Memory of an Immortal Heart (Immortal Hearts) (22 page)

Brand
clamped down on his responsive anger before she scented it – he was
furious that anyone, that a child especially – should feel such fear.

He was
an arm’s length from her. The tigress could dodge and escape if she needed to.
She could go for his throat if she wished. She wouldn’t be successful of course
– she was young, inexperienced and untrained. But Brand had done this
hundreds of times, and knew well enough to leave her space.

“I’m
here to help,” he said quietly, then sighed. He felt old, incredibly weary. And
he hated what came next. “Girl, I need you to look at me.”

She
wouldn’t. Her head was turned to the corner. Brand moved forward, gripped her
neck, and gently brought her face around. She could have bitten him, or clawed
him, but she didn’t. She was utterly…passive.

Which
was just another sign of her damage. Blood tigers should fight. They always
fought. Fighting was as natural to Kaspians as breathing, blood or magic.

“Open
your eyes,” Brand commanded. When she didn’t, “Do you want to die?” A weary
depression rose in him. All of those he “helped” wanted to die. Every single
one of them. Even Khael had wanted to die.

His
brother still did. But at least Khael was no longer actively trying.

But
that was why he helped them. He helped them forget the things they
could not
live with, so that they could keep on living.

But
neither did Brand want those memories for himself.

“If you
look at me,” Brand promised gently, “I can help you. But I need you to open
your eyes and look at me.”

He
smelled her weariness. She was thin, too thin. Her pelt lacked luster and he
could count the ribs beneath her fur. Scars abraded her forelegs. Finally,
listlessly, she opened her eyes. They were a fine Kaspian gold, glazed and dull
with the deep red of agonizing pain.

“I’m
sorry,” he apologized softly, looked deep, and sank into her memories.

Fire.
It flickered at the edges of vision, sparking outward from a slender female
child’s fingertips.

It is
beautiful, so beautiful, she thought in wonder. Mom was amazed when she showed
her the sparkling heat she could pull from her fingertips, like a sparkler or
one of the Gens’s bonfires. And Paul looked at her so she
knew
he would finally come tonight and kiss her. She was past her Initium, so there
was no reason for him not to, now.

Meghan
laughed, delicious shivers tripping down her spine and watched her mom nudge
the kitchen door open, balancing the cake. Everyone was here to celebrate. It
was her fourteenth birthday – she could finally Change – she had a
wonderful ability, a wonderful family, a wonderful everything…everything was
wonderful. Her mom put down the cake and smiled, then gestured at the unlit
candles, “Want to do the honors, Meggie?”

Meghan
pulled the flames out of her fingers…they didn’t want to come. But everyone was
watching. She forced her ability against the obstruction, dragged the flames
forward…they wouldn’t. She gritted her teeth, tried harder. Then a sudden,
terrifying draining sense, a sharp red-hot snap of pain through the core of
her…

Flames.
Everywhere, flames.

Mom
screams, Paul yelling, reaching, Mom’s – everyone’s clothes catching
fire, her own clothes…
Turn it out!
She couldn’t. The fire
wouldn’t stop – “Stop. Stop, stop stop stop
stop! Please…”
she
screams because she can’t stop, Can’t. Smoke everywhere, pain…she is burning,
fire eats her flesh, lungs, she lurches through smoke to the thick metal
door…stuck, trapped, hot metal warped.
Won’t
open
, mom screams,
sister Tess, Paul snarls, her brothers roar…falling steel beams…the door won’t
open, Greg helping…door won’t open…house crumbles, burning…door won’t
open…Greg, her, the floor…door won’t open…meat, the smell of meat…door won’t
open…

…door
won’t open…

She
wakes. The Resh looks down. She smells rejection, fear and ash.

You
killed them, Meghan. They are dead.

They
are dead.

Brand’s
throat closed around the black despair that rose through Meghan; that emotion
filled him, became his until he felt sick…and then he took that memory,
absorbed it into himself, and in doing so pruned it away from her. “Her name is
Meghan,” he rasped, his voice harsh and rough with fury and despair, but Samuel
and Nikandria needed to know.

He went
back to work. Because this was only the beginning of the darkness.

Brand
sorted through Meghan’s memories, pulling them into himself, and in doing so
cut them away from her mind.

He
took
her memories.

Because
that was his primary ability. Taking memories.
Sometimes you need to amputate
a limb
, Samuel had said…yes, that was exactly what Brand did.

Amputations.
Amputations of the memory.

When it
came to those, Brand was the fucking butcher.

The
results weren’t always worth it. But they worked better when the injured were
young. Like Meghan. The young were more adaptable. More…
healable
.

But for
Brand, taking memories was never worth it.

Because
after he took those memories, he had to
keep
those memories. For fucking
forever.

For
Brand, eternity was built of guilt, uncertainty and darkness.

Brand
could push those stolen memories back, lock them away. But until he got a good
hold on them he would be waking to the nightmare smell of Meghan’s mother’s
body, cooking like so much meat. He would hear the screams of siblings he had
never known. He would feel those final, crushing words from his Resh:
You.
You did this.

You.

It was
never worth it.

Eva
worried as Brand crouched beside the yellow tigress in the inner room. He had
seemed tired, unhappy. Like he was going into a fight he knew he couldn’t win.

“Hi,”
the woman with pale blonde hair said, coming to stand beside her. “You must be
Eva.” Eva frowned, watching Brand – jealous of the way he had smiled for
this stunningly exotic woman, of the intimacy they had between them.

Why
should I care?
Eva had no claim on Brand.

She
barely knew him. They had only
almost
hooked up once, on a train.

That
was all.

