Danger threaded the man’s voice as he moved closer to Xander. “My job is to make sure you’re not a threat while you are my guest.” With a nod, sharp fingers tore what was left of his shirt off him, leaving his pants. “Your blood is a bonus to those who helped deliver my victory today.”
“So, no talking about your personal life. How about your professional? You’re in the middle of coup and fighting my people. How the hell do you think you’re going to win this one?” Xander knew better than to act the ass. But it wouldn’t matter. Not in the slightest. Before the knife touched him, he knew one of the ways to keep him docile was to bleed him, like his people bled the Darks serving them and the Elementals. Silver was a caustic agent to a Mage; it didn’t kill them, but it hurt.
“Mage, I am standing here, so tell me, who do you think will win? Now, it’s your turn to do your part,” Cazacul growled as he cut. The metal was cold, stinging. Behind the Dark leader, the shapes came into focus: older Darks, some with the strange pale skin typical of creatures who don’t see daylight; others were gray-tinged, a few whose features were perfect except for their sharp teeth. Others, deformed, leaned in, licking lips, eyes glittering.
Xander centered himself. He would survive, but it would cost him.
Chapter Thirteen
NO. MINA’S HANDS PRESSED against the scarred, rough wood as if the heavy door would move because she willed it. The spell within the grain made her hands tingle and go numb. She wanted to melt into the wood, to become part of the dried bits of desiccated planks.
No, she needed to flow through it, like water over a fallen tree. To stand before her father like she’d never done before and defend the man she loved. To deflect the knife that sliced into his flesh. To tear through the salacious gazes of those who would drink from him.
Emotion. It ripped at her insides more brutally than any knife or claw that had ever torn her skin. She thought she’d buried her sentiment years ago as a defense mechanism against Elspeth, who tolerated not the slightest inkling of feelings. The gnawing pain of helplessness traveled along the synaptic pathways of her body. She shook, small shivers making her teeth chatter.
Xander.
He’d tried to protect her by destroying the marrow-sucking bone eaters and the spiders who would paralyze and consume her flesh.
He’d saved her again.
She’d failed him again.
“Papa, no…” she cried, screamed, the noise unnatural and loud. It echoed down the hall, but no one came to the door. The stone wraiths stood guard, watching her with motionless faces. She didn’t care. Her world was in that room and suffered without her. She knew his flesh was slowly being torn from him as if it were paper, and no one was there to glue it back. He needed her.
No…she needed him.
Her nails bit into the door, and slivers of wood slid beneath her nails. Spots of purple blood welled up and streaked down the surface as she clawed at the door. Flashes of bright pain, sparks to remind her of failure. She welcomed the agony; it was no more than she deserved.
She uttered spells she’d sworn to herself never to speak. The words and the energy bounced off the barrier. Focus was needed for magic to take, and her concentration wasn’t on power; it was on Xander.
Hot liquid splashed onto her cheeks. Tears.
There was no entering the room. Not while her father was in there. She turned to the stone wraith, silent, his chameleon skin part of the stone behind him. All she saw were his gray eyes. Was there a spark of compassion there? There was a brief light of understanding before it died into nothing. She was sure of it.
“Casper, let me in. I know you have the key or a way…” She didn’t recognize her voice, thick with tears, rough. She hadn’t cried like this since her brother died. Now the last bit of her heart was to be ripped from her, crushing the light she desperately tried to hold onto.
No other movement since the last flicker of emotion deep in those eyes. There would be no help.
Blurred images. Breathlessness. Dull thuds as she kicked, ignoring the sharp pain on her feet. The shadows turned against her. There was no walking through them. Her fists hit the door; skin split just like her soul.
Nothing.
Reason? There was none. Nothing. Only pain. The sharp-gasping, soul-wrenching twist of not being able to touch, to share, to help.
The knowing hurt the worst.
Ignoring the power thrumming through the door, she leaned her head on it, begging. “Please, Pater,” she pleaded, using her childhood word for him. She couldn’t meet her father in direct confrontation; his experience and power so much greater than hers. But she could appeal to his weakest side—the love for his children, for her. He didn’t hear her. Didn’t want to.
