Closing the Circle (Guardians of the Pattern, Book 6)

by Jaye McKenna

  “Your replacement?”

  Shut up, shut up, shut up… But the words kept coming, and Draven couldn’t stop them. “I was DeMira’s boy before I was his assassin. Years before Miko came. Everything Miko endured there… I went through it first. Handed around like a party favor to anyone DeMira wanted to reward, bribe, or blackmail.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Draven dragged his gaze to the floor. Pity? From Cameron? He didn’t want Cameron’s pity, damn it. He wanted to be back in control. Wanted—

  “Draven—”

  “He kept a healer on staff. Didn’t matter how badly they broke me, she’d fix me so they could do it again.” Draven listened in horror to the words spilling out of his mouth. Words he couldn’t stop. Words he’d never spoken aloud before. Never dared.

  It was the drugs. The riptide had loosened up his brain until one kind look from Cameron was all it took to turn him inside out and make him spill all his darkest secrets.

  “If I didn’t do as I was told… I didn’t get healed.”

  Cameron was silent.

  Draven dared not look up. His eyes burned, and his throat was tight, as if an icy hand were wrapped around it, choking off his breath, his life. He could almost taste the pain and the fear. The never-ending cycle of abuse and healing… God, no wonder his mind was broken and drifting.

  He had no one.

  No one to tell him what to do.

  No one to hurt him. No one to heal him.

  No one to catch him when he fell.

  And he would fall.

  He swayed and would have toppled off the chair, but strong arms caught him, steadied him, and he was pulled against a warm, solid body.

  “Why did you stay?” Cameron whispered. “You let me and Miko go, but… you could have come with us. You could have testified against him, brought the entire Guild crashing down.”

  He wanted to pull away. Wanted to run, wanted to scream.

  Wanted to be held.

  His vision blurred.

  Because I loved him. His mind screamed it, but even now, after he’d spilled everything else, he couldn’t give voice to it. The one central truth that had kept him loyal for nearly twenty years. It still hurt. It would always hurt, and Draven still couldn’t quite believe the man who’d been the center of his world was gone, and by his own hand.

  “It’s okay,” Cameron murmured, squeezing his shoulder. “It’ll be all right.”

  The soft voice and the gentle touch broke him in ways he’d never been broken. Shattered the walls he’d been struggling to hold up, shone light in places that had always been dark.

  Draven gave it up. He had nothing left. He couldn’t keep holding it together when everything was coming apart, and he was too tired to fight anymore.

  He closed his eyes and leaned into Cameron.

  * * *

  Cam knew the precise moment when Draven surrendered; felt the waves of emotion battering down the walls he’d built to protect himself. Like many of the victims of abuse Cam had met during his years at the Institute, Draven had the art of suffering silently down to perfection. The wiry body in his arms shuddered with the violence of Draven’s grief, but there was no sound other than a few strangled breaths to accompany the tremors that rocked him.

  Still fighting.

  Only he wasn’t fighting Cam, he was fighting himself.

  Cam stayed right where he was, holding him until he sensed the storm had passed. Then he helped Draven to his feet, intending to put him back to bed.

  Spent from the drugs, the sickness, and the emotional storm, Draven looked drowsy now. His limbs were slack and loose from the riptide, his eyes dilated.

  The high wouldn’t last long. Soon, Draven would be begging him for more, and Cam would have to give it to him. The fever had depleted his strength to the point where he wasn’t going to be able to handle the withdrawal symptoms. Getting professional help was starting to look more like a necessity than a choice.

  Draven leaned heavily against him as they slowly crossed the space from the stove to the bed. He didn’t look at Cam as Cam eased him down onto the bed and pulled the covers up to his shoulders. As soon as Cam got him down, he turned away, facing the wall. He was still shivering, so Cam spread another blanket over the bed.

  This was, no doubt, going to make an already awkward situation even more so. He eyed the floor and realized the only blanket left was draped over his own shoulders. It wasn’t going to be enough. Not tonight.

