From Ashes

by Elise Faber

  This wave of pleasure was more intense, more meaningful, because it was shared release, duel pinnacles reached, two hearts forever united.

  Afterward, she lay in his arms and knew without a doubt that she hadn’t made a mistake.

  He was forever hers.

  “I love you, Sunshine,” he thought across the bond before they both fell headlong into sleep.

  It was his thrashing that woke her later that evening.

  His body trembled and his arms, which were around her waist, tightened uncomfortably.

  “Mason?” she asked tentatively, squeezing a hand up the slight space between them to cup his face. “Wake up, you’re having a—”

  A gasp escaped her when he grabbed both of her arms and pinned them above her head in the tight grip of one hand. His other came up to her neck, compressing so tightly that she immediately struggled for breath. Writhing, trying to extract herself from the pinned position, she spoke in hurried, frantic bursts air. “Mason, it’s me. It’s Gabby. You’re dreaming. You need to let me go—”

  The final plea was cut off when his hand tightened further.

  Black spots began to flash behind her eyes. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough oxygen.

  His hazel eyes were unseeing—cold depths of fury, glazed from the nightmare, ensnared by the demons of the past.

  “Ma—Mase . . .”

  The word trailed off as she used the last of her air.

  “Mason,” she thought, one last, desperate plea before the blackness swallowed her whole.

  Thirty

  Mason

  He blinked away the nightmare. He’d been dreaming that—

  “Mason.”

  The faltering gasp of his name in his mind pulled him straight into consciousness. Horror flooded him as his eyes cleared, sleep fully dissipated, and he found himself on top of Gabby, one hand pinning her arms above her head, the other squeezing her throat.

  “God.” He tore himself away from her, half stumbling, half-lurching off the bed.

  His knees hit the wood floor hard, but he barely noticed the pain, only the cold terror that possessed him as he watched her black out, the markings from his fingers already blemishing the pale skin of her throat.

  Carefully, as though he was touching the most fragile of flower petals, as though his touch might be—no, was—toxic, he felt for a pulse.

  It was strong, steady. As was her presence in his mind.

  She was alive.

  But whether she would be okay was a completely different story.

  “Gabby,” he whispered, stroking his fingers down her cheek, brushing the hair back from her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

  A long gasp of air passed through her lips and her eyes fluttered.

  He pulled his hand back, reaching for the discarded towel on the floor and carefully covering her with it. His own state of undress meant nothing to him.

  She was the most important thing in his universe.

  Fuck. Fuck. He’d thought he’d shed the mantle of the past. He’d promised himself that he would protect Gabby from the Dalshie and every other damn thing in the world, and the single thing he’d thought safe—himself—had just proven to be the most dangerous.

  Wet, pale brown eyes glittered in the dim light.

  The fear within their depths just about killed him.

  Unable to stop the movement, he lifted his hand, wanting to hold her, to comfort her in his arms. And though he could feel her attempt to mute the reaction, her flinch was still obvious.

  “Mason?” she asked, the question hoarse and so tentative that it was a dagger to his gut.

  “God, Gabby, I’m sorry. I—”

  “You were having a nightmare,” she whispered, clutching at the towel as she fumbled for the blanket.

  Slowly, so damn slowly, he reached for the comforter and pulled it over her.

  “Yes.”

  “About Victoria and Jacob.”

  He nodded.

  “And you thought I was . . .” Her raspy voice trailed off.

  “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Hey. It’s not your fault.” He started to protest, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand. “You need to talk to someone.” His brows drew into a frown. “To someone who isn’t me. Someone who can help you deal with the PTSD. Suz or Dante or Francis.” She shook her head. “I don’t know who. But I do know that this can’t happen again. I can’t—”

  “I won’t sleep—”

  Her voice went hard as steel. “We’ve bonded Mason,” she said in a rasp that just about killed him. “This connection between us is permanent, but . . . I can’t have a time bomb in my bed. If I couldn’t feel your mind against mine, I would probably be running for the hills right about now.” She sighed, tone gentling. “But I can. I can feel you love me. And I love you. I want to make this work. But this—” A shudder, her eyes going wet. “I can’t be terrified to touch you, to see you transform into my worst nightmare.” She swallowed hard. “I need you to find a way to fix it.”

  When she rose from the bed, he averted his eyes, though he’d already memorized every single one of her curves, each freckle and scar.

  He was so in tune with her mind that he could feel the rough abrasion of the denim against her thighs as she tugged on her jeans, the soft weight of the cotton against her shoulders and arms as she tugged her T-shirt over her head.

  She hesitated at the edge of the bed. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll be here. Every step of the way.”

  This time it was him who flinched away from her touch, who shied away from the intimacy of her mind against his.

  She curled her hand back, clutched it to her chest. “I’m not leaving you, Mason. I swear, I’m not,” she said into the silence, into what was probably the surge of denial from his end that inundated the bond. “But I need this night. Let me have the next hours to remember that what just happened wasn’t you. Let me remember. Please.”

  The soft brush of her lips against his cheek was the last thing he felt before the door closed.

  And he was alone.

