After I lock my front door, I head to my bathroom and turn on the shower. I strip, then step beneath the water, not waiting for it to get warm. The icy stream pelts my face and shoulders, but I grit my teeth and watch the plastic floor turn brown as dirt and grime wash down my skin. I’m hoping the cold shower erases my mind for a few minutes. I’m tired of Kyol knowing how I feel, and I’m sick of worrying about losing Aren.
But when I block both of them from my mind, my other concerns crowd in on me. Like the fact that all my voice mails were from Paige. None from Lee. None from Shane. The latter bothers me more than not hearing from Lee. If Shane was alive, there would have been some sign of him by now. But it’s so hard for me to convince myself that he’s dead. I need proof. I need to know that he’s not being held hostage by the remnants.
Or by Lorn or the false-blood.
By the time the shower heats to something warmer than tepid, the water is almost clear. I pull my towel off the metal hanger. I don’t have a bath mat, so I step onto my jeans so I don’t slip on the wet linoleum. Something digs into my heel. I look down.
And see Kyol’s name-cord half-hanging out of my pocket.
I draw in a breath, reach down, and pick it up. It’s made of onyx and audrin, a pale stone native to the Realm. I’ve never seen Kyol wear it, but I had every intention of returning it to him when I took it from my apartment in Houston. I’m glad I can still give it back to him, but the way Aren slapped it into my palm . . .
I throw my towel against the wall, wishing it were heavy enough to slam or break something. It’s not. It falls so quietly to the floor it might as well flutter.
I kick it into the corner, where my soiled clothes are. Three days until I lose Aren. I’m beginning to think that he might really let that time go by. That hurts. And it makes me feel like I’m a fool.
Swallowing back my emotions, I jerk on clean undies, a pair of cargo pants, and a black T-shirt. I stuff the name-cord in a pocket, swearing an oath to myself that I will return it to Kyol the next time I see him, then I grab a comb and pull it through my wet hair. I’m conquering the tangles one by one when tension explodes through my life-bond. I grab the edge of the sink, bracing for whatever is coming next, but Kyol gets control of his emotions and the situation he’s in. He’s not safe, and he’s worried. Cautious. He’s trying to settle down the celebrating mob, most likely. Has it grown more violent? Has it turned against—
Pound.
I spin toward my bedroom, ripping the comb free to clutch it in front of me like a dagger. The sound came from my front door. Or maybe it was a neighbor’s door? Someone could have dropped something on the floor above me.
Pound!
That definitely came from my door. It’s not exactly a knock, but it’s not quite hard enough to say that someone’s trying to break in.
Eyeing the peephole, I cautiously take a step forward.
“McKenzie.”
I freeze. The voice is muffled through the door, but it sounds strained. And it sounds familiar.
I peek through the peephole. No one’s out there. At least, no one’s standing directly in front of the door.
Pound. Pound.
“McKenzie.”
I back up, frowning. Surely, that’s not who it sounds like.
I unlock the door, turn the knob, then pull it open. Lorn falls inside.
My hands slip under his arms just before his knees hit the floor.
“Jesus, Lorn.” He’s freaking heavy, and he’s . . . wet?
I move him away from me, leaning his back against the doorframe. My breath catches in my lungs. Lorn’s badly hurt. His face is a mask of red, and one bloodied hand is holding his stomach. I can’t see how bad that wound is—I’m pretty sure I don’t want to see it—but his clothes are shredded, his knuckles and hands cut, and his edarratae don’t look healthy.
“What happened?” I ask, standing to flick off my light switch. I start to pull him inside my apartment—all I need is a neighbor seeing me crouched down and talking to my doorframe—but he grabs my arm.
“No—” He chokes on the word, and his lungs rattle. “No. I didn’t quite outlast the interrogation.”
A chill sweeps over my skin. “Interrogation?”
“We need to leave,” he says.
Kyol’s thoughts have turned toward me. I don’t want to distract him, so I fight to keep my emotions stable. That’s not easy, considering this is the fae I accused of intensifying the war between the rebels and Atroth’s fae so that he could make a profit. He was imprisoned because of me. He has every reason to want to cause me trouble.
