Adrenaline was leaking from my veins, and my eyelids grew heavy, but my pain level spiked higher.
Movement from a lump lying at the feet of the crowd twitched. My eyes landed on Marcello. His chest slowly rose and fell. He was alive, but the side of his head was caved in. It created a ghastly deformed outline. This time vomit made its way through my throat and out.
Ryker was at my side, his arms scooting underneath me. He huddled me close to him as he rose. He let out a warning growl to anyone thinking about challenging him. When no one moved, he took steps out of the circle. The throng parted, forming a vast space for us to walk through. No one uttered a word as we passed. They kept their distance; fear rooted deep in their eyes.
On the other hand, I felt safe. I burrowed my head deeper into his warm chest. Ryker was here. He was alive. For the first time since we’d been separated, I took my first real breath of air.
TWENTY-FIVE
I figured Ryker would take us as far from the fighting ring as possible; instead, he ducked into a restroom off the street near a park. He held me with one hand while he locked the door behind us. “Are we safe here?” I gazed around the dirty community restroom.
He walked to the counter and placed me carefully there. “No one will follow us.” His tone left no room for doubt. He took off the cloak and threw it on the floor. It hit with a heavier presence than a cape should. He stepped to the counter, taking my gaze away from the item on the ground. “Is anything broken?” He placed his hands on my shoulders and methodically slid the length of my arms, his fingers investigating my torn skin.
“A few ribs.” I grimaced from trying to sit straighter.
He didn’t look at me, but his hands went to my ribs. “Do you mind?” He nodded to my shirt. I shook my head. The white shirt was soaked red and ripped in so many places it was almost pointless.
I struggled to lift my arms. He bunched the fabric on my torso and then slipped it over my head. A gruff inhale came from Ryker’s nose. A frown etched between his brows. The tips of his fingers glided over my painful skin. I peered down and let out a chirp. My stomach and ribs were already turning a deep purplish-blue. He pressed harder, concentrating on each bone. It was painful, but his touch also warmed my muscles, creating a tingle to run through them.
“None feel broken, but some may be cracked.” He let his hand drop. This news felt odd to me. I had heard them break like a snap of chicken bone. But when I placed my fingers along my ribs, I knew he was right. They were all intact. Sore and painful as hell but unbroken.
His gaze seemed to be fighting for a place to land. Being in my bra in front of a guy was no big deal. I had done it a dozen times. With him several times. But something about this time felt different. I felt naked. “We’ll need to find a wrap to bind them.”
“And strong painkillers,” I mumbled, fighting the urge to fold my arms over my chest. I wasn’t huge, but I definitely wasn’t small. Right then, I felt my breasts were parading in front of his face. Ryker stepped back and pulled at his shirt. His muscles flexed and rippled as he yanked it over his head. My eyes felt locked on the deep indentions on his torso, the V-cut hinting at the top of jeans. I quickly looked away, pressing my legs together.
“Put this on.” He tossed the shirt at me.
The top was still slightly damp and smelled of seawater and Ryker’s familiar smell. It drifted over me as I tried to stuff my arms through the sleeves. My ribs ached from the movement, and I squeaked in pain.
Ryker strode back, taking the shirt in his hands. He stretched the neck wider and settled it over my head. It was big enough so I could keep my arms low while he opened the sleeves for me to put my limbs through. The collar of the neck, dipping low, almost didn’t cover my boobs, which was amusing because it was the point of me having it on. My breath sharpened when he moved closer, pulling the shirt around my waist, and his knuckles grazed my tender skin.
He paused for a moment before he turned and went to the paper towel dispenser. When he came back, his shoulders and neck were clenched.
He tilted my head, and a rough paper towel dabbed at my lip. The pad of his fingers pressed firmly along my chin line. His breath fluttered over me, and I finally realized how much lighter I felt. I didn’t think I would be so grateful to feel his touch again, but it meant I was not alone. I hadn’t let myself dwell on his death. My own survival had been foremost on my mind, and I hadn’t wanted to contemplate what his absence would have meant to me.
“You came back,” I whispered.
He paused before the damp paper patted my mouth again.
