Darkness in the Blood (Gifted Blood Trilogy)

by Vicki Keire

  I bit my lip. I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t have to. He tightened his hold and pulled me back against him.

  “You,” Logan said severely, “are in so much trouble.”

  “I am not a child,” I announced.

  My brother ran a hand through his spiky hair. He shook his head in disgust. “I’m going back to bed.” From inside our darkened apartment, he shouted, “You. Trouble. Morning.” His door slammed shut.

  Ethan didn’t say anything. His silence stung.

  “I can’t stand to see you hurting,” I told the empty doorframe. “You don’t say anything, but I know you are. And when I think about what you gave up…” I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt a warm hand, not my own, brush my cheek. I half-spun on the ball of one foot until I could tuck my head underneath his chin. “You cry out for your… wings. In your sleep. It’s too much. Asheroth only said what I was thinking. It’s all my fault.”

  Cocooned in his arms, I felt the bass of his reply through my bones. “It was a gift. I was glad to give it. I would do it again.”

  I let myself rest against his soft t-shirt. “How can you say that?”

  “It was a selfish gift. I had a lot to gain. You.” He pulled me into the darkened apartment. “Come to bed, Caspia. There’s trouble to be in tomorrow.”

  Chapter Two:

  Trouble

  “Don’t you miss it? Being immortal?” Warm from the shower, I sat cross-legged on the edge of my bed, towel-drying my hair.

  He watched me through cat-slitted eyes, considering. “I couldn’t feel you before, in my old skin,” Ethan finally answered, lying on his back. One arm lay folded underneath his neck. The other inched idly towards me, finding the edges of my sleep shirt. “I didn’t understand about skin. How knowable it is.” A corner of his upper lip disappeared into his teeth as his eyes closed, his focus totally on the sensation of my skin under his fingers.

  “Knowable?” I echoed, mesmerized by these tiny actions. No one else knew these things about him. They made up a secret Ethan who was totally mine: the single piece of wavy hair that never behaved; the way one eyebrow rose higher than the other when he was surprised; that his back was more sensitive than his stomach.

  “It’s like suddenly having an extra sense.” The pads of his fingers settled against the curve of my waist and flexed there, pulsing, fluttering, like a butterfly tasting its environment. “I didn‘t know,” he repeated. “I knew how breakable you were. How easily hurt.” His hand stilled against the swell of my hip. “But not how sensitive skin is.” He swept my hair to one side and touched his lips to my neck. “I was so prepared to lose things. Senses, strength; but this…” He breath was warm and moist. I shivered, arched, and he caught me, folding me against his chest. “How could I prepare for being open to the wind, the rain, the bitter cold?”

  “Cold and rain that almost killed you.” I remembered his torn hands and feet, the hypothermia that could have killed him.

  The shape of his smile against my neck had not changed. He had promised me, again and again since returning to me, that it never would. “Being immortal meant strength, but it also meant barriers. To the elements, yes. But also, this.”

  Blue green eyes, river-bright above me. Hands spanning mine. The weight of him over me, stealing my breath. Or maybe that was just what happened when Ethan kissed me, now that he didn’t have to hold back because I might break.

  “I can’t breathe,” I gasped out after several very long minutes.

  “Good,” he said, kissing my neck.

  I felt his teeth nip me right at the base of my throat. It was just hard enough to drive what little air I’d managed to siphon right back out of my lungs in a single electric shock.

  “This,” he murmured against my throat. “I couldn’t do this. For fear of hurting you.”

  “Um.” My hands were in his hair. When did that happen? “Ethan.” It was hard to speak when air was so precious all of a sudden. He had kissed his way up to my jaw.

  “Mmm?”

  “I’m glad I’m not breakable,” I managed to whisper. “Because then I couldn’t do this.” I wrapped my arms around him and pulled, bringing all the weight of a normal human male right down on top of me. Not the mass of a granite statue, not the killing crushing power of an immortal guardian, but the clumsy collapse of mortal Ethan. He rolled off me, laughing, tangled in the oceans of fabric that smothered my messy bed.