Eva
slanted the woman a cold look, then turned her focus back to Brand. She
couldn’t see his face, but there was tension in the strong arch of his
shoulders.
He looks like he’s in pain
.

“What
is he doing?” Eva demanded even as the woman said, “I’m Nikandria. Brand’s
sister.”

Relief.
Eva turned to stare. “Nikandria,” she repeated, an incredible – and odd –
amount of near-gratefulness welling through her. Not Brand’s girlfriend, not
his lover. Not his sometimes more-than-friends fool-around buddy. His
sister
.
Eva exhaled and found that she was smiling wildly. “He mentioned you.”

Nikandria
looked like she was trying not to laugh. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced
myself earlier.”

“You
were busy,” Eva turned back to Brand, her urgency rising. “What is he doing?
What’s wrong with him?” She
needed
to know.

Nikandria’s
smile faded. Despite her exotic looks, Brand’s sister seemed tired, worn. As if
she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in over a month.

“Brand
didn’t tell you?” Nikandria frowned.

“Tell
me what?”

“His
ability.”

“He
heals.” Eva turned back to the window, studied the tableu, then pointed to the
tall man who stood in the corner of the room watching. “But I think he said
that
that
man – Samuel – could do it better.”
So why is
he needed in this room?

Nikandria
nibbled her lip uneasily. “Healing is Brand’s secondary ability, Eva. He’s
using his main ability right now. I would explain it, but I think he can tell
you best.” She slanted a glance at the clock on the wall, as if timing
something. “I think we have enough time to set you up in a room before he’s
finished.”

“I can
wait.” Eva didn’t want to leave Brand. His sister seemed nice, but…something
was wrong. Brand was
hurt
. Eva didn’t know how she knew this, she just
did. She shifted her stance. “Shouldn’t you be in there with him?”
Stopping
him?

“Brand
can handle himself, Eva,” Nikandria said gently, taking her arm in a steely
grip to steer her toward the outer door. “Trust me. He’s done this plenty of
times before. It’s hard on him, but he knows what he’s doing.”

“I
don’t…”

“Really
– I insist. I think it would be best for all of us, if I get you tucked away.”

Eva
didn’t really know how Nikandria won, but somehow she ended up outside that
room. Was there such a thing
too much
politeness?

She was
too tired make note of the turns they took, but one thing she did notice was
that what Nikandria called the “Operations Building” looked like a bizarre
cross between a three-story museum and an old southern plantation house styled
from
Gone With the Wind
. Oddly enough, as they entered, the building
felt comfortable, lived in.

“The
family wings are in the back, the operations area in the upper floors and the
front. Here, this way – we have to cut through the basement.” Nikandria
led down a set of dark carpeted stairs, through an open, well-lit kitchen, out
through a dark alcove, before going up again.

“It’s
like a maze,” Eva muttered, her head spinning. “A horrible, terrible maze.”

Nikandria’s
smile was sad. “So was the mind of the man who built it.”

When
they reached a small set of doors on the second floor, Nikandria gestured
inside. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry?”

“No.”
Eva shook her head, trying to orient herself. “I don’t think so. I just need
sleep.”
And Brand
.
I definitely need Brand
.

Brand’s
sister nodded. “Good then.” She hesitated, as if about to leave, then touched
the back of Eva’s wrist. “If you need anything, my suite is just down the
hall,” she gestured, “and Brand’s are right after the turn. I’ll be busy
tonight, but if you want, we can talk tomorrow. I promise to give you a better
tour.”

Nikandria
turned to leave, but Eva had to ask. “About Brand,” she began, and Nikandria
glanced back, her pale gold braid sliding over her shoulder like sunlight, or
water.

“We’ll
take care of Brand, Eva, I swear. Taking care of each other…that’s what
families do.”

“Come
back Meghan,” Brand ordered the thin tigress sprawled bonelessly on the floor,
his voice a hoarse growl. “You need to Change.”

She
gave him a confused, wary glance: she didn’t know where she was, she didn’t
know
who
he was…but like any good Gens member, she obeyed the authority
in Brand’s tone, the dominance in his scent. She Changed.

Brand
caught only a glimpse of half-healed burn scars before Nikandria was beside
them, draping the girl in a blanket. “Here Meghan, use this.” Nikandria’s voice
with thick with her own memories of burns and fire.

“Where
am I?” the girl rasped. The smoke had damaged her vocal chords, and –
hearing her own words – she cringed. “What…
where
…” she covered her
mouth with both hands, gave a terrified rasping sound, and pushed back into the
corner. Her desperate gaze instinctively latched on Nikandria.

“You’re
safe,” Nikandria responded. She sounded so determined that Brand couldn’t help
but believe her. “I’m Nikandria, this is Brand. You’ve been sick. I swear, I’ll
explain everything in a moment.”

“But…”

“Meghan,
I promise I will explain,” Nikandria said, touching the girl’s wrist, and Brand
felt her reach out with her ability to sooth the girl. “All I want you to do
right now is relax. You’re safe, and everything is being taken care of.”

Even as
Meghan settled warily back into the folds of her blanket, Brand watched that
familiar shadow pass over her eyes…the shadow of someone who had lost their
memories, but who – on their deepest, most instinctive level –
would always
know.
Meghan would never recover the memories Brand had
taken, but she would always have a sense of what she had lived through.

Nikandria
touched his shoulder, and Brand felt his sister drain the deepest edge from his
despair, the vicious bite from his anger. It was like a boulder had been moved
off his shoulders, but still not enough.

Because
that was how using his ability always left him: fucked up, furious.

A bit
dangerous.

“I set
Eva up in a room on our family’s wing. She’ll be fine. Khael and Seth are
waiting for you in the training room,” his sister told him. “Go work it off,
Brand.”