Dark Angel; The Chosen; Soulmate (53 page)

He had opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but when she got to ‘I don't need you,' he suddenly shut it. When she finished, he looked away, across the shortgrass prairie.

“And maybe that's best,” he said almost inaudibly.

“For you to keep away?”

“For you to hate me.” He looked at her again. Hannah had never seen eyes like that before. They were impossibly distant and shattered and still… like the peace after a war that killed everyone.

“Hannah, I came to tell you that I
am
going away,” he went on. His voice was like his eyes, bloodless and quenched. “I'm going home. I won't bother you again. And you're right; you don't need me. You can live a long and happy life without me.”

If he expected her to be impressed, she wasn't. She wouldn't believe words from him anymore.

“There's just one thing.” He hesitated. “Before I go, would you let me look at you? At your neck. I want to make sure that”—another fleeting hesitation—“that I didn't hurt you when I attacked you.”

Hannah laughed again, a short, sharp bark of a laugh. “How stupid do you think I am? I mean,
really.
” She laughed again and heard an edge of hysteria in it. “If you want to do something for me, you can turn around and
go.
Go away forever.”

“I will.” There was so much strain on his face. “I promise. I'm just worried about you getting indoors before you faint.”

“I can take care of myself. I don't need any help from you.” Hannah was feeling dizzier by the minute, but she tried not to let it show. “If you would just leave, I'll be fine.”

In fact, she knew she wasn't going to be fine. The gray spots were swarming in front of her eyes again. She was going to pass out soon.

Then I'd better start for Chess's, she thought. It was insanity to turn her back on him, but it was worse insanity to stand here until she collapsed at his feet.

“I'm leaving now,” she said, trying to sound clear and precise and unlike someone who was about to fall over unconscious. “And I don't want you to follow me.”

She turned and started walking.

I will not faint, I will not faint, she told herself grimly. She swung her stick and tried to take deep breaths of the cool night air. But tufts of grass seemed to be trying to trip her up with every step and the entire landscape seemed to rock every time she looked up.

I… will… not… faint. She knew her life depended on it. The ground seemed rubbery now, as if her feet were sinking into it and then rebounding. And where was the light that marked Chess's house? It had somehow gotten over to the right of her. She corrected her course and stumbled on.

I will not faint….

And then her legs simply melted. She didn't
have
legs. The rest of her fell slowly toward the ground. Hannah managed to break her fall with her arms. Then everything was still and dark.

She didn't go out completely. She was floating in darkness, feeling woozy even though she was lying down, when she sensed someone beside her.

No, she thought. Get the stick. He'll bite you; he'll kill you.

But she couldn't move. Her hand wouldn't obey her.

She felt a gentle hand brush her hair off her face.

No…

Then a touch on her neck. But it was only gentle fingers, running lightly over the skin where she'd been bitten tonight. They felt like a doctor's fingers, exploring to diagnose. She heard a sigh that sounded like relief, and then the fingers trailed away.

“You'll be all right.” Thierry's voice came to her softly. She realized he didn't think she could hear him. He thought she was unconscious. “‘As long as you stay away from vampires for the next week.”

Was that a threat? Hannah didn't understand. She braced herself for the piercing pain of teeth.

Then she felt him touch her again, just his fingertips brushing her face. The touch was so immeasurably gentle. So tender.

No,
Hannah thought. She wanted to move, to kick him away. But she couldn't.

And those delicate fingers were moving on, tracing her features one by one. With the lightest of touches that sent helpless chills through her.

I hate you, Hannah thought.

The touch followed the curve of her eyebrow, trailed down her cheek to her birthmark. Hannah shivered inwardly. It sketched the line of her jaw, then moved to her lips.

The skin was so sensitive here. Thierry's fingers traced the outline of her lips, the join between upper and lower. The chills became a fluttering inside Hannah. Her heart swelled with love and longing.

I won't feel this way. I
hate
you….

