The Darkest Edge of Dawn cm-2

by Kelly Gay

  Right before my deranged partner jumped up from behind the railing and took a flying leap toward us.

  “Hank! No—”

  His six foot four frame crashed into us, knocking us back into midair and crushing me against his chest as he wrapped his arms and legs around Llyran—me sandwiched in between them and utterly helpless.

  Llyran shouted in surprise, losing his command over the darkness. We fell straight down, windows and terraces flying by at incredible speed.

  “Hold on!” Hank yelled.

  Llyran cursed, struggling, trying to shove Hank off as we tumbled, going end over end. My eyes rolled back in my head, and the need to puke or pass out or both made me grit my teeth and force myself to do neither.

  Anytime now. We’d hit anytime now.

  I didn’t want to die like this. Images of my family flashed like a slide projector behind my eyelids, and a moment of calm descended upon me as the power began to coil in my gut.

  Screw this. I was not going to go out like this.

  “Don’t, Charlie!” Hank shouted. “Keep it inside! Trust me!”

  The power inside of me ballooned, pushing against my ribs, surging down my arms and legs. I screamed. I couldn’t control it.

  And then we were jerked to a fast halt. “Now! Let him go!” Hank yelled as Llyran regained control over the darkness. But he had stopped us too fast and when the darkness began to lift Llyran, his grip on me slipped.

  Hank and I continued to fall two stories. We nearly separated, but he pulled me close as I flailed to get my arms around him.

  We crashed into the flower garden in the center of the tower’s U-shaped drive. A loud “oomph” went out of Hank as his back hit first, along with my arms, which I’d somehow wrapped tightly around him.

  I screamed as pain exploded along my collarbone, shoulders, and back. My shoulders dislocated, and my collarbone snapped, the sound of my bone breaking stinging my eardrums. We sank ten inches into the soft soil, the crush of flowers falling in on top of us.

  I was immobile. And if Hank so much as twinged, the pain would be … unthinkable.

  “We have to get out of here,” he rasped through gritted teeth; I knew he was injured, too.

  “No. Don’t move.”

  He groaned, his heart pounding hard against my temple as I lay there completely still and trying to breathe through the pain. “Charlie. He’s coming back.”

  “I can’t move,” I muttered, mouth squished against his chest and hot tears wetting the fabric of his shirt. “I’m broken. I can’t.”

  “Heal. And heal fast. Right the fuck now.”

  “What the hell were you doing—trying to get us killed?”

  “Trying to prevent it, actually.” He hissed in pain. “The only way was to get out of that tower fast and there was no other way but down. I knew he wouldn’t let himself hit, and that he’d try to hold on to you.”

  He straightened his leg and winced. The movement sent a hot jolt through my shoulder blades. “Stop it!”

  “Sorry, kiddo, but we’ve got to go.”

  I braced as he drew in a deep painful breath and sat up with me on top of him. “You bastaaarrrddd!” My vision went blurry. The pain turned my stomach and made my head swim. “Oh God, I hate you.”

  “I know,” he whispered as though it hurt too much to speak louder, grabbing my arm. “You’re about to hate me even more.”

  I gasped, realizing what he was about to do, right before he twisted my arm and shoved the first of two dislocated shoulders into place. I was passing out, but I held out long enough to slur, “You’re right …” And then blackness took me.

  * * *

  I woke to my forehead slapping against my partner’s lower back as he carried me like a sack through the Underground lobby and down the well-lit tunnel that led to Helios Alley. My arms dangled, the jarring movement threatening to send me right back into oblivion.

  My shoulders were useless and limp, and radiating such agonizing heat that my insides had shriveled. Each jab of Hank’s shoulder into my gut pushed a little bile up my throat.

  Please let me pass out again. Please.

  “Start healing yourself, Charlie,” Hank said in ragged breaths, apparently sensing that I was conscious, moving as fast as he could down Helios Alley.

  “Go to hell,” I snarled, blinded by pain so bad I couldn’t think straight.