  Mine, for one short human lifespan, full of stupid human mistakes and triumphs and losses and love. This one, I thought. I want this one. When we finally fought our way back through the pile of blankets, we held each other so tightly I thought my ribs would crack.

  Towards dawn his fingers curled into claws and the muscles in his back spasmed. When he began to fight the blankets in his sleep I crouched over him, my long hair a curtain around us. “Sshh,” I murmured. His skin felt like fire underneath my massaging palms. “Sshh. It will be all right.” But as always, he didn’t hear me, and nothing I did stopped his writhing.

  He talked in his sleep, the same terrible, pain-filled litany: “Gone. All but the burning.” A bitter laugh. “Fire instead of Light.”

  Every night, the same ritual, and every morning, I had to face him and know it was my fault. “I mean it, Ethan,” I whispered as I traced the taut tendons of shoulder and neck. “I will find a way to fix this somehow. I will.” I think he said my name in his sleep, but maybe I just imagined it.

  ***

  The front door snicked open, then shut again. Coffee and baked goods scented the apartment. Logan had cut his morning run short, and he wasn’t even waiting to shower. No doubt about it. I was in big brother trouble. I cast one last longing glance at a sleeping Ethan and inched out of my bed.

  Let Fallen angels lie, if only through the morning.

  Ethan wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually rested. My days were powered by coffee and adrenaline, my nights little more than short dark dreams punctuated by periods of watchful worrying. I’d thought of asking Mrs. Alice for my own sleeping draught more than once.

  I filled the largest unbreakable mug I could find. “Would you like some coffee?” I asked, tempted to just drink straight from the pot. “How about a muffin?” Logan ignored me, his nose stuck in a newspaper. It wasn’t even Whitfield’s paper. “We have apple butter, from Parson’s,” I tried again.

  No response at all. I slammed the coffee down next to his elbow. Some of it sloshed over the side. He looked up from his paper, startled. “Hey!” He protested. “I’m reading that!

  “Well,” I huffed. “Aren’t you going to yell at me? Let’s get it over with.”

  Logan shook his head sadly. “Right. You’re mad at me because I’m not madder at you. Really rational, Cas. Have some more coffee.” I resisted the urge to dump it on his head.

  “No,” I said, injecting calm into my voice with effort. “I’d just like to get the being yelled at part over with. Before Ethan gets here, if possible.”

  Logan drew himself up to his full height, which meant he towered over me by several inches. As if looming wasn’t enough, I could swear he was smirking, too. My temper flared even more. “I assume you know that freak who calls himself a guardian is unstable at the best of times?” I shrugged. “So you knew exactly what you were up against and did it anyway.” I folded my arms across my chest and glared up at him, waiting for him to start yelling. He only sighed. “Look, I had time to think about it. I’m not mad.”

  “You’re not?” I asked suspiciously. Maybe he was planning a sneakier, delayed attack.

  “Well, ok, I am a little. But mostly, I understand. In fact,” he ran a hand through his spiky brown hair. “You didn’t do anything I haven’t thought about doing myself.”

  I stared, wondering if he’d sustained a head injury on his jog. “You’ve thought about looking for Asheroth in the middle of the night? Why?”

  “Well, not that exactly. I’d like to t
hink I have a little more sense.” I shot him a glare. He flushed the deep red of frustration. “You’re not the only one who feels bad. Do you think I don’t know what Ethan did for me? That I don’t know what I owe him?” I looked at him, my brother flushed from his aborted run, and remembered how this time last year he’d begun to lose his hair. His dark eyes fixed on mine and held them. “If what’s happened to him is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I’m standing here because of what he gave up.”

  All my defiance melted as I slumped into the nearest chair. “I feel…” I swallowed hard. “I think I hate myself for it. I think I’m starting to.” I scrubbed at my face with the back of my hand. “I’m terrified that Ethan regrets it. And what’s worse…” I buried my face in my hands. “Asheroth may be a crazy bastard, but he’s right about one thing. Before he changed, Ethan didn’t choose to love me. When his kind fall in love, they capital ‘F’ Fall. As in, they don’t have a choice. So what if this,” I indicated the two of us with a sweep of my hand, “isn’t something he willingly chose? And now that he’s mortal, with free will and all, he regrets it?”

