He opened his red duck-head Pez, took out a white pill and promptly swallowed it. Every single time he did that, at least four times a day, it reminded him of Delara. She wanted him to give them up. If he ever laughed, it would have been then, because if she knew anything about what he had endured in the hands of Jasmine, what he had given up in order to escape, she would know that giving up the pills was a recipe for catastrophe.
He felt a soft hand on his arm. He spun around so quick that he knocked Anstice in the shoulder. It was an instinctive reaction to a woman’s touch. Any woman’s, except Delara’s.
Anstice gasped staggering back. Keir growled as he leapt forward, grabbing his wife and pulling her to his side.
Grim barked then whined as he looked from one to the other. Then he raised his head with an air of dignity and ambled out of the foyer. Smart dog. Don’t pick sides.
He knew Anstice had been about to say something heartfelt to him, he could smell the words without her even speaking them.
Waleron spoke before she had the chance. “Kilter may react to this irrationally.” The rebellious Visionary had become a problem, considering his trust issues. “Make certain he does not attempt to leave with her.”
“He refuses to listen to anything I say,” Keir admitted.
His rage was still boiling over from Anstice’s touch. Control. Calm. He took several deep breaths then lowered his voice, careful to keep it steady. “Rayne must tell us what she knows. We cannot afford to wait any longer. Have everyone here in two hours. No exceptions.” The tone was enough to have Keir and Anstice both nod. “And be warned, Trinity will be present.”
He heard Keir curse and Anstice’s sharp intake of breath.
It wasn’t from his words though. It was the woman who’d decided to walk in the front door at that moment. Waleron gave a nod to Jedrik who came in after her then he met Delara’s eyes. His jaw flexed at her stunned expression as if he’d just slapped her across the face.
“Library. Now,” Waleron said.
Delara walked calmly into the library, knowing that this would be another of their fuel-charged arguments. There was so much anger, passion and heat between them that it was impossible to be in the same room together and not have combustion.
She was about self-destruction and Waleron was about ultimate control, shit he was an ancient. His mother was one of the original witches’ from the coven in Zugarramurdi. Waleron’s mother, Arossa Urrutia was the first Taldeburu. And a real bitch.
Waleron slammed the door behind them, leaned up against it as if to block any escape, and crossed his arms. The distinct sound of his Pez dispenser with his pills opened and closed. “You are still seeing Liam.”
He avoided the words sleeping, fucking or having sex with, she noticed. “Yes,” Delara replied, meeting his ice-cold eyes. Damn it, who the hell blew the whistle?
She moved to stand up against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, needing its support. Her legs were trembling like an unbalanced washing machine. She was uncertain whether it was from his anger or the sexual tension that refused to be annihilated.
“You lied to me!” His pulse throbbed in his temples. Shit, he was mad.
“Yes. To protect Abby.” A half-lie. How could she tell him the truth, though? How was she supposed to tell him that she’d been pregnant? That Liam was threatening their child’s life? A child she’d seen born dead.
She fiddled with the pockets of her cargo pants, nails digging into the material. She could feel the tears threatening to fall and pinched her thigh to take her mind off the emotional turmoil. God help her, she wanted to leap in his arms, have him hold her, tell her everything was going to be okay. Oh, Waleron, what happened to us?
He’d died. The man who loved her was gone.
She took a ragged breath. “You’re obligated to tell the Wraiths and they’d have killed her.”
“Perhaps not. Our law has changed—”
“You’re so loyal to them that you’d have handed her over like a mouse to a snake.” She looked away, desperate to get away from those ice-blue eyes that used to look at her with such adoration.
Waleron’s voice hardened. “You think so poorly of me?” His brows raised but he failed to wait for a reply. “Yes, I’m obligated to inform the Wraiths, but I protect all, including the witches when need be.”
“You think you’ve the power to do that?” Delara shook her head, jagged strands falling in front of her eyes as she lowered her head, staring at the last rung of the ladder.