  Hank turned into the entrance for The Bath House, fishing in his back pocket for his wallet and then finding his membership card to slide through the access panel near the large wooden doors. It clicked open, and he hurried inside the massive space built to resemble the baths in Elysia. The air was warm and humid. The sounds of birds echoed in the main entrance area, but all I could see were the blurry mosaic tiles and the edges of palms and containers.

  A moan rumbled in my sour throat amid the sound of Hank’s low voice and that of another. I was going to puke.

  We swung left, went a few more steps, and then entered another room. Hank laid me on a wide chaise lounge; the jolt of sharp pain that shot through me was the last straw. I turned, my collarbone screaming, and vomited on the tile floor.

  After I was through, I laid my head back on the soft white cushion, gasping for air and realizing I was completely alone, left with just the potted foliage and the piped-in flute music that was barely audible over the sound of a fountain.

  Now that I wasn’t being bounced on Hank’s shoulder, I attempted to heal. I regulated my breathing and opened myself to my Elysian power—the side that responded so well to those thoughts, emotions, and images of my loved ones. I healed quicker that way; my Charbydon power was also able to heal me, but hell if I had figured out how to access it for that purpose.

  It started small, but built until the energy hummed inside of me, the familiar, cool vibration like a welcome island breeze. Beyond my relaxing mind and body, I heard movement and felt a wet cloth being placed on my forehead. Murmured words passed between what I guessed was a Bath House attendant and Hank. Then all the outside stimuli fell away as I withdrew into myself and let the healing energy take over.

  I had no idea how long I laid there in a semi-conscious state as my body healed, but when I finally roused and turned my head to the side, it was to see Hank sprawled out on the twin lounge set against the opposite wall. We were in some sort of private massage or meditation room with its own bath, one of many within the complex. The rectangular walls were inlaid with mosaic tiles like the rest of The Bath House, and four columns rose from the corners of the long rectangular pool. Iron sconces held fat-burning candles and two large basins in the far corners held open flames. The faint scent of citrusy herbs made the warm air seem thinner, fresher, and easier to breathe. The only light came from the soft glow of the candles and fires, giving the place a dark, aged feel as though I’d stepped back in time to ancient Babylon.

  My arms and shoulders still tingled with healing energy, but I was unsure if I’d healed completely, so I used my stomach muscles to rise and get a better look at the surroundings.

  Hank was flat on his back, hands resting on his stomach, his breathing deep and even. There was a gaping hole in his pants leg and blood surrounding it, some deep scratches still on the sides of his arms from where some of the stiffer, thicker stems must have cut into his skin, but other than that he appeared okay.

  Gently, I swung my legs over the cushy lounge and very gingerly tested my shoulders, starting with a slow roll. Lots of heat and pain. My hand felt along my clavicle and the tender spot where the bone had snapped, but was obviously now mending.

  What was even more amazing, besides sheer luck in landing where we had, was that Hank’s insane escape plan had worked. We’d gotten away from Llyran and the darkness. We’d survived a fall from forty-six stories up—a nightmare that would forever join a few others in my subconscious.

  And then he’d tossed my broken body over his shoulder like I was some crash-test dummy. The pain had been unbearable.

  I let my gaze
scan the room once more, pushing the memory into the back of my mind. There was a small pitcher of ice water and two glasses sitting on a table in between the lounges. I poured a glass and gulped it down, much thirstier than I’d realized. I wanted a second cup, but sacrificed the rest for payback—I stood with the pitcher, pausing a second to let my wobbly legs regain their balance and for my head to stop spinning, then walked over to the peaceful form of my partner and dumped the entire contents onto his face.

  His arms flew up and he jerked upright, sputtering and taking a moment to realize where he was. Slowly he wiped a palm over his wet face. Then his gaze found mine and went sapphire hard. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

  He wiped his face again and then dragged his damp hair back from his forehead, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “What? Save your ungrateful little ass?”

  “Yes.” I cocked my head, feeling rank and stubborn. “I had things under control.”