  “Just answer me one thing.”

  “Ok,” I assented warily.

  “Do you get to choose who to love?”

  His question confused me. “What do you mean?”

  “Could you choose to stop loving him?” he asked patiently. I just stared. “Free will is the wrong way to look at it, I think,” he said at last. “Could you just decide you don’t love Ethan? Like turning off the faucet, or something?”

  “People can fall out of love,” I said slowly. If, God forbid, I found out Ethan was a serial killer, or caught him cheating, I’d like to think I wouldn’t be one of those women…

  “That’s not what I mean. Is love a choice, Caspia? Was it ever, with him? Because you reacted pretty strongly to him the moment you saw him. I stared at my brother, remembering. The first time I saw Ethan, the way my body felt immediately pulled towards to him, even though my brain tried to fight it. There had never been anything neutral or casual about the way I felt towards Ethan. “Maybe none of us can choose who we love, Cas. None of the lucky ones, anyway. The only choice we have is how we serve that love. And Ethan’s made his choice. What about you? Are you going to reject it, or make the best of what you’ve been given?”

  “He’s human now,” I countered, voicing my deepest fear in a whisper. “Free will and all. What if he rejects me?”

  Dimly I felt my brother’s hand wrap around my own and was shocked at the strength of it. “It was the only way he could truly be with you. You can’t ask him to give that up, no matter how hard it is for either of you. To ask that… Cas, it’s like saying you don’t want him.” His hand convulsed around mine, and I hissed. I think he meant the gesture to be a gentle squeeze, but I actually felt the bones of my hand grind together.

  “Hey! Watch it!” I yelped. I pulled my hand loose and shook some feeling back into it. Logan looked startled, but he didn’t say anything. “Ethan has to know that’s not true. That could never be true. It’s just that this life is so dangerous for him. Remember the emergency room, thinking he was going to bleed out in my lap, and all because…” It was suddenly hard to talk. Logan had my hand again, gently this time, so there was no way to wipe my eyes. “And I was right there,” I managed in a whisper. “Right beside him. I left the knife in the water. My god, Logan, if I hadn’t been right there…”

  “But you were,” he whispered, and his arms were around me, pulling me from my chair into his lap, rocking me. “You were right there, and so was I, and it was fine.”

  He knelt on the floor by my chair and I let him take all my weight. I’d missed this, leaning on someone stronger. “Who are you, and what have you done with Logan Chastain?” I asked, only half-teasing.

  “I don’t know,” Logan said, his face a hollow echo of mine. He snaked an arm around my waist and deposited me in my chair as if I weighed almost nothing. His casual strength surprised me again. “You just can’t go out like that again, sneaking out in the night. Don’t forget we never caught this demon of yours, or found out who took your drawings. And when were you planning on telling me about that little trick with your hands?”

  “What trick?” I asked as sweetly as possible, giving him my best fake smile.

  He wasn’t buying it, I could tell. Logan had years of experience detecting my lies and evasions. I pretty much sucked at them anyway. I slumped back against my chair as he waggled his fingers at me. “The creepy black shadows you were wearing like gloves. The ones that knocked me on my ass? That trick.” He dropped into the closest chair and leaned into my space, eyeballing me like an interrogator. “I want to know about that one, Caspia. Why don’t you start there.”

  I glanced at all the exits. Logan was too close. He’d catch me if I tried to run. “It’s the Shadows,” I said softly, addressing my muffin instead of my brother’s merciless eyes. “You know how I’m supposed to be able to use them as weapons if I have to?” He didn’t say anything. I took a deep breath. “Well, lately, they’ve been sort of coming out on their own.”

  He just stared at me, his dark brown eyes developing an intensity that was as new and alien as his startling strength. Red, I realized. His brown eyes were darkening almost into blackness, and it looked as if they had lines of red radiating out from the iris.

  “…how bad?” he demanded, and I realized he’d been talking to me. “Just how bad is it, Caspia? What’s happening to you?”

