by Julie Kenner
Neither seem aware that we are in the room. I glance at Mal, unsure of the etiquette. He looks amused, and clears his throat. Loudly.
They both jump a mile.
“Mal!” Dagny says as she leaps off the couch to stand at almost military-like attention.
Bray stays on the couch, then grins at me. “Hey, Jay.”
“I take it everything’s under control in Berlin and Chicago?” Mal asks.
Dagny blushes, but nods. “Wheels are in motion and I should hear back from the team leaders soon. But if the intel was good,” she adds, deliberately not looking in my direction, “I expect to hear that it was a success.”
If Bray thinks this conversation is odd, he doesn’t show it, and I realize that Dagny must have told him that she works for Phoenix Security. Which is true. Just not entirely true.
“We just came by so I could get a few more things. But I forgot to bring my duffel back.” I glance at Bray. “Have you got one?”
“No problem.” He leads me into the back of the apartment, and I’m grateful when Mal and Dagny don’t follow. Right now, I want Bray to myself. Because this moment is bittersweet. I’d come to New York to be his roommate, but I’d managed that for less than a week. Now I’m moving out, and it feels like moving on, and I don’t want to leave my best friend behind.
But how can I not? I’ve always told my secrets to Bray. But this time, those secrets aren’t just about me, but about Mal, about Dagny, about the entire brotherhood. And the decision to tell him is not mine to make.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Absolutely.” I think of Mal, and my smile is one-hundred percent genuine. “Everything is great with Mal.”
“Moving fast. Especially for you.”
I lift a shoulder. “Maybe I never got close to a guy before because I hadn’t found the right guy.”
I expect Brayden, who goes through women like most people go through soft drinks, to scoff. Instead he nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. The right person can change everything.”
I raise my brows. “Is that so?”
He holds up his hands. “Just making conversation.”
“Sure. Right.” I can hear the laughter in my voice, and it matches the smile on his face.
For a moment, I pack in silence, emptying drawers that I’d only recently filled into the duffel bag that he pulled out from under the bed.
“Listen,” he finally says. “Mal seems like a great guy, and Dagny thinks the world of him. But if things don’t work out, you know you can come back, right?”
“I know. But things have already worked out.” Since I can’t tell Bray that I’ve actually been with Mal for several thousand years, I don’t elaborate. Instead, I tease him. “Besides, are you sure? From what I’ve seen, my bedroom might be occupied.”
“Trust me, Jay,” he says with a very smug smile, “your bedroom isn’t going to be used at all.”
When the duffel is full, we go back out to find Mal and Dagny at the small bar that serves as a breakfast area, both with a glass of wine. I hide my smile, but I’m glad to see that Dagny feels at home here. I like her, and I love Brayden. And even though I know it would be crazy insane for Bray to get involved with an immortal woman, it’s clear they make each other happy. And at the moment, I think that’s the most important thing of all.
“I need to get back,” Dagny tells Bray. “I’d like to be at my computer when my teams report in. But why don’t you come? We could all have some dinner in the lounge?”
She means the VIP lounge, of course, where non-members are really not allowed. Especially non-members who don’t know the truth.
I see the hesitation on Mal’s face, but it fades when he looks at both me and Dagny. It’s clear we both want Bray there, and so he nods. “Sounds great. I could use a steak tonight.”
“Thank you,” I whisper as I take his hand and head for the door.
“It’s just dinner.”
“It’s more than that.” I pause and look up at him. “You make me happy, Mal. And considering all the crap that’s going on around me, I think that’s a pretty big thing.” I shrug, feeling suddenly foolish and sentimental.
But if my sentimentality bothers Mal, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he brushes my lower lip with his thumb, then bends down to kiss me softly. “You make me happy, too,” he says, with so much tenderness in his voice that my eyes fill with tears despite my smile going wide.
I’m still smiling when we hit the sidewalk.
Mal pulls out his phone. “Let me text Dennis.”
“It’s less than five blocks,” Bray says.
