Which also weighed on his mind. Along with the spiders came increased tremors. At first he’d tried to ignore it. Then Kat had asked if he was cold—she’d noticed his hands shaking.
Who the hell would hire a merc with the shakes?
How the hell was he going to make a living? What was he going to do for the rest of eternity? He sure as shit couldn’t sit around here much longer. This wasn’t his house. Nothing here belonged to him. He was an interloper. A burden on Kat. She wouldn’t even let him do anything for her and the longer he hung around, the less time he had to clear his name. The more chance they’d get caught. The more risk she’d get hurt.
Except he couldn’t remember anything. Even if he got out of here, he didn’t know where to start asking questions, much less who to avoid. The not knowing was killing him. The fact that Kat could tell him and refused to was infuriating.
Today, he’d woken up in bed with no memory of how he’d ended up there. He must’ve had another episode when the sun had risen this morning, but she wouldn’t tell him about it. She didn’t want him to worry.
He was fucking worried. What if he hurt her one of these mornings?
She’d spent the morning “researching” on her laptop, but she wouldn’t let him see. If not for the change in her colors, he’d have assumed he was being paranoid. Those bright colors of hers had dimmed. Ripples of energy disrupted the calm, steady pulse. She was upset about whatever she was reading.
He rubbed his hand over his chest. He couldn’t blame her. The more he remembered, the more certain he became that he had no business anywhere near her. No business being in her bright, happy little house.
With nothing to do, he wandered. He sat in the living room for a while. He went upstairs and lay down. Then he wandered some more. The whole while spiders crawled under his skin. Something was inside him. Something bad.
Maybe whatever had clawed his chest? He rubbed his palm over his bicep and when that didn’t still the prickly feeling under his skin, he set his shorn nails to the task. He remembered seeing something in the dark corner of a dank basement during the meditation. He remembered it was something awful, but he couldn’t recall what.
Maybe whatever had made him hurt Mary Jane Kelly?
Or maybe Kat was correct and what he’d seen had been the embodiment of the felo-de-se curse.
Either way, he wanted it out of him.
As the flesh under the skin on his arm began to settle, his attention refocused on a spot on his belly. He rubbed. He scratched. He dug. Those fucking spiders seemed to scurry away to a new spot.
Jesus Christ, he was a mess. This . . . the spiders . . . he couldn’t decide if this was a new issue or an old one. As much as it sucked, it felt familiar. When his hands were busy rubbing and scratching, they didn’t have time to shake anymore. The only other time he stopped shaking was when he was painting. Another weakness to add to a growing list. He walked into the bedroom. Into the bathroom. And back out again. He paced around the bed and back out into the hall. What was he supposed to do for all eternity? Sit around here? Paint stupid pictures?
Fall in love with his mate? With Kat?
His lips twisted. Right. Then what? Not that such a thing would be a hardship. He didn’t think it would be difficult at all to love Kat. The thing was, a body could not survive on love alone. He started down the stairs but as soon as he saw her, he turned around and went back up.
This goddamned house was too small.
The spiders crawled up to his cheek. His hand followed. The thing was, he needed something to do. He needed something to focus on besides the mess that was supposed to be his life. He needed to find some use, a way to feel like he was bringing something to the table besides baggage and madness.
Back in the bedroom, his gaze shot to the bed. A lingering glow lit the sheets from where Kat had slept. And a fainter outline from where she’d lain when he’d cuddled with her yesterday afternoon. He closed his eyes and his memories brought to him the scent of cinnamon and aroused woman.
He was a bastard.
Sweet, sweet, butterfly. She’d tried to hide her body’s response. Not that he’d ever act on that. He knew all too well how easily a body could betray mind and spirit. Just because she’d had a physical response to him didn’t mean she wanted him.
He dragged his gaze from the bed and locked onto the faint spectral glow coming from one of the drawers in the dresser. He went to the dresser, glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, and opened it.
There was a book inside. The Devil’s Bible. This was the book Kat had told him about. The one her mother had used to curse the little girl. He picked the creepy-ass thing up. It was almost a foot long by about eight inches across. The old, worn black leather had images burned into the cover—pentacles and horned creatures. Thick metal clasps held the book closed and the pages inside had rough edges as if they had been added individually. As he put the book back the clasps popped open.
Shit. How the hell had that happened? He tried to put the clasps back together, but there was nothing for them to hold onto. Great. He’d broken it.
Again, he glanced over his shoulder. He set the book on the dresser and dug his nails into his side where the spiders had congregated under his skin.
The handwritten pages inside were faded from age and use. Each one had pictures or charts alongside the script. Images of creatures he’d never seen. Charts of poisons and curses. He should be appalled that his mate had such a book. Then again, he wasn’t a saint himself and the book seemed to like him.
It liked him?
He slammed the thing shut and stuffed it back into the drawer, unable to leave the bedroom quick enough. He went downstairs, milled around in the dining room, taking peeks at Kat. Whatever “research” she was doing had left her bright colors muddy.
“Everything okay, butterfly?”
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Fine.”
