For the first time, there was no struggle to bring his inner wall down. Though he had been taught to be strong, to harden his heart against the onslaught of confusing emotions, this time he welcomed them. Pain tore at his heart with cruel hands, but it was an acceptable one, a taut, half-sweet ache. She was his mate, bound to him. A part of his soul, he realized, a part of his self that had been long missing. He could not turn away from her need. He was, as Megwyn so scathingly observed, incomplete. Julienne was his one step closer to being complete. Whole.
And so here he was, digging through these damned old manuscripts for a way to save her life. He could feel the tension in his head, neck and shoulders as he carried the book to his desk and set it down.
Settling at his desk, he opened a side drawer and pulled out several sheets of unlined paper. Pulling the candle close, he opened the first book and took up an old-fashioned fountain pen. The writing inside was faded, nearly invisible in places. Tedious reading even for the sharpest eyes. Slicking long bangs out of his, he blinked several times to clear away the cobwebs of fatigue. Reading from the book, he began to draw a series of symbols, beginning with a pentacle star.
Ta dty lhiasagh dty ghoarn.
Thy recompense is in thine own hand.
Chapter Seventeen
Julienne drifted toward wakefulness as if borne in the hands of angels.
Without opening her eyes, she lay savoring the gentle softness of her bed, the welcome warmth of the blankets across her body. Not wanting to return to the realm of the living just yet, she rolled over onto her side, covering her head with her pillow and letting her mind wander between that world of waking and sleep.
But lingering pain intruded on her desire to sleep; and her mind was stilled riddled by horrific impressions perching in the back of her skull, ready to pounce with the coming of consciousness.
Sleep was a forgotten thing.
She squinched her eyes tighter. She was so tired, more than bone weary. Under the covers, she flexed her fingers. They seemed thicker, swollen, as if she were retaining water. She drew her legs up to her chest. There was a strange jumpy feeling deep under the skin. Inside her legs was the imperative urge to run, dance, wiggle.
A half-groan, half-grumble escaped her lips. Her eyes opened like shutters across a window barred too long when she rolled over on her back. Repositioning the pillow under her head, she took a deep breath. Her chest felt sore, congested. A deep ache lingered in her bones, like a herd of wild bison had trampled her from the top of her head to the tip of her toes.
Above was the canopy of her bed. Her suite was handsomely enough appointed. Retaining a historical flavor yet updated to offer every modern convenience, it was decorated in soothing shades of blue and lilac. There was plush carpet on the floor and antique furniture that gave the impression the year was 1889, not 1989. French doors led onto a sweeping balcony, a sweeping curved affair that boasted a magnificent view of the gardens.
In the center of the gardens stood a priceless marble fountain of a male lion in all its proud feline glory. Despite the fact that autumn was settling in, a few hardy flowers lining the tile walkways still bloomed. This had been her mother's room, and she was glad to be within these sheltering walls. This was home, where she belonged.
She sighed heavily and struggled to sit up, only to be immediately stomped down by a sudden bolt of pain. Realization of what caused it loosened fear back into her heart. Hands flying to her chest, she endured the spasm. Thankfully, it was not the wretched agony of before. The pain seemed muffled, as if the mutant had been wrapped in thick cotton bunting. It was, she realized, a bearable thing.
Memories stirred, vague pieces floating slowly together. She had the reassuring impression of Morgan, of him touching her in a way he never had before. Not in a sexual way but intimately, caressing her skin with a light touch.
"Close your eyes, and the pain will go," he'd told her. She did not understand the words he'd murmured, but she did recall their two minds had been one. Seeking to spare her further pain, he'd taken it into himself so she could rest, begin to heal.
She remembered soft steps, muted voices and the cloying scent of Morgan's clove cigarettes. More memories broke through the haze--of warm water on her begrimed skin, of Melissa brushing her tangled hair, dressing her in a clean gown and tucking her between crisp sheets.