  “Yeah. The Oh-fuck-I’m-going-to-pee-myself look on your face really said ‘control’ to me.” He swung his legs off the bed, and then rubbed his hand along his shin where the hole and the blood on his pants were. “Now you’re going to have to get me some water. I’m thirsty.”

  My hands squeezed the pitcher handle. “Get your own stupid water.”

  He stilled. “No. I will not get my own water. You will get me my water.” His nostrils flared with anger, and he spoke through gritted teeth. The flames on the candles flickered in response to his mood and the energy being pulled toward him. “You know why? Because I saved your goddamn life today, and I’d like a little gratitude.” His jaw clenched tightly, but his gaze did not back down.

  I didn’t back down, either, willing myself not to blink, even as my conscience began to feel guilty for what I’d done. He had saved my life. And I was so focused on the pain, on the way he’d handled me … Goddammit.

  “Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll get your stupid water.”

  “Fine.”

  I let the door bang shut and then marched down the hallway toward the concierge desk, hoping to hell that Zara was off today. Hank’s on-and-off-again girlfriend was the last person I wanted to see. But, of course, there she was, sitting behind the desk, her perfect blue eyes staring at her computer monitor, and her long, strawberry blond hair tucked behind one ear and falling in a sheet of glossy satin that pricked my envy.

  I slammed the pitcher on the counter. “Mister High and Mighty wants water.”

  Zara jumped. “Charlie.” She stood, smiling in greeting, rising to her glorious supermodel height, and took the pitcher. “You guys have been out for”—she glanced at her monitor—“an hour and a half? I take it you’re feeling better.”

  “It feels like I just fell forty-six stories. It hurts, and I’m … not happy.” I turned, leaning my back against the counter as she went to the water cooler and filled the pitcher.

  She chuckled. “Don’t be too mad. Hank carried you here with a cracked skull, a broken kneecap, and a few internal injuries if I had to guess. And he cleaned up your … mess … on the floor.”

  “Oh.” All of my ire deflated with that one word. “I thought someone else did that.”

  Once the pitcher was full, she turned to me and held it out. “He really cares about you, you know.” Heat crept into my cheeks as I took the pitcher. She glanced down at her feet and then back up at me, giving me a small shrug and a half-smile. “I don’t know if he told you … I broke it off with him. For good, this time. I’d been thinking about it for a while anyway.”

  I set the pitcher on the counter, still holding on to the handle. “But, why?”

  “It’s hard to explain. I like him. I really do.” She leaned closer to the counter, looking like she could use someone to talk to. “Honestly? It’s the voice-mod.”

  Hank’s words from earlier came back to me. I shook my head. “I don’t get it …”

  Her perfect gaze fixed on a point beyond my shoulder for a moment as she decided how to explain. “With it stuck on his neck … certain things are not what they should be … um, if you know what I mean.”

  My brow lifted high in realization. “Oh. Okay. I see …”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Her smile was so pretty it made me cringe and want to be her devoted best friend all at the same time. “Yeah,” she said. “Sirens … well, we talk. Murmur, whisper, use our voices to accentuate certain things. It’s very powerful. It makes the experience that much greater, and it’s way more for the females than the males. That’s why you don’t see very many female sirens with any other type of males. We almost never”—her face turned pink—“you know with other males. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Hank is …” Her eyes widened and she gave me an incredulous expression of awe. “But without the power of his voice, it’s not the same for me. Not what I’m used to.”

  Just the idea of a male siren using his voice during sex—I was red-faced just thinking about it. “Mott Tech will find a way to remove it.”

  “I know. And Hank’s a great guy and everything. I’m just not sure we were meant for each other. It’s all awkward now and …” She laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “It’s okay,” I muttered. “If anyone knows awkward, it’s me.”

  She sat in her chair. “Make sure you guys use the healing pool. It’ll speed your recovery.” Her fingers tapped against the keyboard keys, her gaze returning to the monitor.