  Besides, he was tired of waking up sore. At nearly forty-five, two nights of broken sleep on a hard floor was two nights too many. He wasn’t seventeen anymore, and his body had been reminding him of that all day.

  He added more wood to the stove, turned out the lantern, and crawled into bed beside Draven, who went stiff and tense the moment he realized what Cam was doing.

  “Shove over,” Cam growled. “Damned if I’m going to freeze my ass off when there’s plenty of room here.”

  Draven moved over, letting out a grunt of pain as he shuffled across the bed as close to the edge as he could get. Damned awkward, all right.

  Cam drifted off, only to jerk awake from a nightmare vision of the Institute engulfed in flames, himself struggling to get everyone out in time, but knowing he wasn’t going to make it.

  The wind still shrieked and moaned outside, and Draven had edged closer in his sleep until his back was nearly touching Cam’s chest. Draven was warm — too warm — but the air in the cabin was icy cold, and Cam flung an arm over him and hauled him in even closer before drifting back to sleep.

  * * *

  His skin was crawling, and his belly felt like it was on fire. Draven clenched his teeth, but a whimper found its way out. A moment later, the warmth at his back — warmth… what? — shifted, and he flinched, panic surging.

  How the hell was he waking up in someone else’s—?

  “Easy, Draven, easy.”

  Cameron. Lodge.

  A line of fire cut through his middle and he whimpered again. The warm weight shifted away from him. “Sorry.” Cameron’s voice was husky with sleep. “Overslept. Be right back.”

  Draven lay perfectly still, taking slow, careful breaths as he struggled to keep the pain at bay. Moments later, Cameron was there, pulling his arm free and slapping the needlepak against his skin.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you wait.” Cameron sounded like he truly meant it, but Draven couldn’t make himself roll over and look. Not yet. It hurt too much.

  “Getting… worse…” A lot worse; twice during the night, Cameron had gotten up to give him more riptide.

  “Yeah. I figured.”

  He tried to escape into sleep again, but the crawling sensations were almost too much to bear. Rolling onto his back didn’t help; a thousand tiny feet scrabbled across his chest in a wave. His hands moved to brush them off, but he froze when he saw Cameron watching him, dark eyes soft with…

  Sympathy?

  No. He didn’t want that. No sympathy, no pity. Not from anyone. Their eyes met briefly, and Cameron turned away and headed for the stove.

  Draven closed his eyes and waited for the drug to seep into his bones. The high was barely noticeable now. That was a bad sign. Some riptide addicts could go for a few years before the stuff killed them. Draven wasn’t going to have that much time. Even at the beginning, he’d needed far too much to dull the pain of his unshielded mind, and it was only getting worse.

  At least the drug still eased the muscle cramps and stopped the crawling sensations.

  It didn’t do anything for the chills, or the nausea, though. When Cameron came back, he laid a hand across Draven’s forehead and peered into his eyes, a slight frown puckering his brow. His lips pressed together in a grim line. “The fever’s not coming down. You feel even hotter than you did last night, and you were burning up, then.”

  Draven didn’t say anything. He knew things weren’t good, but he had no idea how much of what he was feeling was due to the riptide and
how much was due to the illness.

  “It’s finally stopped snowing,” Cameron said. “Once that stuff kicks in, I’m going outside to dig out the flyer.”

  “The wind—”

  “I won’t lie to you, the wind is a problem. Last I checked, there was a small-aircraft warning out for Iral and everything north of the city. But the wind is going to be with us for the next few days. I don’t think you can wait that long. And maybe it won’t be as bad as the predictions. Phone and slate both ran out of juice last night, so I haven’t been able to check.”

  “You said we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Draven protested. “What if you’re forced down? Or crash? You could freeze to death.”

  “You could die in withdrawal.”

  They stared at each other in silence.

  Finally, Draven said, “I’m not worth—”

  “I’m going.” Cameron cut him off sharply. “And you don’t get a vote.”

  * * *

  The flight to the Institute was every bit as harrowing as Cam had imagined it would be. If he’d thought Draven would last two more days, he’d have waited out the windstorm at the lodge, but this morning, he’d noted a faint yellowish tinge to the whites of Draven’s eyes. Between that and a dangerously high fever that wasn’t responding to medication, two days could well be two days too long. He wasn’t thrilled about having to leave Draven alone, but with his phone and slate both drained, he had no way to call for help.

