Falling Blind: The Sentinel Wars (42 page)

Something in her clicked, some fundamental understanding that she’d been overlooking dawned, and everything fell into an orderly array. Her eyes started to work properly. She was no longer ruled by the visions of those around her. She ruled them.

She began sorting through the things she saw, taking in knowledge from everything she witnessed through every creature present. Cain’s breathing was shallow. His heart was slowing. Ella was trapped in a room nearby, and dark, twisted demons began to tentatively cross a wet line drawn across the doorway. She wrapped herself around her baby, protecting him with her body as the monsters closed in.

Rory had no more time to learn how to do what she needed to do. She sucked in huge gulps of Cain’s power, hearing him groan as she forced him to give her what she needed. The air in front of her shimmered as she reshaped it, forcing it to focus the beam of sunlight into a tiny band. It hit her eyes, searingly bright and perfect for her needs.

Rory stared into the light until tears wet her cheeks. She forced the creatures below to see what she saw. She gave them no way to hide. No way to escape. Even when they shut their eyes, her vision was still there, forcing its way into their brains—the way her visions had always done to her.

The smell of smoke choked her. The agonized screams of dying demons filled the air. Her eyes burned as the blinding light drove into them. She welcomed the pain, refusing to blink until the last shrill, hissing scream faded into silence.

She floated down until her feet hit something solid. Globs of blotchy color faded from her sight, leaving her standing in blackness. She couldn’t see Cain or Ella. She couldn’t see anything. She was blind, and Cain was dying.

She felt Cain’s presence, felt the luceria tying them together, and followed that connection. She pushed her way through piles of dead demons, using her boots to shove them aside. Cain’s clothes were wet with blood. She could feel the burn of poison in his skin, but had no idea how to fix it.

Her hands shook with fatigue, and it was all she could do to stay upright. Weariness weighed her down, and she could no longer tell if what she was feeling was coming from him or her.

With an excruciating effort of will, she pulled on his power, channeling it over his skin to close his wounds. She had no idea if it worked. He was still slick with blood.

A second later, she fell, too weak to sit up. His hard body cushioned her fall, and beneath the stench of demons, smoke and blood, she smelled his skin. So warm, so familiar. Like home.

Rory had lost everyone she’d ever loved. Her mother, Nana. She’d lost her quiet little life and her home. She would not lose Cain, too. Not as long as there was even a single spark of power left in either of them.

She grabbed his big hand and held it to her throat so that his ring latched on to her necklace. There was only a faint trickle of power, but she took hold of it and pulled, demanding that it go on a seek-and-destroy mission inside his body. As the magic spilled out of her, she deflated, sagging over his body. She couldn’t move anymore. She could barely pull in her next breath, but she kept funneling power into him, ordering it to clean away the poison.

Cain jerked under her hand, letting out a pained gasp. A terrible choking sound rose between them, and a second later, she heard him vomit. Then he went still.

Only the steady beat of his pulse kept her from spiraling into complete panic.

Nothing mattered except keeping him alive. She no longer cared about anything beyond feeling his next breath fill his chest. She didn’t care if she lived. She didn’t care if she spent the rest of her life plagued by debilitating visions. She didn’t even want to find the person who made them go away anymore. That would only separate her from Cain, which would make her life a far bleaker place than temporary blindness ever could.

She needed him to pull through. She needed him in her life, at her side, safe and happy. She swore that if she lived, she’d give up her search for freedom from her visions and learn to accept them. Whatever price she had to pay in exchange for Cain’s life would be a bargain. Whatever the universe demanded of her, she would gladly give up. Even her life.

Please don’t let him die.

Rory saw nothing but blackness, but heard a faint quivering sound. Motion. Footsteps.

Someone was coming. She didn’t know if it was friend or foe, but it didn’t matter. She’d done all she could. There was no fight left in her. Whatever came would come, and if she died, at least she’d die holding the man she loved.

