Born of the Night (14 page)

Well fine, she'd just have to see if she could get a glimpse of Nykyrian's eyes by herself.

She never could stand a mystery and she wasn't about to leave this one unsolved!

Six

Kiara and Hauk were watching a comedy when Nykyrian returned. She looked up at him

with a smile, but he didn't even bother to glance in her direction. Disappointed, she

shifted her gaze to Hauk who offered her an apologetic shrug before standing.

"Well, I guess it's time for this baby-sitter to evaporate," Hauk said, nodding to Nykyrian.

"Beware of her roast," he said before leaving them.

Nykyrian looked at her. "What was that about?" he asked gruffly.

Kiara shrugged. "He told me he liked it. Would you care for any? I left a warmer on the

stove." She tossed the pillow from her lap and uncurled her legs.

"I'll get it," he said, dropping his pack by the door.

He was acting strange, even for him. Kiara watched him move slowly to the kitchen, a

deep frown on her face. What had happened?

Several minutes went by as she waited for him to rejoin her, but he stayed in the kitchen

out of her sight. Worried and curious, she went to check on him.

He sat at the table, his food untouched. His head was propped against one arm and he appeared to be staring at the table as if something had his mind transfixed.

"Is something wrong?" Kiara asked.

Immediately, he straightened up and retrieved a fork. "I'm just tired," he said before taking a bite.

Kiara sat down across from him. Drawing her legs up in the chair, she propped her chin

on her knees. "Hauk and I spent the afternoon playing games," she said, trying to bring him into conversation and out of the melancholia he seemed to be wallowing in. "Do you

play any?"

His grip tightened on the fork. "No."

Exasperated, she glared at him. "You don't have to bark at me. I was just— "

"Look," Nykyrian interrupted her, making her jump in surprise at the sharp tone. "I'm in no mood to be sociable. Why can't you leave me in peace!"

Sputtering in indignation, Kiara came to her feet. She rounded the table to stand next to

his chair. "You know, I'm getting really sick of this abuse. If we have to be together

constantly, the least you could do is be civil."

Nykyrian came to his feet with a loud scraping of chair leg against her porcelain floor.

His lips snarled at her, his breathing labored. "Why do you continue to pursue me when

you know I have no interest in you as a woman? Are you incapable of having a man in

your home without having him in your bed?"

She had never had words cut her so deeply in her life. Before she could think, she slapped

him as hard across the face as she could.

He didn't even flinch. He just stood there, motionless. She couldn't even detect the rise

and fall of his chest. Kiara was horrified by her actions. Her palm stung from the blow.

She had never in her life struck anyone for anything.

"Forgive me," she gasped, cupping his face in her hands.

He pushed her hands away. "Don't touch me," he growled in a low, fierce voice.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a sharp knock on the door silenced her. Nykyrian

went to open it.

Kiara stood in the kitchen, gripping the counter as a multitude of emotions tore through

her. What had made her do such a thing? His insult rang in her ears, reminding her the

action was justified. Wasn't it?

A lump in her throat, she moved towards the front room to see who was here and what

was going on. She hovered in the hallway, watching Rachol unbutton and peel Nykyrian's

shirt back.

Her brow knitted at the way his hands tenderly moved over Nykyrian's body. Nykyrian

didn't protest in the least. Instead of snapping at Rachol, he just looked down at him.

Rachol cursed before moving away. Kiara went cold as she realized Rachol's hands were

covered in blood.

"How'd you reopen the damn thing?" he barked at Nykyrian.

Kiara walked forward, wanting to help, her stomach twisting over the wound.

At her movement, Nykyrian faced her. "Go away," he snarled, baring his teeth to her.

Swallowing her fear at his reaction, she ran down the hallway to her room, tears

streaming down her face.

* * *

"That wasn't necessary," Rachol said, pushing Nykyrian toward the couch.

Nykyrian didn't say anything. It took all his concentration just to remain conscious from

the throbbing, heated agony splitting his side. Breathing was getting harder by the

heartbeat.

