by Nia Shay
I couldn't say how long we lay like that. It takes a while to drain the blood from a body. Unlike the typical movie monster, he needed only about half of what I had to give, but that was more than enough to render me drowsy and lightheaded. I hung somewhere between sleep and utter oblivion, listening as my breath grew slower, shallower--the soft sonata of impending death.
"Jandra. Open your eyes." The words sounded inside my mind. "Look at me."
I obeyed, craning my neck to look from this angle. He studied me askance, his features thrown into stark relief by the light and shadow as his bright eyes bored into mine. I groped for our mental link, searching for meaning in that gaze, but my fatigue made it difficult to grasp my own thoughts, let alone his.
After a moment he lay back on the pillows, cradling me against his chest. "How do you feel?" he murmured.
Like I had boulders dangling from my eyelids. And a dull knife stuck in my neck. Damn good thing he'd finally decided to be done--if he'd taken much more, I'd probably be shriveled up like a prune. I realized he still waited for an answer, and I forced out the word, "Tired."
"You can rest now." He rolled us over again, propping me against the headboard. He slipped one of the pillows out of its sham, wadding the fabric against my torn throat. "Here." He caught my wrist with his free hand and guided me to hold it in place.
"Ruined...my sheets," I groused weakly as he used another sham to wipe his face and chest clean.
"Inconsequential." Rather than the blank look I would have expected with that word, he smiled softly. He leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, touching my hand again as if to ensure I held enough pressure on the wound. Then he rose from the bed. "Wait a moment. I'll be back."
I nodded and closed my eyes, sagging against the pillows. Water splashed in the bathroom, a distant and hollow sound. Suddenly there were hands on my chest and stomach, opening the buttons of my blouse. Speech buzzed in my ears, and I fell forward, apparently of my own volition. Zeph's fingers trailed down my back as he unfastened my bra and slid down the zipper of my skirt.
I was vaguely aware of him lifting me, his warmth enfolding every inch of my bare body. I think I mumbled his name. His lips pressed my cheek again.
A shifting, and warmth of a different kind surrounded me. He'd lowered me into the bathtub. I wondered at the strange sensation of my hands bobbing limp on the surface of the water as I slipped into unconsciousness.
Fifteen
I woke to the feel of strong arms around me, and to the most beautiful music I had ever heard. I blinked my eyes open tentatively. Early morning sunlight streamed into the room, making them burn and water. Groaning, I huddled closer to Zeph and hid my face against his side.
I felt the shift in his posture as he realized I'd woken, but his voice never wavered. He'd turned on the CD player again and sang a wordless counterpoint to the music. The pure, golden notes seemed to dance between four octaves simultaneously. The beauty of his voice, unfettered by compulsion--it was almost enough to make me weep.
As the music ended, he lifted me so my head rested on his chest. Something brushed my lips. I cracked my eyes open just far enough to identify a straw. "Drink," he urged.
I did, savoring the water's coolness. "The light," I croaked after I'd swallowed.
"The light?" he repeated blankly.
Grunting, I took another sip to moisten my mouth. "Hurts."
"Oh. Of course." He shifted my weight in his arms again and, to my surprise, he lifted me as he stood. I hung cradled against his chest like a sleepy toddler.
"Put me down," I grumbled, struggling weakly.
"I'd rather keep you with me."
"I'm not a damn baby. Ah!" I buried my face in the curve of his shoulder as the glare through my closed lids became excruciating. When the window slid shut and the curtains closed with a swish, I sighed my relief. I didn't open my eyes again until we'd settled back down on the bed.
"I'm sorry I woke you so early." He hugged me close. "But we have much to do before this evening."
"It's okay, and you're right." Twisting in his lap, I picked up the cup of water from the nightstand. I discarded the straw and swallowed the remaining water in a few gulps.
"Slowly," Zeph reproved, frowning.
"To hell with that. I feel like I gargled the entire Gobi Desert."
"You are dehydrated," he agreed unnecessarily. "I didn't find many medical supplies on hand."
