FALL (The Senses)

by Paterson, Cindy

  Waleron stood stoic, but Delara has known him for centuries—intimately—she noticed the twitch in his muscles. And she also knew he didn’t have an answer, at least not one he’d care to share.

  God, why couldn’t she get close to him again? What would it take to get rid of the barrier that kept them apart? Damien’s worlds played in her mind and she wanted so desperately to believe in them. To not give up on Waleron. But it was nearly impossible when he kept so much of himself a secret. But she had to try. Yes, it was her turn to try. She would fight for them both. Maybe then the Wraiths could see that separating them would only cause further damage. Genevieve was right; Waleron didn’t have anyone to protect him. Well, now he did. She’d fight the Wraiths. No way in hell they were taking away his Taldeburu.

  Xamien said, “Abby remains unnoticed by the Wraiths due to a spell on the house. They cannot detect her here.”

  “Where is Damien?”

  Xamien gestured to the back stairwell. “With her. He’s been there for hours.”

  Waleron strode to the stairs. No, he can’t take Damien away from her again. Delara scrambled out of her chair and ran at Waleron before Xamien had the chance to stop her.

  “No. Pez, please. Let them have some time.” She gripped both his forearms and he looked down at her fingers curled into his black shirt. When his eyes reached hers, she saw the cold ice barrier protecting him, the steel wall that refused to melt and let her in. He was pushing her away again. “No, Waleron. Don’t. Please. Not now. I need you.” His coldness penetrated her skin and she realized that telling him she no longer trusted him could’ve been the axe that finally separated them. She dropped her hands and stepped back. She needed another way. Damn it, Waleron let me in.

  Waleron wouldn’t meet her eyes as he addressed Xamien, “Is she safe?”

  She inhaled sharply. Oh god, no. That wasn’t fair. Waleron wouldn’t. “Damien, Waleron is here.”

  “Good. I can kill him and my brother at the same time.”

  Xamien tensed at Waleron’s question, he raised his chin and met Delara’s eyes before he answered. “Ask me that yesterday and I’d have said yes. Today...” he sighed and his shoulders dropped a minute amount. “She attacked Max. Bit her neck. It’s been the only incident, but I can’t say she is safe and I don’t know why it occurred.”

  Waleron turned to go up the stairs. No. He might not believe in love but she did and Damien loved Abby. Delara felt like she was fighting for her and Waleron through what he did now to Damien and Abby.

  “You do this and I will never forgive you.” She would, but she needed some way to reach him. He was destroying the love around him as if…as if he had to abolish it.

  He paused.

  “Kitten, perhaps this isn’t—”

  She ignored Xamien and pushed Waleron more. “There will be nothing left of us.” The muscles in his back tensed, but he didn’t turn around. “I said I didn’t trust you. What I meant is that I don’t trust that you’ll never leave me, but I do trust that you will never harm me. Ever.”

  Waleron spun around with fury on his face. She smelled the scent of rage shifting uneasily in the air and it took everything she had to remain where she was.

  “Waleron,” Xamien warned.

  Waleron stepped closer to her until the bottom of his chest was up against the top of hers. She moved backwards until her spine hit the edge of the table. Waleron followed, his hand grabbing the back of her neck to hold her steady. “Like this,” Waleron said.

  “Jesus, Waleron. Cool it.” Xamien came towards them, but stopped when Waleron lifted his hand and a blaze of energy pulsated from it, ready to be flung.

  You won’t hurt me. Her words repeated as the snake on Waleron’s neck awakened, the red eyes beaming, the sleek body slithering across his skin. “I know you. I know you won’t hurt me.”

  “You know nothing about me. If you did, you’d hate me.” Waleron suddenly let her go, spun on his heel and walked in the opposite direction of the stairs and Damien. “Xamien, let’s talk.”

  Getting beat down emotionally was the hardest part of fighting. Delara hurt like hell.

  ****

  Xamien led Waleron into his study and shut the door. He was pissed. Delara didn’t need this shit from Waleron. “What the fuck was that?”

  “Leave it, Xamien.”

  “You hurt her, you initiate a war. With me.”

