“As will I, Sister.” Ladon glanced at the trucks outside, barely visible between the window’s slats. “As will I.”
Chapter Eleven
Rysa couldn’t get anything under control. Not her abilities. Not her body.
Dizzy thoughts wove in and out of her sedative-flavored semi-dreams—remember when your Fate abilities activated and you thought you were having an aneurysm? Now’s the time. You’re dying.
War waged inside her body and pretty soon she’d be a bombed and burned-out crater, sedatives and drugs and IVs notwithstanding.
Brightness popped into her semi-consciousness, then vanished. Someone had come into the room.
Someone important pulled away from her body and the boundary between hot and cold suddenly snapped to the surface of her skin. Her protection had let go.
We are here.
She saw the meaning of the words, felt their edges, smelled their intention. Someone else—someone just as important—pushed the concept of safety into her mind.
A subtle and unconscious need to form the concept with her fingertips played out as fine muscle movements—my Dragon.
Whispers made it to her ears through the rushed wheezing of the air flowing to her mask. “Vivicus,” they said. Words about angels. Something about the Shifter who attacked her in the electronics store.
Rysa wasn’t integrating information correctly. Her healer hadn’t yet fully burned the sedative out of her body. But her brain reacted anyway—that ugly Shifter had tried to abduct her. He’d dropped his gaze to her breasts and his face had crinkled up into a lecherous mask. He promised harm with that look. He wanted to hold her down with his huge stinking body on top of hers, his weight unbearable, and the taste of his breath filling her mouth and making her vomit. Because he could make her do what he wanted. He could enthrall her into any state he desired. Or worse—enthrall her into complying while pumping out ‘fear.’
Her body shook again. What if he got to her now? What if he enthralled the nurses and snuck in past Ladon and AnnaBelinda the way he’d snuck by Ladon in the store? Forced himself on her in her hospital bed?
Her future-seer should know. She should know. But her Fate half and her Shifter half bitch-slapped each other and nothing made sense.
But things never made sense.
Her throat constricted again. Maybe she was dying. Again.
She heard more whispers. “Kill them all,” they said.
Yes, she thought. Kill them. They’ll hurt me. He’ll hurt me.
“Rysa?” A voice—Ladon’s voice—filtered in through the haze of the sedative. “She’s twitching again.”
Fear. She heard fear, felt fear. It jostled her bones and for an instant she felt as if she were falling. But the fear whispered. They won’t catch you this time, it said.
You’re going to choke. The pit’s cold, young lady. The fever won’t save you.
“Call the—”
Rysa bolted upright in the bed, in the special room of the Rock Springs hospital, under the shed sheltering two desperate dragons. The afternoon sun shimmered along the waxed tile floor, looking too much like the dragon who should be with her now. She tried to close her eyes, but they wouldn’t cooperate.
Rysa became acutely aware that she had eyelids. She sat on an uncomfortable hospital bed surrounded by wheezing and burping machines, a mask on her face and an IV in her arm. The site where the needle slid under skin felt tight and constrained. Tape bound her wrist and nothing under it moved—not the IV, her skin, her muscles.
If it did, it’d hurt. And hurt a lot.
“Love.” Ladon gripped her shoulders. He stared at her face, as unblinking as she was. “Are you okay? You were twitching.” He felt along her forehead, and his face contorted into jumble of concern and anxiety.
She still had a mask on her face. The air pumping into her nose and mouth from the mask tasted artificial like a too dry mix of medical-grade nitrogen and oxygen and whatever else they added as filler. It smelled sterile. She yanked off the mask.
Ladon caught it before it hit the mattress. “Leave it on! Don’t—” He stared at her face, his eyes piercing the way they did when he concentrated on picking up every environmental detail. The way he stared at Burners right before he beat them into ash. But his eyes also held an edge of the fear she’d felt earlier.
Her own fear rose again, pushing up from her belly and mixing with the pain whirling in her chest.
