by Elise Faber
A second later, her expression cleared, becoming placid, all traces of emotion wiped clean.
Like an idiot, his instincts had him reaching for her, almost aching to clasp her hand in his, to tug her against his chest and hold her close. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice somehow both shaky and firm at the same time. “Just . . . leave me alone, Mason.”
This time when she left, he let her go.
Seven
Gabby
“Stupid,” she muttered to herself a little while later as she puttered around the break room in the infirmary, taking random things out of the cupboards and putting them back without using them. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”
“That sounds like such an important conversation that I hate to interrupt.” Suz’s droll voice drifted from behind her, up and over Gabby’s shoulder.
She stiffened, hands frozen on an empty coffee cup.
“Aw, sweetie,” the doctor said. “I’m just kidding.” The taller woman came further into the room, leaning around to meet Gabby’s eyes even though she tried to her best to avert them. “What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”
It was useless to deny what was obviously the truth, so Gabby settled for an attempt at distraction.
“How’s your boyfriend?” she asked.
Suz plunked her hands onto her hips. “You know damn well he’s not my boyfriend, and sidetracking me won’t work. God woman, you’re as bad at it as Dee is. Now, tell me what’s the matter.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That, at least, is an honest answer,” Suz muttered. “And if you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t. But if it’s causing you so much pain that it’s clear as day to anyone that you’re hurting just by getting a glimpse of your face, or by watching you move . . . hell, it’s even laced into every word you speak.” She brushed her fingers down Gabby’s arm. “Then, sweetheart, you need to find someone you can talk to.”
She nodded, even knowing that wouldn’t happen, even as her mind flitted to the flash of compassion she’d seen in Mason’s eyes just before she’d run like a freaking coward. It would be tempting, so tempting to allow someone—okay, to allow him—to shoulder her burdens. But she’d spent the last months finally fighting for her life, for the chance to live. No one would take that from her.
And yet when it came down to it . . . Gabby still needed to learn how to control her powers.
Oh. Oh.
“Can I take the rest of the day off?” she asked abruptly.
Suz blinked, clearly taken aback. Not that Gabby could blame her. She’d taken a sharp left in their conversation, but it was also the first instance she’d asked for time off, and though she felt guilty for even broaching the subject, pieces of a plan were lining up in her mind.
Perhaps there was a way to learn control without endangering anyone else.
Suz’s golden brown eyes gentled. “Of course. Why don’t you take tomorrow as well?”
Gratitude enveloped Gabby and she impulsively hugged the woman who’d become her closest friend over the last half a year. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Suz stiffened and it took a second before that tension faded and Suz hugged her back. It wasn’t that Gabby never touched anyone. It wasn’t even that she didn’t enjoy the hugs, the soft pats that were intrinsic to the culture of the Colony. She liked how they made people feel connect, like they were part of a family. It was just that—
Walls slammed down in her mind.
She didn’t want to conjure the memories. They were so tangled and twisted up, and she couldn’t afford to get sucked down that dark tunnel of affection and pain, terror and love. She didn’t want to remember how the beautiful, sweet smile that had always adorned her mother’s face become twisted and cold, nor how one day everything changed.
The hand descending, the open palm cracked across her face.
How it had stung so, so much.
That had been the first sign, but, unfortunately, not the last. And after that day, things had deteriorated so rapidly that she hadn’t known what to do. She had tried to fix everything. To make it all better.
Of course, that had proved impossible.
The stifling fear of that final night continued to eat at her, threatened to consume her, to transform her into a sniveling pile of worthless tissue.
No. She wouldn’t let it. But—
If John hadn’t come, she would have—
No. Piece by piece, frame by frame she locked away the memories, the remembered pain and terror.
No more.
With that thought, she realized she was still hugging Suz. Ugh. She was so fucking messed up. Releasing her friend, she said goodbye then left the infirmary, making a pitstop at her favorite locale—the supply closet.
The one she stopped at was fully stocked and she paused only long enough to snag one of the stocked backpacks hanging inside. Then she shouldered the pack, and walked straight out the front door of the Colony. She crossed the front lawn, bypassing the small lake of sparkling navy waters. Her focus was on getting away, moving far from where she might hurt, might do damage, and she wanted . . . something that reminded her of home, of her life before things had so irrevocably changed.
It didn’t take long for the peaceful oblivion of the forest surrounding the Colony to swallow her whole.
The path was worn and winding.
Her feet ached.
She’d wanted to get lost in the wilderness, to pretend as though the darkness that had eclipsed her life didn’t exist.
Only . . . she’d forgotten about the shield.
To create it, Cody and Daughtry had used Bond Magic—a special form of their powers that only existed when two people were bonded. Somehow the mental and magical connection meant their powers were combined on an integral, soul to soul level.
That magic was stronger.
Stronger than anything any other Rengalla could manifest.
Which was why they’d used it to protect the Colony.
But that magic had limits, and in this case, the shield could only be so large before its integrity became compromised.
