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Five showers, four meals, and three days later Delara released Jedrik, and herself, from prison. She loathed facing life, but it helped that Jedrik was by her side and he’d already said if she went into hiding again, he’d go with her. And she suspected Xamien, the man who she now knew had so intimately helped her crawl back from despair, would come to.
Before Xamien Traced to Spain, he’d contacted her. “You ever need me, I’ll be there. You’re always welcome in Spain, Delara.” She never responded, but she felt his sincerity. They’d shared a link through mindweaving, and his connection to her would last a lifetime.
The pain lived on and it hurt so much at times that she ran to the bathroom and retched her guts out. Hopelessness was a desolate emotion that grabbed hold and refused to let go. Nevertheless, she’d found an outlet, something to help take her pain away. She knew it was wrong, illogical and stupid, but surviving immortality without Waleron was illogical.
She used her knives to cut her skin. Never to kill herself, that would end the pain and defeat the purpose. No, she cut to take away the emotional pain.
Waleron
Location: Unknown 1987 (61 years presumed dead)
Sixty-one years of unimaginable torture. Pain so horrific that often he passed out. The silk webs strapped across his naked, shivering body cut like knives into his flesh with the slightest movement. Even when the Lilac Jasmine locked him in the cell, her webs remained latched to his skin so he was unable to Trace to the Realm. She must have known that a Taldeburu was unable to Trace with open wounds, except to the Realm. Like chains, her unbreakable webs that shot from the tips of her fingers kept him trapped here.
Pain had become his existence, his way of knowing that he lived and that this was real, although he wondered how much of him would be real if he ever escaped. He suspected that if it weren’t for his Scar, any goodness left inside him would have been dead long before now. He realized that this was why the Goddess had given him a unique tattoo unlike any other Scar. His Scar kept him sane, reminded him of his oath of why he walked this Earth. The tattoo rested on his shoulder and neck feeding on any anger, quiet and subtle, never moving. Without the snake tattoo, he suspected he’d be crazed with rage by now, determined to kill anyone in his path, good or evil.
The unimaginable torture of standing contained in Jasmine’s webs was pure torment. When his legs failed him, as they often did, the sharp silk strands cut into his flesh so deep that only the density of his bones stopped them from cutting him into pieces. He’d often pass out only to wake with wounds that released his screams into the air like a tortured lion.
She had removed the neck-prong device yesterday. He’d stood immobile for days, unable to turn his head or the prongs would drill holes into his flesh. Every few months she put it on him to test his resilience.
He winced as he took a deep breath and the webbing sunk further into his flesh. His jaw clenched, eyes staring forward into the darkness of the subterranean room where Jasmine kept him hidden. It was void, filled with the scent of wet stones and musky, soiled air. The room was the size of a large walk-in closet with a low ceiling and walls made of cement. Waleron could feel the density of what was beyond the walls, which he gathered was soil. He felt like a raw piece of meat hanging on a hook in a cold cellar.
The one and only candle flickered as he heard Jasmine coming down the stairs. Her distinct aroma made his stomach lurch.
She stopped in front of him and smiled, shaking her head from side to side and clucking her tongue. “Do calm yourself, Waleron. You know it only makes the pain worse.” She slipped her hand past the webs and like Moses and the Red Sea, the strands parted. She gripped his right arm and pulled it past the barriers. “Now look what you’ve done. All these cuts for nothing. You know it’s pointless to fight what has become your fate.” She stroked his wrist with the tip of her padded finger. He remained frozen, unable to pull back, unable to do anything but feel her sickly touch on his skin. “I have news concerning your Delara.”
His muscles flexed and he felt like his mind was on fire, burning with anguish and fear of what her next words would be.
Jasmine reached forward again, but this time lower, between his legs to cup him in her hand, stroking the sensitive surface with the tips of her fingers as she often did. His ice-blue eyes stared with undaunted coldness as she touched him intimately, her body rubbing up against his own, fingers grasping him, playing, stroking, hoping to get a reaction, but all he thought about was ripping Jasmine to shreds. He’d suffer and live through this for that one day he would get the chance to crush her slender frame in his hands.