  By the time he’d cleared most of the snow off the flyer, Draven had been drifting in and out of consciousness, delirious and hallucinating, and Cam wasn’t sure how much of what he’d said to him had actually been processed. He’d ended up leaving a note explaining that he’d gone for help.

  Winds far fiercer than his small flyer was designed to withstand tossed the craft about like a toy. Cam fought the controls the entire way, and by the time he set the flyer down on the roof of the Admin and Education building, his head was pounding and his shoulders were aching with tension.

  Today was Eleni’s day off, so Cam headed straight for her apartment, hoping she’d be up. It was nearly ten, and his sister liked to sleep late when she could, so chances were good she was still home, preparing for the day.

  She answered his knock wearing a bathrobe. Her hair was tousled, but she looked wide awake. “Jesus, Cam, you disappear for a few days and show up now?” She stepped aside to let him in, and Cam stopped dead at the sight of Trevor sitting at the kitchen table, also wearing a bathrobe. The remains of a cooked breakfast had been pushed aside, and Cam’s stomach growled as he inhaled the scent of fried onions and potatoes.

  Trevor flushed and got to his feet. “Morning, Cam. I was just… um… leaving.” He headed down the hall toward the bedroom before Cam could gather his wits enough to open his mouth.

  Eleni rolled her eyes. “Thanks a lot,” she snapped. “What’s so urgent it couldn’t have waited?”

  “Medical emergency.”

  “Oh? Why haven’t I heard about it?”

  “It’s not here. I need you to come with me.”

  Eleni’s dark brown eyes narrowed. “Does this have anything to do with why you haven’t been answering my calls?”

  “Yeah, it does, and I can’t tell you much, except that it’s FedSec business and I need a medical professional I can trust.” The lie fell easily from his lips, and he didn’t even feel bad about it.

  She shoved a hand through her hair. “I sensed a lot of tension around you last night. Late last night.”

  “Not surprising. I’ve got a… a guy in witness protection. He got stabbed three nights ago. The wound looks clean, but he’s running a fever and… and this morning, I’m seeing the first signs of jaundice.”

  Eleni frowned. “There’s more going on than an infection, then. He needs a hospital.”

  “Not an option — he’s taken psionic damage. Can’t shield. He’s been using riptide. Probably too much of it. I was… I was bringing him to one of the Institute’s cabins, but the storm got so bad, I ended up stopping at Dad’s hunting lodge.”

  “That shack?” Her mouth tightened, and her disapproval was like a hard slap in the face. “You’re caring for a wounded riptide addict in a place with no running water and no electricity? Jesus, Cam, do you even—”

  “Are you listening, Lini? I said the storm stranded us there.”

  Her derisive snort suggested that was his fault, too. “What have you been giving him? Anything?”

  “Betafex. And whatever fever reducer they put in the first-aid kits. It isn’t doing much.”

  “It wouldn’t, if the infection’s got the upper hand. He’ll need something stronger. Give me a few minutes to get dressed. I’ll need to grab some supplies from the infirmary.” She started toward the bedroom, then turned back. “Help yourself to coffee. There’s breakfast in the pan on the stove, if you want some, but make it fast, because I won’t be long. And do not get on Trevor’s case — he’s here because I invited him here. Do you hear me, Cameron Dean?”

  “Yes, ma’am, loud and clear,” he muttered.

  When she’d gone, he poured himself a cup of coffee and scooped the remaining potatoes onto a plate. He ate fast, knowing Eleni wouldn’t appreciate it if he kept her — and more importantly, her patient — waiting. He’d finished eating and rinsed out the pan before Trevor came out of the bedroom.

  Trevor looked a little rumpled, as if he’d pulled on yesterday’s clothing in a big hurry, and he wouldn’t meet Cam’s eyes as he passed him.

  “Sorry, Cam,” he mumbled. “I, uh… didn’t want you to find out like this.”