Much like a bubble that had been blown too big, every time Daughtry and Cody worked to expand the shield to cover more of the surrounding area, it had become unstable.
Large bald patches had appeared randomly in the knitted threads of emerald and violet that was their Bond Magic. At first, they had tried to repair them, but it had taken too much energy to keep up with the rapidly appearing holes.
Thus, the decision had been made to shrink the shield.
It still encompassed an area in the tens of acres, but between the Colony itself, the various outbuildings, and the wide swathe of cultured gardens surrounding them, there wasn’t much wilderness left.
At least not much that she could access.
In the end, Gabby decided that she’d find the quietest, most out of the way corner and come hell or high water, she would find a solution to the problems plaguing her.
It took a good two hours of wandering to find a workable place.
By the time she dropped the pack and sank down onto her butt, resting her aching feet, the sun was high in the sky. Dappled sunshine slanted through the trees to make pretty patterns on the dirt around her, the wind whistled softly through the leaves. The space she’d commandeered was right next to the outer barrier of the shield, meaning the light faintly tinged by the violet and green strands of magic.
Which gave the trees and ground an unearthly feel, but it was just as well, because it wasn’t scenery Gabby had been searching for.
She needed privacy.
No one came out this far. Not with the Dalshie’s recent attack still so fresh in everyone’s memory.
For her purposes, it was perfect.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Deep breaths. Relax.” Easier said than done, of course, but she forced herself to sit quietly, to focus on
the rustles of birds, the squawking protests of squirrels, and eventually she found herself settling in. Sadly, those quiet minutes were the most peaceful moments she’d had in months—hell, in years. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to just sit somewhere and fully let down her guard.
Not since the day of the slap.
Not since she’d noticed the black mark that signified the descent into madness, into dark magic and immorality had first appeared on—
A tree branch snapped.
Her eyes flew up, something inside her already knowing who was closing in.
Irritation engulfed her. He’d already intruded on her thoughts, had witnessed her failures. What more could the man want?
Mason’s slightly shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes as he bent under a low-hanging branch, his stare unerringly locking onto hers as he crossed the last few feet between them and stepped into the small clearing she’d claimed as her own little slice of sanctuary.
So much for that.
It hadn’t even been thirty minutes before her fragile peace was shattered.
He frowned at what must have been a surly expression on her face. “Not happy to see me, Gabs?”
Annoyance made her reply icy cold. “My name is Gabrielle. Or Gabby. It is not Gabs.” The latter sounded like an insult, as though she could never hold her tongue, and it reminded her too much of the many times her mother had told her to be shut up.
“Gabby, then,” Mason said. “You’ve been making it a habit to run from me.”
“I didn’t run,” she said, her chin lifting.
He raised a brow.
“I think of it more as a tactical retreat,” she said.
He laughed at that, loud and long, even though Gabby hadn’t exactly meant for it to be a joke.
To be the source of his amusement didn’t sit well with her.
To be slapped in the face with his musical laugh, his smiling face, and his insane body was even worse.
After a minute he spoke. “So tell me then, why the tactical retreat?”
Which happened to be both the simplest and the most difficult question anyone had ever asked her.
She nibbled at the corner of her mouth, whispered, “I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll just sit over here until you figure it out.” He made to lean back against a tree.
Irritation in her veins. “You need to go.”
Her body wanted him, even though her heart and mind were petrified. And that fear won out over anything else. It had to. Because she’d learned to trust her instincts, to trust the voices inside that had kept her safe.
If they said run, she ran.
If they told her to keep her distance, she built concrete walls.
If—
“You can’t stay out here by yourself.”
She rolled her eyes, anger turning her tone tart. “I’ve stayed in places a hell of a lot worse than this.”
He tilted his head and she had the distinct and ominous feeling that she’d just given him the opening he’d been looking for.
“Oh yeah?” His question was casual. “Tell me about it.”
Shit. Yup. She’d walked right into that one, and not knowing what to do, what to say, she fell silent. Unsurprisingly, the quiet didn’t appear to bother him. He sank down next to her, mirroring her movements, resting his back against the tree trunk.
Several minutes of silence later, he said, “I won’t tell anyone.”
She almost snorted. He would sure as hell tell somebody something. If he ever found out, the man who’d lost everything because of—
“Don’t do that.”
Her eyes flashed up. “Do wh-what?”
His hazel eyes were gentle. “Don’t allow the horrors in your mind to make you so sad.”
What? How—? She shook her head, steeled her spine. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He sighed, a soft, put-upon sound. “I know much more than you’d think.”
“You don’t know what happened,” she said. “What I’ve—”
Just barely, she managed to squash the sentiment.
“What you’ve . . .”
She shook her head, unable to trust that she could confide in him. Her own family had turned against her, why would a man she barely knew be different?
Still, there was a part of her, a swell of emotions just under her sternum that encouraged her to take the risk. But that ball of feelings wasn’t big enough—at least not yet.