"Well, I didn't expect to have to give myself IV fluids ever again," I reminded him with a lift of my eyebrows. "Forget about it. I'll just have to be careful."
His eyes were intent on my discolored throat. "Have I done well by you?" he asked.
I shrugged, feeling the pull of an adhesive bandage against my skin. "Yeah, I guess I'm fine. We'll find out when I try to stand up, anyway."
"That's not what I meant."
"Okay, then, I'm waiting for the punch line."
He sighed, casting about as if frustrated. Finally, he asked, "Have I cared for you well?"
An interesting question. In the past, he'd always been at his most aloof just after a feeding. Sometimes I didn't so much as glimpse him for days afterward--days I spent weak as a baby, knowing he'd be hale and healthy from the sacrifice I'd made for him. Honestly, I'd resented that part of our relationship the most. At least when he'd slept with me I'd felt important.
Unable to put the sentiment into words, I just shrugged. "Except for opening the window, yeah."
"I didn't open the window. It must have already been open last night."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh. Right. Of course it was."
He looked puzzled by my tone. "Though I do apologize for forgetting your eyes would be sensitive this morning."
"Don't worry about it. It shouldn't last very long." I turned to set down the empty cup, but I dropped it instead, gasping in alarm.
"What's the matter?" Zeph asked.
I pointed mutely at the silver candlestick sitting between the CD player and the lamp. He raised an eyebrow. "That would seem to be unnecessary." His tone was hesitant. Clearly he had no idea why I was freaking out.
For that matter, did I, really? "Zeph...." I paused, considering, but there didn't seem to be a sensible way to phrase my question. "Was there...did it seem like, like someone else had been in here? You know, when you came in last night?"
"Not that I noticed." He cleared his throat, eyes sliding sideways. "But I was a bit preoccupied."
"Yeah. Thanks, by the way. For what you did." I stroked my fingers down the column of his throat. "I expected you to sound a lot more hoarse this morning."
He watched my hand as it drifted back to my lap. "I've done well by you, then?"
"Is that what you're asking? You mean, did you treat me like a human being instead of a Big Gulp?"
"I...suppose."
Suddenly restless, I squirmed free of his embrace and stood, finding myself steady enough to pace the length of the room. "Okay, fine, you did a good job. Good angel. I'll send your halo out to be polished." I rounded on him with a smirk, expecting him to look stricken.
But my sarcasm hadn't made a dent in his tranquility. "I've noticed something. When you're uncomfortable, your actions oppose your feelings." He cocked his head to one side. "Why is that?"
"You didn't just ask me that, did you?" When he merely continued to stare at me, I threw up my hands. "All right, first lesson in being an emotional creature, since you apparently are one now--you don't always want to feel the way you do. Doesn't mean you can stop it or change it."
"I see." He nodded thoughtfully.
"Anyway, as you said, we've got stuff to do." I picked up the candlestick gingerly between my thumb and forefinger and dropped it into the wastebasket by the bedside. "Please tell me you have a plan, because I don't, and my head feels like it's packed with wet cement."
He nodded, to my great relief. "I plan on asking one of my brethren for asylum. His home is just a few hours from here." He hesitated. "Do you still intend to come wit
h me?"
"I told you I would, Zeph."
He nodded slowly. "I didn't feel it wise to take your answer for granted after last night."
"How unlike you." I tried for a smirk, but it fell a bit short, feeling more like a genuine smile on my lips. "So, who is it you're planning on hiding out with? I didn't know there were any other Watchers living in this area."
"He goes by the name of Belleryphan. His home is in Oklahoma City, about 250 miles to the east."
"Ryphan lives in OKC now? Huh. I wonder when he moved."
"You're acquainted with him?"
I nodded. "So are you, actually. But he lived in Florida last I knew."
"Damn." He frowned. "How long ago did we meet him?"
"Four or five years ago." I raised an eyebrow at his expression. "It's nothing to get upset about."
"But I need to know this. It troubles me that I can't remember."