The sound of her supplication was strange to her. She never did this. Not for anyone.
Now she knew why clan members would debase themselves and promise anything for mercy. She’d do anything. Be anything. Sacrifice anything.
She had nothing to offer but herself.
She slid to the corner of the door, hugging her knees, and let the flow of tears fall, dripping off her chin. She remembered the blue of Xander’s eyes, the lift of his lip. He’d always saved her. Always helped her. Never did he refuse her.
She wouldn’t leave him.
She’d not let him endure what the lower clans planned for him. What her father would allow. She knew the protocols to keep the powerful prisoners weak. Bleed them. Hurt them. Make them afraid. But she wasn’t weak.
Her tongue flicked along her razor-sharp teeth as a growl rumbled in her throat. She willed anger to her, wrapping it around her like a blanket. It wasn’t warm; it was hot. No, this was her world, and she’d teach the ones hurting the man she loved how very terrible she could be.
“Is she all right?” Nicki wanted to jerk Lev’s head back as he crouched over Rachel, her usual pale face ghostly on her cream couch. Did he have to run his hands down her face like that? What was with that? She couldn’t stop the sudden twist of envy at his gentle touch. Vic never touched her with that much care, as if she were made of spun glass.
She looked at her now-silent cell and put it back in her pocket. She’d just gotten off the phone with Laurie, who’d been curiously insistent on finding out where Mina was, not that Nicki could help her. At the moment, she had her hands full with this particular pain-in-her-ass.
“She’s overused her abilities. Rachel is quite the clairvoyant.” Lev’s beautiful voice savored her friend’s name as if it were the finest bit of wine he’d ever tasted. Maybe that’s why he didn’t seem so concerned that Mina was with a Mage. Or maybe he knew he couldn’t do anything about it and focused on something he could. “She needs to rest. I’ve given her a tincture, but I’m not sure how it will work on her…being human,” he murmured.
“She’s a witch.” God, was that her voice sounding so caustic and hostile? Nicki really did need to dial the bitch back. “I mean, doesn’t that make her part of one of the three races.”
“No.”
Wow. He was helpful.
“She does magic.” She sat on a side chair, her hands tapping the armrests. She needed to do something or she’d go mad.
Lev twisted his head to glare at her, one eyebrow raised. In this position, his face was grotesque; scars ripped down the side of his face, and his eyes glittered. A flutter of fear brushed along Nicki’s spine and settled in her stomach, making her swallow.
“She doesn’t do magic; she uses the herbs to accentuate natural gifts. The power you felt was her accessing that part of her.” His tone had a hint of impatience to it, as if she should’ve known these things. Which she didn’t. “All humans have an extra sense, but only the witches develop it. Which is good, or we’d have more of a problem with humans.” He turned back to Rachel, running a hand over her face one more time before leaning back and taking a seat on an ottoman nearby, angling it to stay near her friend.
“Why do you have such an interest in her if she’s just a hum
an with a touch of clairvoyance?” She couldn’t help challenging him; his presence sucked up the space in her living room. Her shabbily chic furniture so carefully chosen appeared awkward, too much for the area. She’d pushed all heavy furniture against the walls, leaving only a coffee table and an ottoman in the center of the room before the non-working fireplace. The creams and earth tones she once thought warm and inviting made it bland. She had an urge to shop, to buy new furniture, pillows, slipcover—anything to change this room, make it brighter to match the vibrant Dark who sat there. Which was silly, really. She couldn’t afford it, and he wasn’t bright.
He was the absence of light.
“It’s her interest in herbs that fascinates me,” Lev told her.
He watched Nicki as she retrieved the oblong box of cleaning supplies for her firearms wedged in her bookshelf and brought it back to her chair. She jerked the side table next to the couch in front of her to set everything on it. A lamp used to sit there, before she broke it a few weeks ago practicing some self-defense movements. Her practicing hadn’t helped when Lev showed up. No. Instead, she shot her pantry. It was going to be a while before she got over that little scene.
