Unearthed

by Cecy Robson

  Something heavy crashes upstairs, rumbling the ceiling. We jerk our heads up and back away. “Did the flat screen fall over or something?” Stevie asks.

  I snag his wrist, pulling him further away, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. “That wasn’t the flat screen, Stevie. . .”

  The lights flicker. Roars belt from all sides like cannon fodder. We whip around, our mounting panic making us bump into each other. “Liv, what’s happening?”

  I race toward my whip lying on the mat. The air ripples in and snaps above me. Ryker falls through the ceiling and lands in front of me, bleeding and unmoving, his armor torn to shreds.

  “Shit!” Stevie yelled.

  The roars increase, echoing from all directions. The hounds are circling the building and closing in. I snatch my whip from the floor and fall to Ryker’s side. Stevie stumbles beside me.

  “Is he dead?” Stevie asks. His voice cracks and his eyes search frantically, trying to pinpoint the direction of the roars.

  “I don’t know.” I grasp Ryker’s shoulder, my hands trembling. “Help me move him onto his back.”

  A howl, Cathasach’s howl, thunders along the path of the windows. Something large and heavy hits the reinforced wall. Again, again, and again, it strikes, each blow harder and faster.

  “The Cù-Sìth are here,” Stevie chokes, his skin blanching. “They’re gonna kill me.”

  The wall cracks at the center. Then on the side. Then in the corner. More blows follow, peppering the floor with chunks of concrete.

  Stevie is right. They’re coming.

  And I’m the only chance we have.

  Ryker moans, barely breathing. I rise with my whip, fear slamming my heart hideously against my sternum. It hurts but doesn’t compare to the anger burning its way through my veins.

  My magic fires, sweeping through the length of my whip.

  I charge to the wall, raising my whip over my head. “Linn a chosaint!” I scream, bringing the whip down. Protect us.

  The force of my magic barrels down the braided leather. With a sharp hiss, the tip strikes the floor, releasing the magnitude of my power. The wood planks explode in a sea of angry pink light, tearing across the length in wave that collides against the crumbling barrier.

  My power detonates against the wall, its rebounding energy sends me soaring backward. I ram into the opposite wall, the impact cracking a vertebra in my neck. I should feel pain as I fall forward and bounce off the floor. I should feel the burn from the harsh speed at which my breath leaves my lungs. I should feel, something.

  Nothing comes. My nerves tingle faintly, and everything goes numb.

  Time moves in sluggish bursts. I know I should get up. When I try, my limp arms slap uselessly against the floor. I’m somewhere near Vanessa. I can hear her angry protests, yet I can’t seem to move.

  “Livvie, Livvie!”

  Stevie’s hollers, his sound muffled. I make out bits of pink light spreading along the loft and swirling back to me. My magic strikes me hard enough to jerk my head. It should hurt. Instead, its warmth encases me, and everything grows clearer.

  I blink several times and sit up, confused how the cloud paralyzing my senses lifted so easily. The hounds are gone. The apartment is eerily quiet. I’m not hurt. I should be. But, I’m not.

  Tired, all I feel is tired.

  Stevie’s shakes me, his eyes wild. “You okay?”

  I stand, slowly, feeling weightless. “I think so.”

  The pink light from my magic dwindles into tiny sparkles that float away as I return to Ryker’s side. His breathing remains shallow and labored, and blood pools on the floor. Stevie helps me to roll him onto his back. I know Ryker is injured, and I expect a lot of damage. Still, it doesn’t spare my heart when I see the suffering he’s endured.

  Dark crimson smears his face and claw marks rake his chest in deep grooves, exposing rows of mangled muscle and tissue.

  For a moment, all I can do is stare. Ryker bleeds because of me. Because he wants to keep me safe. This isn’t right. It can’t be.

  “Livvie?”

  Stevie is scared and needs reassurance. I have none to offer. I remove my shirt, leaving only my sports bra in place.

  I used the soft lavender cotton to wipe Ryker’s face. His nose is mashed in and he’s barely recognizable. My tears fall with each gentle stroke to his face, my sorrow worsening when I sweep over his dimple and those full lips don’t smirk.