And so the quiet stretched, becoming more strained by the moment.
He sighed again, and bent his knees, his elbows coming down to rest atop them and she couldn’t stop from staring at him—at his broad chest, his flat abs, the bulge of his biceps below the cuffs of his t-shirt—
“No one will judge you here.”
A snort escaped her.
“This isn’t a utopia,” she said. “People judge. Everywhere. And I’m far from innocent.”
Eight
Mason
He had no idea what to say, not with Gabby’s miserable light brown eyes miserable on him, the invisible weight of her memories physically slumping her shoulders, flattening out the lush lines of her mouth.
His Victoria had been nothing like the woman in front of him. If he’d demanded answers, Victoria would have provided them.
Gabby was a modern woman—which was fine, except he didn’t know how to negotiate with modern women. It had been a hundred years since he’d even noticed a member of the opposite sex beyond the cursory inspections that men conducted on every female they saw.
And there was nothing cursory about Gabby. Not the way she looked, not the way he felt about her.
His heart beat a little faster in her presence and blood pooled in places he’d thought long desensitized.
It wasn’t that he’d been immune to women since his wife died. He appreciated the opposite sex—though in the way that someone who knew nothing about wine could simply enjoy the flavor of it.
There was no passion, no rapid pulses, or inconvenient blood flow.
Those other women had been nothing more than a passing curiosity. A vague appreciation because he wouldn’t disrespect Victoria’s memory by allowing it to be more. But with Gabby, it wasn’t a matter of tempering his curiosity, of that vague appreciation. His mind was fascinated. His body drawn to hers in a way he couldn’t ignore. And his powers—
No.
He shouldn’t be here.
He wasn’t illogical enough to think that Victoria wouldn’t have wanted him to move on with his life, but this fascination with Gabby—the curiosity bordering on obsession he’d tried and failed to wall off and ignore, the attraction, the way his powers stood up and took notice when he was with her—was completely different.
It wasn’t just moving on. It threatened to decimate his past.
To undo everything he’d spent decades clinging to.
“You can go.” Her voice was quiet, yet laced with steel.
And he finally admitted the truth, both aloud and inside his heart. “I can’t.” Despite the turmoil inside him telling to run, and regardless of the insidious piece of his soul that wanted him to stay, the one that was so much stronger than his urge to flee, he’d promised.
She leaned back against the tree, sighed. “Why?”
“I told Francis—”
Mason realized his mistake immediately and snapped his mouth closed, shutting off the flow of stupidity. Rusty. His instincts were rusty.
The moment that he’d mentioned Francis, Gabby’s face had fallen.
Her recovery was quick, though, impressively so. Light brown eyes iced over and her chin came up.
“Leave,” she snapped, pointing toward the Colony.
For some reason, the order irritated him.
So instead of abiding it, he made a show of leaning back against the tree, of stretching his legs out in front of him. “No can do, Sunshine.”
Somehow her expression went even colder. �
��Excuse me?”
“Since I’m responsible for tutoring you, I think it’s best if we begin our first lesson right now.”
“And what lesson would that be?” she asked, her teeth clenched, the question gritted out.
“Control.”
Something interesting went across her face at that single word.
Hope and fear were chased by such bone-deep longing that he actually felt the crack forming in the armor around his heart. And she must have sensed it, or at least seen a sign of it in his expression, because her eyes widened and though she leaned back a fraction, her voice softened.
“I—Do you really think I could—?” Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she shook her head. “Never mind,” she said. Her sentences ran together as she rushed on. “I’ve decided I should take a break from the magic. Wait until I’ve settled in more. Until I’m more comfortable, until my emotions have steadied and—”
“Why would you think that emotions had a single thing to do with control?”
“I—uh.” She paused, head cocking to the side. “They don’t?”
“Of course they do,” he said. “Just not in the way you’re thinking.”
Her eyes darkened, and he guessed it was in irritation. Unbidden and unexplainably, a blip of happiness swelled up inside him. He paused, analyzed the emotion, and realized it was because he affected her. She couldn’t ignore him, not completely anyway, even if she tried.
He got to her. Maybe as much as she got to him.
“I don’t understand,” she muttered, shoving her hands through her hair, knocking her ponytail askew.
“Hate that, do you?” he teased.
Lips pressed flat, she snapped. “You’re such an arrogant jerk.”
He shrugged. “Been called worse.”
Her hands clenched, and the tops of her cheeks went a little pink, but when she didn’t ask him the question that was obviously eating at her, he remained silent knowing she’d eventually talk.
She was impatient. Which was part of her problem, albeit a small piece. But one that she still needed to fix.
At ease now that he had an insight about the complicated woman sitting a few feet away, he turned his gaze to the surrounding trees, the worn path, the violet-green shield, and waited. Pretended to be completely focused on everything except Gabby. She couldn’t know that he was aware of her every minute movement, the way she opened and closed her hands on her thighs, how she shifted her spine against the tree trunk as the minutes trailed by.