But a voice was whispering in her mind, a voice she hadn't heard in what seemed like a long time. A crystal voice, soft but ringing.

Feel him. Does this feel like that other one? Sense him. Does he smell the same, sound the same…?

Hannah didn't know what to make of the words and didn't want to. She just wanted Thierry to stop.

The fingers brushed over her eyelashes, thumb stroking over the fragile skin of her eyelids as if to keep them shut. Then she felt him bend closer.

No, no, no….

Warm lips touched her forehead. Again, just the barest touch. Then they were gone.

“Goodbye, Hannah,” Thierry whispered.

Hannah felt herself lifted. She was being carried in strong gentle arms, moving swiftly and smoothly.

It was harder for her to stay conscious than it had been before. She had a strange feeling of tranquillity, of security. But she fought to open her eyes just a crack.

She wanted to see his hands. She didn't think there had been enough time for the pencil wound to heal completely.

If
the pencil wound was there.

But her eyes wouldn't open—not until she felt herself being lowered and placed on solid ground. Then she managed to lift heavy eyelids and dart a glance at his hands.

There were no marks.

The knowledge burned through her—but she didn't have any strength left. She felt her eyes lapsing shut again. Dimly, very far away, she could hear the faint echo of a doorbell.

Then a soft voice in her head.
You don't have to be afraid anymore. I'm going away—and so is
she.

Don't go. Wait. I have to talk to you. I have to ask you…

But she could feel cold air all around her and she knew he was gone.

A moment later she heard the door open, and the sound of Chess's mother gasping. She was on the Clovises' doorstep. People were shaking her, talking to her.

Hannah wasn't interested in any of it. She let the darkness take her.

It was when she let go completely that she began to dream. She was Hana of the Three Rivers and she was seeing the end of her own life.

She saw the bruised and bloody figure of Thierry rising up to kill his torturers. She felt it as her turn came. She looked up and saw his savage face, saw the animal light in his eyes. She felt her life flow away.

Then she saw the end of the story. The glimpse of the corridor through time, the recognition of her soulmate. The forgiveness and the promise.

And then just shadows. But Hannah slept peacefully in the shadows until morning, unafraid.

The first thing Hannah saw when she woke up was a pair of glowing green cat-eyes looking down at her.

“How do you feel?” Chess asked.

She was lying in Chess's bed. Sunlight was streaming in the window.

“I… can't tell yet,” Hannah said. Disjointed images were floating in her head, not quite forming a whole picture.

“We found you last night,” Chess said. “You ran your dad's car off the road, but you managed to make it here before you collapsed.”

“Oh… yeah. I remember.” She
did
remember; the pieces of the puzzle suddenly clicked together. Maya. Thierry. The attack. The car. Thierry again. And finally her dream. Her own voice saying, “I forgive you.”

And now he was gone. He'd gone home, wherever home was.

She had never felt so confused.

“Hannah, what
happened
? Are you sick? We didn't know whether to take you to a hospital last night or what. But you didn't have a fever and you seemed to be breathing fine—so my mom said you could just sleep a while.”

“I'm not sick.” This was the time to tell Chess everything. After all, that was the reason she'd been running to Chess in the first place last night.

But now… now in the bright morning light, she didn't want to tell Chess. It wasn't just that it might put Chess in danger, either from Thierry or the Night World in general. It was that Hannah didn't
need
to talk about it; she could cope on her own. It wasn't Chess's problem.

And I don't even know the truth yet, Hannah thought. But
that
is going to change.

“Hannah, are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah. I'm sorry. And I'm okay; I felt kind of dizzy last night, but now I'm better. Can I use your phone?”

“Can you
what
?”

“I have to call Paul—you know, the psychologist. I need to see him, fast.”

She jumped up, steadied herself against a brief wave of giddiness, and walked past Chess, who was watching her in bewilderment.

“No,” Paul said. “No, it's absolutely out of the question.” He waved his hands, then patted his pockets nervously, coming up empty.