  I slid the pitcher off the counter and muttered a lame goodbye, walking a lot slower down the hall than I had a few minutes ago. Hank’s irritability, his reaction to my using the word emasculated … Things were beginning to make a lot more sense.

  When I returned to the room, he was lying on the lounge, one arm thrown over his face. I picked up the second glass, filled it, and held it out to him. “Here … sorry about earlier … it just hurt.” Tears stung my eyes. “Really bad.”

  He turned his head slightly and opened his eyes, staring at me for a second before sitting up and taking the glass. “Thanks.”

  With a heavy exhale, I sat on the lounge across from him, my attention riveted on the tile floor. “No, I should be thanking you. For saving my life and getting us out of that tower.” I glanced up. “And, for the record, I was not going to pee myself. I was too damn scared.”

  Hank finished off the water and then one corner of his mouth lifted into a shadow of a smile. “I was scared, too. Seeing you go flying backward off the terrace and up into the clouds … I thought he was going to drop you. On purpose.”

  “He showed me the sun,” I said quietly. “He believes the Char nobles were once Elysians who were cast out. Llyran’s got it in his head that I can help him return the nobles back to Elysia.”

  Hank nodded thoughtfully, leaning his elbows on his knees and rubbing his chin. “How does he think you can help?”

  “Hell if I know. He’s grandiose, wants more than power. He wants to be in control, of everything and everyone. He mentioned the star, raising the star, just like Daya said. Thinks I can make that happen for him.” I rubbed a hand down my face and let out a long, tired moan. “You think he’s still looking for us?”

  “No. I think he’s fucking with you. Maybe he wants to do to you what he’s been doing to the others: take your power.”

  Hank stood and held out his hand to help me up, but I just sat there looking up at him. “Then why hasn’t he?” I asked lamely.

  “I don’t know. Seeing what you’re made of? Testing your power? We knew this would happen once news got out about you, what’s been done to you. You’re going to be a lure, a beacon to anyone searching for a leg up, for power.”

  “Yeah, and I can’t even summon power when I really need it. I can’t control it.”

  “Eh, don’t worry about that, Charlie. You’re a newborn. The rest of us have had ages to learn how to focus, for it to finally become natural, even in the most hectic, unsettling moments.”
>
  Aaron said the same thing every time I got frustrated during a lesson. And it was true, I knew, but when it counted the most, when I needed it the most—sometimes, I failed myself. I could have prevented Llyran from taking me on the joy ride from hell. Theoretically, I was more powerful than he was. I had the genes of all three worlds and access to more power than any being on this planet. For all the good it did me.

  “I’m sorry about the water,” I said again, trying to think of a way to explain.

  “Sometimes … pain, or the reminder of it, makes us do rash things. Call it payback for me ditching you the other day.” He gave a crooked grin.

  Spoken like someone with a ton of experience in the pain department. Curious.

  “Come on, we should get into the water. The next time I face Llyran, I want to be completely healed.” Hank grabbed the end of his shirt and began to pull it up. My face went hot. He froze, seeing my look. “You know, sooner or later, you’re going to have to get used to the Elysian way of things.”

  I turned my back to him and let out the breath I’d been holding, not bothering to respond. Not sure I’d ever get used to the nonexistent modesty held by the Elysians. In the baths, in this part of their culture, naked was the way to go. I had a healthy appreciation for the male form and had my share of lusty fantasies, but that didn’t equate to the reality of standing in an indoor nudist colony and being completely at ease. Hell, even baring it all with the object of one’s desire could be a bit nerve-inspiring at first.

  Hank’s soft chuckle issued behind me as I heard his zipper slide down. “Relax, Madigan. Every private room has the clothing option. I’ll wear a shenti. There should be a gown on the chest at the end of your lounge.”

  I still didn’t turn around, though I did cast my eyes toward the lounge and the thick pile of towels and the neatly folded gowns. The clothing option had been made available to the small number of human bath house members and those who had adopted human ways. Once I heard Hank’s footsteps retreat toward the pool, I went for the sheer curtain that hung between two of the columns. I pulled each cord and let them swish closed.