  “I said, leave it.”

  “I’ll leave it as soon as you acknowledge what I’m telling you.”

  Waleron nodded then walked over to the window, parted the curtain and peered out into the garden. “You’re at risk now,” Waleron said. “The Wraiths and witches are bound to find out she is alive. Not to mention what Damien might do.”

  “As are you. More than ever. They’re already are trying to find an excuse to take away your Taldeburu.” Xamien put his feet up on his desk and leaned back in his chair. “But this might have a positive outcome. I suspect the majority of Senses will be in favor of Abby remaining alive. If they know, they’ll stand behind us.”

  “And if it goes to council?”

  Xamien uncrossed his ankles and dropped his feet to the floor. “The witch Mariana and Genevieve will side with you and Zurina.”

  “I’m uncertain what Zurina will do. She fought me on Tarek’s execution. He is free today because she believes he deserved a second chance.”

  “Yes, but I understand she stood behind your decision on Balen’s release. Zurina detests death, just as she fought against you for Tarek’s death, she will stand beside you on Abby living.”

  “Abby drank the vamp’s blood on purpose. It was not an accident.”

  “What? Are you kidding me? Why the hell would she have done that? Word was it was a drunkin’ mistake.”

  Waleron half-turned towards him, his expression grave. “It matters little why. But if the council ever finds out, there will be no judge and jury.”

  “Christ,” Xamien said. “I will also attend council if it comes to that.”

  Waleron’s brows rose. “You have refused to sit on council for centuries. Why is this so important?”

  Xamien pushed his chair back and came to his feet. He knew why it was important, but the question was whether Waleron was ready to hear his answer. He watched the lines in Waleron’s forehead deepen and his lips purse with displeasure. “Because the girl deserves to live.” Xamien paused and then added, “And because Delara would ask it of me.”

  The sound of the curtain ripping filled the silence. Waleron let the material go and strode to the door. His hand was on the handle and Xamien could feel the heated fury radiating from him. Waleron would have to deal with it. Regardless of whether or not Delara and he slept together any longer, she was his friend and he stood by her.

  “I will give Damien one day with her. I need him back in Toronto to help hunt Tarek. We are down warriors with Kilter in St. Thomas and Delara here.” Waleron opened the door and started to walk away. “After Tarek is caught, it will then be decided what will be done with them both.”

  “Good luck with that. My brother won’t go willingly and I won’t help you. I suspect he will be put in Rest before he gives Abby up this time. I don’t agree with it, Waleron. Damien should remain here with her.”

  “No. Abby is not ready. We agreed to this. When she is trustworthy then she can be released and join us. Until then, she remains here without him.”

  Xamien paused, the tension in the air thick. “I think my brother is going to hate you more than me come tomorrow.” Xamien shrugged. “If you’re staying, there are five empty rooms on the second floor. Take any room you please—except Delara’s of course.”

  Waleron’s step faltered. He paused as if debating whether to turn around and slam his fist through his face. Xamien wondered if he’d tested Waleron’s bounds too far. The man didn’t deserve Delara after the stunt he just pulled, but Delara wanted him so…yeah, Xamien would push him. He’d push her too. Because that was what friends
did and damn if he wouldn’t miss her, but she deserved to get her man.

  Xamien heard the click of the Pez dispenser then Waleron Traced.

  ****

  Abby felt the fresh, warm blood rushing through his veins and it sent her hunger catapulting. It was Damien’s blood. Sweet, succulent blood she’d tasted on the tip of her tongue once before. She had swallowed and drank it with such fervor that she had feared she’d never stop.

  Damien’s Scar Simian had been the only thing that could control her that day. She had been starving. God, that undeniable appetite had eaten away at all her sanity. There was nothing that could stop her madness except to feed. She’d cursed, screamed, fought. A wild, new vamp that was salivating for the taste of blood.

  Then Damien came. He’d cut himself. Offered his blood. The taste of him was still on her tongue from eight months ago. Nothing would ever expunge that memory.