“No!” She pushed away the mask. No more having something she didn’t want to breathe forced down her windpipe. “I’m okay. I can breathe.”
But she wasn’t so sure. Her neck felt inflamed and too big, as if she’d clenched every single muscle from her chest upward so hard and for so long they’d twisted into one big knot at the top of her body. And her lungs hurt. Deep inside, under her ribcage, where her body should be clear and fresh from the mountain air. She felt like she’d sucked in a head full of chlorine fumes.
“Where’s my aunt?” A Shifter healer could take care of at least some of her problems. Her aunt should be here by now.
Ladon looked across the room. On the other side, past another bed, AnnaBelinda stood with a gun in her hand.
Ladon’s face kept the same piercing stare but the fear vanished. “We don’t know. I’ve called all of Dmitri’s cells and his private number at the bar. He’s not answering.”
“What does that mean?” Oh God she was yelling. How the hell did she manage to yell? And where the hell was her aunt?
The person in the other bed rolled over. Derek stretched and rubbed his face. She’d woken him up.
“Why is Derek hooked up to an IV?” Had those Shifters hurt him, too? The room was empty except for the beds and the people and the noisy machines, but this small corner of the world flooded her head with questions. Had she caused all this?
“Love, calm down.” Ladon glanced at his sister again. “Your healer must have burned off your sedative too fast and the epinephrine has your mind racing.”
Her face cranked itself into an exaggerated sure, whatever expression before she could stop it. But he was doting on her and they had more important problems than her physical—
Derek chuckled and sat up in the bed. He wore the same stupid hospital gown Rysa did, but he still wore his jeans. She suspected he probably had on his boots, too.
AnnaBelinda stood on the other side of his bed, her back rigid, obviously trying very hard not to roll her eyes.
Derek thrust his chin at Ladon. “When you fetch mints for her pillow, get me the chocolate kind.”
A snort popped out of AnnaBelinda.
Derek poked his finger at his wife. “You are no better than your brother.”
AnnaBelinda didn’t hold the eye roll any longer. She shook her head and dug in a bag or something between her and the bed. Rysa couldn’t see what it was.
A dragon pushed her the answer—an image of a gun popped into Rysa’s head. Four guns, actually—their weight and the hard lines of their shape. The cool but not cold feel of their exteriors and the dark metallic hue of their surfaces.
She looked up at the ceiling. One dragon watched the parking lot while the other rested in the shed just above her head—and pulsed general irritation downward, along with the image of the gun.
“What’s happening?” She’d just picked up an image from Sister-Dragon. “They’re both talking to me.”
Another image popped into her head—Dragon’s view of the bright sunlight reflecting off every corner of the parking lot. A big truck rumbled. Dragon smelled exhaust. Then another image—Sister-Dragon pushed her view of looking out across the roof, toward the mountains along the horizon behind the building.
The two dragons made the world spin. They whipped conflicting orientation information into her brain. Her gut rolled.
“I’m going to puke.” Rysa leaned forward. “Please stop! Both of you. Please.”
A burst flicked across the energy Ladon shared with Dragon and the images suddenly stopped. Dra
gon must have dropped his wall into their connection again. He’d done the same thing before, when her seers were stuck on and she couldn’t control what she saw. Now he did it to cut off all dragon access to her mind.
Above their heads, the roof creaked.
Ladon sat on the bed but didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to pull her close or touch her face or anything. He just looked at her as if she’d made him feel bad again.
“I’m sorry,” Rysa whispered. How long would Ladon tolerate her outbursts? They were getting to the one week mark. The point when even the most laidback guys started scrunching up their faces when her attention issues got to be too much. When she bounced and babbled and asked too many questions.
Ladon’s closest arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her to his chest. But he still didn’t speak.
On the other side of the room, AnnaBelinda’s face hardened.
Derek wiggled his IV tube. His plastic mattress crunched under his weight as he fiddled with the bed controls. Hydraulic hissing filled Rysa’s already oversensitive brain with more noise as he raised the head of the bed.
