by Jade Kerrion
“He’s not above the law,” Alex said.
Xin interjected. “He hasn’t broken the law.”
“And you’re going to wait for him to break it?” Alex asked.
Danyael cut in. “You appointed me Galahad’s jury, judge, and executioner. I’ve seen his heart. The only hate he feels is for me.” He shook his head; his voice was quiet. “In many ways, Galahad is still a child trying to find his place in the world. He needs mentors, people to inspire and guide him.” He looked up, first meeting Alex’s gaze and then Xin’s. “Locking Galahad away isn’t the answer. Surrounding Galahad with the right people, the right stimulus—that’s our responsibility to Galahad and to the world that we’re trying to save from Galahad. If we do our job right, Galahad will step up to save the world.”
Alex frowned. “It’s not that simple.”
“It’s not that complicated. Like all of us, he needs a place to belong. Either we give him the support and foundation he needs to anchor safely with us, or someone else, like Gage, will.” Danyael straightened. “I hope you make the right decision, Alex, because I won’t be around for much longer to pull Galahad back onto the right path.”
Xin’s eyes widened. She leaned forward. “What did you do?”
“I reinforced his emotional resilience.”
“You anchored him,” Xin inferred correctly. “In what?”
“In himself. In the final count, it’s all he will ever have.” Danyael heard the bitter edge in his own voice. He must have been more tired than he imagined for his emotions to slip past his façade of perfect equilibrium. He was done; any more and he might feel tempted to tear into Alex and Xin for the parts they had both played in wrecking his life. A sigh whispered out of him, and he turned his back on a silent audience. He hobbled into the attached bedroom, retrieved his pills from the backpack he had tossed down on the bed, and dry swallowed a double dose of pain medication.
The low murmur of conversation restarted in the living room. Danyael tuned it out. He had done his part and argued for Galahad’s freedom and protection. He had nothing left to give. His body aching, he lowered himself onto the bed and closed his eyes.
Time passed, unheeded, as he drifted in and out of consciousness. A gentle tap on his shoulder and Zara’s quiet voice recalled him. “Danyael?”
His eyes opened. The dark blur above his face resolved into Zara’s features.
“Do you feel up to eating? I ordered some soup for you.”
He dragged himself upright, teeth gritted against the cramp that seized his left leg. “When are we going back to the U.S.?”
“Within a day or two, I think. Xin said a private jet is on its way here to take us home.”
“And Galahad?”
“He’s coming with us. Amanda confirmed Galahad’s mental stability, and Alex bought into what you were saying. He’s giving Galahad a chance.”
“Good.”
Zara folded her arms across her chest. “Say it like you mean it, or don’t you?”
“Zara, I’m tired. Give it a break, please.”
“Why did you go to bat for him? What has he done to deserve it?”
Danyael shrugged. “We all deserve a chance, most especially Galahad.”
“But you don’t like him. He hates you.”
“I trust him. Perhaps in the end, it’s all that matters.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The private lounge at Seletar Airport emptied at nine that morning. The three passengers who had arrived a half hour earlier walked out between the glass doors and crossed the tarmac to the waiting jet that gleamed sleek and silver in the sunlight.
Galahad embarked first. He sat in one of the leather seats at the front of the plane, and turned to observe Danyael and Zara as they got on the plane. Danyael headed toward the back of the plane, as far as he could possibly get from Galahad. The alpha empath stumbled against one of the chairs, but Zara was behind him. She steadied him and eased his backpack off his shoulders, before sliding it into the overhead compartment.
“Do you need your pills?” she asked.
Danyael hesitated only for a moment, and then he nodded. “They’re in the side pocket.”
She unzipped his bag and pulled out two pill containers. “I’ll get you some water.”
Danyael sank into one of the seats at the back of the plane. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The slash of his cheekbones was more prominent than ever. His dark eyes appeared sunken with fatigue that he had not seemed able to shake off despite resting for the better part of forty-eight hours. The prior week had clearly taken an extreme toll on Danyael. Though given the alpha empath’s physical resilience, Galahad did not doubt that it would be a matter of days before Danyael regained his strength.