Waleron remained quiet, but she heard the shift in movement and knew he was uncrossing his arms.
She hated when he looked so hot and cold at the same time. Would she ever get over him? Not if she kept remembering how he used to be. Maybe she could ask him to erase that part of her memory? Now that would solve a lot of crap between them.
“If I stay with him, he won’t go after Abby,” she blurted. She was sick of lying and hiding. She could smell his disappointment instantly, and at that moment truly hated being a Tracker. She’d rather have him angry than disappointed.
“No!” Waleron shouted. He ran a hand over his head and broke eye contact. Every muscle flexed with frustration and it appeared like he was looking for something to smash his fist into. But he wouldn’t. This was Pez—control freak. “And you believe he will let you walk away whenever you decide?” Waleron asked.
No, Liam had other plans. “Once she is out of danger, we can decide what to do about Liam.”
“If no laws are broken, we can do nothing,” Waleron stated. “Abby willingly drank his blood. That was her choice.”
Goddamn it, Waleron where is your heart? She felt like slapping him across the face to get some kind of emotion out of him besides coldness. It was as if he never felt pain, loss or sympathy. “She was drunk and foolish, Pez. We all make mistakes.”
He glared straight at her as if he was burning holes through her skull. “Like Edan?”
She inhaled sharply. “You bastard.” She grabbed the ladder off the hinges and threw it as hard as she could at his head. Waleron raised his hand and it dropped to the floor with a crash. She used her telekinesis and five encyclopedias flew towards him. Then the green vase that sat on Keir’s desk. All landed at his feet.
“He was never a mistake,” Delara shouted, although after seeing him the last time she wondered if it had been. No, Balen was here because of her sacrifice.
Waleron leaned back against the door and she noticed the tension disappear from his body. The pills must be taking effect. If only he’d stop hiding behind those bloody pills, maybe they’d have a chance.
“As you heard, I have called Trinity here to find out more about Abby. There is something we are missing. Liam risked a lot to send his minion after Rayne. Why? His interest is in Abby, why now Rayne?” He paused and his jaw tightened. “You will stop seeing him, Delara. I do not care if he starts a war. I will not have you risking your life by sleeping with him.” His tone deepened, every word enunciated. “Do you understand me?”
Delara sucked in her breath, her fingers tightening in fists so hard in her pockets that she could feel the indents in her palms from her nails. If she stopped seeing Liam, he would tell Waleron about the pregnancy. It was going to come out. How did this happen? What would she say? How could she defend her actions? It’d been so long ago. Would he understand? What if he didn’t? Did it matter any more?
“Do you understand me?” he shouted.
Her body jerked at his tone. She nodded.
Waleron stared at her stricken face and she noticed the flicker of discomfort. He shifted a foot, his hands curled into fists. “The meeting is in two hours. I expect you to be there,” Waleron said, then turned on his heel and walked from the room.
Chapter 18
Kilter contemplated over and over in his mind what he’d said to Rayne about waiting. He was impulsive, impatient and reckless, yet he’d blown that to the moon. What had he been thinking? Jesus, the woman had sent his libido into overd
rive with the mere touch of her skin.
“Meeting in two hours,” Keir said. “Mandatory. Bring Rayne.”
Kilter hit the white ball right off the table, and his cue dug into the green felt. Shit, he hated meetings. And Rayne didn’t need this crap right now.
He heard a loud thump and glass breaking upstairs. Maybe someone else was pissed at having a meeting. He decided to find out from Keir what the meeting was about and inform him Rayne wasn’t attending.
He walked upstairs and stopped. The library doors were closed and loud voices were coming from inside, which meant the cause of the ruckus.
Keir was nowhere in sight.
“When are you going back to Newfie land?” Jedrik asked, standing on the other side of the room. “Or are you going to screw things up and follow that instinct of yours?”
