by W. J. May
The rest of the gang nodded seriously; they had been there for that catastrophe as well. But at the same time no one could seem to stop smiling. Joking and sarcasm were more of those ‘signs of life,’ and they couldn’t have been more thrilled to hear them.
All except Devon, who still looked like he was recovering from a mild heart attack.
“You’re…you’re all right?” He sounded too afraid to hope. And too shaken up to possibly be thinking clearly. “You’re really all right?”
No. Julian was clearly not all right. His skin was shock white, his eyes were bruised red, and torrents of blood were still leaking from the giant laceration in his chest.
But he seemed to sense the need to be. At least around Devon.
“Yeah…I’m fine.”
Devon didn’t let his guard down for a second. Instead, he moved forward and took Julian’s pulse. Then again. Then once more after that. Rae watched him closely but, to be honest, she didn’t think he was even counting. She thought he was just making sure that Julian had one.
“Devon,” Julian said softly, when it became clear there was no end in sight.
“Quiet. I need to count this out.”
“But you’ve already done that—”
“Quiet, Julian. I’m counting.”
Julian fell silent and bowed his head. A few steps behind him, Molly and Rae exchanged a quick look. As much as they might want to help, there was simply nothing to be done. Something had snapped inside, and only time would fix it. Time, proximity, and perhaps a small miracle.
“Dev…” Julian said gently, “I could have told you it would be okay.”
Rae grinned. I was right. He was checking the future. Checking to see if he was going to die.
“But you couldn’t.” Devon pulled in an uneven gasp. Ever since carrying his best friend inside that night, he hadn’t been able to breathe properly. “You weren’t…you weren’t moving.”
There was heartbreaking tension in his voice, and the words resounded with every person in the room in spite of their best attempts to keep themselves together.
Molly and Rae exchanged a quick look, wondering what they would have done if it was the other. Simon shot a sideways glance at Tristan before staring down at the floor. Even Gabriel looked away with an imperceptible frown. Thinking of Rae? Thinking of Angel? They would never know.
Julian’s face tightened before he visibly forced himself past it. “But I am now,” he said quietly. “I’m fine.”
The word fine wasn’t going over well. Devon’s eyes swept him up and down before he shook his head, an unspeakable expression on his face. “Then you can’t possibly remember what happened.”
All at once, a new kind of tension flooded the room. One that caught Rae completely off guard. It was a chilling reminder that she still had no idea what had happened. That she hadn’t watched her best friend fight for his life at random. Someone had done this to him.
Before she could ask, Devon pressed Julian gently back onto the table.
“We’ve got to get that stitched up,” he said softly. “You’re still losing way too much blood.”
Questions can wait. This can’t.
Rae took an automatic step forward, as a vial of morphine shimmered into her palm. With any luck, Julian was in stable enough condition now that they could safely give him the shot without knowing the exact amount. To be honest, whether he was or not, she still might have tried. As someone who’d recently been stabbed, she knew all too well that the pain was excruciating.
Given that knowledge, she was shocked when he pulled away.
“No drugs,” he murmured, taking a steadying breath, “I don’t want to fall asleep.”
Rae glanced at Devon, whose blank stare gave her no help.
Devon gave him a sympathetic smile. “Jules, trust me. You’re going to want—”
“No.” For whatever reason, his bloodshot eyes flickered up to Tristan and Simon before fixing with agonized determination on the ceiling. “Just stitch it up.”
It was a fleeting gesture, but it caught the attention of everyone present.
What the hell is going on?!
Without a second thought, Molly stepped fiercely in between them, her hands crackling with lethal voltage. “It’s all right, Jules,” she said softly, speaking in a dangerous voice they rarely heard. “No one’s going anywhere. Take the drugs.”
