Falling Blind: The Sentinel Wars (13 page)

“Have you been able to locate any of the women that were taken from us?”

“No, my lord. The Sentinels have kept them well hidden. We do have an ally who may help.”

“You speak of the spy your previous master Zillah had within the walls of Dabyr?”

“Yes, my lord. A Sanguinar who served us in exchange for blood.”

“Will he bring to me the blood of those I seek?”

“No, my lord. Zillah had a blood bond with him and could have compelled him to act, but without that—”

“Cut this Sanguinar off from all contact. Starve him. Make him question if we will ever provide for him again. Perhaps when he becomes hungry enough he will be more cooperative.”

“Yes, my lord.” Canaranth bowed again and backed out of the room. Not once did he turn his back on Raygh.

If his human genetics hadn’t gotten the best of him, maybe there was hope for the sniveling servant yet.

*   *   *

Rory’s house was not at all what Cain had expected. It was an old-fashioned, stone, two-story farmhouse, with a big wraparound porch complete with a swaying swing. A bright spray of mums flanked either side of the steps. A few large trees dotted the grassy acreage near the house, and thicker, old growth forest insulated the area from any nearby neighbors.

“It’s nice,” he said. “Isolated.”

“That’s the only thing that keeps me sane, I think. I don’t suffer from the visions here, except when the mailman or someone comes by.”

“So you live alone?”

She nodded, her lips tightening in grief. “Since Nana died last year, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged as she unlocked the door and turned on the lights. He could tell by the subtle tension in her fingers that her nonchalance was simply for show. The loss of her grandmother had been a great one.

The place was cozy, filled with framed photos and handmade needlework. A brightly colored yarn blanket was tossed over the back of the couch, and several cross-stitched pictures hung on the walls. The dining room table was cluttered with papers, and an outdated desktop computer sat in the middle of the chaos.

“Forgive the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I won’t stay long. Just until sunrise. You should be safe then, so long as you keep your doors locked.”

“No one knows where I live. I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t trust that to be true anymore. That demon took your blood. Synestryn could use it to find you.” Or worse. If a powerful demon got her blood, they could use it to control her. He couldn’t bring himself to scare her by mentioning it. If that happened, there would be nothing she could do to prevent it. The best protection was binding her to one of the men so they would sense if a compulsion hit her. At least then she could be incapacitated so no one would be hurt.

“But not during the day, right?”

“Synestryn are less powerful during the day. And I’ll make sure that there is at least one warrior here before sundown.”

“Are you sure sending people here is a good idea?”

“You want to control your visions, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then let me show you what you need to know so that you can choose the right man.”

Rory hesitated for a moment, biting her lip. Her indecision made her look younger and more vulnerable than the fierce, aggressive side of her he’d seen earlier. It also made him ache to reassure her in whatever way he could, even if it meant lying to her—something he would have normally found repulsive.

More of the man he’d been had clearly died. Iain—a Theronai who had gone through this same torment—had warned him that it would happen, that little bits of himself would simply disappear. He wouldn’t even know they were gone until it was too late. At least Cain still had enough of himself left to mourn for what he’d lost.

Rather than dwelling on that, he set his focus on Rory. The sight of her soothed him, lending him comfort and a sense of calm he so desperately needed. He only wished he could offer her the same.

Her dark eyes met his and she gave him a small nod.

Relief swelled in Cain’s chest, and only then did he realize that he’d been preparing to force her to see what he wanted her to see. Her agreement had saved him from yet another black mark on his soul.

Before she could change her mind, he backed her toward the couch until her legs bumped it. He cradled her head in his hands and slid his thumbs over her eyes to shut them. Her pink hair brushed over the back of his fingers, silky and warm.

It would have been so easy to kiss her right now. A single shift of his wrists would tilt her head back to the perfect angle. Her lips were already parted. He could have a taste of her before she could even pull in the breath to tell him to stop.

Her tongue wet her lips in a nervous gesture, but his body took it as an invitation he felt tingle all the way to the base of his spine.