Mal hesitates, looks at me.
“It’s a gorgeous night,” I say.
He waits a beat, then nods. “Fine. We walk.”
It really is a gorgeous night, warm without being humid, and no moon in the sky. The ambient light blocks most of the stars, but the city still looks like a glowing angel, asleep under a blanket of velvet.
I have my head tilted back, looking at the silhouette of the buildings against the night sky, when the gang of six surrounds us. Three in the front and three in the back.
And, yes, they have faces of flame.
The fuerie.
I want to scream. To shout that they aren’t supposed to be on the island. But not only is that stupid, I have no time. Because even though only seconds have passed, one of them has grabbed me, and is holding me tight.
I feel my pulse kick up. The fear rising inside me. “Mal!” I call his name, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already in the fight—already moving fast. Already doing what needs to be done to save me.
Behind him, Dagny has her fire sword extended, and she whips it around, managing to behead two of them as Brayden stumbles backward, obviously weak at the knees. She stabs them quickly through the heart, and they turn to dust.
Stupidly, I think that is a good thing. Because though this block is empty right now, any moment some unsuspecting New Yorker might walk up. And what would they think if they saw a headless body?
The thought makes me giggle, and from somewhere deep inside I know that is a wildly inappropriate response and that I am in shock.
Bray’s pain-filled scream restores my focus, and I cry out in horror as he falls, his chest bleeding where a fuerie’s whip has sliced him open.
No. No, no, no!
I’m angry and scared, and as the fuerie tightens his grip on my arm—as Mal slashes down three more of the fuerie in a frenzy of sword and motion—I try desperately to keep control. I’m breathing deep. I’m fighting. And I’m managing—I am—but then something hot and hard jabs into my lower back.
I cry out in pain. Blinding, horrific, mind-filling pain.
And the weapon rises more.
“Enough!” Mal cries, and as he does, he lifts his hand, and I feel myself and the fuerie being thrown backward, pushed through the air by the force of Mal’s will.
We slam against a wall, then collapse on the ground, the fuerie’s grip on me weakened.
I roll to the side, ignoring the pain in my lower back, and in that moment, Mal leaps forward and jabs his fire sword through the fuerie’s heart.
In seconds, there is only a pile of dust beside me.
Mal bends down in front of me and takes my hands. “Pull it back,” he says. “You’re safe. You’re good. They didn’t cut you; they burned you. It’s just pain, and it will fade, and Jessica can heal the scar. Breathe with me now. Come on, back it off.”
His words are comforting, and I breathe slowly, forcing my body to relax. Easing the weapon down. Saving myself. Saving the world.
“I’m okay,” I finally say. My voice sounds thin, but strong.
Mal looks at me a moment, as if assessing the truth of my statement. Then he stands and looks behind him.
Dagny is squatting beside Brayden, and I’m happy to see that the wound is not deep. I can see the confusion on his face, along with a fear that is tempered only by Dagny’s gentle presence beside him.
Mal takes a step their direction, and as he does, Dagny rises and steps in front of Bray. She and I both know what Mal intends—he’s going to take Bray’s memories.
“No,” she says, even as I say the same word at the same time.
Mal looks between the two of us.
“Please,” I say. “Please, Mal. Don’t.”
Dagny says nothing, perhaps assuming that my plea will be sufficient. I hope she’s right.
After a moment, Mal nods, then walks back to me and helps me to my feet. A few yards away, Dagny does the same, helping Bray stand even as the limo pulls up. I hadn’t noticed, but Dagny or Mal must have summoned it.
As we move to the car, Brayden winces. Then he catches my eyes.
Finally, he just exhales. “So is anyone going to tell me what the fucking hell just happened? Or am I just going to have to guess?”
Chapter 5
‡
“Better?” Jessica asks me. Her long hair is swept back into a ponytail and she wears no makeup. Even so, she is stunning. But it’s not her looks that you notice first about Jessica—it’s her presence. She’s a healer—the brotherhood’s primary doctor—and she has a confidence coupled with humor that would put even the most jaded human at ease.