  “What happened?” I finally ask.

  Stevie wipes his eyes. I think he’s crying, too. “To him? I don’t know. But you saved us.”

  I barely understand his words. “No.”

  “Yeah, you did, Olivia. That pink power of yours shut up the Cù-Sìth the moment it hit. It knocked you on your ass and everything, but it also beat them away. When I ran to the window, those asshats were gone.” He waits. “It also healed you pretty damn fast.”

  I finish wiping Ryker’s face and curl against him. His skin is so cold, and his breathing is barely visible. “I wasn’t hurt, Stevie.”

  “Yeah, you were, Liv.” Stevie removes his shirt and passes it to me when he notices my hands futilely trying to cover the large bite mark on Ryker’s thigh. I ball the shirt and press it against his oozing leg. “You broke your neck when you hit the wall. I heard it snap. ‘Cept your power somehow healed you.”

  “I just wish I could heal him.”

  “You . . . can’t.” Ryker stirs beneath me, his voice mere pants. “Not . . . like . . . before . . .”

  Stevie and I gape at Ryker like a pair of idiots. “Death, you’re like, still alive?” Stevie asks.

  Ryker doesn’t answer, but his tightening brows tell me he doesn’t appreciate the way Stevie addressed him.

  “Just call him Ryker,” I interject.

  “What did he mean when he said you helped him before?” Stevie asks.

  I lean into Ryker. “I accidently hurt him once with my magic. But since I caused the injury, I was able to withdraw that power and allow him to heal faster.” I hold Ryker closer. “This time, I’m not the cause. I can’t help him now.”

  “But he looks better than he did before he crash landed,” Stevie points out. “I mean, damn, I thought he was toast.”

  “It’s only because he’s the Ankou,” I explain. “He’s going to need more time. Here, help me get him upstairs.”

  It’s only because Stevie is stronger than he looks, and Ryker somewhat helps, that we’re able to wrench Ryker to his feet. Vanessa doesn’t seem to appreciate us hauling Ryker up the stairs like we do and professes her displeasure in a series of alternating hums and hisses.

  “Oh, shut up,” I snap. “We’re doing the best we can.”

  The wooden sea chest rattles and slides across the floor. Stevie glances down when the chest smacks against the bottom of the metal staircase. “We’re almost to the top,” I tell her. “You don’t have to be so moody.

  “I wouldn’t piss off the egg-extractor if I were you, Liv,” Stevie says. “Bitch could do some serious damage to our future babies.”

  I groan. “Stevie, please stop talking about us having sex. It’s ridiculous and disturbing.”

  A choking sound follows. I jerk around. Ryker has Stevie in a stranglehold.

  “Ryker,” I say. “What are you doing?” His head lolls from side to side and he doesn’t respond. Still, Stevie is turning blue. “Ryker!”

  “Hmmm?”

  “You’re choking Stevie.”

  “Who?” he moans.

  “Stevie!”

  “Wha?”

  “Stevie!”

  Ryker’s hold on Stevie relaxes enough for Stevie to slip away and plop on the floor. Ryker slumps and we almost fall over.

  I adjust my hold over Ryker. “He’s just a kid,” I whisper in Ryker’s ear. “Don’t take anything he says too seriously.”

  Ryker staggers forward. I can’t be sure if he heard me. He seems so out of it. “Are you all right, Stevie?”

  Stevie coughs a few tim
es, his eyes wide as he clutches his throat. “Are you like, doing it with Death?”

  My face burns as I lead Ryker to his room. “No, Stevie.”

  “Are you sure?” Stevie chuckles and coughs. “Your boyfriend seems a little jealous.”

  I try to ease Ryker onto his bed. I manage to get him halfway down when he slips from my grasp and collapses.

  A deep blue mist cocoons his form. It evaporates along with his armor, unveiling the extent of his injuries across his bare flesh.

  Even as hurt as he is, Ryker is beautiful. I gape at his granite smooth ass. Dahlia was right. You can crack oysters on that bad boy. I want to curl into bed with him, keep his body warm with mine until his bruises fade and his cuts are nothing more than faint scars. Would he welcome me beside him, or would he become angry that I saw him this way?