  He let her go, ice threatening to settle into his mind, a cold, comforting weight that would numb him to everything. It would be so easy to let it consume him, to return to the state that had made the last decades easier to bear. So damned easy—

  Shaking off the sensation, he dressed and navigated the corridors to a familiar door.

  Less than a second after his soft knock—a second filled with doubts that he was doing the right thing, a second where uncertainty almost made him turn around—the door flew open.

  “Mason?” the voice asked.

  With an almost inaudible moan of dismay, he stepped forward and took comfort in his mother’s arms.

  Thirty-One

  Gabby

  She hurried down the halls, thankful it was late enough that they were deserted.

  The horror of the last ten minutes rattled around in her mind, overwhelming and frightening. She wondered if she’d done the right thing in stepping back.

  Despite the calm front she’d adopted once Mason had fully wakened and the realization of what he’d done had crashed into his consciousness, Gabby was terrified.

  Strong fingers closing around her throat. Struggling to be free. Fighting to breath. That had happened before. Had—

  A whimper rose up in her throat and she swallowed it down.

  That hadn’t been Mason—that wasn’t the man she loved, the man she shared a soul-deep bond with. Yet even knowing that, how was she supposed to sleep next to him without fearing that same thing would happen again?

  Her wrists ached, bruises already appearing to encircle them, and her throat felt as though she’d swallowed a flame-thrower—

  She shook her head.

  The physical symptoms weren’t nearly as painful as the mental ones.

  The bond burned with regret, an inferno of guilt and dismay. It was a throbbing abscess that ate at her resolve.

  She hadn’t wante
d to hurt him by leaving. But at the same time, she needed to take a moment to recenter, to remember that wasn’t him, that he wouldn’t actually hurt her. Because she’d believed it so readily . . . and now she felt like she wore a necklace of bruises.

  He needed help, and she didn’t know how to give it to him.

  The soft voice startled her.

  “Gabrielle?”

  Francis.

  She froze, literally every single muscle in her body halting her forward motion.

  Shame welled up, threatened to make her run and hide—

  Hell. No.

  Stiffening her shoulders, she rotated and faced him. As he caught a glance of her, his eyes widened in concern. “Oh dear, are you all right?” There wasn’t anger in his gaze as she’d half-expected—anger because she’d almost hurt one of his students, anger because she couldn’t control her powers—nor disappointment.

  The only clear emotion in the depths of his light blue eyes was sympathy.

  Surprising herself, she burst into tears.

  Strong arms wrapped around her, pulled her close.

  He didn’t say anything as her tears soaked through the starched cotton of his pale gray button-down and when she’d finally quieted, he took her arm, laced it through his own.

  “Mason?” he asked.

  Fury flew through her. “It wasn’t his fault. He—” She bit back the rest of her words, knowing that ultimately Mason needed to share his truth in his own time.

  Francis’s face gentled. “Come with me,” he murmured.

  They walked in silence, weaving through the corridors until they arrived at the infirmary.

  “I-uh—” Her feet skittered as she tried to stop from entering. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even Mason’s fault. But she still didn’t want her friends to see her like this: bruised and upset, bedraggled and with wet cheeks.

  She was strong, together, supposed to be able to deal with any of life’s crises with a mere shrug of her shoulders.

  Her mother had become a Dalshie, had killed her father in front of her.

  And Gabby had pressed on.

  The men who’d paraded through the trailer, trying to take what wasn’t freely given, had made her tentative, but not fragile. She’d fought back.

  She’d fought hard.

  And she’d gotten free.

  So why did one incident with Mason make her feel as though her heart would be decimated forever?

  “Suz will check you over,” Francis said. “That is the first thing.”

  She started to shake her head then sighed. Because Francis was right. If Mason caught sight of her like this again, it would hurt him, and . . . she didn’t want him to hurt.

  He needed help. She still loved him.

  Those weren’t two mutually exclusive things.

  Sucking in a deep breath for courage, she opened the door and strode inside. Suz was at the reception desk and glanced up at the sound of them entering.

  “Dear God—”

  Gabby waved a hand. “Everyone’s fine.” She shrugged. “Or at least no one’s injured critically. I need you to take care of this.” Her throat was sore enough that the words were raspy. “Then I need you to take care of Mason.”

  There was a soft laugh behind her, the faintest of chuckles that came from Francis. His hand touched her shoulder, gave it a light squeeze.

  And she didn’t flinch, didn’t react other than to feel appreciation that he’d been there for her. She wasn’t broken. This hadn’t set her back.

  “You’ll be okay, Gabby,” Francis murmured.

  She nodded, turned to face him. “Yes,” she said, her chin coming up. “We both will be.”

  “Good girl,” he said, and somehow it wasn’t condescending or belittling. It was . . . proud. “Come back to class after you’ve got this sorted. I have a feeling the earlier factors will no longer be an issue.”

  Stunned, her lips fell open.

  A wave of mischievousness made his face appear younger. “You both needed a push.” He smiled. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said earnestly, “but I can’t help it if you gave me the perfect opportunity.”

  Probably, she should be pissed.

  But . . . this man had given her Mason.

  So, no. She wasn’t angry. She was beyond grateful. “You’re just as much of an intervening busybody as the rest of them,” she grumbled, but her lips were threatening to curve.

