Falling Blind: The Sentinel Wars (28 page)

Tynan started to leave, but Joseph stopped him. “Can you fix her arm—just the skin. I don’t want her sister remembering her like this.”

Tynan ran his finger along the woman’s skin, knitting it shut. It left a bluish line that wasn’t quite right, but it was better than the gaping flesh that had been there before.

After Tynan left, Joseph stripped the wet clothes from Beth and left them in the tub. He picked her up and carried her into the nearest bedroom, where he dressed her in something bright and cheerful. After he was done, he arranged her body so she looked comfortable, and covered her with a blanket.

Tomorrow they would bury her and burn her clothes and bedding to make sure no traces of blood remained behind. Tonight, Beth would lie in a real bed one last time before they returned her to the earth, where she’d spent far too many years of her young life.

Pain burrowed behind his eyes, throbbing as it worked its way down his spine. He tried to ignore it, but when things like this happened—when he failed in his duties to protect the humans under his care—the pain was always worse. It was like it knew when he was weakest.

Joseph left the suite to crawl into his shower and wash away the grief and loss the last few hours had left on him. His shoulders bowed. He felt older, weaker. As he passed Lyka’s suite, his feet slowed as he lingered outside of her door.

Seeing her always made him feel better—distracted him from the pain—and right now he would have given nearly anything to feel even a little better. But Ella needed comfort more than Joseph did, so he kept walking.

Chapter 19

R
ory’s hands kept slipping on Cain’s blood. There was so much of it. The duct tape was coated and slick, making it impossible for her to tear off strips.

She used her teeth, and tasted something vile. Her tongue went instantly numb. She didn’t even hesitate to turn her head and spit the horrible substance from her mouth.

Ronan cast a quick glance over his shoulder at her. “Don’t you dare swallow that. He’s poisoned.”

Eww. He didn’t need to tell her twice. She wiped her tongue on her sleeve as she settled for wrapping Cain’s arm without tearing the tape.

She didn’t know how he was still alive after all the blood he’d lost, but she could feel his presence dangling at the other end of the luceria, keeping her from freaking out.

Ronan spoke into his phone. “We need help. . . . Three Handlers and at least eight or nine demons. . . . Cain’s been poisoned. I’m going to need blood.”

Rory had just started adding another layer of tape to the first, insufficient one when Ronan said, “Come take the wheel. I need to tend him.”

“Where do I go?”

He went through a few screens on his phone, sparing only an occasional glance at the deserted road. “GPS will lead you to a Gerai house. There’s a tracking device in the van, so they’ll be able to see where we’re headed.”

They did an awkward maneuver that put her behind the wheel. She gripped it tight, and sought out Cain’s weak presence. She gathered it close, trying to reassure him that he was going to make it.

Rory had lost too many people in her life. She’d just started caring about Cain. It wasn’t fair that she’d lose him, too. Not now. Not so soon.

Then again, maybe it would be better if she didn’t grow any more attached to him. A man like Cain would be too easy to sink into and let herself be carried away on pretty wings of trust—trust that he’d return her affection. Trust that he’d survive.

No one could promise her that, not even someone as powerful as Cain.

And if she hadn’t believed that before, she did now. He bled just like anyone else. That meant he could die just like anyone else.

She didn’t realize she was pulling away from that faint, familiar essence of his until she felt him lurch for her. She’d been sliding back into herself, cutting him off as if he were already dead.

Here he was dying and she was abandoning him, just to save herself a little pain.

So fucking selfish.

Rory slipped back to where she’d been, offering a silent apology. She wasn’t sure if he could understand her or not, but for now it was all she could do. The closer to civilization she got, the more she had to concentrate on seeing the road rather than what others saw.

“I’m not going to be able to go much longer,” she warned Ronan. “My visions are getting too thick, and I won’t be able to see through them.”

Ronan didn’t answer. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him bent over Cain’s body. He was stripped to the waist, and so pale she hardly recognized him. Only the lifelike image of the tree seemed familiar.