  “Eleni told me she was seeing you. It’s not a problem. Don’t make it one.”

  Trevor raised hazel eyes to meet Cam’s. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I was… surprised, I guess. I didn’t think you were into women.”

  “I… I didn’t think I was, either.” Trevor’s cheeks flushed. “She’s… uh… I mean…”

  “Trev. It’s okay. Really.”

  “Aye, all right, then. I’ll just…” Trevor swallowed and bobbed his head before slipping out the door.

  “Chased him out, did you?” Eleni was pulling her hair back in a ponytail as she emerged from the hall. She was wearing old jeans and a ratty blue sweater. Probably figuring on getting dirty.

  “No, he left on his own,” Cam said. “I think he’s afraid of me.”

  “He knows you well enough to know exactly how fierce and protective you are,” Eleni said with a wry smile. “We better take one of the heavier flyers from the vehicle pool. There’s a small-aircraft warning out for the next two days.” She frowned, studying his face. “You didn’t fly all the way back from the lodge in that little puddle-skimmer of yours, did you?”

  “Didn’t have much choice.”

  “In this wind? You could have called. I know how to get there. It would have been faster, and you wouldn’t have had to leave a seriously ill man alone for a few hours.”

  “My phone and my slate were both out of power by last night,” Cam said. “With all the shit that’s going on with the Aion Incident, Kyn needed some reassurance. He was leaving me messages every few hours. And I needed to keep up with the news nets.”

  Eleni let out another annoyed snort. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” She handed him her slate. “Check and see which of the cabins are free. If he can’t shield, we can’t bring him back to campus, but if he’s as sick as you say, I’m not leaving him at the lodge. It’s too primitive, and too hard to keep things clean.” She strode to the closet, grabbed her coat, and stood by the door, tapping her foot. “Come on, Cameron, move it. I haven’t got all day, and from the sound of it, neither has your witness.”

  * * *

  Even though it was supposed to be his day off, Miko had been in the office all morning. He was deep in the mythe, the intersection between mind and data where he did most of his work for the Institute. There were vulnerable data structures to protect, some of which held t
he names and locations of all the psions the Institute had helped. Given the current political climate, if the Federation Senate decided that psions needed watching, FedSec would undoubtedly hand over the data.

  Assuming they could find it.

  Thus far, his defenses were solid, but he assigned a few more bots to keep watch and alert him if they detected any unusual activity. Satisfied that he’d made things as secure as possible, he let his awareness drift deeper, to the place where the Pattern had always been.

  Before it had changed so dramatically, the Pattern had given Miko a sense of order, of things progressing in a logical way. Now, the constantly shifting colors and flashes of tangled threads only served to frustrate him. Possible futures cascaded through his mind in flashes too brief to make sense of. He felt as if he were a tiny creature adrift in a vast ocean, most of which he couldn’t see.

  These days, he preferred to avoid the Pattern if he could. But there was one thread he needed to see, just to reassure himself that it still glowed with life.

  Draven.

  He was close by, but the brief glimpses Miko had seen worried him. Last night, Draven’s thread had been fading and growing dark, pulsing slowly as his life bled away. The knowledge that Draven was nearby and hurting, and that Miko could do nothing to help him, had disturbed him. He’d lain awake half the night, tossing and turning alone in the big bed he and Tarrin shared, unable to lose himself in sleep.

  In the wee hours of the morning, he’d given up on sleep and come here, to his office, where he’d spent the remainder of the night curled up on one of the couches, staring into the darkness and trying not to feel the sense of pressure and danger that was both everywhere and nowhere.

  Something was definitely coming, but Miko had no idea what or when or how. He was as mythe-blind as any normal human, and he hated it. He couldn’t even reach the dragons anymore.

  Even his conviction that Draven had a crucial role to play in Cameron’s survival stemmed not from anything he’d seen recently, but from the shapes and contours of the Pattern as it had been a few years ago. He’d released Draven from FedSec custody based on that conviction. Now, he had no idea if things were still moving in that same direction, but he dared not assume they weren’t.