  “Guilty as charged.” A beat. “Gabby?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m truly sorry that you were hurt—” A shake of his head. “I didn’t anticipate—” His eyes glittered with remorse. “I didn’t understand enough, and for that, I’m sorry.”

  She gripped his hand. “Thank you. For the apology, for the interference. I don’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone. It wasn’t him, not truly.”

  Francis nodded, turned for the door. “I know,” he said, “But don’t make it too easy on him. He needs to conquer these demons once and for all. Otherwise, he’ll never be free of them.”

  The door closed softly behind him.

  Gabby turned to Suz, whose chocolate brown eyes flared orange with fiery glints of frustration.

  “I’m going to kill him,” the doctor said, closing the distance between them, her tone fierce, her fingers gentle as they carefully brushed the marks on Gabby’s neck. “I’ll burn his nerves, break every bone in his body—”

  “He was asleep,” Gabby said and then she spent the next few minutes explaining what happened.

  “PTSD.” Suz shook her head and cursed. “The stubborn man. How long? What other symptoms?”

  “Since Victoria. And none that I can see.” A shrug. “But it’s been two weeks.”

  Another curse. “I stand corrected. The stubborn, idiotic man.”

  “I don’t disagree with you. But . . . can you help him?”

  Suz froze for a heartbeat before her hands came up to rest on Gabby’s shoulders. “Sweetie, we don’t leave our own behind.”

  “But I thought that after what Mason did—”

  “It was wrong,” the doctor said. “But also not his fault. Or at least not entirely. If you’d told me that he hurt you intentionally or even unintentionally because he was careless, then I’d have him on his ass outside the shield so fast that he wouldn’t know what hit him—with the broken bones. But he’s hurting, he’s wounded from the past and we don’t let our own suffer—no matter how good they are at hiding it.”

  Gabby’s relief was a heady thing. “Thank you.”

  “Come on,” Suz said. “Let’s get you healed so we can figure out what to do about Mason.”

  “We’ve bonded.”

  A smile twitched the doctor’s lips. “I can see that.”

  Gabby paused inside the door of the nearest exam room. “You can?”

  “His magic is covering you practically head to toe. Or should I say your combined magic is.”

  “What?” Gabby asked, glancing down. She lifted a hand in front of her face, but it just looked the same as normal. “It is? How? What does it look like?”

  “You’ve seen Daughtry and Cody, the way their skin seems to glow with a mix of emerald and violet in the right light.” Suz’s hands settled around Gabby’s neck, slender threads of the doctor’s brown magic seeping into her throat and soothing the hurts there. “You’ve been pixie-dusted my friend, no doubt about it.”

  Gabby made a face. “I can’t decide if I’m thrilled or freaked out.”

  “I know the feeling,” came a voice from behind them. Daughtry. “Mason said you were hurt,” she explained at their questioning looks.

  “I’m fine,” Gabby said as Suz moved onto her wrists.

  “Word on the street is that you’ve bonded,” Dee said, hesitating in the doorframe until Gabby gestured her forward.

  “Word is right.”

  Dee snorted, then came around to sit next to Gabby, tone serious. “So why is he acting like he should throw himse
lf on that dagger of his?”

  Gabby reached for the tender connection in her mind, the completed bond that was currently riddled with Mason’s guilt and horror.

  “Because he hurt me,” she whispered.

  Dee’s violet eyes clouded in confusion, which was when Gabby realized that she hadn’t seen the marks. Even the small hurts on her wrists were already fully healed.

  For a moment, she scrambled to find something to say.

  Suz intervened. “He was having a nightmare. Gabby woke him. He reacted instinctually and . . .”

  Clarity dawned on Daughtry’s face and her hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oh God. He’s going to tear himself to pieces.”

  “He already is,” Gabby said. “I’ve asked him to talk to someone, to get help, but I’m worried. What if at the end of it all he still thinks that he’s a danger to me?”

  “We’ll have to convince him otherwise,” Daughtry said. “After it’s safe for you.”

  “I’ll do what it takes—even if I have to handcuff him to the damn bed so he can’t grab me.”

  Dee’s lips twitched. “Kinky, but I like it.”

  Wholly inappropriate based on the evening’s events, but laughter bubbled up in Gabby’s throat. She let it come, allowed it to wash over her. Because it felt good to share her burdens, to lighten the load she carried instead of shouldering it alone. She nudged Dee’s shoulder, mock-glared. “Shut it, you.”

  Suz snorted. “Seriously. Only a truly depraved person would have gone there in this situation.”

  The smile that Daughtry had been trying to hold back broke through. “True. Which is why you went there too.”

  Peals of laughter burst out of all three of them.

  Gabby hopped off the exam table and stood. “I love you both, you know that right?”

  “Yes,” Dee said.

  “Damn right, you do,” Suz quipped.

  More laughter, but this time it was paired with two sets of arms wrapping around her, squeezing her tight. “We love you, too,” Dee murmured.

  “My mom was a Dalshie,” she whispered into the firm net of comfort. “She killed my father.” A sigh to bolster her courage. “Then later, I killed her. I had to. I—”