He tensed as Rachol struck a nerve, but said nothing. He thought about what he'd said to

Kiara and wished he could take it back. But then, there were many things he regretted.

He could use the pain as an excuse, but that was all it would be— an excuse. Nykyrian

clenched his teeth at his stupidity. What did it matter?

"I'm going to give you some Synethol," Rachol said, straightening up. "I know you hate it, but it'll help you heal a lot faster and this is one time I can't afford for you to be

nursing a wound."

Nykyrian nodded, knowing Rachol was right.

Wearily, he watched Rachol wipe the blood from his hands and rummage through his

pack until he found the injector.

Rachol rolled back the sleeve of his shirt. Exposing the crook of Nykyrian's elbow, he

positioned the injector over the skin. "I'll stay over tonight. I just hope Kiara has a

sleeping bag." He pressed the trigger.

The needle bit into Nykyrian's arm and the thick syrup moved into his skin with painful

slowness. He pulled his glasses off and handed them to Rachol. "Tell her I'm sorry for

what I said" he whispered, the drug making his vision cloudy.

Rachol frowned at Nykyrian. It was the first time he had ever known Kip to apologize to

anyone, for anything. What had he interrupted?

Tossing the injector back into his pack, he rechecked Nykyrian's bandage. A red stain

was already creeping back through the white cloth. He cursed. The little dancer had

almost cost Nykyrian his life and he would like to tear her into pieces for it.

Kip was the only family he had in this life and by God, he wasn't just going to lie back

and watch the only friend/family he had ever known die because of some
harita
.

In an angry stride, Rachol walked down the hall to Kiara's room. He pounded on the

door, using the wood as a good scapegoat for his mood.

"Come in."

Rachol heard the tears in her voice and hesitated, all the anger draining out of him. He'd

always been a fool for a crying woman. Clenching his teeth, he opened the door.

Curled up into a small ball on the bed, she looked about as pitiful as anything he had ever

seen, and he had seen a lot of misery growing up on the streets. He cleared his throat of

the strange emotions gathered there to choke him. "I need to get some blankets or a

sleeping bag or something."

With a sniff, she wiped the tears from her face. "Are you staying over tonight?"

He nodded.

She came to her feet and went to a closet across the room from him. Against his normal

code to enter no one's threshold without an invitation, Rachol crossed the room.

Kiara handed him a pile of blankets and two pillows. "Nykyrian never asked for any," she whispered, her voice laced with more tears and agony than he could stand.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't ask for much, period, besides he doesn't usually sleep with

covers."

Glumly, she nodded her head.

Rachol cursed under his breath. "Don't look at me with those doleful eyes. Geez, you

remind me of a condemned man in court."

Tears fell down her cheeks. Rachol groaned and dropped the blankets. "C'mon," he said, leading her back to her bed. "Tell me what happened."

She gave him a startled, hurt look.

Rachol felt like a louse as he sat down on the mattress. Hell, he hadn't done anything

wrong, why should he feel awful? "Kip wanted me to tell you he was sorry for whatever

he said. Knowing him, it was probably something brutal, but don't take it to your soul.

When he's wounded, he's as snappish as a wild lorina."

Kiara's wide amber eyes watched him. Tears sparkled on her dark lashes. "What

happened tonight?" she asked in a baleful whisper. "How did he get hurt?"

His anger built as he remembered their mission. Coming to his feet, Rachol paced beside

her bed. "We went to meet with an informant. Unfortunately, some of Bredeh's dogs beat

us to him. By the time we got there, the bastards had taken the guy's kid as hostage."

Needing to vent some of his anger, he slammed his fist into the wall. Pain erupted

through his knuckles, numbing his hand, but it didn't help ease the ache in his conscience.

"Rachol?"

He couldn't mistake the fear in Kiara's voice as she stared at him with widened eyes.

"Sorry," he said in a half humble apology. "I just get so damned angry about life and how it plays that ..." His voice trailed off. He sighed wearily. "They killed the kid's dad right in front of him."