Someone nearby opened their fridge, and the blinding light seared her eyeballs. She hissed and held the wheel straight, hoping that kept them on the road. The van slowed without her foot on the gas. She felt the looser ridge of gravel at the edge, and eased the van back to the left.

Finally, the vision passed and her eyes adjusted again to the darkness. It dawned on her that she’d been driving without the lights, using Cain’s power to allow her to see.

She was getting way too accustomed to having access to magic. It came easily to her. All she had to do was listen to her instincts and things happened. Just like magic.

Cain groaned in pain, and she took that as a good sign.

“How’s it going back there?”

A cold blast of air sucked the heat from the van. Ronan sent Cain’s bloody tape-covered clothes out the window. “He’ll live. Assuming we don’t run into demons before help arrives.”

“I could hold them off again. Like I did before.”

“Yes, but for how long? Dawn is hours away.”

A trio of visions shoved their way into her brain all at once, blinding her with their intensity.

“Don’t slow down,” said Ronan. “There are still traces of blood on us.”

“Can’t help it. I can’t see a damn thing.”

“Let me.”

They did the awkward tango, switching places, only this time it was harder with her unable to see much of anything. As the visions cleared, she saw that Ronan was in bad shape again. Pale, gaunt, shaking. She wanted to offer him her blood—he had saved Cain after all—but she worried about it leaving her too weak to keep them safe.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, as if he’d heard her thoughts. “I’ve lived through much worse than this. Go back there and clean off as much blood as you can.”

Rory went back to Cain’s side and found a package of baby wipes in the blue box. She pulled out a wad of them and started scrubbing the drying blood from his skin. It was hard to stay focused on the task at hand with so much naked male flesh on display, but her flashing visions kept cutting into her enjoyment, reminding her to get the damn job done. Finally, she splayed her left hand over his tree tattoo to drive the visions away.

Heat trickled out of her. She actually felt her hand warm and vibrate against his skin. The branches of the tree swayed, tickling her palm.

She ran her finger along the mark, marveling over the magic he housed. Tingling ribbons of heat wove their way up her arm, wrapping tightly around her. Tying her to him.

Rory pulled back. She didn’t want to be tied to him. His job was too dangerous. He took too many risks.

For her.

Cain’s eyes opened. A dark green sliver of color showed between his lids. Yearning filled his gaze, but she couldn’t figure out what it was he wanted.

And she really wasn’t sure it was something she wanted to give.

His hand fumbled toward her, reaching for her. She couldn’t deny him the simple comfort of human contact, so she took his hand in hers.

He pressed her fingers over his heart. Need shimmered through the luceria. Desire, too, but his need went deeper than that. It cried out for beautiful, dangerous things—things that had the power to rip her soul from her body and stomp it into a pulpy slush. Without even trying, she could see the things he wanted. Secret, hidden things that he didn’t dare even admit to himself.

Rory felt herself being pulled into his need—the things he’d denied himself for years. Centuries. They were shiny, filled with hope and purpose, so bright she couldn’t look directly at them for fear of blinding herself.

What she couldn’t see scared her, but not nearly as much as what she felt. Those bright hopes swirled around her, as if she were their center, as if without her, those precious, glimmering things would all fly away into oblivion. He needed her to need him.

She couldn’t be anyone’s center. It was too much to ask.

Rory pried her fingers out from under his and grabbed up another thick pile of baby wipes. She distracted herself by scrubbing away more smears of blood, being careful not to touch his skin. The visions came back with a vengeance, but she was used to those. She could stand those.

She couldn’t stand the desire that had tumbled out of Cain, or how he saw her as the sun around which his hopes revolved. She couldn’t need him like that—it would destroy her to depend on anyone the way he clearly wanted her to do. She couldn’t be the one to provide him with the sense of purpose he needed to keep going.

It would be kinder of her to keep her distance. Cain was a good man. If she couldn’t give him what he needed, the least he deserved was her letting him down gently.

*   *   *

When Cain woke fully, he was in a bed. His clothes were gone, but his sword was propped close at hand, fitted with a new leather belt. He saw no signs of danger, but something was definitely wrong.