Jasmine tightened her grip around him and he held back the groan of pain. He knew exactly what she was doing—playing with him while speaking of Delara, hoping to get him aroused. She constantly tested him in sick ways and sometimes, he hated to admit, it worked. Not this time though. Delara’s name passing Jasmine’s lips made him sick to his stomach. “I feel sorry for you, Waleron. The love of your life, fucking another man must be a difficult image.”
Her laughter was drowned out by his roar.
Jasmine licked her lips, staring into his unforgiving eyes. “Perhaps it would be easier to imagine your sweet, precious Delara lying in a ditch. My source says she was beaten pretty badly.” Waleron’s entire body contracted. No. God no.
“Oh, not to fret, she still breathes. Painfully I might add. A shame you cannot help her.” Jasmine laughed and Waleron’s hands clenched into fists.
“Oh calm yourself. It will be far better for her to die slowly than for one of us to end it quickly. I thought of bringing her here, letting you watch her die, but no point, really. The Vivian Forest is rather far from here and she wouldn’t last the trip, I’m afraid. Once she’s gone,” Jasmine ran a finger down his chest, “you will no longer see any reason to fight me.” She spun on her heel and left him alone to play over the worst words he could ever hear in his immortal life.
Delara is dying.
A bellow of pure torture rocked the stones surrounding his prison. Oblivious to the threads digging into his flesh Waleron shouted and fought against the cocoon. His pain mixed with fear over what was happening to Delara. He was unable to protect her.
Waleron’s oath was all he was and he’d lose a large part of himself by saving her. He’d always thought he’d rather die than risk using his Scar. Now—he’d rather die than lose Delara, yet using his Scar also meant he may never be able to be with Delara again.
The Scar was a gift from the Goddess when he was born, although Waleron had always seen it as a detriment. It was different than the other Senses Scars; his held darkness. Any rage, anger, and wrath he felt were taken in by his Scar. It sat silent and unmoving on his skin, feeding on volatile emotions.
The Goddess never wanted Waleron to lose control, so his Scar absorbed his emotions when they became too intense, especially in situations like he was in now. If his Scar hadn’t been feeding on his rage he would have already lost his sanity. Waleron’s Scar was a shield that kept his oath to protect the Senses and all their traditions in the forefront of his mind. It also was unable to leave his skin. In other words, if he ever called upon his Scar for help, he became his Scar. The absorbed darkness, rage, and anger became part of him, because his Scar would now live as part of him. Waleron would never be the same man again. The Scar would be able to take control of him and destroy all he cared about. But he would risk everything and anything to get to Delara.
His mother, Arossa Urrutia, a sadistic witch and one of the first Senses, had begged the Goddess to put the Scar on him. The ultimate torture, a Scar that Waleron could never call to without severe consequences. All his mother cared about was for her son to live his oath. To be his oath to the Goddess.
There were thousands of silk threads across Waleron’s body and they had to be broken individually. Time was an issue, as he had no idea when Jasmine would return. The Goddess claimed the snake held a fire within, but warned Waleron t
hat awakening his Scar would allow it to slowly control his body because it could never be forced to rest and lie dormant on his skin again. His Scar would take him over, forcing him to act only with the fury his Scar had fed off of since the day he was born.
“Light giveth to my soul. Coiled on my skin the darkness to keep away. Shine through your radiance, aid my plight and burn these threads.”
The coiled snake tattoo on Waleron’s neck began to slither at his low chant, unraveling its massive body to slink over his ear. Its sleek, black form felt like the flame of a candle being held over his skin as it awakened to his call. He had to do this. There was no other choice.
The first thread snapped and with it, relief. Waleron’s heart drummed and sweat formed on his brow. There was no going back.
It was two hours before his body was free from the sticky webs and then another hour before he managed to gain his balance and walk. Waleron headed towards the door that imprisoned him in hell and was surprised to find it unlocked. Jasmine had become too confident in her webs.
He threw on the clothes Jasmine left in the small cell he often sat in for weeks then walked up several flights of cement stairs until he reached a wooden door. He tried to lift the latch—locked.