He hadn’t been with a woman in a long, long time. Not since he’d taken over Sibyl’s care centuries ago. Several of the Theronai claimed that sex eased their pain, but Cain’s pain had been bearable right up until the day his ward had walked away.

He’d been so lonely since then. His best friends had been killed. Many of his other friends had recently found their mates and were living happily together. Some of them were expecting children—a gift none of them had ever expected to receive.

Jackie had wanted a child. Cain had bargained with a Sanguinar for the ability to give her one only to find out that it wasn’t to be. She was pregnant with Iain’s baby now, a fact that gave Cain great joy, and jealousy so feral he could no longer speak to the man who had once been his friend. Iain would see Cain’s jealousy, and after what the other man had been through, it wasn’t fair to steal even a sliver of his newfound joy.

It was better for Cain to keep his distance and forget all about the hope he’d once felt when looking at another man’s woman.

And yet now, holding Rory so close, that hope tried to bubble up again and trick him into believing things that could not be. Jackie had seen Cain’s inadequacy. She’d known that he’d failed to keep Sibyl safe—that his weakness had allowed her to be stolen from them. If he stayed with Rory long, she would see his failures as well.

It was better not to hope at all than to witness hope’s death.

Rory stood before him, compliant in his grasp. Her trust in him was as humbling as it was frightening. She was too vulnerable to trust the wrong man. Part of him wanted to stay close and make sure she picked the right man, but the other side of him knew that he had no right to judge his brothers. As far as he knew, he was closer to turning than any of them. That made him the worst judge of all.

But preparing her for what was to come—this was something he could do. He would show her what she needed to know and leave all judgment calls to her. This was her life. It had to be her decision. If he could arm her with knowledge, then she would at least be equipped to choose her own path.

That thought eased him and gave him the mental quiet he needed to complete his task.

“Just relax,” he said, his voice a low rumble between them. “Let me in.”

Cain eased into her mind slowly, using every bit of skill he’d learned over the centuries to keep from hurting her. He’d slipped into another’s thoughts many times before to remove memories, but never had he done so to show someone something from his own life.

Sliding inside her like this was easy. Peaceful. The urge to search through her memories tugged at him, but he resisted. She would belong to another man soon. Invading her mind more than necessary was too close to cheating on one of his brothers for his peace of mind.

Besides, the less he knew her, the easier it would be to walk away in a few minutes. There was a goodness within her that shone too brightly for him to think he wouldn’t bask in it if he allowed himself the pleasure. It was better to do the job and get back to reality as soon as possible.

Cain raced through his most recent battles—the ones he’d fought alongside Gilda and Angus. Their deaths still haunted him, but he felt better knowing their memories lived on inside of him, as they would now also do inside of Rory.

It took only moments to find what he wanted—a skirmish small enough so as not to frighten or confuse Rory, but one where Gilda had wielded her power openly. He wanted Rory to see what she would become, not fear it.

Cain let the memory play through his mind, slowing it down to show fire spilling from Gilda’s fingertips. It consumed a demon in a matter of seconds. Light burst from her, arching up to shield her husband’s head a heartbeat before another demon jumped down from the trees. Its claws scraped against the barrier, sending up pale sparks.

The rest of the memory slid by, and when the fight was over, Gilda laid her hands on a wounded human, and three gaping claw marks healed shut in the space of a few moments. The red streaks of poison faded from his skin, and his eyes opened, shining with gratitude.

“Wow,” breathed Rory. “That is so freaking cool.”

He could hear her voice and her thoughts at the same time, and it felt . . . right. He didn’t want to leave her, which was enough warning to tell him he’d nearly crossed a line.

Cain slipped out of her mind, and the moment he left her, that gaping loneliness opened up inside of him again. Something dark and terrified expanded beneath his skin, spreading out to steal his warmth. It left him shaking and oddly vulnerable.

She stared up at him, her dark eyes wide. “That was amazing. You really think I can do stuff like that?”

He had to swallow twice before he could speak, and when he did, his voice was rough and strained. “I know you can.”