Feeling pressure in her bladder, she was reminded that some things could not be put off, mutant or not. She set aside the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Darkness swam before her eyes, and a curiously numb sensation passed through her. For a fearful moment, she thought she was going to faint. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stand up. She was determined not to give in and was spurred on by the thought that she didn't want to embarrass herself.
Her legs were wobbly as a new colt's, but she was standing.
This feels all too familiar.
Though the temptation to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head was inviting, she thrust the idea out of her mind. She made her way to the bathroom, gripping each piece of convenient furniture in its turn. The nightdress she wore was high-necked and long-sleeved, and the material fell in soft, flattering folds that hugged her figure. The style was simple, loose and nonconstricting.
Reaching the toilet, she braced herself against the wall, hiking up her gown and inching down her panties. Sitting, she began to urinate. At least I'm working inside, she thought, glad to be doing something human.
When she finished, her gaze wandered to the deep bathtub. Oh, God, a bath would be wonderful. Hot water. Soap. Clean hair. She nibbled her lip. I'll do it if I have to crawl.
Kicking off her panties, she lifted the heavy cotton gown over her head. Even before she saw her naked body, she knew something was horribly wrong.
She gasped. Her entire torso was limned with thick black tendrils snaking underneath her skin. They extended completely around her ribcage to her back. The things seemed to be following the course of her blood vessels, growing up her shoulders and extending down her arms to just midway of her forearms. Another six inches and they would reach her palms.
Her legs were similarly rooted, only the tendrils had not stopped at her knees; they extended almost to her ankles. She turned around, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of her back. Just as the front of her body was laced, so were her back and her butt cheeks, all the way down the back of her legs like varicose veins.
Her skin felt leathery and had a grayish, translucent hue--pale from the blood being sucked out of her body. Her fingernails had grown long; but instead of being straight, they had an odd downward curve.
Just like the claws of the creature that attacked me.
Pressing her trembling hand to her heart, she was aware of the mutant's presence. She could feel the pulsing of the thing inside her, a vibration much akin to the purring of a cat. A child in the womb, the mutant was content. Was that a good sign or a bad one?
Though she'd not eaten recently, she was not hungry. The thought of eating made her nauseous. Gagging on her own digestive acids, she believed she would never swallow sustenance again. Her body no longer needed it--she was the food being consumed!
Oh, God! This thing's grown completely through me! Swaying in misery, sure she would faint, she felt her mind threaten to veer off into incoherence. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to remember anything about Sclyd or the creature inside her. Why didn't Morgan let me die?
Tears slipped from her eyes. She grimaced, immediately wiping them away. Wait a minute. Her face. Something felt different. She pressed her hand to her cheek, the butterflies of taut nerves doing dizzying somersaults in her stomach. Under her exploring fingers, she felt not deep, festering slashes but smooth, healed skin.
My face! A queer little glow thrilled through her, and a crazy giggle broke from the back of her throat, lifting away layers of depression and hopelessness.
Curious to see, she braced herself on the vanity sink.
She stared into the looking-glass, giving a hard, unabashed stare to the image there. Her face, that thing she had once reveled in and then reviled, was back to normal. Normal meaning the scars that James Hunter had etched into her skin were still in place. Acceptably in place. These she could live with, had learned to ignore. It was easy to harbor vague feelings of hatred about her face, her body, but these scars were a part of who she was now, in this present time. And she wouldn't trade them for anything in the world, for these scars had, in a roundabout way, brought her home.
Julienne's eyes dropped to her left arm. She ran her fingers over her smooth skin. Despite herself, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She didn't need to question how Morgan had taken away the slices on her face. She already knew. The day she'd stopped Ashleigh, his ex-girlfriend, from putting a bullet in his head, she'd learned exactly what he was. Ashleigh had scratched her as they fought for control of the gun, putting several deep scratch marks in her skin. Using only a peachy, grainy, sand-like substance, he had chased the injury away.
That powder, she thought. If he can heal my face, then perhaps there's something he can do about this thing inside me.