He leaned back and scratched his forehead. Even in the dim light, his blue eyes flashed. “Rysa is not the only one who would like to know what’s going on.”
AnnaBelinda handed him a gun. Derek checked the chamber and little metallic clinks mixed with the room’s unending machine beeps.
“Seraphim have surrounded the hospital.” Ladon stroked his hand absently up and down her back in rhythm with the machines, the way he’d soothe a child.
“Seraphim? Shit.” Derek scratched at his cheek. “Of course it is the Seraphim. Only Vivicus’s minions would be this stupid.”
What did she do? “Ladon, I’m sorry.” She tried to pull away so she could see his face but he kept his arm around her waist. And his shoulder tensed.
“You called The Land of Milk and Honey? Not one of Dmitri’s people is answering?” Derek sat forward and rubbed his face again.
AnnaBelinda shook her head, but didn’t say anything.
“How many can there be?” Derek pointed at the window. “If they are here and in Branson, their numbers must be spread thin.”
“Vivicus probably hired freelancers.” Ladon all but growled the words. Freelancers. Like the man who’d attacked her in the store. The man outside.
Her middle snapped like someone had kicked her in the gut. The jolt bounced into her throat.
This time, Ladon looked at her face. He cupped her shoulders, holding her still, and squeezed just enough to make sure she looked up.
Something new danced in his eyes. They’d lost a little of their gleam. It had been replaced with a muted tone, more copper than his usual gold, and Rysa couldn’t tell if it was his mood or the room’s shadows. But she suspected that she’d planted it there. It rooted into his consciousness and she’d fed it with her out of control behavior and cutting off the dragons’ attempts to send her images.
Ladon bent his head close to hers. His breath smelled fresh, even with all the hell they’d been through, and carried small hints of Dragon’s spices. “I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered. “I don’t need Dragon to tell me.”
He sat back and spoke loud enough they all could hear. “They won’t come in.”
AnnaBelinda dropped into the chair next to Derek’s bed. “They will not.”
Ladon leaned in again. “He won’t come near you. I promise.”
But Ladon still wasn’t touching her the way he used to. He didn’t glide his fingers over her skin, or use his palm to read the tension of her muscles or the orientation of her bones. He wasn’t doing the deep understanding she’d come to take for granted just in the short time they’d been together.
Though she didn’t think he did it on purpose.
But it started like this. It always started this way. A guy leaned back, unconsciously moving out of her closest frame of reference.
The thing in her stomach felt like the fluorescent green putty-goop she used to play with as a child. It would wiggle and roll in her hands, sort of slimy but not. She’d play with it for hours at the kitchen table, poking and pulling it over glasses and bowls and buckets until it broke into smaller pieces.
Back then, it’d been fun. She never knew for sure what it would do. But not knowing now felt very, very different. Now, this new blob covered her eyes and her mouth. And it dripped into her chest.
She would not lose control again. She’d suck it up because she’d gone through all this before. She recognized the feeling rolling in her stomach for what it was—panic. And right now, they had other, bigger issues to deal with.
At least she’d keep telling herself that. They had other issues. No panicking. She had work to do. “I’ll call my seers. I can check with my present-seer and—”
“No.” Ladon had taken on the stone face again. His battle armor. “Your fever will come back.”
His face didn’t show it, but AnnaBelinda’s did—they didn’t go through hell just so she could screw up her recovery by provoking her internal Fate-Shifter war. Ladon had fought to get her here. AnnaBelinda had fought, too. Derek had the injuries to prove it. If she did something stupid, it’d all be for nothing.
She nodded her acceptance. There was nothing else she could do.
Derek scratched at his IV site. “We need to find Dmitri and make sure enthrallers did not get to him.” He frowned for a long moment, then nodded toward Rysa. “For her aunt’s sake.”
What if the Seraphim had her aunt? They’d never met. Rysa didn’t know what she looked like. Or even how old she was. Or if she might know where Rysa’s father was.