  What’s happening to you, I wanted to ask, but didn’t. “I don’t know,” I admitted in a hoarse whisper. My eyes had changed once, too. From steel gray to bright silver. I made an effort to focus on Logan, who appeared to be panicking right in front of me. “It’s only been getting out of control over the last few weeks, and even then only when I feel upset or threatened. It goes away if I can calm myself down, or…” I risked another glance. Logan was breathing hard, an unmistakable ring of dark crimson encircling his irises. Oh, hell. Oh holy hells. What was happening to my brother?

  “Or what?” he demanded.

  “Or if I fight them out,” I finished in a whisper.

  “Fight them out,” he echoed. “Fight what, Caspia?” He buried his face in his hands. When he raised his head his eyes were wild again, dark as burnt charcoal fissured with lines of fire.

  I just looked at him, sick to my stomach for too many reasons to count. Logan had never shown a hint of any kind of gift our entire lives. Surely it couldn’t be happening now.

  An orange blur bolted into Logan’s lap and yowled madly for his attention. Ethan’s strong hands settled on my shoulders a few seconds later, using me for balance and easing the knots of tension he found there at the same time. “You’re upset,” he observed. “I usually prefer to say good morning before you get upset.”

  I leaned back, grateful he was there to catch me. “Good morning,” I murmured into his soft t-shirt. I rubbed my cheek against his stomach. Even though I’d given him the same juniper and cedar aftershave as Logan, on him it smelled icy somehow. “Mmm. Ethan. Hello.” I tried to smile, but I didn’t have the heart for it. I could hear how tired I was. I tried to remember the last time I had slept. I couldn’t. “Logan and I were just chatting about deadly and uncontrollable gifts. Have a muffin.”

  Chapter Three:

  Close to Home

  Logan threw the paper he’d been reading earlier on the table like he was declaring checkmate. “Ethan. Good. My hard-headed sister seems addicted to monumentally stupid risk-taking.” I shot him my evilest glare.

  Ethan brushed against me as he slid into a chair. I inhaled the scent of flannel and cotton warmed by his skin; crushed juniper and soap; towels fresh from the dryer. I didn’t want to hear any more bad news. I wanted to lean against the arms I knew were waiting for me and go back to sleep. Ethan. Home. I didn’t even realize I was leaning towards him until I opened my eyes to his amused blue-green ones. “Have you had your third cup of coffee yet?” he asked, brushing m
y hair back from my forehead and tucking it behind one ear.

  “Just the one.” I looked mournfully at my now almost cold cup of coffee. “Logan’s being big brotherly at me.”

  “Sounds painful.” He smiled as if he hadn’t been writhing in pain for most of the night. He started for the coffee pot before I realized what he meant to do. “We’d better fix that immediately. Caspia without her coffee isn’t…”

  “No!” Logan and I shouted simultaneously before he had a chance to pick up the coffee pot from its burner. I half-rose from my chair, ready to lunge if needed. Logan was faster; he’d actually taken two steps towards the kitchen, dumping an indignant Abigail on her tail. Ethan froze at the sound of our shouts, the muscles of his shoulders tensing. He stood perfectly still. Only the tightly controlled way he held himself let me know just how much our reactions upset him.

  “It’s fine,” he said after a long moment. Abigail prowled between us, unsure which human most deserved her queenly scorn. Ethan, the muscles of his back practically vibrating with tension, wrapped his hands in two dishtowels. “Please sit down.” He held the coffee pot, the last remaining breakable item in our kitchen, with careful determination. I sat, my eyes on him the whole time. Logan followed more slowly, flushed with embarrassment. I refused to be embarrassed. I’d seen him get hurt too many times to care. His mortal body possessed remarkable strength. But he was still learning muscular control and hand-eye coordination. Routine tasks were fraught with danger. As Ethan gingerly set the glass pot full of scalding hot liquid down between us, I reached for his hand.

  “I’m sorry.” He let my hand linger for a second or two, but he wouldn’t look at me. The muscles in his jaw were as tight as his back had been. “It just hasn’t been that long since the hospital.” I sighed. “How are your stitches?”