Hope--that precious gift lingering in the bottom of Pandora's box on the day all the evils of the world were let loose--blossomed in her heart. It was a small thing, more an ember than bright flames, but it nevertheless glowed inside her. As long as there's breath, there's life. And if she should die, she would be interred here, with her people.
But she wasn't planning on dying. Not now. "I might be a mess," she murmured, "but I've got to fight this thing. I've made it this far."
Setting her mind to making herself presentable, she leaned over the edge of the tub and put the stopper in. Turning on the taps, she let steamy hot water fill it. She poured in a capful of bubble bath, paused a moment, then poured in another. Bubbles. She wanted lots of bubbles. She wanted to clean away every bit of grime lingering on her skin.
When the tub was full, she sank into its welcoming depths, inching herself into the scalding bubbly water as though she could somehow boil the creature out. The water felt wonderful on her abused body. She lay, head back on the rim, eyes closed, savoring the warmth.
* * *
An hour later, Julienne made her way downstairs. She'd dressed simply in an airy long-sleeved caftan. It seemed sensible to wear nothing binding and, more importantly, to conceal the mutant's presence in her body from prying eyes. Her long hair was braided neatly. She wore no makeup. By this time she was comfortable enough with her face not to care about the scars.
Still, the butterflies of angst fluttered in her. She was not sure what the staff knew or how they would greet her. It was not long before she would find out.
She'd barely reached the doorway to the library when she heard her name being called.
"How are you, dear?"
Recognizing Danielle Yames' voice, her gaze settled on a woman with short-cropped brown hair and a pert face with a gently cleft chin. Danielle sat on the floor in front of the coffee table. A pencil was perched on her left ear. A stack of bills, a steno pad and mug of coffee at hand, she looked every bit the harried secretary attempting to sort through the daily correspondence.
Julienne's gaze swept the library again. Furnished in Early American style, its couches were still covered with afghans Anlese had knitted before arthritis robbed her of her ability to create with her hands. Books lined the shelves, and magazines and the latest papers were scattered about on tables for easy access.
The day was slightly cloudy, dimming the light filtering through the huge bay windows. Everything seemed normal. Sane.
"I'm fine," she said, trying to quell the tremors racing through her. She forced a cool smile to her lips. No reason to let nerves get the better of her. Legs still a bit shaky, she made her way to where Danielle worked and took a seat on the couch. It was a relief to sit down. Her eyes drifted to the closed door leading into a smaller adjoining den. She already knew that Morgan was not in the third floor suite reserved exclusively for his use.
"You look a little better today," Danielle said, smiling.
Julienne had no chance to answer. Melissa came bustling in obviously intending to join Danielle for lunch.
"Miss Julie!" Melissa sat the tray of sandwiches down. "Should you be up? You could have rang for me." At her heels nipped a tiny figure. The elf's head bobbed. He stood nearly as tall as an adult's knees and he clutched a small tri-color kitten. The cook's cat had recently thrown off a litter, and the elf had found something smaller than he was. It was obviously a case of love at first sight, and no one had been able to part Lynar from his kittens.
"I'm fine," Julienne answered vaguely. Mouth agape, she could only stare. "Where did that come from?" Her voice was half disbelief, half confusion. She vaguely recalled seeing a similar creature caged in Xavier's dungeon. She knew that the occult concealed an interesting variety of otherworld beings, but she hadn't expected to see one in the library. In broad daylight. It was almost surreal. She was ready to pinch herself to make sure she was awake and not trapped in some bizarre dream.
Melissa's face scrunched up. "Morgan says it followed him home." Clutching his kitten, the elf hid behind the skirts of her dress. He peeked out again, little face pinched, eyes curious.
"What is it?"
"Dunno. It's cute, but pesky. Chatters all the time." The black woman bent and made a motion with her hand. "Go find Tobias. He has money for you." The elf grinned and quickly scampered off. More than pets, he liked the currency the humans had.
"It isn't saying much now," Julienne observed dryly.