Zara walked past Galahad with a plastic cup of water.
The fact that he could not hold Zara’s attention galled him more than anything else. Never mind her affection; he could not stir her irritation and anger. Being ignored was worse than being hated.
She stood over Danyael as he washed down the pills with water and handed the cup back to her with a murmur of thanks. She stroked his cheek with obvious affection, though her eyes were sad. “Rest. We’ll be back in the U.S. soon.”
She hurried back to the front of the plane and buckled herself into her seat.
For several minutes, the only sound was the increasingly loud hum of the plane engines as it accelerated for takeoff. Galahad stared out of the window, his irritation with Zara gnawing at him until it became a raw wound that had to be prodded and poked. He went for her weakest spot—Danyael. He turned to her. “When did Danyael get hooked on drugs?”
Zara threw a glance at Danyael. His eyes were closed, his expression serene and at peace. Zara’s chest rose and fell with a sigh. “He’s dying.”
Dying…
Shock drove the air out of his lungs. Galahad jerked his gaze to Zara’s face; her pained eyes bore no hint of humor. Words stumbled from his lips. “You’re not kidding.”
She shook her head. “Danyael has acute leukemia.”
“How long has he known?”
“He found out the day you and your clone showed up at the free clinic.”
Though burdened with his own sickness, Danyael had helped Galahad when he had asked. Galahad spared Danyael a glance. “How much time does he have?”
“Seven weeks at the most, likely less. The hell of the past week probably shaved a couple of weeks off his life.”
“And there is no cure?”
Zara shook her head. “He needs gene therapy, but Jason Rakehell is not a close enough match, and his father and Lucien Winter didn’t come through for him.” She inhaled deeply and released her breath in a soft sigh. “There is no one else who can help.”
“What will happen?”
“He’ll die, likely before Christmas.”
He searched her face. “And you?”
“I was fine before Danyael came along; I’ll be fine after he leaves.” Her violet eyes gleamed mockingly. “In case you were wondering, I won’t need your shoulder to cry on.”
He flushed.
“Physical appearance is all you share, and it’s nothing to me.” Zara waved her perfect manicure in his face. “It took me awhile to realize it, and longer to acknowledge it, but Danyael is the only one I want.”
“Why?”
She shrugged, a graceful and dismissive motion. “There is no easy answer.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.” If he sounded like a peevish child, he supposed it could not be helped. Wasn’t life supposed to make sense? Wasn’t love supposed to be logical? If he was perfect, wasn’t he supposed to be desirable too? Galahad’s hands folded into fists and a muscle twitched in his smooth cheek. Why would anyone choose the physically crippled, emotionally damaged alpha empath over him? And why would they do that time and time again, one person after another, always choosing Danyael over Galahad?
What was lacking in him? What was so goddamned
lacking that they would choose Danyael over him?
Zara glanced at him. The glitter of her eyes gentled. “Love rarely has simple explanations. Danyael is stubborn; he’s exasperating. He’ll go to the ends of the Earth and risk his own life to protect the people he cares for. For whatever reason, he seems to have included you in that list.”
“Me?”
“I don’t know why he didn’t let you die; I would have. The bio-tracker shocked your heart and stopped it. Brain and heart injuries are beyond Danyael’s empathic healing. He can’t absorb them, not without risking death himself. Healing you…bringing you back to life almost killed him.”
“I…why then?”
She shrugged. “He thought you had potential. He judged you worthy of his trust, of living, and he argued for your freedom when Alex would have taken you back into custody.”
“But Danyael knows I hate him.”
Zara snorted. “So what? When has hate ever stopped Danyael from doing what he believes is right? Danyael is probably the only person who believes in you right now.” She relaxed into her seat and closed her eyes. “Try not to disappoint him.”
The conversation ended.