Yes, it certainly did. His frustration was palpable. And the swearing! Absolutely unheard of. "It's not a big deal, Zeph."
"Is he our ally?" he asked, clearly distressed.
"Well, he's not the friendliest guy I've ever met, but I don't see him turning us in, either. He's unwarded--by choice, as far as I know--so he doesn't owe the Society that particular loyalty. And considering how much you guys love change, I'm willing to bet he didn't appreciate them uprooting him and shipping him cross-country." I shrugged. "We're probably as safe with him as we are with anybody."
He sighed, his shoulders slumping as if he'd deflated. "Our journey hasn't even begun yet, and already I would be lost without you."
"Jeez, don't worry about it. It's not like it's the first thing you've ever forgotten. Hell, he might not remember you anymore, either. Have you gotten in touch him yet?"
"No. I don't actually know how to contact him."
I snorted. "Great. I love flying blind."
He ignored my comment, adding, "I did phone Cara, however, to tell her not to expect you at work this evening."
"Thanks," I muttered, then did a double take. "Wait, you called Cara? When? For that matter, how?"
With a small smile, he produced a folded sheet of notebook paper from his back pocket. I took it, frowning as I saw two familiar cell numbers scrawled in spiky handwriting. "When did she give this to you?"
"Yesterday, as they were leaving."
"That little shit," I grumbled, wadding the paper and tossing it back in his lap. "So what did she have to say?"
"She said there were no problems, and that she would cover your...hindquarters. Then she informed me she was winking."
"Oh, good lord." I smacked a hand against my forehead, snickering helplessly. "All right. So now we're officially fugitives from the law, the Society, and the devils within. Groovy. Let's go pack."
Zeph stood and trailed after me as I left the room. "I'm not accustomed to traveling," he said. "I wasn't sure what we would need to bring."
"Don't worry about it. Actually, I'm glad you didn't do anything yet. Knowing Briggs, he's probably got goons watching the house. We don't want to tip them off by doing anything out of the ordinary."
"You think we're being observed?" The possibility surprised him--I could sense his consternation even through my bleariness.
Ah, naïveté. I shot him a well-duh look over my shoulder, saying, "Bet on it. This place was loaded with hidden cameras when I first moved in. Took me three months to get rid of them all."
"Truly?"
"Oh yeah. My personal favorite was the one in the showerhead."
"But why would they do such at thing?"
"I dunno." My reply came automatically, but then I paused a moment to think about it. I'd never really considered it at the time. I'd just assumed simple possessiveness--the old "you belong to us!" mindset. But what if there had been another reason? And what the hell could it possibly be? I wasn't that interesting.
"Is something wrong?" Zeph touched my shoulder, and I realized I'd stopped in my tracks on the staircase.
"Nope. I just had a sudden onset of paranoia." I reached up absently to lay my hand over his as my mind reeled with possibilities and potential problems. "Shit," I muttered. "I need to think. Be a peach, would you, and get me some more water?"
He stared at me wide-eyed, as if I'd asked him something momentous. His grip on my shoulder tightened. "Let me help you upstairs first."
"I don't think I'm going to fall down the stairs, Zeph."
"Perhaps not," he said as he herded me forward, "but it would be inconvenient if you did."
I glanced back at him. "Was that supposed to be a joke?"
"I believe so."
I snorted a laugh for his effort, following his urging to the small bedroom he'd claimed for himself. As he headed back out the door, I called, "Find me a pen and paper, too, please?"
"I shall try."
I settled in on the bed, leaning back against the pillows. On the surface, the room gave every appearance of its former emptiness. The bed had been made up again, though far more precisely than I had ever done it. Zeph's scent lingered on the pillows and coverlet--a clean, faintly sweet smell that would have made a great perfume. Eau de Dark Angel.
I laughed at my ridiculous thought and tried to think about the more serious matters at hand, but I couldn't focus while sitting in this room that had become so permeated with his presence in so short a time. It was amazing. In two days he'd been able to breathe life into the space in a way I hadn't managed in two years.