I adored her the moment I met her, and now that she’s ensured that the burn on my back no longer pounds with agonizing pain, I think I’ve developed a little bit of a girl crush.
“Is there a scar?” I ask, twisting as I try to look over my shoulder and see the injury site.
“Oh, please. You come to me for treatment and then insult me?”
I laugh. “Fair enough. Thanks.” I glance across the room to where Bray is stretched out on a couch, completely dead to the world. We’re in the guest suite of Number 36, where Jessica had treated me for injuries before. She has since told me that she has an official triage station in the building, but that she prefers to work here since the atmosphere is more calming.
“He’s okay, right?” Brayden had passed out in the limo, but whether from the injury or from the general weirdness of the situation, I don’t know.
“He’s fine. And this makes it easy. I want him to sleep, and now I don’t have to call in Mal to take some of his energy, or rely on a dose of narcotics.”
Mal isn’t in the room. He’d kissed me hard, then left me in Jessica’s care so that he could go brief the others on the furies’ arrival on the island of Manhattan.
I know that I didn’t misread the map, but I still feel foolish. Considering rehearsal and the time at Bray’s, several hours had passed since I’d taken a look. And the fuerie are as likely to drive, fly, or take the train into the city as anyone else.
On the couch, Bray stirs. Immediately, I hop off the table I’d been sitting on and go to his side.
“Hey, you’re going to be fine.”
“Hurts like a bitch,” he mumbles.
“I know,” I say truthfully. I’d suffered essentially the same injury not too long ago—and almost destroyed the world from the pain.
“What happened?” He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Had the weirdest dream.”
“It’s going to be better soon,” I say, then scoot to one side so that Jessica can get to his chest. She gently peels his tattered shirt away, and then I watch, fascinated, as she does to Bray what she’d done to me.
Slowly, she draws her finger over the injury. As she does, the layers of flesh knit back together, so that all is left is a pink scar, looking newly healed. She repeats the process, and this time the scar disappears, leaving perfect flesh.
I exhale, relieved. I didn’t like the idea of Bray being permanently scarred because of me.
During Jessica’s treatment, I’d been watching her heal the wound. Now I shift my attention to Bray, who looks completely perplexed.
“It’s okay,” Dagny says, coming up and putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re all fixed up now.”
He says nothing, just shifts on the couch, his intelligent eyes taking everything in. His ripped shirt and unmarred skin. Me. Jessica. Dagny. And now Mal is entering the suite with Raine at his side, Raine’s sleeves of tats revealed by the T-shirt he wears.
“I’m going out on a limb and saying that you people aren’t from around here.” Bray looks at me. “What’s going on, Jay?”
“Bray—” I cut myself off, unsure what to say.
“We’ll explain everything,” Dagny promises. She leans over to kiss his forehead as I squeeze his hand, both in support and in apology.
“You need to rest,” Mal says, stepping in beside me.
“The hell I do. What I need are answers.”
“Soon,” Mal promises, then touches his forehead. “Take a nap, Bray,” he orders. “We’ll talk later.”
And as I watch, Bray’s eyes close and he drifts off into slumber.
“Just sleep, right?” I demand. “He’ll remember?”
“He’ll remember,” Mal says. “But I meant what I said. He needs to rest. And Dagny has work. And you and I need to talk.”
He is tense. His voice tight, almost rough.
I lick my lips and meet Dagny’s eyes. She gives me a small smile as if in solidarity. We both know that Mal isn’t happy. We shouldn’t have been out there. We shouldn’t have been ambushed.
And maybe I shouldn’t have gone to rehearsal in the first place.
Fuck.
I stand, because I know there is no way to avoid this. Because right now I’m feeling pretty damn guilty anyway. I’d known an attack was a possibility, but I’d discounted it because I wanted my life to be normal. Because I didn’t want to deal with the reality that lives inside me.