  She was the foolish girl who fell in love with the women-hating Senses. The man famous for hunting and killing vamps. And she wanted every part of him. Had from the moment she’d seen him trying to pick out a peach at the grocery store. God, it seemed like an eternity had passed since that day.

  Now he was here. In her arms. And there was no chance she could keep herself from touching him. At least for a while. Let her remember. Grieve. And then she could die once more.

  For hours they sat in silence. Him holding her in his arms, his hand gently caressing over her head, down her arm, and then back up again. He’d finally carried her to the couch and cradled her in his arms while she’d cried herself to sleep. Tears of joy and anguish. Hating that he’d found her. Loving that he did.

  “Abb. Why? Why did you leave me?” He kissed her temple with the familiar, plush lips she dreamt about for the last eight months.

  He put his hands on either side of her head and forced her to look at him. She closed her eyes, afraid of falling further into hell than she already was. How could she look at him? Face the contempt. The betrayal. Yes, and there would be love. She’d seen it. Heard it in his voice that day he begged her not to go. Begged Waleron to kill him too.

  He kissed her brow, her nose, the corner of her lips. She sunk further into the guilt of what she’d done.

  “Babe, please talk to me.” There it was…the gentle harmony of his voice that made her weak in the knees. Even worse now that her senses were stronger. The tingling between her legs overrode the guilt and despair. Her body knew this man. Wanted him.

  His finger wiped under her eyes for the few tears that were left. “Open your eyes, Abb.”

  She closed them tighter.

  Her eyes flew open the moment she felt his lips on hers. Slow and yet hard. A promise, a hint of what was to come. Damien groaned as his mouth pried her open in more ways than she’d ever thought possible. His tongue claimed the warmth of her mouth. The magnetic pull between them refusing they be kept apart as they meshed together into a hunger that had been famished for months.

  The need for his blood was forgotten as his kiss overrode her natural instinct to bite and feed. Damien’s kiss. This man who saved her and yet…she never wanted to be saved.

  Suddenly he pulled back.

  “Damn it, Simion. Fuck off.” His Scar. Her protector. She guessed he wanted to be released from his tattoo. Damien’s thumb rubbed over top her swollen lower lip. “Abb, you going to talk to me?”

  Was she? Were there any words? Painful truths maybe, but couldn’t he just hold her? For a little while before—before what? She never wanted him to see her like this. She hated who she was. Hated vamps more than anything in this world for what they did to her mother. Yet, now she was one.

  “I don’t care, Abb. I don’t give a fuck if you drink blood.” Damien raised her chin and their eyes met. Her chest constricted with so much pain that she feared it would ignite into flames then burn into ashes. “Please just talk to me.”

  He didn’t deserve this. Her. What she’d made him suffer. But she’d been blinded by one night in his arms. Drowned in him, never to surface again. He owned her body. Her soul. She was his and for that reason she could never be with him.

  She shifted back on the couch, away from him. “I wanted to die. I asked you to kill me and you didn’t.”

  “Jesus fuckin’ Christ Abb. I told you I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.”

  He tried to grab her, but she did what she knew would make him keep his distance—she hissed at him, knowing the action would make her eyes swirl with red and her fangs elongat. His hands dropped and he took a deep breath. Frustration. She didn’t know whether it was from the sudden reminder that she was a vamp or that she refused to be held any longer. “Waleron was supposed to. Instead, he brought me here to live locked away like a wild animal.”

  He reached for her again. “Abb let me—” She glared. His hands dropped.

  She made certain her voice held nothing except a crass lilt of anger. Nothing to remind him of what they had. She’d done enough damage by falling into his arms. “I hate. Not just myself, but everything. I hate this place. I hate Waleron. Xamien. I hate every single thing that lives in this world. Even you, Damien. I hate you for loving me.”

  The muscles in his cheek twitched and the sorrow she saw in his eyes was replaced with wrath. That is what she wanted. To make him hate her. “Abb, don’t do this.”

  But she had no choice. He had to hate her enough to kill her or… Or there was the other option. To trick him into releasing her from this cage so she could get someone else to do it.

  One way or another, she was leaving here today.