Zara left him alone to wrestle over questions without answers. Where Danyael was concerned, there were never any easy answers; Miriya had told Galahad that once before.
The return flight from Singapore to Washington, D.C., took twenty-two hours, including short layovers in Tokyo and Los Angeles to refuel. Danyael slept most of the way, waking a few times to force down more pain medication. The alpha empath did not look at Galahad, though he flinched visibly once when Galahad’s emotional guard slipped.
Hate had never stopped Danyael, but it still hurt him.
What would it take to stop him? Only death, perhaps, but not even death would wipe out Danyael’s influence on Zara, on Laura.
Galahad clenched his teeth. If he were to be honest, he would have to admit that not even death would wipe out the alpha empath’s profound influence on him, for good or for ill.
But which?
When the plane landed at Bolling Air Force Base in Washington, D.C., Galahad disembarked and waited at the foot of the ramp stairs. Would Danyael acknowledge him?
Perhaps he should not have doubted.
Danyael negotiated the steps with obvious difficulty, almost losing his balance twice as he maneuvered both his crutch and his crippled leg down the narrow stairs. When he reached the safety of level ground, Danyael stopped in front of Galahad. Their dark eyes met, and Danyael inclined his head. “Goodbye, Galahad.”
He turned away, but Galahad caught his arm. “Will we meet again?”
Danyael shook his head. “Probably not.” He glanced away for a brief moment before looking back at Galahad. Danyael’s dark eyes were bleak and his smile wistful. “You have tremendous potential. Don’t waste it. I’ll talk to Zara. She won’t come around quickly, but eventually, she will. Laura deserves a father. Be good to her.”
Would he? Could he?
Winter seemed to give way to an early spring as tangible warmth surrounded him. Danyael’s empathic powers encircled him, infusing him like light filling an empty vessel.
“You’ll be all right,” Danyael whispered. “I trust you.” He offered Galahad a final smile and then turned away, limping up to Zara where she stood by a waiting car.
“Where to?” Zara asked.
Danyael hesitated. “I want to see my father. He may have changed his mind.”
Danyael is still fighting. He’s still trying to live.
Galahad stood back, silent, as Zara helped Danyael into the passenger seat and then walked around the front of the car to the driver seat. She offered Galahad no acknowledgement, though Danyael glanced back at Galahad as the car raced off the tarmac. A final goodbye.
Danyael is dying.
He wants to live.
Galahad squeezed his eyes shut, concealing all traces of the conflict within.
When Danyael died, Galahad would have his daughter back, and perhaps even his daughter’s mother—the woman he loved.
Yet, there was the real possibility that when Danyael died, Zara would have no one at all. She was stubborn enough to cling to a memory and picky enough to settle for nothing less than her definition of perfection.
And even if Zara did not deny Galahad his daughter, could he deny his daughter the father she deserved?
Galahad’s eyes opened. Slowly, he reached for his cell phone and flicked through its directory until he found the name he was looking for. He waited until the person picked up on the other end. “Jason? It’s Galahad. We have to talk.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Danyael tugged on the door handle, closing the door behind him. On the front porch of his father’s house, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his father’s rejection. He had not expected any different, but some part of him had never learned not to hope. More fool him.
Raising his face to the brisk breeze, Danyael closed his eyes and allowed the chill to embrace him. It was over. That part of his life was done. The misery of hope was over.
He had a new life now, though all he had left were a few weeks. He had time to set his affairs in order—turn in his resignation, terminate the lease on his apartment—and then, unburdened by hope, he could savor all he had left—time with Zara and Laura.
He would die intact, his crippled leg still attached to his body.
With a wry smile, Danyael looked down and ran his hand along the length of his left thigh. Looks like we’ll make it to the finish line together.
He inhaled, drawing the cold air deep into his lungs, and hobbled forward.
Zara, who had been waiting outside her car, stepped forward and met him halfway. She stared into his face, and she sighed, a quiet sound. Leaning into him, she embraced him. Her slim body shuddered as if with silent sobs.