"Lynar's frightened of big people, Melissa explained. "But when he gets to know you, there's no shutting him up." She shook her head. "Not that I understand much of what he says. Tobias is in love. I think he wants us to adopt it as a brother for our baby." She patted her stomach. Her pregnancy had not yet begun to show on her slender frame.
Danielle snagged a plate off the tray, turkey on rye. "That I have to see," she cracked. Both women giggled, then grew serious again.
Melissa indicated the food. "Would you like something? Are you hungry?"
Julienne shook her head. "No, I'm fine."
It was clear by the look on Melissa's face that she thought differently. She reached out, gently sweeping the tips of her fingers across Julienne's cheek. "You had all of us worried sick last night," she said softly.
Unsettled to think that Melissa might have seen the damages, a heavy feeling filled her as nausea curled through her stomach. "It was bad, wasn't it?"
"Yes. Morgan was worried about you." Her gaze locked warmly on Julienne's and the expression on her face softened. "I've never seen him act like he did last night. Somehow you've gotten yourself into that man's heart."
The words were as precious as gold to Julienne. She plucked them out of the air, turned them over, savoring each. They lent her strength. She reveled in the warmth hearing them brought.
"Really?"
"Yes," Melissa answered reassuringly.
"How is he?" They both knew what the question meant.
"He's all right."
A feeling of relief swept through her. She closed her eyes and said a little prayer. At least Morgan was in better shape than she was. Her relief was short lived. A jolt from inside sent a thousand shafts of lightning all the way down to her toes. Gasping, she pressed her hand to her stomach to quell the sudden nausea the pain ushered in. Her fingers balled into a fist.
Noticing her movement, Danielle stopped eating. "That place you went…"
Like a dash of ice water, the memories pour over her. Remembrance washed her vision with red. Her lungs emptied of breath.
"It was hell," she answered in a thin voice that hardly sounded like her own. She gulped and made an unintentional mewling sound. Cupping a hand over her mouth, she closed her eyes and wished she hadn't. Images of Sclyd began to circle in her mind, vultures ready to pick away at her bones. She sucked in a breath to steady herse
lf. "It's place you would never want to see. The things that happened would curdle your blood. It's horrible there."
"I can only imagine," Melissa said quietly, hands on her shoulders, rubbing away the tension.
"It seems like we were there forever," she finished shakily.
"You were only gone nine days."
Nine days. It seemed like an eternity. In reality, barely a week and a half.
Feeling a sudden chill, Julienne crossed her arms over her chest, trying to rub away the chills she felt deep inside. She frowned, the muscles around her mouth twisting spasmodically. For some odd reason, she couldn't help but to think of her mother. Cassandra's fears of Morgan and his world had shadowed her childhood. Those same fears now began to beat incessantly at her brain.
"Is something wrong?" Melissa questioned, worried. "If you need anything…"
Julienne shook her head. "I'm ok. I was just thinking about my mother…how much she despised this place. She knew what was waiting…on the other side. It frightened her so badly that she ran away."
Brows arched like wings over her hazel eyes, Danielle angled Julienne a questioning look. "She never told you anything?"
"No." Her voice was little more than a hollow quaver. She refused to tell me about where we came from, what we, ah, what we really were."
Melissa reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Your grandmother begged Morgan for years to find you, bring you back. He never wanted to, but the sicker Anlese got, the more she insisted that you be found. She believed you belonged here. Morgan, too. She never wanted either of you to leave. Most of all, she always wanted you to know the truth."
Julienne swallowed and knotted her hands. Anxiety filled her. "Morgan didn't want me to come to Virginia, I know. What was here was supposed to die when he left." She sniffed, wiping at her nose. "Now I've dragged him back to a place he doesn't want to be. If I had to do it over again, I wouldn't come back either."
Grasping for something reassuring to say, Danielle quietly spoke up. "It's--difficult--to accept that different kinds of beings exist within the fabric of our everyday world. It was hard, very hard, for me to realize and accept that, too."
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