But he’s sitting here half-dead on my doorstep. I can’t just turn him away.
“Why do we need to leave, Lorn?”
“The false-blood found me,” he says, his eyes closing in a grimace. “The meeting didn’t go exactly as I’d planned.”
“The false-blood? You met him? You know who he is?”
“He is the Taelith.” Lorn opens his eyes. “That’s all I know.”
“And now he knows where I live,” I say. I bite my lower lip, start to shake my head, but then stop and glare at Lorn. “How the hell do you know where I live?”
He doesn’t answer that. He just lifts one bloodied eyebrow, and his lips curve into a faint smile. Yeah, it was a stupid question. Lorn never reveals his information sources.
“How long do I have?” I ask.
“Minutes. Seconds. I’m surprised he’s not here already.”
I stare at Lorn. He managed to make his words so casual, I don’t know if he’s joking.
Crap. I don’t think he is. I think he’s serious.
My heart thumps against my chest. I draw in a deep breath, trying to slow it down and to ward off the adrenaline that’s threatening to jet through my bloodstream. I don’t need Kyol to fissure to my rescue. I need a break from his emotions, and he needs to concentrate on what he’s doing so he doesn’t get himself killed.
“You can’t fissure?” I ask Lorn.
“Not sure if I can walk at the moment.”
Fabulous. I can’t run off and leave him behind.
I grab my keys off the counter, then sidle up next to Lorn to put his arm over my shoulder. “You ready?”
Lorn nods. I count to three, then push up to my feet.
He weighs so much more than I thought he would, and he’s not even wearing jaedric or carrying a sword or dagger or anything. My quads are just barely strong enough to lift him. I so need to join a gym.
I shut my door, then we stagger to the staircase. He grips the rail, uses it as a crutch to help him down the first steps. It doesn’t help, though. We’re moving way too slow.
“You can’t even fissure to the parking lot?” I ask.
He looks down and to the right, where cars are crammed between the narrow lines.
“I’ll try,” he says, letting his arm fall from my shoulder. God, he’s really bad off. No smile, no arrogant reply, just a short, pained statement.
He clutches the rail with both hands. His magic has been weak since Kelia died. Add to that the fact that he fissured from his world to mine half-dead, and it’s obvious how much of a struggle it is to open a path to the In-Between. He manages it, though, and after the strip of white light appears on the step below him, he falls into it.
I half expect to see him rolling down the stairs, but the In-Between catches him. My gaze goes to the parking lot just as the light spits him out, face-first, on the cement. He doesn’t move.
“Shit,” I mutter.
I take the steps two at a time, beeping my car unlocked as I run to Lorn.
“Are you alive?” I ask, putting my hand on his back.
“Mostly,” he says, and I relax some. That note of amusement in his voice was more like the old Lorn.
“At least you landed next to my car,” I tell him. I focus on Kyol’s emotions as I open the passenger door. I’m going to have to give in and get him to fissure here. He’s the only way I’m able to communicate w
ith the Realm. He’ll want to question Lorn, and Lorn will need a healer.
But I shove Lorn into the passenger seat without letting loose my emotions. Kyol is filled with the cold, calculating emotions that tell me he’s still in the midst of a fight. Plus, I don’t want him to fissure here if the false-blood might show up.
I turn on the car’s engine, put my hand on the back of Lorn’s seat so I can back out. He’s slumped against the window, his eyes closed. I can’t tell if he’s breathing.
“Don’t you die in my car, Lorn,” I say.
A smile slips through his busted lip.
“Exactly how badly are you hurt?” I ask, backing out of the parking space.
“I would very much appreciate a healer.”
“I know. I’m working on it.” I brake, then shift into drive.
And a sword slams into the hood of my car. My brain registers the three slashes of white light a second later, but the other two fae have already swung their weapons.
A blade shatters my window, tearing through the back of my seat.
