Darkside Sun (22 page)

“Did the founder tell you that?”

“His name is Izan, and no, it’s just common sense. I think most of what’s in the bible is a lie, and it’s up to you and me to sort out the truth from the deceptions. And as for my energy, I’ll figure that out on my own. I’m going with you, and that’s final.”

He raised his hand toward my face, the movements shaky. The needful look in his eyes sent a new surge of heat through me, stalled my breath in my throat, especially since only a towel separated my nakedness from his hard body. It wasn’t anger or annoyance that stared at me, but the same longing Remy pointed at Sophia. “No,” he said.

Where, oh where, had all the air gone?

Time held its breath, and once again the beating heart pressed down on me. I got a mental image of a box down deep in my center. Not a physical box, but my mind interpreted it that way as Izan sprang another slideshow on me. When Izan slipped out of me again, I had the answer to my energy issue.

But how could I impress upon Asher that I wasn’t dicking around? You know what they say about a picture’s worth? In this case, I thought touch might go further. It wasn’t wrong. I grabbed his bare wrist, the one he held near my chin.

The room flashed. He went to his knees, mouth open in a silent scream. Those delicate glowing tattoos covered both of us, spreading out across the floor, up the walls and the ceiling, until everything turned blue, that alien shade I had no name for. Panic rose for a moment, that I’d made a terrible mistake and we’d soon start bleeding out of our ears, but pleasure drowned out the initial discomfort. God, it felt good, like that rush after a massive sneeze, only times a gazillion.

My energy roared around me like a whirlpool in the ocean, so large and deep it could drown the northern hemisphere. While Asher struggled in my grasp, I forced my power into the box inside of me. Energy kept pouring in and in until I thought the box would come apart, but it didn’t. It just kept swallowing until the ocean was gone.

Discomfort didn’t cover it. I had sudden sympathy for a subway car at rush hour, only I was trying to fit half of the world’s population inside my chest.

When the light show faded, I ended up on my knees before him, still holding his wrist. He blinked at me. Our tattoos faded and disappeared. Breath heaved in and out of us.

“I felt your storm leave you, like a tide receding.” He brought his other hand up and touched my face, a quick dart of fingers before pulling them back. Again, he came in, sliding his fingers against my cheek. It was just a hand this time, warm and gentle. Tingles surged through my flesh, unhinging my bones.

“How … Even I can’t suppress it this much,” he said, sighing, and rubbed his hands against his fatigues. “You shouldn’t have been able to do that. It took me years to control mine.”

My heart took a long walk off a short peer. “Why shouldn’t I? Because I’m a small-town, redneck plaid-lover?” Cinching my towel tighter around my boobs, I climbed to my feet and went to the door. “Is touching me so disgusting to you that you can’t even wait until I’m gone before wiping me off on your pants? God, you just can’t go five seconds without insulting me, can you? I’m getting dressed, and then I’m going to get my books. I don’t need you.”

I did, since I didn’t know where my hometown was, but it still felt good to throw that empty threat at him.

I stalked off, throat tight. I would not cry over him again. He was a king-kamaya ass. So why did I still want to go back and roll around on him like a naked hussy on a silk sheet? Why did I want to hug him and tell him that we’d figure everything out? Why did his constant jabs cut so deep? I supposed giving my crazy a purpose didn’t make me any less crazy. Because only someone certifiable would have any desire to get physical with that horrible excuse for a man.

I needed to forget my insane attraction to Asher Green and do what I was born to do—not that I knew exactly what that was yet, but I would eventually.

First stop on the crazy train: get my books back and learn how to hunt me some wraiths. The Misgiver had put rules in place so that none of the guardians knew a thing about one another, other than the one person who held their baseline. Which meant one of them hadn’t shared his or her past with another in the chamber. How could I find out who it was? Watching them all had gained me exactly nothing, since I had nothing to measure it against. I needed a look under their hoods.

Chapter 25

I raided the giant warehouse-closet for a cream V-neck sweater and a pair of jeans in my size. And found one whole pair. Yay me. No plaid shirts, though. An entire freaking warehouse of clothes, and not a speck of plaid or flannel to be found. I’d have to talk to Sophia about that.

I didn’t usually wear sweaters, but after Asher’s parting comments, I was cold and couldn’t seem to get warm. My box continued to hold my power, but like a fist I’d been holding too long, I ached to set it free again. My pride kept it inside, though. Success is the best revenge, so they say. Not that I really cared what he thought. I didn’t.

I’d have given almost anything to talk it all out with Dad. He could cut through my mental chaos better than anyone. I needed comfort, and I didn’t trust anyone other than him to give it to me. What was he doing? Had he forgotten me temporarily, too? That didn’t make sense unless Asher had cleaned my pictures and such out of the house. I hoped Dad wasn’t freaking out, thinking I was lost in South America on that fake dig since I hadn’t so much as sent him a text.

I returned to my room to get the storage locker key and found my door slightly ajar. I froze, staring at that fine line of light showing between the jam and the metal. Who would have gone in my room?

Asher.

The key!

I whipped the door open, then dug into my pillow case where I’d hidden my treasure. When I couldn’t find it, I yanked the pillow out and shook it free of the case.

“Asher!” I raced back down the hallway into the main one with all of the metal doors. My heart gave a harsh roundhouse against my breast bone at the thought of losing the books again before I’d even been able to see them.

Voices filtered out from the common room. Asher and Sophia. I ran faster, bursting into the room. He stood there, arms crossed, talking conspiratorially close to Sophia.