“Oh, right.” I locked on the flickering generator light pouring brightness into the room. Of course. He returned because of his powers. I was a walking, talking lockbox holding his prize possession.
We stayed quiet as he cleaned my wounds.
“I knew a regular bullet wouldn’t kill you, but I didn’t think fae survived their necks being snapped.” I swallowed. “I thought you were dead.”
He huffed, picking out the gravel embedded in my cuts. “Believe me, I am almost impossible to kill. Better men and fae have tried before, and they didn’t succeed.” His eyes rolled under in a slight frown. “It did take me longer than I thought to heal and swim back. I should have been here sooner. I apologize.”
He’d been shot a dozen times, his neck broken, and was dumped in the middle of the Pacific, but he was apologizing because he didn’t get back fast enough?
His arm dropped from my mouth and went to the cut near my temple. “Close your eyes.”
I gratefully did what he asked, his chest being far too close for comfort.
“Well, I’m glad you came back,” I blurted without thought.
Silence.
Finally he spoke, a slight teasing in his voice. “The Avenging Angel, huh? You told me you were a street fighter, but I didn’t realize you were infamous.”
I peeked at him through my lashes. “My return kind of sent it into overdrive. But yeah. I was pretty well known. I started at fifteen, and I was good.”
“I think you forgot to emphasize how good you were. Some of those people had tops with your nickname on it.”
“Because you’re so forthcoming with me,” I responded.
A scowl creased his forehead, and his mouth thinned.
Humming from the outside generators and voices from the dispersing crowd seeped into the dark room. “Thank you again for coming for me. I mean, I’m glad you were there to stop Marcello from killing me... or me killing her.” Admitting aloud I was going to murder her struck me.
Frantic realization shot through my chest to my head. I jerked from Ryker’s touch, my eyes wide with awareness. “God.” I squirmed in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable in my skin. “I was going to do it. I really wanted to kill her.” My lungs surged in and out in sporadic gulps, triggering my chest to ache more. I had done a lot of bad shit in my day, but murder was not one of them. Fighting was something I enjoyed, but I had never wanted to finish off any of my opponents so literally.
My hand slammed into Ryker, pushing him away from me as I hopped from the ledge. I gritted my teeth in agony, but my mind moved my wobbly legs in frenzied steps across the tiles. My one hand went to a loose piece of hair, stroking it between my fingers, trying to soothe the hysteria spreading through by body. The other arm wrapped around my stomach, trying to press away the pain pounding in my torso.
“What is wrong with me? I was going to beat her to death!” I could hear the wail in my voice.
“Zoey.” Ryker took a stride to me.
“No,” I shouted. “Seriously, tell me what is wrong with me.” He pressed his lips together, watching me. “I didn’t even think about it. I was simply going to do it.” Liquid filled under my lids. My one arm stayed locked around my middle while my other hand rubbed at my face and hair. “Something is very wrong with me. I’ve denied it for so long, but it’s always been there. It’s why the little old lady got rid of me. She saw it. She knew I was not right.” I
rubbed at my chest, pulling at Ryker’s shirt. “Daniel Senior hinted about DMG doing something to me. What if I’m not natural...” I let my sentence trail off. Tears clouded my vision, a few escaping and falling down my face. “No one normal wants to feel someone’s bones crunching under a fist or to taste their opponent’s blood.”
The tears now plummeted from my cheeks. “What did DMG do to me? Did they make me evil, or is it simply me?” I pleaded, knowing fully well he couldn’t answer my question. Logic didn’t matter; I needed someone to help me, to carry some of my burden. Everything came rushing back to me: the years of keeping everyone else together; trying to be responsible and in control; never asking for help even when I felt myself drowning. A choked cry tore from my lungs, my legs giving out, and I went to my knees.
Sobs I had held back since I was a child came gasping to the surface, denied too long. I had only cried in front of two people my entire life. Really cried. Once was when I was five, and a foster “grandma” slapped me hard across the face and told me to suck it up and get thicker skin. The other person stood beside me now. Even if those tears were well deserved, I didn’t like showing my vulnerability. Daniel hadn’t even seen me cry, and already this fae had seen it a couple of times.