He shook his head again and Gabriel stepped forward, taking the suturing kit Rae had just conjured out of her hand. “Don’t force him. He’s fine.” He moved around Rae. “I’ve got it.” With practiced hands, he grabbed a bottle of antiseptic off the counter and dumped about half of it onto a clean rag. The smell washed over the kitchen, and Julian’s body stiffened with dread.
Even Gabriel flinched sympathetically as he pressed down over the wound, moving as quickly and efficiently as he could. A new river of blood poured over the alcohol, and Julian turned his head into the table with a quiet moan. “Sorry,” Gabriel murmured, “I’m going as fast as I can.” He dropped the towel the next instant, and picked up the suturing kit.
But the second the needle touched his skin, Julian paled dramatically and flinched away. “Devon,” he gasped, “have Devon do it.”
Gabriel pulled back at once. He and Devon shared a fleeting glance before the kit switched hands and one replaced the other. Whether it was the fact that only one had a speed tatù, or simply the fact that Julian had technically died that night and was searching for a security blanket, Rae would never know.
Devon knelt immediately and got to work.
It was gruesome just to watch. And Rae remembered all too well how it felt.
“Are you sure you don’t want something?” Devon muttered, wincing apologetically as the needle dipped in and out. “Rae only skimmed the surface here.”
Julian shook his head firmly, but his face was white as a sheet. Only a few seconds later, his eyes closed and his head rolled limply to the side.
Devon paused a second before pushing to his feet with a quiet sigh. Without looking away, he handed the kit back to Gabriel. “You’re better at this than me.”
Gabriel accepted it without a word, and moved to finish the job.
As counterintuitive as it sounded, it was somehow easier to breathe now that Julian was unconscious. Easier to form coherent thoughts when he wasn’t gasping in pain.
Easy enough to ask one or two simple questions…
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Rae asked quietly, aware that both Tristan and Simon hadn’t moved a single muscle since Julian had shot them that look. “Or would you just like me to guess?”
It was hard to rein in her temper. Not as hard as it could have been, given that her shell-shocked fiancé was still trembling where he stood, but hard all the same.
Whatever had happened tonight, whatever the men had set out to do…she had been left behind. And this? Her eyes swept briefly over Julian’s body. Maybe this could have been prevented.
But try as he might, Devon couldn’t find it in himself to answer. All he could do was stare. “I made a huge mistake,” he whispered, eyes locked on Julian. “A huge mistake.”
It wasn’t the answer Rae had been expecting. Molly, who had been eavesdropping from the other side of the table, shot her a similar look of confusion before they turned back to the men.
Gabriel had just finished bandaging Julian’s ribs, and was pushing back to his feet. He alone didn’t have the same sort of guilty comradery as the others. In fact, unless Rae was imagining it, he looked almost as angry with them as she was.
Of course, he was a lot more guarded with his emotions. “I’m going home,” he said flatly, glancing around the kitchen without really looking at any one person. “I’ll be back in the morning to see how he’s doing. I’ll keep calling Alicia, too.”
Devon nodded quickly, grateful, but unable to put it into words.
Gabriel seemed to understand. He softened slightly, and even gave him a soft warning on
the way out. “Don’t tell Angel who did it. Not if you want them to live until morning.”
Who did it?! Rae looked around the kitchen in horror. One of them had—
But before she could even think the door banged open, slamming against the wall as Gabriel was still reaching for the handle. His little sister stood framed in the doorway. Dripping wet. Shockingly pale. And looking like she could tear down London with her bare hands.
“Where is he?!” she demanded, fixing her cold stare on Gabriel. In times such as this, she only had eyes for her brother. “You just text me that he’s alive, and to come home—”
“Because he is alive,” Gabriel answered, suddenly sounding very tired. “It was a knife wound to the chest. He almost bled out, but we got him stable. He’s sleeping now.”
“Where?”
“In the kitchen.”
Without another word she ripped off her wet coat and stormed inside, completely unconcerned with the fact that she was wearing nothing but combat boots and lingerie. A literal chill seemed to follow behind her as she swept straight past everyone else into the kitchen, only to come to a sudden halt in front of the one person she knew held at least some of the blame.