And Bray was the one who paid the price.
Thank God he hadn’t paid in full, because while Jessica can heal, she can’t restore the dead. And if the fuerie’s whip had taken Bray from me, I don’t know that I could have survived the pain and the guilt.
Considering the weapon that lives inside me, I’m not sure the world could have survived, either.
*
Mal paced the length of his den on the second floor of his home. For the last hour, he’d held everything in, fighting back emotion so that he could be calm and controlled. So that he could brief the team about the attack. So that he could make sure Bray was taken care of. So that he could double-check that the security at both Number 36 and here at his brownstone was up to par and locked down.
Now, though, everything was churning inside him, and he knew damn well that the wild mire of fear and anger and frustration would spew out with only the slightest provocation.
“Mal?” Christina’s soft voice drifted over from where she stood at the top of the stairs. It filtered through the red haze in his mind, and that was it. That was the trigger. He reached down, scooped up the nearest thing he saw, and hurled it across the room.
It was a small pottery bowl that he’d picked up at some street fair somewhere, and the sound that it made when it shattered against the wall was almost satisfying. Shards of clay clattered to the polished wooden floor, and Mal was left staring at a bowl-sized indentation in the wall.
She was at his side in an instant, her arms sliding around his waist as she pressed her body against his back. Immediately, he felt calmer. Just her touch alone was like a balm.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s all my fault, and I’m so, so sorry.”
He closed his eyes in defense against the pain he heard in her voice. “No. This wasn’t all your fault. I fucked up, Christina.” He pulled out of her embrace so that he could turn to face her. “I wanted to see you happy. And I let you talk me into doing something I damn well knew was a risk.”
Her smile wavered. “Like I said. It’s all my fault.”
“No,” he repeated. “I have responsibilities. A mission. A goddamn duty to protect the brotherhood. To fight the fuerie. To keep my people safe. To keep you safe. I’m in charge of a team,” he said. “And tonight I let all of that slide—every bi
t of it—because I looked at you and wanted to let you keep some piece of the life you still have. I had a duty to look after the team,” he continued. “And I breached that duty.
“So, no, it wasn’t all your fault.” He looked at her, speaking gently. “But you do share some of the blame. You’re part of the brotherhood, Christina. I need you to be part of the team.”
“I am,” she said. But she didn’t meet his eyes.
“No, lover, you’re not.” He stroked her hair, twirling a soft lock around his finger. He wanted to bend over her and bury his face in her hair. To breathe in the clean fresh scent of her. To get lost in the thrill of touching her, seeing her, smelling her.
But this wasn’t the time. They needed to do this; they needed to resolve this. “Talk to me, Christina.”
He watched as her shoulders rose and fell, and his heart twisted when she looked at him with tears glistening in her eyes. “I am part of the team,” she said firmly. “And at the same time, I’m not.” She pulled away from him, then went to sit on the couch. Her feet were bare, and she pulled them up onto the cushion so that she was hugging her knees to her chest.
“I love you, Mal. You have to know that. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel like Christina is just a role that I’m playing. You feel real to me. But this life doesn’t. Even though I know that it’s as real as it gets and there’s something horrible and deadly inside me, it still all feels surreal. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” he said. And because he wanted her to keep talking, he said no more.
She waited, then cleared her throat to fill the silence. After a moment, though, she continued. “As Jaynie, I never really got close to anyone. And I was never much of a team player. You know that.”
“Yes.”
“And you said we could take it slow.” Her words were a plea, and he went to her, then sat beside her on the couch and took one of her hands in his.
“I did,” he said. “But I meant us. You and me. And I’ll hold fast to that promise. I love you, Jaynie Christina, and we have all the time in the world to get to know each other again, wholly and completely. But where the brotherhood is concerned, we don’t have that luxury. I need everyone to be part of the team, part of the unit. It’s a matter of survival. And if I can’t keep you alive, then I can’t love you forever. And that’s just not acceptable to me.”