For a long moment, they held each other. Finally, Zara broke away, stepping back to look up at him. Her violet eyes sparkled with tears. “What would you like to do?”
The rest of his life stretched out before him. For the first time since Zara freed Galahad from Pioneer Labs, his life and his decisions were his again. “I’d like to stop by Miriya’s grave one last time to say goodbye—”
“You’re not still brooding over what you did to her clone, are you?”
Danyael shook his head. “I did what I had to do.” Often, the price is higher than I care to pay, but it is done. He smiled at Zara. “After that, I’d like to go to the beach with you and Laura.”
Her wistful smile matched his. “I hear Fort Lauderdale is beautiful this time of year. We can rent a beach house for a few weeks.” She slipped an arm around his waist. “Let’s go.”
~*~
While the rest of the country shivered in the grip of an early winter storm, Fort Lauderdale basked in the gentle warmth of eighty-degree days. The water was too cold for a swim, but Danyael spent most of his days on the beach, following Laura as she collected seashells or reclining in a lounge chair as Laura built sandcastles. She shrieked with equal parts glee and terror when errant waves drenched her and pulverized her construction projects, but she rebuilt her sandcastles with no apparent loss of determination or good cheer.
Zara’s low and amused chuckle carried over the breeze.
Danyael glanced over his shoulder as the assassin approached, her bare feet sinking into the powder soft sand.
She sat beside him, folding her legs beneath her colorful wrap. “Lunch?” She held out two pills in the palm of his hand.
Danyael dry swallowed the pills and then accepted the sandwich she offered.
Zara made no pretense of cooking, which was fortuitous, since she wasn’t much of a cook. It was equally fortunate that neither Danyael nor Laura was picky about food. Lunch consisted of sandwiches and fresh cut fruit. Dinner they usually ate out or ordered in, though most of the time, Danyael managed no more than a few mouthfuls.
When the sun was hottest in the early afternoon, Dan
yael retreated indoors to rest. As the days passed, it became harder to stir after each afternoon nap. He could no longer shrug off the exhaustion. Lethargy dragged at his limbs, and the endless grind of pain seeped out from under the increasing dosage of painkillers. His time grew short, but he said nothing to Zara. There was little point in stating what she knew as she watched him fade away.
Late one afternoon, he dozed in Zara’s arms on a blanket under a tree. The lapping of waves against the beach faded into white noise, the relaxed sound a contrast to the rapid pounding of his heart. At peace, he drifted, somewhere between sleep and waking, but Laura’s happy giggle drew him up. He propped himself up on one elbow as his daughter came up with her latest treasure, a tousle-headed toddler she had apparently found on the beach.
“Joey!” she announced with a grin. “Can I keep him?”
Zara sat up too. With a chuckle and a smile, she glanced at a woman who stood twenty feet away, her attentive gaze on the little boy who had obediently followed Laura back to her parents. “You can keep him for a little while, and then we’ll need to return him to his mother.” She disentangled herself from Danyael and pushed to her feet. “She looks worried. I’ll let her know her boy’s okay with us.” The assassin walked away, her feet leaving hardly any impressions in the sand.
Danyael looked at the little boy. “Hello, Joey.”
Joey grinned at him, his bright brown eyes sparkling in spite of the bruises and swelling around his eyes.
Had he been abused? Danyael’s eyes narrowed. He glanced up at the woman, but from her, he sensed only love and a deep pool of sorrow, of grief that had barely begun to run its course.
Joey took an unsteady step forward and stumbled. Danyael reached out, catching the boy before he hit the sand, but Joey’s face scrunched up and a single tear trickled from his eyes.
Some distant part of Danyael’s mind screamed at him. Don’t do it.
Of course, he ignored the advice. He had spent his entire life ignoring the voice that preached self-preservation over compassion. Now, at the end of his road, with his death in sight, there was hardly any point in listening to it.