“Angel, don’t freeze him.”
The terrifying girl looked slowly at her brother before returning her gaze to Devon. Then she pulled back her fist, and punched him with such blinding speed Rae was sure she broke a bone.
Angel shrugged. “I didn’t freeze him.”
Without another word she vanished into the kitchen, forcing the current occupants to quietly relocate to some other room of the house. Gabriel glanced over his shoulder, hesitating in the doorway, but swept outside the moment Simon came into the room. Tristan, Molly, and Luke were quick to follow, leaving only Devon...Who was still bleeding where he stood.
Rae gave him a quick once-over before her lips thinned into a hard line. “Don’t think you’re getting off so easy with me.” The two of them locked eyes, and she slowly shook her head. “You’re not going to tell me what happened…you’re going to show me.”
Chapter 6
Julian was carried up the stairs. Flanked by Molly and Angel, and Devon was balancing him in such a way that his body was completely undisturbed. The second he’d passed out, Rae had given him a vial of morphine anyway. He was already asleep and whatever or whoever had made him hesitate, Angel wasn’t letting anything get through that bedroom door.
The second she saw he was being settled in safely, Rae returned to the bottom of the stairs to wait for Devon’s return. He had accepted her terms of interrogation without a fight—as radical as they might be—but she already had a pretty good idea as to what she might see.
“Hey, do you mind if Molly and I stay here tonight?”
Rae turned around to see Luke standing behind her, his arms piled high with an assortment of blankets and pillows. Everything from the downstairs bedroom.
“Of course, but what—”
“They’re for Molly,” he said with a little sigh. “Not only is she not speaking to me, but she’s setting up guard in the hallway outside Julian’s room. Unless Angel lets her actually sleep inside.”
I highly doubt it. And given the look on Angel’s face, I highly doubt Molly even asked.
“Of course you can stay, Luke,” Rae muttered, her eyes still fixed on the landing. “You know that the two of you never have to ask.”
He did know that. But it had seemed a good icebreaker for what he wanted to say next. “Rae, I…” his blue eyes tightened, and they dropped down to the floor. “I’m really sorry about all of this. I didn’t want to go in the first place, but then when your—” He stopped suddenly short, staring just over Rae’s shoulder.
She whirled around to see her father and Tristan walk out of the darkness. Standing tall, side by side.
“Goodnight,” Luke muttered, disappearing before they had the chance to speak.
Rae watched as he hastened up the stairs before turning slowly to the men standing behind her. One had the audacity to meet her gaze, while the other still looked utterly demoralized.
“I’m going to sleep in the car,” Tristan murmured. “I want to be here first thing in the morning when Julian wakes up.” He held out a hand towards Simon. “Give me the keys.”
Simon dropped them into his palm without taking his eyes off his daughter, and the man disappeared without a word. It was only then that Rae saw Julian wasn’t the only one who got hurt that night. The scarf wrapped around Simon’s hand was stained with blood.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what happened,” she said through gritted teeth.
Simon’s eyes tightened sympathetically as Devon appeared at the top of the stairs, took a second to steady himself, then began trudging slowly down to the foyer. “I suspect you’re about to get that answer right now.”
Rae turned with a glare to find herself face to face with her fiancé. Devon looked as exhausted as she had ever seen him. The deep bruises beneath his eyes gave him a haunted glow, and his cheek was still bleeding steadily from where Angel had punched him.
His eyes flickered only once to Simon before focusing entirely on Rae. “I got a…” The words caught in his throat, and he shook his head. “I decided to go after Samantha.”
Rae raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She had suspected as much. She just wasn’t sure where the rest of them fit in, and what had gone so terribly wrong.
But Simon wasn’t willing to let Devon take all the blame alone. “I texted you,” he said with a soft frown.