I hear a scream, think that it’s mine until I realize I’ve slammed the pedal against the floor. My tires are squealing, my car lurching forward quick enough to save our lives until I ram into a parked truck.
I just barely keep my face from slamming into the steering wheel. Lorn’s too out of it to brace for the minor crash. He hits the dash the same instant the fae outside my window stabs his blade forward.
Throwing myself over the central console, I manage to shift into reverse while hitting the gas pedal. The fae—the damned elari—loses his grip on his sword when the window frame catches his arm. The blade barely misses me as it flies into the backseat.
My neck pops when I slam into a vehicle behind us. Quickly, I shift gears again. One of the elari is standing three feet away in the beams from my headlights. I stare down the fae as he stares down me. It’s Nimael, the fae who slipped away from us in Tholm, and the elari who might be the false-blood’s second-in-command. A gut instinct tells me he’s responsible for the slaughter of the women in the tjandel, and most likely the Sighted humans in London as well.
I want him dead. I want it so badly I can taste blood on my tongue.
With my left foot on the brake, I press the gas pedal with my right, revving the engine. Pure theatrics. I know Nimael will fissure out of the way before I can run him over.
My heart bangs in my chest. I need to get out of here before people leave their apartments to check on the noise, and definitely before the cops arrive, but I don’t know what the elari will do when I go. Will they try to follow me? Will they kill any humans they find? Will they—
Shit. Will they stay long enough for Kyol to fissure here? I have his complete attention now, and I’ve shattered his control so much that I can feel every ounce of his worry.
Stay away! I try to scream at him. Then I draw in as deep and calming a breath as I can manage and slam down the gas pedal.
Nimael fissures out of the way, no problem.
I check my rearview mirror. The three elari are there. They’re not pursuing us, though. They’re watching me drive away.
Beside me, Lorn murmurs something in Fae. He’s awkwardly wedged between the dash and the passenger seat. He needs help. He needs a healer. My thoughts turn back to Kyol. He must be in the Inner City. If he weren’t, he would have fissured to my apartment already.
But he’s moving. He’s trying to get outside the silver walls.
Think happy thoughts, McKenzie, I order myself. Rainbows. Ponies. Kimkis. I don’t want him to fissure to my apartment just yet. In ten minutes, maybe. Surely the elari won’t hang around that long.
I look again at Lorn. He’s hurt and bleeding and saying things I don’t understand in a feverish murmur. His chaos lusters are crawling across his skin. That’s not normal. They should be quick and frenzied from being in my car.
My apartment complex vanishes from my rearview mirror when I take a left at the first intersection. I have no idea where I’m going. I can’t take Lorn to a hospital, not even to a clinic or doctor’s office. I don’t know anyone in the city, and . . .
No, that’s not entirely true. I do know someone in the city, someone who’s familiar with fae.
SIXTEEN
I SLAM ON my brakes outside Kynlee’s house. Kyol’s at my apartment. I hold my breath, willing him to be careful and praying that Nimael and the other two elari have already left.
Beside me, Lorn shifts. His eyes are shut, and he’s still awkwardly sitting on the floor, not in the passenger seat.
“Lena.” His voice is so weak, I barely make out the name.
“I’ll get her here as quickly as I can,” I tell him. Then, under my breath, I murmur, “Get away from my apartment, Kyol.”
The elari must not have hung around, though. His heart isn’t pounding like he’s fighting for his life, but he’s moving, following the pull of the life-bond in my direction. It took me fifteen minutes to drive here. He might make the trip in half an hour.
I turn off the car then look at Lorn, at his bruised and swollen face and his blood-soaked clothing. He’s not going to be able to walk up the sidewalk on his own, but I don’t want to leave him in the car. His edarratae are worrying me. He needs to get away from the tech now. Besides, if I somehow manage to drag him to the front porch, the presence of a half-dead fae might make it harder for Kynlee’s dad to slam the door in my face.
I climb out of the car, then open the passenger-side door.
“Come on, Lorn.”