Waleron punched his fist into the rotted wood repeatedly until the wood splintered in all directions. He stepped through the opening and stared up into the moonlit sky.
The fresh air was a gift, cleansing his pale, deprived body of the last sixty-one years. It swept over his skin, feeding his blood, lending its strength. He peered up at the sky, his eyes lingering on the stars. His star. The brightest one in the sky that reminded him of Delara’s eyes when she laughed. He used the power of nature and all the power left inside him and Traced to the Realm. It was the only place he could go without healing first. He’d have Zurina heal the open wounds enough so he could Trace to the Vivian Forest and then they’d find Delara.
If she was still alive. If he wasn’t too late.
Found
“Baby.”
Waleron? He sounded so real, as if…as if he was right next to her. He used to call her that—baby. A long time ago.
“Maitagarri, please.”
His warm breath swept across her cold skin. No. Her memories were haunting her before death. Waleron was dead and with him her heart and soul.
“Jedrik. Zurina. I found her. East side of McCowen Road, half mile North of Vivian Road.” Silence. “She’s dying damn it. Get here now.”
Waleron? His telepathic voice was so clear in her mind as if she could reach up just a bit and her hand would grace his skin and she’d melt into the warmth of his body. God, she really was going to leave this earth. Finally. Finally, she’d be with him.
Something heavy lowered on top of her and she flinched, instinct taking over as she tried to curl into a ball to avoid any further abuse to her body, but her limbs failed to cooperate. Some fabric tickled her chin, rough, but warm and heavy, not suffocating only comforting.
A gentle hand came beneath her head, lifting it until she was resting on some sort of spongy surface. She breathed in and abruptly stopped as Waleron’s scent inundated her senses. It felt so real. So reassuring. Her love had arrived and it felt right. She wasn’t scared only...relieved.
The soft whispers in undistinguishable Basque dialect made her reconsider slipping into death. Words spoken with a deep English lilt she knew as Waleron’s made her swollen lids pry open, wincing and hesitating as pain shot through her head from the effort.
A shadowy figure crouched beside her, a man with broad shoulders and with small cuts all over his face, but it was when she saw his eyes...eyes like...those ice-blue eyes she’d fallen in love with. But that—that was impossible. They belonged to a man who was dead. She had to be hallucinating, her last moments giving her a final glimpse of him.
Had his ghost come to take her away? Or was her mind imagining him?
She tried to move away confused by what was happening.
“No.” A hand tightened on her right shoulder pressing down, not forcefully, only with assurance that it was better if she listened to his words. “Do not move, Maitagarri,” he said.
She took a swift inhale of breath which was quickly cut off and choked by what she knew had to be blood in her lungs. Maitagarri. Only Waleron called her that. It was him, yet believing that Waleron was next to her was—
“I am here, baby.”
Oh god, it was him.
Tears that had dried and evaporated hours ago began to stream down her face washing away the dirt and leaving clean lines of skin visible. She felt Waleron’s fingers pacifying her with a gentle stroke across her temple. “Be calm, baby. Stay still and all will be well.”
She groaned, half with pain and half with delusion, afraid he would disappear along with his touch, his voice. To believe and then have that belief ripped away again before she died would be the ultimate torture.
“How? How could he do this to you?” His voice was deeper as the words tumbled from him as though he could no longer hold them back. “God, Delara. If you had died...” he paused sucking in gulps of air then started again, “Please I beg of you, live. Hold on for me, baby. Zurina is coming.” He brushed back the hair along her brow and she felt particles of dried blood sprinkle over her face which he carefully blew away.
“No one will ever harm you again, I swear this to you.” She knew he was making his words an oath to himself as well as the Goddess he served. “I swear to you for all that I am, all that I am left, that I will protect you for as long as I walk this Earth.”
Waleron tucked his jacket in beneath her chin, his hand lingering on her jawline, tracing what she guessed were bruises. Delara felt warmth radiating from his closeness, the energy of authority sifting across her skin, and with a sigh of relief she closed her eyes with bliss.