“It was my call.” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in Devon’s voice, and a dark shiver shook through his entire body as his eyes flickered to the trail of blood leading up the stairs. “I did this.”
Rae held up a hand. Demanding to hear them both out. Unwilling to do it together. “Go upstairs,” she commanded softly. “I’ll be up in a minute, and we’ll…talk.”
Devon hung his head, and obeyed without a word. Slipping automatically into his tatù, he blurred up the steps so fast neither Rae nor Simon could follow until they heard the door shut.
The second it had, Rae turned back to her father. “Let me guess. You were the one who texted him earlier tonight. Told him to meet you some place in the dead of night. Convinced him to go on this suicide mission with you.” Why had she not thought of this sooner?
Simon gazed at her steadily, denying nothing. That sort of thing wasn’t really in his nature. “It didn’t take much convincing.”
No. After what she’d told Devon just a few hours earlier, she didn’t imagine it did.
Unable to tell her father how terribly perfect his timing had been, preying upon the fears of a new father—she diverted to the smaller issues instead.
“How the hell did you even get his number, Da—Simon? How do you even have a phone?” She remembered what Tristan had said, and raised her voice. “How the hell do you have a car?!”
And WHERE is my MOTHER in all this?
Simon absorbed each question silently, staring back with that unshakable calm. “I think the question you really want to ask me is, why I didn’t text you.”
Rae’s blood rose to a boil, and she fought to control her temper. She had been in enough interrogations and played enough passive-aggressive games not to rise to the question. Instead, she merely folded her arms across her chest and looked her father right in the eye. “Wrong again, Kerrigan. My only question is this: would it have been worth Julian’s life?”
The quiet words did more than any amount of screaming ever could. Simon’s mask of calm shattered, and she could see the unspeakable guilt welling up beneath. The gut-wrenching misery that plagued his every breath.
Good. No one deserves it more.
Without another word, Rae turned on her heel and headed up the stairs. She wasn’t going to interrogate her father. She wouldn’t believe a word he told her anyway. Besides, there was someone waiting upstairs who required her immediate attention.
“You can st
ay the night, or go back to Kent,” she called over her shoulder. “I really couldn’t care less. But you’d better not be here in the morning.”
She heard the front door slam shut as she slipped silently into her room.
Devon was sitting in the center of the bed. Although the walls were already beginning to turn pink with the coming sunrise, the promise of a bright new day, he looked completely spent. His perpetually bright eyes were dull with stress and fatigue, and locked on her with something close to dread.
“We promised each other that we’d never have any secrets,” she murmured as she sank beside him onto the bed. “That we’d never sneak off or lie…that we’d do everything together.”
They had whispered the words to one another shortly after Devon proposed. In one of the last quiet moments before the tatùed army in Scotland had marched upon Cromfield. They had seemed so simple at the time. So easy to commit to, Rae never thought they’d be sitting here now.
“I know.” Devon let out a shaky sigh and bowed his head. His entire body seemed to wilt with remorse. “Rae, I never planned to—”
“Give me your hands.”
A sudden silence fell between them as they stared into each other’s eyes. The weight and horror of the night crashed down upon them, and for a moment nobody moved. Then, without breaking her gaze, Devon silently extended his hands.
They were cold. Cold and smeared with dried blood.
She took them without hesitation, squeezing them automatically, before remembering herself and turning them over in her own. Carter had told her once that his gift was easiest to use when the subject was fatigued. When the mind’s usual defenses were broken.
But Devon wasn’t just another subject. And she had never trespassed into his mind before.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered. She didn’t want him looking at her. Didn’t want him watching as she stole inside. “Try to relax. I’m only looking at one thing.”
One thing. They both knew it wasn’t true. Carter’s ink didn’t work like that. Once you were inside a person’s mind, anything was up for grabs. Their entire life—past, present, and future—was an open book. Every thought. Every dream. Every memory and feeling. All of them, exposed.