He shrugged. His instinct; made life simpler. Even when he rescued Ryker, he’d gone in by the seat of his pants. He’d seen Rayne, grabbed her and used her to open the door. There’d been no plan. Plans meant others knew what you were doing, a mistake he’d learned from and he never made the same mistake twice.
“I know you hate every poor soul that meets you, but that chick Rayne doesn’t need to see your haggard face every time she turns around. She was doing damn good before you came back. No wonder why everyone calls you Off-Kilter behind your back—well, except Danielle, she says it right to your face. Frig, man, didn’t you get anything out of Rest?”
“Yeah,” Kilter said without moving a muscle, eyes glaring. “How to hate your dimpled girly face.”
“Hey, just because—”
The library door flung open. Jedrik slammed his mouth shut and Kilter stood up straighter. He quirked his brow when he saw Delara emerge. Now, that’s a surprise. She marched straight past them, through the kitchen, then out the backdoor. A pissed-off cobra slithering away because she just got her butt whipped, no doubt.
His anxiousness to see whom she’d been fighting with was too much to halt his impatience, and he used his vision to see through the wall. There were several books on the floor, a ladder and a broken glass vase. Waleron was leaning against the windowsill looking as if he’d had an afternoon chat with Delara instead of a heated argument.
He walked over to the library and entered. “It was one of Liam’s who shot Rayne,” Kilter said, ignoring the fact that Waleron most likely already knew that.
Waleron remained quiet.
“Rayne stays out of the meeting. She isn’t ready for this shit.” He kept his voice calm. Being sent to Rest again was not his idea of being productive, so he played it cool.
“No,” Waleron stated. “Rayne will attend. We require information and she may have it. We must decide what is to be done.”
“This is bullshit,” Kilter said. “Decide? Talk? Talk all the crap you want, but where were you tonight when she was shot? Where was Delara? Jedrik? None of you were around to help her. All you guys do is talk.” He made a frustrated growl. “Damn it, what if I had still been in Rest? I can’t even trust you guys to watch over one slip of a girl.” He smashed his fist into the wall as he turned to stalk out. Fuck them all. He’d take Rayne, hide her some place safe, come back and put an end to this.
“It won’t work this time, Kilter,” Waleron said.
“What?” He swung around and glared at the man who’d put him in Rest for a bloody six months. Reliving Rayne’s scream hadn’t done much for his nightmares, nor had the incident with Ulrich.
“You will need to work with the others to help her. You cannot fight this one alone.”
“You want to make a bet?”
Waleron straightened and came towards him. “You don’t get it, do you, Kilter? Trust. That is what you lack. That is the only way you will win this battle.”
“Last time I did that, my woman was raped, then killed. I was tortured for, oh, what . . . ten years. You know what that’s like, don’t you, Waleron? Being tortured day after day.”
“Rayne is not Gemma, Kilter. If you had listened to us when we tried to explain what happened, you would know the truth. But you refused to talk about it. You still do. You are so filled with anger that you cannot see through to the truth.”
“You should talk,” Kilter retorted.
Waleron ignored the smart-ass remark. “Do not make Rayne the savior for your past or it will destroy what you already have. Bring her to the meeting.” With that, Waleron walked away.
****
Abby felt the warmth of the cloth against her hip and sighed in her semi-conscious state. Every morning it was the same routine, and she often feigned sleep, knowing he’d stop if he knew she was awake. His strokes across her body were hesitant and unsure. Always being careful to keep as much of her body covered as he could, he cleaned the sweat from her body with the familiar scent of the raspberry soap.
There was no embarrassment that he knew her body so intimately. No, she passed that embarrassment months ago.
She was horrified at the scratches on his face and appalled at the damage she’d done to her fists. Her mind was always a black void about what occurred during the night—only her voice being hoarse made her suspect that she screamed a hell of a lot.