  I lift the thick blanket on the foot of his king-sized bed and cover him with it, debating more than once whether to slip into bed with him. Even with all his strength and power, Ryker looks so vulnerable. I want to comfort him and offer kind words he may not be willing to hear and be the first person he sees when he wakes.

  “You sure Life and Death aren’t going at it?” Stevie calls from the living room.

  “We’re just friends,” I say, barely above a whisper. I take another long look at him. “Just friends.”

  ~ * ~

  Ryker shudders and I add another blanket. I’ve spent the day cleaning and bandaging his wounds and preparing dinner. He’s awake now, his face tight with pain and exhaustion. I sit beside him and stroke his soft hair. “What happened?”

  Ryker slides his hand over mine. His show of affection stalls my heartbeat. I’ve missed him. It wasn’t easy having him away.

  “There were too many,” he admits. “This time, they were ready for me.”

  “Cathasach?”

  “No. He arrived after his Beta and hounds became better acquainted with me.”

  He’s trying to make a joke. I’m not laughing. I crawl beneath the outermost cover, careful to keep the bedding between us like a barrier. He’s naked below the layers. In tending to his wounds, dressing him was the last thing on my mind.

  Being clothed appears to be the last thing on his mind, too.

  He watches me, as if debating whether to draw closer. I really want him to, especially now.

  The desire to touch and soothe him overwhelms. I don’t just want to be close to Ryker. I need to be.

  “You were outnumbered,” I restate quietly.

  “Yes.”

  Traces of older cuts line his face. This attack wasn’t the only battle he fought today. “Where were you earlier?”

  “I found another pack near an old cemetery in Brooklyn.”

  I look around, struggling to word how I feel and how much his actions are killing me. The right words don’t follow, no matter how much I want them to. “Ryker, I don’t like this.”

  “I killed five there, Olivia.” His face tightens and he takes a moment to catch his breath. “It may not seem like much, but it adds to my other kills. There are twenty-six fewer Cù-Sìth to harm you.”

  He’s making it all about me, when it’s really about him and all the harm and danger he’s facing. I gather the bedding closer to him, beating down the emotions he stirs with his throaty timbre. Ryker wants to protect me, and in many ways, he seems obliged. Is it because I’m the path to his eternal peace? Or is there something else from me he wants?

  “Ryker, the deaths of these hounds come with a hefty price.” My hand grips the fabric tightly. I want to scream from all the guilt and sadness. “Look at you. You spent the day being pummeled and were almost captured. What were you thinking, continuing to fight the way you did?”

  He edges closer, despite the pain his movements inflict. “My belief was that the hounds wouldn’t expect another attack in the same day. I was wrong. They knew I’d come for them. They just didn’t know where I’d attack.”

  I thought he’d elaborate. His explanation doesn’t fit how troubled he seems. I try to search his mind and find a way into his thoughts, just as he does with me. Nothing comes, but I can’t let this go. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I tell you all you need to know, Olivia.”

  The muscles along my neck stiffen. “You’re keeping things from me.” He doesn’t answer. It both hurts and angers me. “Ryker just tell me.”

  “It will only upset you.”

  “Because it involves me directly,” I guess. His silence hits me harder than anything he can possibly say. “I have a right to know.”

  He frowns as an angry lump filled with tears builds in my throat. “I’m not trying to upset you.”

  “It’s too late for that,” I bite out.

  He swears and shoves the blankets down, his anger resurfacing and sharpening his chiseled features. I think it’s directed at me until he tells me something that chills me down to my bones. “Cathasach has claimed you as his. He told me in explicit detail what he plans to do to you before he takes your soul.”

  My eyes widen as his steel. “Please don’t tell me what he said,” I say, my words coming out rushed. Cathasach is an evil and twisted monster. I suppose I should have guessed as much, but sometimes; those dark corners of your mind are too dark, and you just shouldn’t go there.

  “I don’t plan to,” he says gruffly. “Nor will I allow him to have you.”

  Unless you can’t stop him because you’re already dead.