Chapter 33

J
ustice had no idea where she was going. All she knew was that she was late, thanks to an accident on I-35.

Impatience burned in her gut, making her hands fidget on the steering wheel. Her Porsche didn’t like these pockmarked, backcountry roads, but that was too bad. If it didn’t behave, she’d ditch it and find another ride. Maybe a nice pickup truck that wouldn’t complain so damn much.

A freight train’s light caught her attention, coming from the west. Sunrise shone off of its metal cars, which stretched out in the distance. If she didn’t beat the train, it would slow her down even more, and she didn’t have that kind of time.

She gunned the engine, enjoying the smooth shift in gears and the powerful hum sliding through her. Up ahead, the striped, wooden barricades were falling slowly, the lights and bells chiming to warn her of the impending danger.

A rush of excitement trilled through her, stretching her mouth with a grin. She was going to make it. Probably. Maybe.

The Porsche went airborne as it hit the slight ramp in the road leading to the tracks. She sailed through the railroad crossing, the hood of her car clipping the wooden barricade.

She landed hard enough to rattle her teeth. The back end of the Porsche swayed with the wind the train created.

Justice watched the train pass in her rearview mirror, wondering what it would have been like if she’d been just half a second slower. She’d woken up years ago, naked, alone and confused, with no memory of who she was. As she crouched beneath a looming billboard advertising a seedy law firm, the giant, glowing letters asking the question “Seeking justice?” mocked her. She’d been seeking a lot more than that since that night, and now, years later, she was still no closer to finding answers. She didn’t even know her own name.

If that freight train had hit her, would she have disappeared just as suddenly as she’d appeared, going back to wherever it was she’d come from?

Apparently, she wasn’t going to find out this time. Maybe tomorrow.

She slowed at the next intersection and took a left. She didn’t know why, but after more than a decade of bouncing around the country like a pinball, she’d stopped questioning why she went anywhere. She followed her gut, and ignored the world spinning past her. Nothing these people did could touch her. She, however, touched them often. Sometimes hard.

As she neared her target, she couldn’t help but feel like this time was different. Special. She could feel it radiating in her bones, filling her lungs with anticipation.

Whatever waited for her this time was going to be one for the diary. She only wished she knew how it would end. Would she need a kind word this time, or her gun?

Only one way to find out.

Justice slewed over the gravel roads, ignoring the Porsche’s complaints about chipped paint and dust. As she took the last turn, she saw a little house sitting back, snuggled inside a dense ring of trees.

She parked the Porsche next to a black van and got out, the sense of urgency growing with every passing second.

When she knocked on the door, no one answered. Ditto with the doorbell. The place was locked, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.

She circled around back and peered in through the sliders. No one.

With the butt of her gun, she smashed the window and let herself in. The place was dark, quiet. The scent of something spicy and sweet filled the air, like someone had been baking recently.

A quick search of the living areas and bedrooms told her no one was here. Only she was here for some reason—and that reason was becoming increasingly desperate.

Justice started opening doors, searching closets, looking behind shower curtains and under beds. Finally, she opened a door leading down into a basement. That sweet scent was stronger here, pulling her in.

With her gun in hand, she descended the wooden steps. When she was about halfway down, she saw a man bound from shoulders to ankles. He was slumped forward. Blood pooled under him. A trickle had worked its way over the concrete floor to a drain.

Panic hit her in the chest, and she stood there, gawking in shock for a moment. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything this powerful—good or bad. Maybe she never had felt anything like this. Emotions seemed to slide around her, mostly, never touching her in any meaningful way.

Until now.

She was afraid. Scared completely and utterly shitless.

Justice hurried down the steps to the bleeding man. Her fingers pressed against his throat, feeling for a pulse, but the chill of his skin told her she was too late.

He let out a quiet moan, and again, she was shocked. He was still alive. She wasn’t too late.

The question was, why was she here? What was she supposed to do?

She pulled out her knife and cut through the tape. Stopping his bleeding seemed to be the first order of business.

