by C. I. Black
She trembled. He’d tried to kill her. Then the devil had tried. Then…
No, just a nightmare. Just—
She jerked up, eyes open, to find herself in a strange, stark bedroom without any windows. An unopened suture kit sat on the nightstand beside her, and a beige and teal lounge chair had been pulled up close to her bed. A bed that had restraints only they weren’t in use. Thank God!
Across from her, through her open door, she saw a woman in another stark bedroom, sitting in another lounge chair — a match to the one in Becca’s room. The woman had her waist-length brown hair drawn back in a tight ponytail that trailed over one shoulder. She said something to the unconscious man in the bed, her voice too low for Becca to make out the words, only the tone of encouragement and concern, then the woman sat back, turning her attention to a book in her lap, her expression tight.
Becca had seen that look before, in the army hospital after the ambush on her unit. This woman was sitting a vigil, waiting to help the moment there was a problem and praying for recovery. This wasn’t a guard who was bored or anticipating danger. This was someone genuinely concerned about the person in the bed. Becca didn’t know how she knew this, but something whispered at the back of her mind saying it was true.
Just like she knew this bedroom was real and—
Except it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Which meant her sense about the woman wasn’t real, either. Nothing was real, and she wasn’t safe. She might not be able to see the devil or Nero at the moment, but that didn’t mean they weren’t nearby. For all Becca knew, she was back in the hospital and Stanbury would storm in.
She needed to get out of there. If she was quiet, maybe she could sneak out the door. But how long would she have to run until she felt safe or Nero found her again? Somehow he’d found her at Stanbury’s hospital. He’d find her again and kill her this time.
Except he’d saved her twice from Stanbury’s men — getting shot in the chest for his trouble — and again when the devil had tried to kill her. Not to mention that, mere minutes before those hundreds of people had started screaming in her head, his thoughts had changed from her being a danger to him needing to protect her and needing to convince her this was real.
Was it real? “How can I tell?”
The woman in the chair glanced up, her gaze locking with Becca’s.
Shit. Had she said that out loud? No chance of sneaking out now. Her thoughts were muddled, flickering from normal to loud, with whispers — but thankfully no one screaming — constantly in the background.
“Do you need something?” The woman set the book on the nightstand, stood, and eased across the hall into Becca’s doorway. A hint of something — warmth? calm? — joined the whispers for a second, then vanished. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
Not the questions of a captor. But this could be a new trick, a new torture from the nightmare. “I’d like to go home.”
The woman’s expression remained calmly concerned, no hint that Becca’s request would be refused. “I can make that happen.”
“But?” There was always a but. That was how the nightmare worked… except the more she pushed at that thought, poked and pulled at it with mental fingers, the less real it felt, when it should have been feeling stronger.
Unless, of course, that was the nightmare, too.
Jeez. At some point, she was just going to have to decide on something, and God help her, she was leaning toward reality and not a nightmare.
But then those monsters—
Her pulse leapt into a roar, and she fought to slow it back down. Not going to think about that.
“There’s no but. Although—” The woman’s gaze dipped to Becca’s torso. “I might recommend a change of clothes.”
“And the others?” Maybe if she was vague, the woman would tell Becca if Nero or Stanbury had her…
No, wait. She knew who had her, because she recognized the woman. She’d been at that second location Nero had taken her to. Which meant the guy in the bed across the hall had to be the guy in the bed from there.
“You mean Nero or—”
“The devil?” Becca asked.
The woman frowned.
“Diablo?”
“Oh, my brother.” She rolled her eyes. “He picked that name a long time ago, and I can’t tell if he regrets it or not.”
“So he’s just a person?” That didn’t make sense. He had magic. They all had magic. Which was impossible. Magic didn’t exist. It wasn’t real, it—
“He’s a person, but not a human.” The woman’s expression grew serious and more warmth seeped into Becca’s head. “But you know that.”
“He’s a monster?” A shiver swept through Becca. They’d torn into her soul, boxed her up until her mind had screamed itself into confusion.
“You know that isn’t true, either.” The woman shifted, as if she wanted to go to Becca and offer her comfort. But I need her to hold it together first. Please, Mother. The woman’s mental tones grew strained, as if she was fighting to concentrate while looking outwardly calm.
“I am holding it together.”
The woman’s eyes flashed wide, and the warmth within Becca vanished and cold panic flooded in.
Becca’s throat tightened and her pulse roared louder. Keep it together. Just for a little while. “Or at least I’m as together as I can be, given what—”
God damn it. Not going to think about that. She was sick and tired of feeling helpless. She wasn’t helpless. She’d proven that when she’d attempted to escape from Stanbury. Jeez, just for the next ten minutes, she was going to hold her shit together.
The warmth returned, bolstering her determination. Yes. She could do this, face whatever this was.
“Those who did that to you were monsters, but not all of us are.”
“Sure. That’s why Nero and your brother keep trying to kill me.” But Nero had protected her from the devil.
The woman raised an eyebrow, as if she could hear Becca’s thoughts as well, but Becca had no sense the woman was in her head, not like Nero had been. Maybe she just knew Becca’s statement was wrong… because it was wrong.