  The bedding now lies beneath Ryker’s arms, exposing the pattern of bruises and scratches painting his muscular chest. He sweeps my rainbow hair away from my face. His bandaged fingers catching some of the strands despite the care he uses. It doesn’t bother me. My touch may offer him comfort, but I need his then. “Beag tuar ceatha,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you to be afraid.”

  It’s strange given what I just learned, but right now, I’m more afraid of losing Ryker than anything Cathasach can subject me to. “If you mean that, you’ll stop hunting the hounds without me.”

  He pulls his hand away when I reach for it. “No. It’s not an option.”

  His withdrawal leaves me cold. I push forward although I know he wants me to leave. “Why did you go after the Beta, Ryker? He’s the number two guy for a reason.”

  He bristles at my tone. “You’re angry with me.”

  I wasn’t aware how tight my jaw is until I attempt to relax my voice. “I am. This whole seek and destroy mission you’ve engaged in is more suicidal that strategic. You don’t want me hurt, I get that and appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. But I won’t stay quiet about how much it hurts me to watch you suffer.”

  “Olivia, we’ll soon face Cathasach. There’s no choice, not with how quickly the Cù-Sìth are multiplying. In killing his Beta, chaos will erupt within the pack. These hounds are bloodthirsty and tired of Cathasach’s reign. Many will seek the position of Beta with the goal of becoming Alpha. I’m not a fool. Nor am I suicidal. I’m trying to use the disruption to our advantage—”

  He grimaces and curls inward, his features slow to relax. I inch closer, but my proximity further tightens his features. “I’m sorry. Am I making it worse by being so close?”

  “No. Your presence helps me more than you realize.” His head sags into the pillow. “Just let me do what I have to.”

  “No.”

  He pops his head up. “Olivia.”

  “Ryker, your strategy isn’t working. I almost lost you.” I smooth the bandage covering his arm. “Like you said, they were ready for you and they will be again.” My gaze drags along every injury his position allows. How did you even escape?”

  “Dugan and Phillip helped me back to the loft.”

  My eyebrows lift. “That was them dropping you off upstairs?”

  “Yes. Their energy was draining mine and I needed them to return to their rest.” He swallows hard. “I tried to materialize into my room so you wouldn’t see me, I couldn’t manage and landed on the floor below. I wasn’t awar
e that the hounds had followed me back until they tried to break through my wards.”

  “They tracked your magic and sensed it inside.” Like it or not, I’m getting to know these stupid dogs.

  He nods. “In my weakened state, and in their high numbers, the disorientation spell failed.” The edges of his mouth curves. “Until you strengthened it. You followed your instincts, and it worked.”

  I stroke his arm. “I’m surprised my magic didn’t clash with yours.”

  “So am I.” He’s almost smiling. “Perhaps our powers can complement each other.”

  “Perhaps.” My fingers caress him gently. “Why didn’t you want me to see you?”

  “Hmmm?”

  I lift my fingers away from his arm and trace the line of stubble on his jaw. “You said you tried to land in your room and away from me. I need to know when you’re hurt so I can help.” I frown when he turns away from my touch. “Ryker, why are you hiding from me?”

  “I need to eat,” he growls.

  I tilt my head. “The lasagna is almost ready . . .”

  Darkness encapsulates Ryker like a closing casket. I freeze, not daring to move.

  “Olivia,” he rasps. His eyes glaze with need. His voice rough as if starved. His words stabbing the space between us. “I don’t need food. I need a soul.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In the days that pass, Ryker’s hunger worsens. He bows his back viciously enough to crack his spine. I shut the bedroom door, trying to muffle his growls. That’s right, growls. Ryker is more creature than man, the curse of being the Grim Reaper taking its toll and raiding his body.

  Stevie glances up from his failed attempts to play a video game, clutching the controller against his Baby Sheep Ate My Dingo T-shirt.

  I sit on my hands to keep him from seeing how bad my hands are trembling. He tugs off his ear buds, the music blasting as the pieces bounce along the couch.

  “Has he picked out, you know, his food?” Stevie asks.

  I stare at the flat screen where Stevie’s armed forces are being slaughtered. “Yes. He just needs to gather enough strength to find him.”

  “Him? It’s definitely a him?” Stevie shudders. “It’s not me, is it? You’d tell me if it was, right?”