Her hands were on his chest, and he could feel his lifemark—the living image of a tree imbedded in his skin—swaying beneath his shirt, toward her touch. He’d never cursed a bit of fabric more in his life than he did his shirt for its mere existence.

“Can you show me more?” she asked, eagerness lifting her voice.

He wanted to. He could have happily spent the entire day within her thoughts, but it wasn’t right. In fact, touching her like this was also not right.

Cain let go of her face and took her hand in his. “I need to make some calls, get some men on the road to come see you.”

She let out a reluctant sigh. “Yeah. I need to work, anyway.”

“Work?”

“I have to eat, don’t I?”

“What do you do?”

“Day trader.”

“You mean like the stock market?”

“Yep. Just like that. I’m not rich, but I make a decent living and I don’t have to be around anyone. It’s boring, but it works.”

Cain could no longer find a reason to delay, no matter how hard he tried. “I need to release you now.”

“I figured. I could use a bit of alone time anyway. I’m not used to having someone around for so long, you know?”

“Hold still. Hopefully this won’t hurt you now that there are no people around.” But it was going to hurt him like hell.

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’ll be fine. As long as I keep breathing, don’t touch me, okay?”

“What do you mean? Is there a chance you’ll quit breathing?”

He hated to make her worry. “I’ll be fine.”

Cain sat so he wouldn’t fall down and make a fool of himself again. Slowly, with great care, he let go of her hand. As soon as the tip of her finger left his, pain slammed into him, wringing the breath from his body. Every muscle inside of him went tight and hard, straining against the force of so much agony. A feral growl burst out of him as he fought to breathe. Little, stuttering breaths filled his lungs, but it wasn’t nearly enough oxygen to keep him going. The edges of his vision faded into gray mist. The couch beneath him rattled against the floor. He tried to regain some kind of control, but it was no use. He couldn’t fight it. There was too much agony to fight. So he did the only thing he could do—he gave in and let the darkness have him.

*   *   *

Rory freaked.

Cain was shaking like he was having a seizure, and his skin had gone pasty white. Veins stood out in his neck, and the necklace he wore seemed to have gone still and dead. All color had vanished, but at least she could see his heart beating in the band’s shiny surface.

She clenched her fingers together to keep from reaching for him. His big body thrashed on her couch until it bumped against the wall, and then he went still.

His chest rose and fell fast with his labored breathing. Sweat dotted his forehead, but she didn’t dare touch him enough to take off his leather jacket for fear she’d make a bad situation worse.

She stared at him for several long minutes, aching with indecision. He seemed to be through the worst of it, but she could still sense his pain, as if it were coming off of him in palpable waves.

She didn’t know how to help him. She wasn’t like the woman she’d seen in his memories. She had no power.

And that pissed her off.

He’d said that power would be hers once she met the right magical guy, and while all of that had the ring of truth to it, she felt as though something was off. He’d purposefully left something out.

As Rory tried to figure out what that omission might be, she occupied herself with work. But no matter what she did to distract herself, her gaze kept sliding back to Cain. He was sprawled on her grandma’s dainty yellow couch, this thick arms and legs hanging off. He looked completely uncomfortable, but she didn’t dare try to adjust his body.

She could see through his eyes intermittently, but it wasn’t as intrusive as usual. His eyes were mostly closed, and the silent darkness trickling from him was calming. As long as she could see that darkness, she knew he was still alive.

Minutes ticked by slowly. She was too distracted to accomplish much. She read e-mail, chatted with one of her online friends, saying nothing about the recent, gargantuan developments in her life.

Lunchtime came and went, and Cain didn’t so much as shift positions as she heated and ate a frozen meal.

Finally, after struggling with herself for too long, she gave into the urge to stare at him.

He really was a fine-looking man, carved from stark angles and hard planes. Even in his sleep she could see the smooth ridges of muscles along his chest where his jacket gaped open. His dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead, tempting her to brush it back. Stubble shadowed his jaw, but it was a good look for him, making the thought of beard burn more appealing than she’d ever thought possible.