His finger slipped off the cloth and grazed her sensitive skin across her stomach and she sucked in her breath. The cloth was abruptly removed from her body, and a splash of water sounded. She knew without opening her eyes that he’d abandoned the task and was aware she was awake.
Opening her eyes felt like prying open two pieces of paper glued together. She tensed at the sharp pain shooting through her as the light blinded her for several seconds.
Damien stood hovering over the bed, his gaze stern and stoic as if he was made of stone. But she knew he wasn’t; she’d experienced his passion firsthand that night so long ago. He kept it hidden, as though afraid to touch her and yet always when he did, it was gentle and soft, careful not to hurt her while he cleaned and bandaged any wounds.
It was when he began to sit with her during the days that she got a sense of who this man was. Rarely sharing any of himself, yet speaking in calm soothing words to keep her thirst from rising. His voice was what she clung to, looked forward to, as she slipped in and out of consciousness. It didn’t end the pain, her throat so raw, her limbs too sore to move, and the hunger for blood getting stronger each day.
Soon she’d die. There was no question that her body was becoming weaker, and she could no longer keep any food down. Damien tried to force her to eat but what she did came right back up. Water was the only substance left that she could consume, and soon even that she’d have to give up.
Her plan had failed. She knew it had been a risk from the beginning, but becoming pregnant had changed everything. Now, she knew how dangerous it was to become a vampire. The thirst. The inability to know what she was doing. If she turned, the ramifications of it were . . . it was more dangerous than Damien could ever know. He’d be at risk, so would anyone who came near her. She couldn’t take that chance. She wouldn’t.
“You need to eat,” Damien said.
He said that every morning when she woke, and every morning for the past three days she’d refused. “Sit with me,” Abby whispered.
If she was going to die, she wanted him close to her, to feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, his strength, and to hear his tranquil soothing words. At least she’d die with him at her side. Him. Damien. The man she’d never forget after one night of passion.
He acted as if it never happened, but she knew it had, memories of it swimming through her mind when she was Abby, not the psycho Abby who rose during the night.
“Damien,” she said, closing her eyes to the light that burned them. She was so sensitive to everything, light, dark, touch, smell—even Damien’s breath that wisped across her body when he spoke.
The bed sagged after a few silent minutes, and then she felt the familiar warmth of his body next to her. She rolled onto her side as she always did and rested her head on his chest. Comfort, she thou
ght. This is how she wanted to die. He never stroked her or caressed her hair like she wanted him to do, but sometimes, if she was lucky, he’d rest his arm across her shoulders and she could feel his thumb casually stroking. She guessed he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it.
She wondered if he knew she was going to die. Maybe he had begun to sit with her during the day because he was offering her comfort for her last few days of life. How long had they been here? Her birthday had to be soon, and she’d be turning twenty-five. A dangerous age caught in this situation. Too dangerous to stay alive.
“Promise me something?” Abby tilted her head so she could look at him. His eyes were staring straight ahead as if avoiding eye contact. She raised her hand, noticing how it trembled with weakness, and touched the stubble on his chin. She liked that he didn’t shave every day, the rough texture caressing the pads of her fingers.
“I’m not promising anything, Abb.”
“But you haven’t even heard what I want from you yet,” she objected.
“You have enough of me already.”
Whatever that meant; his time maybe. She’d ruined his life for the past however long. “Look at me.” He refused and she raised her voice, which made it crackle. “Look at me, Damien.”
He grabbed her hand, taking it away from his face and putting it back on his chest where he clamped it down with his own. Only then did he lower his gaze to meet her own and she gave a half-smile. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
He grunted.
Before he could look away again—because she needed to see his expression when she asked—she said, “Promise you will let me die.” He immediately scowled and she quickly explained. “If it is between death and becoming a vampire, I choose death. I feel myself slipping. I grow weaker, and I can no longer keep anything in my stomach.”
“Christ, Abb. You’re not going to die, okay? I won’t let it. Go to sleep.”
STEP (The Senses) Page 20