Too bad I'd probably never set foot in this house again after I left it tonight. Surely the Society wouldn't take too kindly to my aiding and abetting Zeph's escape from their clutches. Despite my name on the deed, I had no doubt they'd find a way to take back the house and everything else they'd ever given me. Hell, depending on how vengeful they decided to be, it might even prove dangerous to speak to the twins ever again.
The enormity of the future before me struck home in that moment. My heart began to pound and my lungs to tighten as I thought about it. God, I'd never be able to look back. The life I'd built with my own two hands was crumbling around me. The only things that had ever truly been mine...I was about to throw them all away.
And what would I do next? See Zeph off to an uncertain fate and start over yet again? Or commit myself to a life with him, a life of secrecy and seclusion, of running and hiding whenever the world seemed threatening? Each possibility seemed just as terrifying as the other.
Especially since I had no guarantees he wouldn't go back to being his old heartless self at any moment. Compassion and--dare I even think it?--love had brought us to this point, this moment together. Sentiments that, for the first time, he appeared to genuinely feel and return. But what would happen a month, or a year from now? I shuddered as I recalled countless mornings like this in the past, waking up drained and alone, with barely enough strength to drag myself out of bed and tend my wounds.
I couldn't go back to that life. I wouldn't.
Then don't, a small voice whispered from the back of my mind. He said he wanted to go off and die, so let him. Drive him away and wash your hands of it all. Now or later--what difference does it make?
"Jandra? What's happening?" Zeph appeared in the doorway, wild-eyed, a gallon jug of water slipping from his grasp to thud on the carpet. His other hand clutched at his chest, telling me he, too, felt the effects of my panic attack.
Whoever came up with the phrase "misery loves company" apparently never tried his hand at doubles hyperventilation. It isn't any more fun with a partner. I felt worse, actually, since now I was racked with guilt that he suffered too, without really understanding why. I sucked in a shallow breath to cough out the words, "I'm afraid."
He came to me, crossing the room in three long strides. I fell into his embrace as he knelt on the bed beside me. The harsh rhythm of our breathing jarred our bodies together as we gasped for air that never seemed to satisfy. "How do you live with this feeling?" Zeph rasped.
Because dying isn't as easy as it sou
nds. I didn't bother speaking those words out loud. I just clung to him, and as he fell silent, I began to hear voices--the frenetic susurrus of human thoughts, prayers, and dreams that haunted his mind almost constantly.
"What the hell?" I'd never been able to hear them before except while I drew energy from him.
"You're listening." His reply came out so strained that I couldn't tell if he'd meant it as a question or a statement.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He just shook his head. How freaking helpful. I chalked it up to a weird side effect of our ever-growing bond. Fortunately, it didn't last too long. The noise faded away as my pulse began to return to normal.
Zeph sat back shortly afterward, brows drawing together. "What happened, Jandra?" He dabbed at my cheekbone with his thumb, his eyes full of bewildered pity.
I looked into his deep, dark eyes, and I knew what I had to do. I'd fallen in love with those eyes years ago, when they'd reflected nothing but my own face. Seeing them now filled with sympathy and yearning, I knew I couldn't turn my back on him again. It had been hard enough to do it the first time. Back then I'd had every reason to, and the stakes hadn't been nearly this high.
So maybe someday he would go back to the way he'd been before. We'd cross that bridge when and if we came to it. I couldn't leave him, nor could I let him die. Whether I liked it or not, I'd always be the yin to his yang. And if I was willing to sacrifice my heart for him, how could I worry about a stupid house?
"Jandra?"
"Nothing," I whispered, blinking away the last of my tears. "It was nothing."
He cocked his head in question, but I couldn't say any more. There just isn't a nice way to tell somebody you'd been thinking about abandoning him to his doom. I dropped my head to his shoulder, hiding my face against his neck. "Did you get my water?"
"Yes." I felt his head turn toward the doorway, but he made no move to get up and retrieve the jug. "Did you fear I wouldn't return?" he asked doubtfully.