"Rachol, I'm sorry." Kiara left the bed and headed for him.

Rachol backed away and shook his head. "Don't touch me," he said, sidestepping her.

She held her hand to her mouth and appeared to be fighting off another round of tears.

"That's what Nykyrian said."

He nodded in understanding. "We're not really ogres," Rachol said, wondering why he

bothered to explain anything to her.

She returned to her bed and sat cross-legged. Her large, pain-filled amber eyes stared at

him. "You just don't like to be touched."

"Exactly."

Her sobs racked her body and wrenched his soul. "Hey now, don't do that," he said,

raking his hand through his hair. "Have pity on me, I can't stand a weeping female."

She clutched her pillow to her stomach and cried as if her heart were breaking. "But why, why can't I touch him, why can't I touch you?"

Rachol stood for a moment, trying to think of someway to make her understand. His gaze

drifted to the shelf beside the door and the
griata
statuettes that lined it. Moving to them, he took one off the shelf.

"Here," he said, handing it to her. "Tell me what you see."

She looked at him as if he were crazed. "It's just one of my— "

"No, I mean really look at it."

He watched her graceful fingers play across the hard planes of the little boy standing

beside his dog.

"When you hold it," he explained, "It's sharp, cold, and we both know
griata
is one of the hardest substances in existence."

She nodded, a tiny smile playing across her lips as she realized his point. "It's also the most brittle. One wrong hit on the wrong side and it crumbles into pieces."

Rachol turned away from her. "So nature has given
griata
a tiny shell that covers it to keep it safe. Before you can claim the treasure, you have to carefully remove the shield."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, reminding him of a little girl he knew a

long time ago. "Part of your shell is not touching," she whispered.

"You got it. It's easy to stay distant if you don't rely on anyone for anything, including creature comforts like touching."

She cast him a doubting look. "Are you really that jaded?"

He shrugged. "I'm a lot more brittle than Kip. All things given proper credit, my life has been a hell of a lot easier than his. Instead of a
griata
, he's more like a
torna
."

"What's a
torna
?"

"It's a rare flower grown on Ritadaria. If you try to pick the blossom, the leaves wrap

around you and strangle you to death."

Horrified by his words, she stared at him.

He shrugged. "You asked." Stooping, he retrieved the blankets from the floor. "I hate blankets," he muttered, leaving her alone to dwell on his words.

* * *

Nykyrian woke first.

Quietly, he stepped over Rachol's sleeping body, his glasses forgotten. The pain in his

side had ebbed to a dull ache, a sad reminder of the life lost last night by a moment of

carelessness. He clenched his teeth thinking of the informant, blaming himself for the

whole affair.

As he reached the bathroom door, Kiara's door opened. Before he could think to avert his

eyes, she saw them.

Kiara's mouth dropped. The eyes staring at her were nothing like she had imagined. They

were clear and the lightest, prettiest shade of green with just a hint of a brown band

around the edge of the iris.

His eyes were human and beautiful.

Her throat tightened in happiness. Those eyes gave her the first true glimpse of his soul.

In them, she saw all the mistrust, anger and bitterness. She felt as if she were seeing him

naked. Kiara ached to take him into her arms and soothe away all the pain swirling in

those magnificent eyes.

Biting her lip, she shifted her gaze to take in his entire face. There, she had no surprise.

He was every bit as handsome as she'd suspected.

He blinked and looked away, seemingly embarrassed. "I'm sorry about what I said last

night," he whispered, meeting her gaze for a moment to show her his sincerity before he

looked away again.

She cleared her throat of the sudden thrill that choked her from his apology. "Rachol told me. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have hit you, it was wrong."

He shrugged and moved into the bathroom.

Kiara trembled in her newfound knowledge. Without his glasses, he wasn't a fearsome

phantom to haunt her dreams. He was a mortal man who could be wounded and loved.

She gasped at her thoughts. Love? That's not what she wanted from him. Was it?