“Fine. Nero only tried to kill me once.”
He had to have thought he was ending your suffering. Sudden telepathy only increases the risk.
“The risk of what?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sudden telepathy only increases the risk of what?”
“We need to teach you to control that.” If she can conquer the soul sickness. “It’s rude to listen to someone’s thoughts.”
But they had listened to her thoughts, dug into her soul, laughed at her screams, all to awaken— “Holy shit! This, being able to hear other people’s thoughts, is what they wanted.”
“They wouldn’t have known your ability was telepathy, but yes.” Raven offered a sad smile. “My name is Raven. If I come in and sit, will you attack me?”
“Do I need to protect myself from you?” Yep, Raven had confessed to being one of those monsters, but nothing about her set off alarms within Becca. Not like the devil, Diablo, had, and not like the bells that were still alarming but also different for Nero.
More warmth spread into Becca’s head, and her thoughts glommed into it. The warm calm had to be Raven’s magic — and she wasn’t going to dwell on the magic part for fear she’d start screaming. It was soothing her… manipulating her—
No— Well, yes, she did get a sense of being manipulated, but there was no feeling of malicious intent.
Could she trust that? God, she wanted to. She was so tired of being afraid. If this was still a dream, at least it was a reprieve from the terror.
“You need to be very gentle with yourself,” Raven said.
“Because of the soul sickness?”
“Yes. Unless you’re a child or someone who’s already sensitive, the human brain has trouble accepting the truth about the world.” Raven eased into the room, pulled the chair back from the bed, and sat. Becca wasn’t certain
if the distance was to put her at ease or Raven. Even with the space between them, though, Becca could see the strain in Raven’s eyes, and — Becca concentrated on the warmth — she could feel the determination behind it and confirmed the sensation came from Raven.
“Magic is real,” Raven said. “And so are—”
“Dragons.” The word rushed out of Becca with the release of an emotional weight.
The warmth chilled, then the muscles in Raven’s jaw tightened and it flooded back in. You can handle this. Diablo says you have to handle this for Nero’s sake, but I need a win, too. I don’t want to lose anyone else. I can’t, please.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m a fighter,” Becca said, her voice low. She didn’t care if she was being rude by responding to Raven’s thoughts. In that moment, she recognized a kindred spirit, someone ready to fight with everything she had to save innocent lives. She had no idea how this woman, this dragon, had ended up with the monster the other dragons feared or why her brother named himself after the devil, but the warmth radiating from her and the whisper of her thoughts solidified Becca’s certainty. She could trust this woman.
But that only strengthened the sensation that this was real, that what had happened to her—
Not going to finish that thought. Her body trembled, and a cold sweat chilled her skin, defying her determination.
Not. Going. To think about. What they did. What—
“We are spirits of dragons.” Raven captured Becca’s gaze and held her steady, seeping more warmth into her head. “You’ve got this.” You need to handle this.
“And Nero and your brother kill them?” Except Nero had been sending Diablo after those humans who’d been prisoners as well.
“Think of them like the police.”
Becca cocked an eyebrow. “Seems pretty extreme that killing someone is your first choice for law enforcement.”
Raven matched Becca’s dry look. “You’ve had one of us in your head. You know we’re predators.”
“I’ve had three, actually.”
Three? Oh, Mother. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, that’s what Nero said… thought?” She wasn’t sure anymore if he’d said it or thought it. The escape from Stanbury’s facility was starting to blur, and there was something she was forgetting, something important, but she couldn’t remember what and had a feeling part of Raven’s warmth was dulling her memories. At the moment, she wasn’t sure it mattered… which wasn’t like her at all, but—
Focus on holding it together. Focus on the conversation. Deal with everything else later. “So Nero and your brother killed them? The ones who had me?”
“Yes.” The warmth chilled for a second, and Becca got the impression what had happened to the monsters who’d tortured her was more complicated than that.
“And those of us who were kidnapped?”
So far no one’s made it. They’ve all succumbed to the soul sickness.
Which meant terrible odds for Becca. A tremble swept through her again, and she hugged herself and fought to cling to the soothing warmth in her head.
Raven’s eyes flashed wide. Shit. She heard that. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to control—”
“Your thoughts?” Becca asked. “You’re telling me the impossible is possible, but I’m not even sure controlling your thoughts is possible.”
“I’ve never worked with a telepath before.”
“Neither have I.” Becca flashed a hint of a smile. What the hell, might as well go all in. “I’m pretty good at beating terrible odds.” And if she held onto that thought, and Raven’s calm, maybe… just maybe?
Another shiver.
Come on. Hold it together. You’ve gotten through at least ten minutes. Now try for ten more.
“All right, then.” Raven stood. “I brought you down some clothes. They’re on the shelf in the hall. Nero is still in your bathroom, but you can use the one next door to clean up, then we’ll get you some food.” And if you haven’t gone crazy, we’ll move forward.