His head turns toward my voice, and he lifts an arm, but that’s all the help I get. I’m not strong enough to lift his limp body over my shoulder, so I pull him out of the car and onto the pavement. Hooking my arms under his, I back up one step at a time, dragging him across the cement.
I’m sweating by the time I prop Lorn against the porch wall, and I lean against it for a moment, too, catching my breath and looking back down the sidewalk. Lorn’s left a line of blood all the way from my car. A normal human won’t see the crimson trail, but one who has the Sight will. Kynlee and her dad will.
Nothing I can do about it now.
I ring the bell and pound on the door. Wait half a minute then knock and ring the bell again.
Still nothing, not even when I bang on the window to the right of the door. Both Kynlee and her dad must sleep like the dead. I’m considering the possibility that I might have to break in when the door finally opens.
I expect Kynlee’s dad to be pissed; I don’t expect him to shove the barrel of a shotgun into my chest.
“What the fuck are you doing at my house?” he demands.
I retreat a step. He presses forward.
“He needs help,” I say, heart pounding as I hold my hands out to my sides. I remember reading his profile in the library database. His name is Nick. “Please, Ni—”
“Get out of here!” he yells. “I’ll call the cops. I’ll have you arrested for harassment, or so help me I’ll kill you.”
“Dad?”
Nick stiffens, and I say a quick, silent prayer of thanks. No way in hell is he going to shoot me in front of his daughter.
“Holy shit, Dad!” Kynlee squats in front of Lorn. “What happened?”
Nick curses quietly, then lowers the shotgun.
“Go back to bed,” he says, propping the gun behind the door.
“But, Dad—”
“Go!”
Damn. So much for Kynlee softening her dad up. She retreats to a hallway.
Nick’s gaze returns to me. “You’re not welcome here. Drag him back to your car and leave.”
I draw in a breath, bracing myself. “I can’t. I don’t have anywhere else I can take him.”
“I don’t give a goddamn—”
“Look,” I cut him off. “Just let us in. Someone will be here to help him soon. After he’s recovered, we’ll leave. I’ll leave Vegas even.”
Nick’s chest expands with each angry breath he takes. He’s shirtles
s, wearing only a pair of jeans that he hasn’t taken the time to button. I’ve offered him a decent deal, though. He wants me to stay away from his daughter. I’ll stay away from the whole city if he’ll help us now.
But my offer must not be tempting enough. He starts to shake his head.
Quickly, I nod toward Lorn, trying another tactic before Nick slams the door in my face. “He’s visible.” I’m pretty sure that’s a lie, but a Sighted human has no way of knowing that without paying attention to the reactions of normal humans. “Are your neighbors nosy?”
“I told you—”
“He needs help,” I say. “And we’re not leaving your front porch until you let us in.”
“He’ll leave if he enters the ether,” Nick threatens. He reaches for the shotgun again.
I pretend not to care, stand my ground, and meet his glare. His jaw works, clenching and relaxing, then clenching again.
Finally, he curses. He looks down at Lorn then says, “One hour. Then you’re gone.”
Thank God.
“Just help me get him inside,” I say.
I slip under Lorn’s right arm while Nick mutters something under his breath and slips under his left. Lorn’s head lolls to the side, but he’s semiconscious. His feet move, though not very usefully.
Nick kicks the front door shut as soon as we’re over the threshold. The bam echoes in the high-ceilinged entryway.
“Go to the garage,” Nick barks. “Turn off the breakers.”
At first, I think he’s talking to me. Then I see Kynlee peeking around the corner. She looks chagrined for only the briefest moment before she nods and rushes off. We continue half carrying, half dragging Lorn into the house. Nick grumbles about the carpet as we make our way through the living room, leaving a trail of Lorn’s blood behind us.
“In here,” Nick says gruffly, leading the way into a sunroom at the back of the house. The full moon shines across the wooden floors and a wicker sofa with white cushions. I start to lower Lorn onto the sofa, but he slips from my grasp when Nick all but throws him to the floor.
The Sharpest Blade Page 16