The Wanderer bent, his large hands grasping my shoulders. It was what I wanted, someone to touch me, to hold me. But the need for not only someone—but specifically him—sent my fury into overdrive. A crazed wail clogged my windpipe, my arms striking out, hitting anything they could. I no longer felt the pain in my body. Everything in me turned off.
“Maria injected me with something...” Whatever she gave me did something to me. I clung to the thought, grasping at straws, but this excuse wouldn’t stick. It was me. I had wanted to kill the girl.
“Zoey,” he said firmly, his voice calm.
“Don’t touch me.” Abhorrence and fear blasted over me, and a dry heave rose from my abdomen. I tried so hard to be the woman Daniel would love and be proud of. Now look at me. In collaboration with a fae, the very thing he trained me to capture and despise. The girl he cared about was a lie. She never existed. The truth hit me deeper than anything else. I actually believed I had changed and I could rise above the foul life I was born into. But I hadn’t. I played the part, but the only person I deceived was myself.
Ryker held me tighter against him. “Stop.”
I spit at him, my nails clawing for his arm and face.
“Zoey...”
“Fuck off, fae!” He had called me human for so long. I should have done the same and kept him in his rightful place. Far away from me. I hated him and everything he represented. “You left me!” The words flew from my mouth. “You left me alone. I was better off without you. I wish you never came into my life.”
With a growl, he latched on to my biceps and lifted me. His jaw was locked; his eyes glowed in the dark room. “Enough!” He slammed me into the wall. My head bobbed off the tile, creating a vehement hiss. My dangling legs kicked wildly to hit any part of him I could. “STOP!” he bellowed and threw me back onto the counter. He thrust himself between my legs, pressing my arms back into the glass. My ribs suddenly came back to life, protesting the harsh movement.
I took a gulp of air, squeezing my lids together. The throbbing made my head spin. I took another choppy inhale through my nose. He slid my arms down the mirror but didn’t let go. He moved them closer to my chest so I wasn’t overextended. The hurt was still there but lessened a bit.
“Are you calm now?” His gruff voice forced my lashes to lift.
His lips were only inches from mine. His face was tight, but his eyes glowed intensely. Air pumped at his bare chest, highlighting his toned muscles. Desire unexpectedly consumed me—the primal yearning to forget myself in someone. To let go and feel pleasure.
He adjusted his grip, pressing closer. The friction brushed against my inner thighs. My mouth opened, breath sucking through my teeth. The overpowering need to pull down his jeans and feel him slide deep into me wrapped around my lungs, limiting their motion. As if he could sense my thoughts, he tensed. The tattoo on his neck flickered. His lids drifted half closed, and his attention was drawn to my lips. The heat from his mouth reverberated off mine. Our deep breaths bounced off the four walls, pounding in my ears. Neither of us moved. Ryker stayed pressed against me, and I felt every inch of him. A drop of blood from my sliced lip seeped along my neck, trailing between my breasts. His eyes followed it.
My head suddenly spun. Lust and need kindled hot, inciting my nerves. My muscles trembled. I could hear his breath falter in my ear, becoming sporadic.
Holy shit, Zoey. What are you thinking? He is fae. A voice came thundering into my head. I’d heard in heightened situations you felt emotions you normally wouldn’t. This had to be the reason. Besides, he had a girlfriend, and I was still in love with Daniel. And bottom line: I hated fae, and he despised humans.
Ryker’s hand clenched mine. Then he was gone. He retreated across the room, his back hitting the toilet stalls. My arms slowly fell back to my sides. It was a long time before either of us spoke. Finally, his deep voice broke the uncomfortable silence. “You are not evil or wrong.”
My tongue dampened my lips, wiping the blood away. I wanted to speak, but my voice couldn’t find its way out.
“You act and pretend, only showing certain aspects of yourself to please others. There is no good and bad. Only you. And you have to accept all parts of yourself. The more you push away or deny who you are, the more intense the various sides will be when you let them slip.”
I sat taller, looking at my dangling legs. Protectively, my arm wrapped around my middle again. “But what if I don’t want to?”