“Baby steps.” Sure, she could handle this, except—
Realization snapped through her, and her pulse leapt back into a rapid tattoo. “Werner. Glenn. The implanted tracker.”
Raven sat forward and her warmth surged through Becca. “I don’t know about those people, but the tracker has been disabled.”
“I have to save them. If Werner got away, I have to warn him about the tracker.” But all logic screamed that with a tracker implanted in his body, Werner wouldn’t have gotten away. Still, she had to hope, had to go to the emergency meeting place. He and Glenn hadn’t left her behind in that cave, and they easily could have. She owed them.
“Get cleaned up, grab something to eat, then we’ll find your friends.” I just hope they’re not soul sick. Please don’t let her be soul sick. Raven offered a soft smile that, if Becca hadn’t just heard her worries, would have been convincing, then stepped out of the room. She glanced into the other room at the still unconscious young man before heading down the hall, taking her warmth with her.
The cold seeped into Becca’s skin and her teeth chattered. Fine or not, she had to get Werner and Glenn out of Stanbury’s hands.
God, she wanted to be fine, but with Raven gone the harsh truth crowded in her thoughts, slashing at her insides and trying to rip her apart again.
She gripped the blanket beneath her. Beat the odds. Hold it together. Save Werner’s ass and return the debt you owe him.
The whispers in her head grew louder.
She shoved at them, trying to push them farther away, but they didn’t budge. At least this time they were soft and she couldn’t understand them.
She can do it. Raven’s thoughts whispered through her. D says she has to for Nero’s sake.
Nero. Becca’s gaze jumped to the other door in the bedroom, where the sound of running water emanated. The door stood partially ajar. If she was at the correct angle, she could see in. Nero had tried to kill her. Then he’d saved her. Raven had said— no, she’d thought Nero had been trying to end Becca’s suffering. No one else’s mind had survived the torture from the cave. He’d probably thought she was going crazy, too. Maybe she already was.
Another shiver rushed over her, and she yearned for Raven’s warmth in her head, any warmth, really. A shower might be the best place to start.
She hung her legs over the side of the bed, her gaze locked on the space between the door and the frame. This new angle gave her a perfect vantage into the bathroom and the glassed-in shower stall. Nero stood in a stream of water with his shirt off, pants on, and head bowed. Water sluiced over his muscular physique, the powerful muscles in his back and shoulders bunched with tension, accentuating his sculpted lines and swarthy complexion as well as the stiffness in his body. The sense of danger and strength now visibly radiated around him in an intense black aura, reminding her of the ferocity that had been in his gaze when he’d looked at her. Even just standing there, his eyes closed, he looked like he was about to face the fight of his life and had to figure out a solution before it was too late.
All that worry. All that pain. It made her chest ache. How had she not noticed it before?
Maybe because she’d been running for her life?
Or maybe because he’d been hiding it, and there, in the shower, where he thought no one could see, he’d let down his guard. Raven was worried she wouldn’t be able to save Becca. Did Nero worry about that, too? It was hard to believe a man, or rather a dragon, as hard-edged as Nero would worry about saving the life of one person. No, it had to be with his need to protect, not himself but others. Yes, that had been the driving fear screaming the loudest in her head before she’d been sedated… the second time.
She could relate to that, as well. She’d joined the army to help and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. That, however, didn’t mean her goals were aligned with his or that he wouldn’t use her in order to protect those he cared about. If she was smart, she would go next door, clean up as fast as possible, eat
Raven’s meal, and then get the hell out of there. To hell with Raven’s help finding Werner. It would be safer to go it alone. But no matter how smart that idea was, she found she couldn’t look away from Nero and stepped closer to the bathroom door.
15
Nero ground his fists against the smooth-tiled shower wall and let the cold water rush over his skin and soak into his pants. If he’d been able to force himself back to his bathroom, attached to his bedroom, he would have been able to strip down and let the water run over more flesh, drawing more of its power into his soul, but he hadn’t — and he hadn’t wanted to risk Raven barging in on him naked if something went wrong with Becca, so he’d kept his pants on. As it was, even if he was completely bare, he doubted the running water would have its full effect. He’d just hoped—
But hoping wouldn’t help anything.
Mother!
He growled and pressed his first two knuckles into the seam between the tiles. He’d only intended to wipe his dried blood from his torso, but the turmoil in his soul squeezed his chest so tight it was hard to breathe, so he’d stepped into the shower. Just for a minute, to think. But he was pretty sure more than a minute had passed, and his thoughts still whirled, always jumping back to protect. He had to protect her, had to save her, had to be with her. If she was soul sick, he had to find a way to mend her soul — and she wasn’t a water drake, like him, so running water wouldn’t help.
Human lives were so short.
A drake couldn’t be inamorated twice.
God damn it. He had to regain his focus. First question: what to do about Becca? A dragon with the ability to make a gatelock knew she had a mental connection to the dugga — he could only hope that dragon didn’t know he was the dugga.
That meant he had to keep her here, no matter what he’d said to Diablo about not restraining her. She couldn’t fall into the wrong hands. She had to fall into his hands—