“Waleron,” she murmured when his hand drew back. “How...are you...?” She coughed again and blood spurted from her parted lips, dripping down her chin. She thought she heard him curse then felt a rough cloth on her face as he wiped it. “What happened—”
He placed his finger on her lips silencing her from talking. “Do not speak, Maitagarri. Please.” She coughed again and she knew from the amount of blood and her deep wheezing that it wouldn’t be long. She felt his hand on her head curl into a fist then quickly relax again before he softly stroked her hair. “I will never let you go. Understand me.” His voice grew deeper and stronger as if he was speaking not to her but to someone much more powerful than they both were. “You will not die.”
But, she was dying. There was no doubt with coughing up so much blood. Relief. Sweet liberation from this pain. She was saddened to leave Waleron again, but maybe this was all a dream anyway.
“No!” His voice raised and he put his scarred thumb under her chin. She focused on his eyes and she thought she saw...anxiety. He looked scared, something she’d never seen in those blue eyes of his. “You will not die. I will not let you.”
“So...long...you left. I was so...alone.” She tried to whisper the words, but it came out broken and harsh. “Cold... I’m…” She coughed and swallowed the bitter iron taste of blood several times. “So cold Waleron.” Her vision faded and she took a haggard breath then coughed again.
She thought she heard him curse once more, but Waleron never swore. His hand lightly caressed her hair as if he was afraid of hurting her further. “Maitagarri.”
A burning sensation started in her lungs, suffocating and painful. Death was calling and she had nothing left to fight it nor did she want to. She could die in peace now. He had come. Waleron. The man she loved with all her heart. Whether her imagination or not, it didn’t matter as long as she died like this—in his arms.
She closed her eyes and let go to the heavens that were calling to her.
“No!” he roared. “No, god damn it. You will live. You will not leave. Do you understand me? Fight, baby. Fight and I swear I will find a way to protect you for the rest of my life.�
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A car door slammed then she heard feet running, the vibrations in the ground alerting her of how near they were. Waleron’s fierce voice shouted at someone to heal her. Zurina murmured something too muffled to understand, but it was filled with sadness, unease maybe. The last she heard was Waleron vehemently arguing and Zurina’s soft, sorrow-filled words fading in and out and then...nothing.
Waleron couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Her lungs are filled with fluid.” Zurina knelt beside Delara, her cat-like charcoal eyes sweeping over Delara’s broken body. “It’s too late, Waleron. I’m sorry. I cannot save her.”
“Noooo!”His shout rose up into the air causing cardinals to take flight from their nests in the limbs of nearby trees and rabbits to cower in their holes. “You’re a Healer. Her heart still beats. She will live.”
Zurina sighed, one hand reaching out to touch his forearm, then darting back again as his frown grew brutal. “I’m not strong enough to heal her. Especially not now after healing you in the Realm.” There was resignation in her voice. “This is Tarek’s doing. I’ve seen his image already from merely putting my hands close. I suspect he doesn’t realize she lives.” Zurina shuffled back on her knees, her jeans wet from the moist, cold ground. “It’s too late for her. Please Waleron, allow me to put her in DS and let her go in peace without pain.”
“Never. You will save her,” he demanded grabbing Zurina by the wrists and forcing her hands over Delara’s chest. “Take the fluids from her lungs. Now!”
Zurina jerked back when she neared Delara’s body. Waleron knew that the Healer would suffer immensely for helping Delara, she’d envision what happened, feel the pain that Delara felt. It would be a tremendous strain on both Delara and Zurina to make the healing possible. If it was possible.
It had to be. Christ, how long had she been lying in this ditch? Why? Why would Tarek do this? Zurina’s eyes were wide with horror illuminating them. “Think of what you ask.” Her voice unsteady, she continued, “It will be days of healing and she can’t survive DS. She may never heal and could slip away after intense suffering. I would not want that for any of us.” Zurina’s eyes closed and she inhaled a deep breath. “Please Waleron, reconsider. You’re not thinking clearly. Let her go.”
FALL (The Senses) Page 5