  ****

  Max finished straightening the sheets on her bed and walked into the adjoining bathroom to shower. She peered at the bandage on her neck, her finger trailing across the gauze Glunk had applied. The skin was tender, but not as bad as the bruises on her side when Abby took her to the ground in one swoop.

  She rubbed her arms as the memory shifted across her mind. It happened so fast, so unexpected, but it wasn’t fear that raced through her. Max wasn’t scared of pain any longer. She was numb to the horrors in this world, but the memories—yes, the memories that woke her in the night still came. Often she’d wake up screaming and have to check all her limbs to make certain the chains weren’t still there.

  She avoided looking in the mirror as she pulled her flannel pajamas off, tied her mouse-brown hair up in a knot and fastened it with a clip, then leaned over and turned on the taps. She stepped under the spray, avoiding her neck, as she quickly scrubbed her body down with closed eyes. Her fingers slipped over the scars and she cringed, trying to get the task done as efficiently and quickly as she could.

  Showering was one of her least favorite tasks of the day. There were too many reminders. Teeth marks, burns, scars from the shackles. Her Scar sat on the top of her left foot, a tattoo of a black widow spider. It was disfigured, a jagged, white scar running through the center of it.

  Max turned off the taps and climbed out of the tub. As she reached for her towel, the door burst open.

  She gasped as she made a dive for her towel and wrapped it around herself. A man stood in the open doorway appearing rather unperturbed by his discovery. He merely stared at her for several seconds, shadowy eyes unwavering as his tall, lithe form blocked the doorway.

  She felt the clip in her hair slip and fall to the floor making a clang as it hit the ceramic tile. Her hair fell to her shoulders then down her back. He never moved a muscle. And he was definitely all muscle.

  But it was his eyes that gave her goosebumps and caused her stomach to bottom out. They were darker than wet glistening roads in the night with no moon. Mesmerizing. He was watching her as if he could see right through the towel. Hiding her scars was paramount. She wrapped her arms around her chest and stepped back.

  It happened fast. The backs of her knees hit the toilet seat at the same time she reached out for the towel rack, which slipped out of the holder when she put the slightest amount of pressure on it. She lost her balance. The metal rod cl
anged as it hit the floor. She grabbed for the lifted toilet seat cover to steady herself. It came crashing down on the rim with a bang. Falling to the side, Max dropped the towel and landed naked on the ground next to the toilet.

  The burning in her face was indescribable as she scrambled to her feet while taking the towel and pulling it up in front of her. Had he seen her disfigurement? Was he mortified by all the scars? She was surprised to look up and see him still standing there. Her nakedness hadn’t sent him running.

  “Impressive.” His voice was like velvet playing on an acoustic guitar.

  What do you say to that? The polite response would be a shy, embarrassed smile; her response was—are you going to back the hell off? But of course, that was only in her head.

  He crossed his arms and leaned up against the doorframe. Is he kidding? Seriously? Hot bad-ass was going to stand in her bathroom to carry on a one-sided conversation?

  “Assumed this room was vacant. Going to be staying the night. Or two.”

  You assumed wrong buddy. But the only belongings she kept in view were her vase of weekly-picked flowers that sat on her bedside table. She wished Xamien had warned her he was having more company than Delara. A locked door would’ve prevented this incident.

  He continued while leering, “Jasper.”

  So, this was Xamien’s friend from…everywhere. He’d stayed here briefly a few times, but she’d never met him. She avoided conversations and meeting others.

  She hated speaking in the best of times. It was pointless anyway, people rarely actually listened and if they did, they didn’t care. It was all pretense. Learning to remain quiet as a child had been her savior, the vamps forgot about her more often than not.

  She looked down at her legs to make certain the towel was long enough to hide her burns.

  She noticed he watched every move she made, yet his expression rarely changed except for the mild tension in his muscles. He was more muscular than Xamien. His dark brown hair had that sweet bed head look, short, but still long enough to curl in a fist. Tattoos ran up both his arms, disappearing under his T-shirt only to reappear on his neck. She suspected he had them all over his back and chest. He gave her the impression that he was a hard ass, although he could be wearing a pink tutu and she’d still guess he was a hard ass just by his expression.