He got up and found a robe draped over a chair. It was barely big enough to cover him, but a sense of urgency drove him not to care about his lack of modesty. His body was weak and wobbly. Thirst grated along his throat.

He recognized the feeling as the aftermath of Sanguinar healing, so that didn’t disturb him, but something was off.

Rory.

He reached out through their link only to find a hard wall blocking his path.

Terrified that something had happened to her, he stumbled from the room and down the hall. The sight of her ridiculously pink hair made him sag with relief.

“Rory, are you okay?”

She was at the front window, holding the curtains back as she peered out at the sunrise. At the sound of her name, she spun around. Her dark gaze slid over his body. She took a step toward him as if compelled, but stopped short. Her gaze hit the floor and stayed there. “I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty. What happened?”

She walked into the kitchen and pulled a glass from the cabinet. “A team of Gerai came. They gave Ronan enough blood to heal you, carried you to bed and then cleaned up the mess. The whole thing took only minutes. They’re very efficient.”

“Where’s Ronan?”

She filled the glass and set it on the counter near him, rather than handing it to him, as if she didn’t want to risk any accidental contact. “In the basement, sleeping.”

The water eased the burning in his throat, but did nothing to get rid of the nagging sense that something was wrong. She was acting strange. Cold.

And then it hit him. She’d lost her home. It had gone up in flames, along with all of her grandmother’s handmade things, their family photos—precious, irreplaceable things.

“I’m so sorry about your home, Rory.” He reached to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away.

“Don’t. I’m fine. It was just a house.”

“No, it was your home. Your grandmother’s home. It was a place of happy memories and safety.”

A hollow, bitter bark of laughter erupted from her mouth. “Yeah, well, not last night, it wasn’t.”

Cain ached to ease her grief, but she clearly didn’t want physical contact. Once again, he prodded the connection the luceria offered, hoping for another way to lend her comfort. Instead, he was met with a cold, blank wall keeping him out.

“We can rebuild your home if you like,” he offered. “I realize it will never replace the things you lost, but at least you’ll have a place of your own.”

She turned her back on him, shaking her head so that her pink hair swayed over her shoulders. “That was never my place. It was always Nana’s, and it was the last thing I had of hers that made me feel like she was still with me. I was surrounded by her there—the things she’d made, the way she smelled.” She paused, and when she spoke again, there was a catch of sorrow in her throat. “That house made me feel like she could still hug me. Now it’s gone, and nothing you can do will ever bring that back, so don’t bother.”

Cain could no longer stand to give her space, not when she was suffering such a deep loss. His need to protect her—even from her grief—drove him forward. His bare feet were silent on the floor. He gave her no warning of his intent, but as he approached, she became stiff, as if she knew he was there.

Her visions. Of course.

He slipped his arms around her waist, ready to face whatever fury she wanted to unleash.

She spun around inside his embrace, shoving against his chest. “Let me go.”

“No. If your grandmother can no longer hug you, then I will.”

Now that he was close, he could see the signs of her grief etched under her eyes and around her mouth. She’d been crying, and the remnants of those tears threatened to spill over now. He knew that if he witnessed her weakness, it would only make her more resistant and prickly.

He tucked her head under his chin and let her hide her face against his chest. The barrier she’d shoved between them trembled, though he couldn’t tell if it was from the force of her emotions, or if her resolve to keep him out was weakening.

“You’re not alone, Rory.”

Her voice was small and uncertain. “Everyone is alone. Everyone dies. I’m so tired of being crushed when it happens.”

“Things appear bleak now, but it won’t always be this way. Days will pass. You will heal.”

“Yeah, just in time to get kicked in the gut again when the next person I care about dies. I’m sorry, Cain, but it’s just not worth it. I’m done caring.”

She didn’t mean that. It was her grief talking. But nothing he could say would clear away the pain and give her room to see the truth. Only time could do that.

Cain stroked her hair, reveling in the feel of her pressed against him like this. She was safe, and for a few horrible moments, he had been sure that they were all going to die. He’d been sure that he’d failed her the way he’d failed Sibyl, that he’d broken his vow to keep her safe.