Bullshit. He walked into the living room. “Thought we were supposed to trust each other.”
She lowered the lid to her laptop.
“This has nothing to do with trust, Jules. We can’t force your memories, you might forget everything permanently and then we’d really be in trouble. They’ll come. In time. And when they do—”
“When they do, I’ll find out what I’ve done that’s so bad.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, trying to subdue the crawling sensation.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your—”
“Fault.” He nodded. “Got it.” Until then, she was alone in whatever knowledge had made her colors go wonky. He went into the kitchen. Flipped on the light. Winced and turned it off again.
In the other room, Kat’s fingers tapped away at the keypad.
He stood in the middle of the room, staring at the daisies painted on the cabinets. Same as that first day, the sense that he didn’t belong here stole over him. He’d had the thought that his presence would taint this place and it had.
A sharp pain drew him out of his musings and he glanced down. Shit. He’d been scratching at his arm and had broken the skin. For a moment, the spiders settled and a small dot of blood welled on the scratch.
Christ, it’d been at least four days since he’d fed. That little dot of blood shouldn’t be there this long after . . . not unless he’d gorged.
He pressed his hand over the spot, hiding it, and pushed the thought away, focusing again on his surroundings. He’d woken up here, in this room. Why here? Why had he been covered in blood? Is that why he’d been cursed?
Maybe if he went through the motions of his first morning here, something would click. He paced the length of the kitchen. Opening the drawer with the towels and closing it. He paced. Opened another drawer. And another. Eventually he came to the drawer with the knives. The big one, the one he’d taken that morning, wasn’t there. He picked up a small paring knife—he didn’t want to give Kat a scare should she walk in—and he walked to the back door.
No
thing. At least, nothing more than he remembered before. Those invisible spiders were on the move again, racing under his skin. He tugged at his clothes. Rubbed the heel of his hand on a particularly bad spot.
Jesus, he was useless.
It was that thing from the meditation. The thing hiding in his mind. It was inside him, taking away his control. Making him forget. Making him do things he didn’t want to do. Was that why he hadn’t fought off those men in the prison?
The vision that filled his mind had his stomach churning again.
Whatever the thing inside him was, he wanted it out. Fuck waiting for the curse to wear off. He pressed the knife to his side. Immediately, his mind cleared, focusing anew on the pain.
Yes. His mind quieted. The spiders retreated. For a blessed moment his muscles relaxed and he leaned back against the counter, letting out a sigh. Better. The pain was bearable—everything else, not so much.
“What are you doing?”
He jumped, dropping the hem of his shirt. Shit. This looked bad. He put the knife in the sink, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks. “Nothing.”
Even though the humans knew the goddess, they could choose to disobey her because of their free will. And disobey her they did. Eve had her baby and Lilith grew jealous, for Samael couldn’t reproduce with her. For a time, they created creatures with their Magic. Minions and hellcats, spawns and devil dogs. But none of the creatures were like a baby.
The goddess shook her head. Trouble was brewing.
Chapter 13
Kat stared at his back as he walked out of the kitchen. That’s it? No explanation? No, “I had a sliver and was getting it out?” Sliver. A laugh bubbled out of her and it sounded dangerously on the edge—a sliver would’ve killed him.
What the hell had he been thinking?
She blinked. Closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. There was no need to cuss. Maybe she hadn’t seen what she thought she’d seen. She went to the sink and glanced down. A knife.
He’d been cutting himself.
Fine. Okay. She nodded, planting her hands on her hips as she glanced around the kitchen. She could deal with that. She could find a replacement for whatever he was getting out of that. But seriously, he didn’t want to talk about it?
Of course, he didn’t. He might not even know why he was doing what he was doing. That he was replacing an emotional hurt with a physical one.
Gaia, if the coven saw him with that knife they’d freak. They’d use it as an excuse, as proof he wasn’t sane. They’d say handing him over to the humans for termination would be a kindness.
That thought alone sent rage shooting through her. She paced. This was another part of the healing process. She took a deep breath and pressed her hand to her belly, as if that would settle the turmoil churning in her gut. Seeing him hurting made her heart ache.
That he didn’t want to talk made her feel helpless.
She glanced around the kitchen again. They didn’t need the knives. It wasn’t like either of them would be cooking anytime soon. She marched out of the kitchen into the living room, grabbed the laundry basket from the couch, dumped it, and returned to the kitchen. The knife from the sink went in first. Then she grabbed the rest of the set out of the drawer and the blades from the electric carving knife.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of the stuff we don’t need.” The knives. The scissors. The tool chest. The potato peeler. What about the sewing kit? Could he hurt himself with anything in—
“You’re being ridiculous. You don’t need to do that.” He took two steps into the room. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Good.” She glanced at him. “Because that’s not my job.”
“Then stop.”
“Here’s the deal, Jules.” She turned around and faced him. “I’m not going to judge you. Or police you. Or anything else. This will never work if I do. But I also need to feel like our home is safe.”
“This isn’t our home.”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. He was right. This wasn’t their home. “You and I both know what it means to be mated.”
