty
Santiago
Santiago blinked in the reality around him, finding Darach’s face hovering above his own. “There he is! Wasn’t sure how long you’d be out. Ooo-ee, and look at that shiner. That thing hurt?”
Santiago strained to reach a hand to his eye and winced when he touched the lump forming. A haze blocked him from remembering where it came from though. Even against a pillow, Santiago felt like his head was as heavy as a boulder. It swiveled frivolously as he took in his surroundings and tried making sense of where he was or what had happened.
When he blinked, one eye remained mostly closed. He didn’t know which of the injuries to coddle first: his face or the constant ringing in his ear. A memory came through the fog then, the feel of a gun as it fired from his hand and whacked him in the face. Everything else rushed back to him in an instant.
“Gracie!”
“Hold on there.” Darach placed a hand gently to Santiago’s chest. It didn’t take much pressure to push him back down. “I know what you’re thinking, and I know what you’re going to want to do. But I’ve been instructed to not let you do those things. So let’s make this easy on the both of us, and you just relax a little.”
Santiago could hardly think straight, let alone process whatever instructions the doctor was giving him. The last thing he remembered was seeing Graciela in the throes of the Sanguinatores. The rest was a little muddled. There was running, on his part, to meet up with her, and her saying she loved him. The faintest ghost of a touch had tapped his earlobe.
The insert. Everything crumbled after that one small, simple touch.
His own sister. He couldn’t believe it. Graciela had plucked his only source of coherency and survival right out of his own ear. It was so completely unlike her that he wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told him as such.
In retrospect, in her eyes, staring back at him had been mountains of guilt just a flash of a second prior.
When he looked around the room again, he noted her absence. “Where’s my sister? Where is everyone?” A heart of glass thumped against his chest, nearly breaking with each beat.
“Don’t worry yourself about that. It’ll only drive you mad. The best thing you can do is to have faith in Sean and the Waves. She’s in good hands. They’ll bring her back.”
The words echoed, a hollow hallucination of a reality that he couldn’t fathom. So much vagueness within those words, but what was clear was that Graciela was gone. Likely in danger. Worst of all was the fact that Santiago was being told to sit tight. That there was nothing for him to do.
In one swift motion, Santiago swung both legs around to one side of the bed and hopped to his feet. Idleness wasn’t in his vocabulary.
“Hey, where exactly do you think you’re going?”
Santiago’s fists balled at his waist. It was a stupid, ridiculous question. “To find my sister. To save her.”
Darach grunted, a bubbled fit of laughter straight from the belly. “Yeah? You and what army?”
“I’ll find the one that left without me.”
“I hate to break it to you, but they left hours ago. Took all the horses too, so you won’t be catching up with anyone, anytime soon. Besides, when they return with your sister, and you are out somewhere lost in the After-forsaken desert, then what?”
Santiago scoffed. “I guess Sean should’ve thought about that before he left without me.”
Exasperated, Darach rubbed his brows, leaving them a disheveled mess. “Fine. March to your own death. They took the east exit. You’d be smart to follow their trail. Maybe if you’re lucky they’ll cross paths with you on the return.”
Refusing to acknowledge the man’s condescension, Santiago stormed out of the medical tent and took the path that would lead him to the east gate.
Outside, Hope was unnervingly silent. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the general stirring of vivacity that was the community norm was practically nonexistent. The place felt like a graveyard, no longer welcoming of the living, himself now a trespasser in his own backyard. He half expected to see rotten hands burst through the ground, pulling with them their decayed corpses. Not that zombies were real, at least not that he’d heard of. The thought, which was meant to ease his nerves with a small bit of humor, only made him shiver and amplified his anxiety.
Santiago had to force himself to focus on the mission at hand instead of where his feet landed. Leave Hope. Follow Sean and the people of the Waves he’d banded together. Find Graciela. Get her back to safety.
When he reached the eastern gate, Santiago was dumbstruck to see Mara at its entrance. If there had been a rescue mission, one with extreme likeliness of ending in violence, it made little sense that Mara, arguably Hope’s best fighter, would be left behind.
When her footing faltered, Santiago remembered. The power of Zane’s cry bringing Mara to her knees. Her blood shooting outward from every one of her orifices. The only reason she’d be left behind was if she wasn’t fit to fight, and her apparent lethargy supported his suspicion: Zane’s power must’ve taken its toll.
Mara and Trey strode past the entrance, and Santiago sped in their direction, hoping that by the time he exited, he’d see Graciela’s smiling face, returned and unharmed.
Instead, as he rounded the market, just outside the gate coming into view, Santiago blinked just in time to watch Mara whack a staggering woman upside the head with her pole, catching Trey in the face with the other end. The woman stumbled to the ground, as Mara bounced in front of her in a readied stance. The stranger slumped there, motionless, as was Trey.
“Mara?” Santiago called. He hastened his pace to catch up to them, sufficiently intrigued. The woman on the ground didn’t look like a Sanguinatore, but then again, he supposed he didn’t know what a Sanguinatore was supposed to look like. “Where’d she come from?”
“Not sure yet.” With a sharpened gaze, Mara pointed the tip of her pole at the woman’s eye as the woman attempted to push herself up. Even when her elbows buckled, Mara didn’t relent. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
The woman’s eyes were barely open
. The color drained from her face, despite a blistering sunburn.
Santiago waved Mara’s pole aside and came closer to the stranger. Reaching down, he laid a hand her shoulder. She shuddered at his touch but clearly didn’t have the energy to move. It wasn’t like him to give people the benefit of the doubt, but in this case, he thought it safe to assume her harmless. There wasn’t even a visible weapon on her. “My name is Santiago. What’s yours?”
There was a rasp of air that sounded like she said, “Laurel,” before her eyelids gave way to the unconsciousness that Santiago knew so well. A pang of anger was reborn inside him. Graciela had made him lose consciousness. She’d known what pulling out his insert would do, and she did it anyway. She’d forced his hand to be left behind, to be rendered useless in any attempts to protect her from harm.
“Perfect,” Mara said, her arms flailing to the sky and regaining Santiago’s attention.
At the casted blame, Santiago shot Mara a derisive glare. “Don’t look at me. You did it.” Before she could argue, or consider hitting him, he continued. “Were you hoping for a different result?”
“Kind of like you?” She motioned to his eye and the reckless decision it represented. Before he could analyze the statement more, or how he felt about it for that matter, Mara changed her tone. “Just help me move her to the jail.”
“Move her? Across town? I don’t have time for this. I came to find Graciela. I have to get back—”
“Ah-ah-ah, you aren’t going anywhere. Sean is already out looking for her. It would be suicide for you to leave at this point.”
A growl, viscous and deadly, escaped him. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”
“I’m not, you babbeo.” She laughed. “If you want to die so badly, please, be my guest. One less…” If she had something hurtful to say, she decided against it. Although, with what she continued with, he wasn’t sure how it could’ve been any better. “Don’t worry. When they return with Graciela and you’re nowhere to be found, I’ll console her. And when we find your body, we’ll host a beautiful funeral. We don’t have coffins, but we’ll find something sepulchral to bury you in.”
Blood Awakens Page 34