“Sure.” Oops. Perhaps that was too sarcastic. She watched as her friend’s chest barely rose as she breathed. The urge to call a doctor was strong. Maybe her mother? She’d rather have a root canal without Novocain before talking to Ava, but she’d do it for Rae.
He shrugged, ignoring her tone. “Of course. As a human, they rely so much on their technology and science. But witches, they’ve managed to grow alongside modern life and perfect combinations even I haven’t come across. The blend she tossed to make me sneeze. Curious. I want to know how she does that.” Lev gazed at her, a small smile on his lips.
“But…” As sudden as the sarcasm showed up, it dissipated, and she found herself talking. It was either that or do something stupid, like shoot at Lev again. “Shouldn’t we call someone? I mean, I know you said—”
“I’m a healer,” Lev told her, his rich voice gentle. “Most of us are. Except for Mina.” Here he made a small face of exasperation. “She never could sit still long enough to learn. Believe me when I tell you, Rachel is fine. She needs rest. She’s been pushed to the brink, and no amount of modern medicine or spells will hurry it along.”
“Are you sure? You said you wouldn’t know how the tincture would react with her.” Anxiety wound through her, and she ignored the raised eyebrows. He did that way too much. She kept shifting her weight, unable to sit.
“It’s more about how long she’ll sleep. If she were a Dark, I’d say an hour or two. A Mage, the same. Elementals, thirty minutes. Don’t worry, she’s fine.”
His smooth voice wound around her, relaxing her, and she didn’t want to relax. Nicki walked over and stood next to the couch. She extended her hand, where it hovered above Rae’s shoulder. Maybe she should shake her friend awake.
“It’s not fine. Of all my friends, Rae is the one who’s always there for us. She braved Mikhail Petrov’s security to check on Laurie when he took her. She stood by me when I was at that Mage clinic. She never screws up. She bails others out. Look at her now, because we forced her to help.” She sure as hell wasn’t going to let him get out of this.
“It is fine. She did her job. Witches know they have skills, and if they want to practice, it’s understood they either find a patron in return for protection against other races or they freelance.” His voice held a thread of steel as he watched her. A muscle below his eye twitched, and Nicki knew he was preparing himself to intercept if she dared touch her friend. “Mina spoke about her. She had a lot of respect for her.”
“Really? Rae doesn’t like Darks much.”
Nicki closed her fist tight and stepped back. Returning to her make-shift work area, she dropped into her seat. With deft movements, she flipped open the box she’d placed there, removing a bottle of oil and setting it carefully on the flat surface of the side table. Next she brought out the small squares of cloth and other implements within the wooden container. She caught his expression out of the corner of her eye and took a certain satisfaction at his faint look of surprise at her statement. Take that.
“Why?”
Oh. Damn. He had to ask.
“I don’t know really.” Nicki picked up the 9mm kept in the drawer of the side table, taking it apart to clean it. She’d grown accustomed to this gun and liked the feel of the metal in her hands. What did that say about her? “I think it has something to do with her family. She won’t talk about it. If you think she’s bad, her mother is a hundred times worse.”
“I could change her mind,” Lev promised.
“Why?” She paused to look at the scarred Dark, wondering again at his interest. For a second, Nicki was struck by his attitude, reminding her forcefully of Mina and her determined, if at times pathological, optimism.
“Because she is a challenge, and there is something exquisite within.” He murmured the words as if speaking to himself. When had any man, even Vic, ever said something like that about her? Never.
“I hope you have a lot of those little bottles of whatever you drank, because you’re going to need them.” Nicki returned her attention to her task and unscrewed the bottle of the oil used in the cleaning. “She’s very stubborn, and you messed with her system. Even I don’t mess with her system. The woman has plans for her plans.” She shook the bottle, but something rattled. What? It was supposed to be liquid. She tipped the bottle over to see what came out.