“Yeah, someday we’ll be right for each other.”
“Someday. Yes. I’m doing what I can to get you to someday.”
“Jesus. Kat.” He flung his hand out to the side. “It was a memory, okay. I had a memory and I was—”
“I understand that. You’ve been cursed, Jules. Before that, you went through hell. It’s going to take time for you to work through everything.” She lifted her chin. “Even if you don’t want me as a lover, or a mate, I hope you’ll at least accept me as a friend.”
His jaw clenched. His lips pressed together. He shook his head. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what?” Oscar hopped up on the counter and crawled into the basket. She picked the cub up, snapped her fingers and sent the laundry basket of sharp objects to Mother’s house. “Tell me what the problem is.” She curled Oscar into the cradle of her arm.
“I’m trapped here. A prisoner. You’ve rearranged your whole fucking life to keep me here and the more things I remember, the more I think I’m not even the person you think I am. That’s not normal, Kat. I’m not even the person I remember. I don’t remember having the shakes or feeling like I have shit crawling under my skin. I don’t remember ever being able to see through objects or see . . . .”
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s not right. Not normal.”
Nothing about this situation was normal. There wasn’t exactly psychiatric standards for dealing with the aftermath of possession. “I’m doing the best I can. You don’t understand, yet. You’ll—”
“I’ll see?” His voice edged up. “I’m already seeing—things I’ve done to myself. People I’ve killed. Tortured.” He hit his forehead in rapid succession as if he could knock the memories right out of his head. “I’m seeing that I should be locked up in an asylum or a prison, not here with you.”
Gaia, she couldn’t imagine how hard this was for him. From his point of view, she probably did seem like some psychotic co-dependent wacko. How long before his patience ran out and he did what he needed to do to get out of here?
How much longer before he remembered the possession? The Watcher? How hard would that be for him to accept? At least by then, her actions would make sense to him but he was fiercely independent. He liked to be in control. How would he react to knowing he was at the mercy of another being? This might be as good as it got for a long time.
She reached for him. “You didn’t do those things. You’re going to have to trust me.”
He paced away. A humorless laugh rolled out of him. “Trust you? I don’t even trust myself. I mean, Jesus, Kat. I don’t know you from Eve,” he spoke fast, louder than usual and as he paced back and forth his hand clenched and unclenched. “You kidnapped me and are holding me against my will.”
“I know this all seems strange, but—”
“You have the answers I need and you’re withholding the information from me. Why should I trust you?” He took a step toward her, jaw clenched, muscles bunched.
She spell-traveled to Machon.
The wind whipped her hair around her face. Nearby waves roared and crashed against the rocky shore, pulled by the heavy molten moon riding low in Machon’s sky.
“Oh, Gaia, what did I do!” She had to go back!
It hadn’t been a conscious choice, but a reaction. He was angry. He was a big man. When he stepped toward her…
He wasn’t Mother.
She shifted Oscar to her other arm and winced. The veins under her skin were black all the way to her elbows. No! No, this couldn’t happen now. She closed her eyes and repeated the traveler’s spell. A tingling sensation crept over her skin as her atoms began to separate. It was working. She had enough. . . . Everything snapped back into focus again, but she hadn’t moved.
Just the attempt at Magic made the ache in her arms creep up to her shoulders. Machon’s m
assive moon still hovered above her. She turned to find a tower reaching high above her. Waves crashed nearby. Where the heck was she? Whose tower was that?
Oh, Gaia. What had she done? She’d left him alone! She covered her face with her free hand. Was that necessary? He was frustrated and upset, but he hadn’t ever hurt her. The worst thing he’d ever done to her was when he tried to disgust her by licking her cheek . . . and that had ended quite nicely.
No, he wasn’t Mother. His murderous reputation was all lies. She had to quit reacting to him the way she’d reacted to Mother.
So now what? She’d left her mate alone. Probably feeling like absolute crap and she had no idea how to fix this or how long before she could spell travel back home.
What if he hurt himself while she was gone? What if . . .?
She stared at the tower. What if the Watcher in that tower could help her? She took a deep breath and lifted Oscar to her cheek. “Come on, let’s see if we can get any answers.”
Azazel paused. Where had she come from? Kat. Katherine. Katherine O’Hickey, his host’s mate. She appeared in Machon with a feline in her arms, took two steps and disappeared again.
He stood and paced around the edges of the tower. He’d been watching for her. Why had he not seen her? She hadn’t been with the Shadow witch—Trina. Now that he knew what to look for, he’d been keeping an eye on the blank space that indicated her movements. Trina had been here in Machon.
Kat came from somewhere else.
He scanned his vision for her house. She had a little house in Carnation, Washington near the Tolt River. He’d seen it many times, but not today. Nor yesterday.
Why would she cast a blinding spell over her house? Over her house, not herself. If she wanted to hide from the Watchers, it would’ve been better to cast the spell over herself. Unless she was hiding something in her house . . . someone . . . Crowley. . .?
The Knight: The Original's Trilogy - Book 3 Page 12