“Then you will never truly be happy.” His gaze finally met mine. Steady but distant. “You are a survivor. You do what you need to stay alive. Don’t be ashamed of all the different aspects of yourself.”
“I was going to kill her.”
“Yes.”
“I was going to beat her to death, Ryker.”
“Do you think I feel sympathy for that human?”
I scoffed. “No. You’re fae. We’re nothing to you. You care nothing about human lives.”
He stood straight, his shoulders ramming back. “I care about one.”
Breath caught in my chest. Blood rushed to my cheeks. Stupid, Zoey. Of course he cares. He cares about what you carry inside.
I pushed myself off the counter, needing to change the direction of the conversation and emotion in the restroom. “We should go. We need to get Sprig. Marcello still has him imprisoned at the warehouse. Oh my god. My bag. Daniel’s book and...” I freaked.
Ryker peered at the ceiling, taking a huge breath. He grabbed an object under the cloak on the floor. “I got it. I went back to the warehouse before finding you here.” Of course, Ryker had to go there to get his axe. Last I saw, it was on Marcello’s desk. “Sprig was gone.”
“What? Gone?”
“The cage was sitting on a desk in one of the rooms, but the lid was open.” He curved slightly forward and pushed himself off the stall. “He wasn’t there.”
A dagger stabbed my heart. I might not particularly like fae in general, but the little bugger had grown on me. He showed me all fae weren’t bad. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Ryker tilted his head, annoyance rippling over his features. “If he is free, he will find you.”
I hoped with all my heart Sprig escaped and was on his way to us now.
“We have to keep moving forward. I know what bank your key belongs to.”
With everything going on, I had forgotten about the reason Ryker and I had separated. Daniel’s key. “What? Where?” I exclaimed. “Do you still have the key?”
“Bellevue.” Ryker pulled at a black cord around his neck; the key dangled from it. It had slipped around and lay on his back when he took off his shirt, hiding the object from my notice.
“Bellevue?” The excitement deflated. It was not far if you had a car or could
take a bus. By foot, it would take at least half a day, and walking left us vulnerable.
“We’ll find somewhere safe to spend the night and start out in the morning.” Ryker bent and lifted the cloak he had been wearing earlier. “Put this on until we find new clothes for you. Your pants are still covered in blood, and Marcello’s men will be looking for you.” He threw the scratchy cover at me.
“And a shirtless Viking with white eyes won’t stand out?” I circled the cape about me, pulling the hood over my head. I grabbed my bag, already missing the weight Sprig produced.
“I am still fae. I can be invisible a lot easier than you,” he retorted. When Ryker was satisfied the blanket covered me head to toe, he turned for the door. Unlatching the lock, his hand paused on the knob. “With or without the powers, I would have come back for you.” He yanked open the squeaky door and slid out into the dark night, leaving me gaping at his exit line.
TWENTY-SIX
“We’ll stay here tonight.” I think my limping finally got to Ryker, but I had to admit I experienced a lot less pain the more I walked. Exhaustion was tiring me more than movement.
We made it a little past Sam Smith Park before he had enough. We would cross over the Murrow Bridge in the morning, leading us to Bellevue. It took Ryker longer to find us a place. Less damage had been done out this far, so more people stayed locked in their homes. We finally found a studio across from a little Italian restaurant off Interstate 90. Once I broke into the spot, he secured all the doors and windows. There was a musky, foul smell coming from the refrigerator. Whatever was in there would stay enclosed. Everything would be rotten by now, and it would only let out the rank odor.
Ryker lit the last of the candles in my bag, giving the five-hundred-square-foot apartment a glow. I wandered around the space. It had windows on the street side. The bed was on the opposite wall with a small sofa at the foot it, facing the TV. The bathroom and small kitchen were on the far side. The style was clean with a touch of eclectic. Un-frilly, but clearly a girl lived here: fashion magazines on the table; pictures of friends decorated the walls; heels lined her closet; and funky outfits mixed with sleek office-style suits. The place was tiny but cute and functional. I was envious of whomever lived here. This was what I imagined my first place to be like. Minuscule—but all mine. The dream of owning my own apartment seemed hopeless now.
City In Embers Page 28