Her blade hit metal. He’d been chained, too. Whoever he was, someone had really wanted to make sure he stayed put.

Maybe he was a bad guy. Maybe she was here to finish the job and kill him.

Something about that didn’t ring true. If he was supposed to die, then all she would have had to do was stay away. Whatever powers compelled her wouldn’t have had to waste the effort to send her here.

By the time she’d cut the bloody man free, his breath was wheezing in and out of his scrawny chest. His clothes were too big, and he was so thin he felt brittle as she moved him, trying to locate the bleeding.

As far as she could tell, he had no cuts. Which changed things.

“Whose blood is this?” she demanded.

His head fell back against her arm, and she was struck by the way she cradled him, as if he were something precious. But that wasn’t true. No one was precious to her.

His pale blue eyes opened. Pain churned there, along with endless hunger and desperation. His lips moved and a faint whisper puffed out. “Blood. Need.”

The sound of his voice made hidden memories churn in her head. She reached for them, trying to grab even one, but they all fell away, abandoning her.

Frustration made her arms tighten around his body. She lowered her head closer, hoping to hear another word—something, anything to give her back what was taken. “What do you need?”

He licked his dry lips. Swallowed. His gaze focused on her throat. “Blood. Please.”

That power that drove her—God, fate, karma—whatever it was, spoke to her now, silently urging her to give him what he needed.

With a shaking hand, she pulled her curly black hair away from her neck and lifted him higher. His lips brushed her skin in what she thought a kiss would feel like. A tingling sense of familiarity spilled down her spine. She knew what he was going to do, but she wasn’t afraid.

Then again, she hadn’t been afraid of a speeding freight train, either.

A sharp pain broke her skin, and his mouth began to move against her, suckling. Pleasure unlike anything she could have imagined stroked over her, lighting up parts of herself she’d assumed were dead or missing. Other people felt joy and sadness. Other people laughed and cried. For Justice, that had all been fake—an act designed to fit in. And now those things were hers, streaking through her like lightning.

The man in her arms grew heavy. She was no longer holding him up. His body swelled and shifted, gripping her like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

She grew weaker. The chill from the concrete floor sank into her, stealing her warmth. Her heart sped, and a sense of fear rose up.

He was killing her. And even more startling: she didn’t want to die.

Justice tried to pull away, but he was too strong. The knife lay on the floor nearby, discarded and forgotten. But her gun was tucked in her waistband.

She fumbled to reach it. Her hands didn’t quite work right. She wasn’t holding it right and couldn’t figure out which way to move it so she could fire. So instead, she lifted the heavy metal and slammed it down into the man’s head.

He went limp. Blood flowed down her neck. She covered the wound and scrambled away, leaving him sprawled on the floor. By the time she stood, he was already moving.

She didn’t wait to see what he’d do next. She just ran. Up the stairs, out the front door and into her Porsche. While she was struggling to find the right key, she saw him inside the house, holding back, just out of the light.

Whatever he was, she was out of here. That nagging sense that drove her to do the things she did was gone now. Apparently, saving his life was why she’d come, and now that her job was done, she was getting the hell away.

*   *   *

Ronan cursed the sun as he watched the woman flee. Power sang in his veins, and for the first time in memory, he was no longer hungry. She had done that for him, and now she was gone. But no matter how much power he possessed, he couldn’t go after her. Not in the sunlight. He was trapped here until nightfall, by which time, she’d be long gone.

He memorized her license plate number. Perhaps someone at Dabyr could help him track her down while he slept.

If not, then he’d seek her out at nightfall. He had her blood now. There was nowhere she could hide from him. He would find her, and when he did, he would make sure she never ran from him again.

Chapter 34

R
ory woke to utter blackness. She reached for Cain, but all she felt was soft bedding. The scent of laundry soap filled her nose, so welcome after the stench of burned demons.

A huge, gaping hole loomed right in her middle, but she was too groggy and confused to figure out what was wrong.