“Paul, please. I
have
to do this. And if you won't help me, I'll try it on my own. I think self-hypnosis should work. I've been doing a pretty good job of dreaming the past lately, anyway.”

“It's… too… dangerous.” Paul said each word separately, then sank into his chair, hands at his temples. “Don't you
remember
what happened the last time?”

Hannah felt sorry for him. But she said ruthlessly, “If I do it on my own, it may be even more dangerous. Right? At least if you hypnotize me you can be there to wake me up. You can throw a glass of water in my face again.”

He looked up sharply. “Oh, yeah? And what if it doesn't work this time?”

Hannah dropped her eyes. Then she raised them and looked at Paul directly. “I don't know,” she admitted quietly. “But I've still got to try. I have to know the truth. If I don't, I really think I may go insane.” She didn't say it melodramatically. It was a simple statement of fact.

Paul groaned. Then he grabbed a pen and started chewing on it, glancing around the room. “What is it that you would want to know? Just presuming that I agreed to help you.” His voice sounded squashed.

Hannah felt a surge of relief. “I want to know about this woman who keeps warning me,” she said. “Her name is Maya. And I want to know how I die in my other lives.”

“Oh, terrific. That sounds like fun.”

“I
have
to do it.” She took a deep breath. She wouldn't let herself look away from him, even though she could feel the warmth as her eyes filled. “Look, I know you don't understand. And I can't explain to you how important it is to me. But it is… important.”

There was a silence, then Paul said, “All right. All right. But only because I think it's safer for you to be with somebody.”

Hannah whispered, “Thank you.”

Then she blinked and unfolded a piece of paper. “I wrote down some questions for you to ask me.”

“Great. Wonderful. I'm sure you'll be getting your degree in psychology soon.” But he took the paper.

Hannah walked over to the couch and got herself settled. She shut her eyes, telling her muscles to relax.

“Okay,” Paul said. His voice was very slightly unsteady, but Hannah could tell he was trying to make it soothing. “I want you to imagine a beautiful violet light…”

She was sixteen and her name was Ha-nahkt. She was a virgin priestess dedicated to the goddess Isis.

She was wearing a fine linen shift that fell from her waist to her ankles. Above the waist, she wore nothing except a deep silver collar strung with beads of amethyst, carnelian, turquoise, and lapis lazuli. There were two silver bracelets on her upper arms and two on her wrists.

Morning was her favorite time.

This morning she carefully placed her offering in front of the statue of Isis. Lotus blossoms, small cakes, and beer. Then, facing south, she began the chant to wake the goddess up.

“Awaken, Isis, Mother of the Stars,
Great of Magic,
Mistress of all the World,
Sovereign of her father,

Mightier than the gods,
Lady of the Waters of Life,
Powerful of Heart,
Isis of the Ten Thousand Names…”

A step sounded behind her and she broke off short, feeling startled and annoyed.

“I'm sorry. Did I disturb you?”

It was a woman, a beautiful woman with long black hair.

“You're not allowed in here,” Ha-nahkt said sharply. “Only priests and priestesses…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at the woman more closely. Maybe she
is
a priestess, she thought. There's something in her face….

“I just want to talk to you,” the woman said. Her voice was husky and persuasive, almost mesmerizing. “It's very important.” She smiled and Ha-nahkt felt hairs stir at the back of her neck.

If she's a priestess, I bet she's a priestess of Set. Set was the most evil of all the gods—and one of the most powerful. Hanahkt could sense power in this woman, no question about that. But evil? She wasn't sure.

“My name is Maya. And what I have to tell you may save your life.”

Ha-nahkt stood still. Part of her wanted to run from Maya, to go and get her best friend Khet-hetepes. Or, better yet, one of the senior priestesses. But another part of her was curious.

“I really shouldn't stop in the middle of the chant,” she began.

“It's about the stranger.”

Ha-nahkt lost her breath.