Lev said something sounding suspiciously like “perfect,” but she didn’t really hear, because when she poured out the contents, hundreds of small tiny silver balls rolled out and scattered everywhere. She’d never get them all with the vacuum.
She swore. Loudly. Once again, she’d changed the very essence of one thing—the oil—into another—the small silver balls.
Slamming the bottle on the table, her frustration boiled over, and as the glass hit, it shattered in a loud pop.
“Why? Why? Why?” Nicki said through gritted teeth. “I just can’t catch a break.” She put her head in her hands, not caring if her elbows rested on shards of cut glass; the sting as it bit into her skin was minor compared to her personal agony. Who cared? She didn’t have a job. She couldn’t buy more supplies. Pay a mortgage. Hell, the way things were going, she’d probably be on the street in the next three weeks. In fact, it was guaranteed. Wow. She’d managed to get Mina snagged by a Mage, Rachel knocked out by being forced to scry, and she had to deal with scar-face. Pressure built behind her eyes.
I will not cry in front of him.
Well, she lied.
Nicki did cry. Hot, noisy tears. Hands gently lifted her arms and brushed the glass from her elbows onto the table. She barely registered the warmth of Lev’s fingers on her skin, or the heat of his larger body as he knelt before her.
“Nicki.” He said her name, and there was an odd affection to it. Not sexual. Compassionate. It cut through her angry tears, not in an abrupt way; more like her emotion was drained. Wait. She looked up at Lev. His black eyes watched her, his face expressionless.
“Are you eating my emotions?” The tears left as swiftly as they came. A cold sensation flowed through her veins, an injection of reality as she asked the question. Mina could eat emotion.
“No.” His mouth twisted in the slightest expression of distaste. “I am not my mother; she must consume them.”
“But you can take them from me.”
“Yes.” He wasn’t fazed by her murderous glare. Why should he? He could take that, too.
“Don’t ever—”
“Stop.” He placed a finger over her mouth.
Nicki widened her eyes. He did not just do that. She pulled back from him, slapping his hand away.
“I am not your enemy right now.”
“Really? You came in and tried to—”
“Deliver books, and you shot at me,” Lev reminded her.
“You should’ve knocked.”
Nicki wasn’t going to take his crap.
“And your job is to recognize energy signatures.” Lev leaned back, but he didn’t go far. He didn’t blink as he studied her. With a quick movement reminding her too closely of a striking snake, he reached over and wiped off a small trickle of blood from her cut skin. He put it in his mouth. His eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at his now-clean finger and back at her.
That was it. Nicki stood up. “Get out. I don’t care if—” She stopped at Lev’s expression. He blinked, mouth thinning. Was he getting angry?
“Rahat.” It came out in a rush. By the tone, Nicki knew this wasn’t something cordial. He was pissed. “Mina never said you could do this.”
“Do what?” Nicki stepped back. It was time to get her shotgun. Her eyes slid to the couch, where it lay beneath, waiting for her. Her odds of getting to it before Lev stopped her were decidedly not in her favor.
“Nicki, do you know what kind of Mage you are?” His voice deepened, and Nicki found herself relaxing. Which was crazy, because he was certainly not someone you relaxed with.
“Obviously not,” she snapped, tired of this game and of fighting to stay angry. She should be calm; his voice encouraged her to do so. To melt and lean against him, but it felt wrong. “You seem to know. Tell me, what great thing I can do? If it doesn’t involve me finding a job and saving my friends, I’m not interested.” A part of her didn’t want to know, because each new revelation in her life appeared to add one more painful layer to an already screwed up one.
“You are a molecular Mage.”
She laughed. It wasn’t an amused laugh; it edged on hysterical—a high bark of sound. “Molecules. If you mean I can change substances, yes, I know this.” She leveled a gaze at Lev. “It’s why Mina tried to get those books, to help me control whatever I have. Now she’s trapped with a Mage, and I’m back to square one.” Could she get any more self-involved? “All I know is whatever I touch can change—”
“A gift we’ve been looking for.” Lev was back to not blinking as he stared at her. It was an unnerving trait he shared with his sister.
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