All those hours in the RV and she’d slept instead of getting a phone number and calling, like any decent human being. She should have at least introduced herself.
She’d never been good at people interaction. Never thought about asking questions or giving information. People usually didn’t like interacting with her, so she backed off. The sideways looks and the pinched lips always made her stomach feel hollow.
But what if her aunt was hurt? What if Dmitri was hurt?
Derek’s eyebrow popped up as he watched her shrinking in on herself in her narrow hospital bed. She tried not to be obvious, but Derek seemed to have a better sense of people than anyone else she’d ever met. Even her many therapists.
Briefly, his mouth narrowed to a thin line. Then he scratched his forehead like he’d meant to push up the hat he no longer wore. “I think Rysa would feel better with Brother-Dragon in the room.”
Chapter Twelve
Ladon’s brother-in-law crossed his arms as he leaned back. How many times had Derek sat up in the very bed in which Rysa now lay, his face serious, and said exactly the same thing about Sister-Dragon. “I think she should come in,” he said.
Sister would crinkle up her face and look out into the hall at all the nurses. Then shake her head no.
Can I come in? I want to come in. The beast pranced on the roof above Ladon’s head, straining girders and the hospital’s support structures. Creaks popped from the ceiling and the walls. I have never touched the inside of the hospital. More groans and pops mixed with the room’s unending hospital beeps as the beast turned in a circle. I am Rysa’s talisman. I will help her heal.
A distinct sense of family flitted from Dragon into Ladon’s mind.
I want to come in.
Family. Dragon danced like an over-enthusiastic child at the thought of coming inside. He whipped his tail back and forth across the sticky asphalt of the roof the way he did when he became excited. And Ladon was sure his hide had brightened, even though the dragons were supposed to stay hidden. He wanted to be with his family.
Sister glared at Ladon from across the room. Derek watched everyone. If anyone would find a way to hold their family together, it was Ladon’s brother-in-law.
But this was a modern family, even if the only modern one among them was Rysa. Modern in how they knitted together. Modern in their roles.
/> Ladon had better learn the new rules for living with a modern woman. New rules, new ways, but old needs. How was he supposed to protect her if she slapped away his efforts and made faces when he offered?
When can I come in? A pause as information burst between the two dragons. Sister is mad because she’s never been inside and she is here more than me.
On the other side of Derek’s bed, Sister pinched the bridge of her nose. Derek sniffed and leaned toward Rysa. “They’re arguing.”
Rysa nodded. “Dragon put up a wall for me so I can’t hear. But some is leaking through.” She leaned closer to Ladon.
Maybe Dragon’s presence would help her more than Ladon’s. Maybe she’d calm down and work her way through some of her randomness.
Sister-Dragon had moved out of the shed and onto the roof with Dragon. A distinct grumble rolled downward and hit Ladon’s head as if someone was hissing in his ear. It washed though his senses, sitting on his tongue like a too-sharp cheese, and vibrated down his neck.
The other dragon was not pleased.
“We patrolled. My dragon wants rest.” Sister all but hissed her words.
If Sister didn’t get the bitterness under control, it’d become its own self-wielding weapon. And once again, it’d lumber through their lives, smashing like an undead monster, and the Seraphim would be the least of their worries.
He’d lived through such smashing many times. He didn’t want to live through it again.
And his modern woman wouldn’t. She’d leave.
For the first time in centuries—maybe ever—Ladon didn’t know what to do. Sister and Sister-Dragon yanked him one way, Rysa the other. Derek tried to help, but he scratched at his beard, something he did when he wanted time to think about a problem. And Dragon yanked Ladon straight up.
They stretched his psyche in all three dimensions. The world expanded inside his mind and the pressure felt like a real, physical headache that was about to coil around his skull.
His throbbing head synchronized to his throbbing ribs. The bite on his shoulder stung. He usually ignored the pain from wounds. All it did was slow him down. But now his family flinging bullshit around the room made every minute ache and every single specific trauma to his body dance and scream for attention.
Flux of Skin Page 8