“Where’s my goddamn key?” I asked, glad I’d done enough running that I no longer panted after a burst like that.

He traced me up and down, one brow raised with a masculine sort of elegance only he could pull off. Annoyance, appraisal, amusement, it was all in that subtle movement. “In my possession, where it belongs.”

“The books are somewhere safe.” Sophia moved away from Asher, darting glances in his direction. He’d already gone to get them? “I saw your Dad give you the key, and heard where he said they were. Sorry, Addison, but I kind of agreed with Asher, that he needed to get the books for you.”

“You told her?” I asked, shock plain in my voice. “How could you … what if …?”
Dammit.

“She’s not the traitor,” he said. “She’s one of only a few I trust in all of the Machine.”

“You know about that? And why aren’t you surprised that I know?” I hadn’t mentioned it, had I? No, definitely not.

“What, you think you’re the only one looking beyond what the eye can see?” Could he hear Izan inside his head, too? No, Izan said only I could hear him. “And I’m not surprised you know, because I get the feeling this is why Izan wanted you here now. He’s giving you urges to do things and go places, isn’t he?”

“He tells and shows me stuff inside my head.” I winced, wondering if I should have told them that.

Sophia gripped her hips, staring at me as if I’d just dissed her fashion sense. “You thought I betrayed everyone? Gee, thanks.”

“I didn’t want it to be you,” I muttered, turning back to Asher. “I need to know how you know about this. And how do you know Sophia isn’t … you know? I mean, I want to believe, and I really mean I don’t want it to be her, but I need to know why you’re so sure.”

“He really speaks to you?” he asked. If the crease in his forehead went any deeper it would press on his brain.

“Yeah. Now answer my question.”

“The Shift leads me places where I’ve found … things. I put two and two together and figured out something is amiss.” Glancing at Sophia, he added, “I needed to trust someone. She agreed to let me do a baseline a few years ago so I’d know all she knew. She’s who she says she is. Born fifty-two years ago, after the massacre.”

I puffed out a breath. “You have no idea how relieved I am.” Going to Sophia, who continued to glare at me, I said, “Look, I’m sorry. He told me not to trust anyone. Forgive me?”

I wanted to ask her if she knew when her birthday was or had phantom images of her parents like I had of Dad. Her face gave away nothing. Were her memories in there, lost in a fog like mine? Or were they just plain gone, and she only had a few details that Asher was able to pick up?

She opened her mouth to say something, but Asher said, “Things to do, Plaid. Save your sentimental drivel for later. We’re going.”

I knifed him with a glare, but saved my breath. I’d have had better luck talking to my shoe. “To get my books from wherever you stashed them?”

“No.” He started for the door.

I crossed my arms. “Nuh-uh. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You’re not going anywhere
without
me, you mean.” He wore a grin I didn’t understand, part menace and part humor. “You will not leave my sight again until you’ve proven you can defend yourself.”

“I’ve already proven I can defend myself. I thought the fat lip I gave you would have been evidence enough.” The ache to touch him had been manageable when he stayed away, but how could I be with him all the time and not go crazy with my urges?

He tried very hard to crush me with those pools of ice he stared out of. “Gun range.” Whispers-in-the-dark. “Now.”

I’d much rather he yelled at me than that scary-ass growl. “Fine. I still won’t shoot anyone.”

“March.” He held the door open.

I marched. Scowled. Cussed under my breath. He followed after me like a silent wave of pissed-off.

“Freakin’ waste of time. How can you know something’s wrong with the Machine and not know it isn’t about bullets? I’ve been here … like, what … weeks, and I know it. Hell, I’ve always known violence didn’t solve anything. They tell you that in kindergarten. At least, in my era, they do. And you still didn’t really explain what ‘things’ Izan led you to that made you think we had a traitor among us.”

His shoes stopped tapping the tile behind me. I peered over my shoulder, half expecting him to clobber me, but he stood in front of one of the always-locked doors wearing that grin again, posing like a
GQ
cover model, one knee slightly bent, one elbow propped against the open door. “You’re getting bolder. I like it.”

My inner hussy swooned as I surveyed every sleek line of his muscular body, studied how his shirt hugged his chest and shoulders. I wanted to climb him like a jungle gym and … wait, why was he just standing there letting me ogle him when he normally discouraged any thoughts in that direction? Oh, wait just a damn minute. “Are you really trying to flirt with me? What, you go all sex and candy on me and think I’ll just forget about the question you haven’t answered yet?”

He only smiled brighter and thrust his finger toward the door. “Inside.”

“We’re back to one-word demands now? Fantastic.” I marched to him and through the door without sparing him a glance. Nobody had ever confused me as much as he did. My blood rushed hot to my right side, nearest him, as it did that day in his office. Had I been sensing his storm even then? Was that what he felt when touching me? Ah, hell, who cared?

I stared at a room about the same size as the training warehouse. On the side nearest to me, stalls were set up with divider walls. Industrial ear muffs hung from a rack to my right. A cable with clips ran from the top of each stall down to a backdrop where I imagined you could clip a target and roll it down there to shoot at. Just like in the movies.

A funny smell tickled my nose, that acrid, oily scent that lingered after a gun went off. I’d gone hunting enough with Dad to recognize it. I’d never shot anything, but I liked being out in the woods if I didn’t think too hard that Dad was there to kill
Bambi’s
mom.

“I don’t like guns,” I said.

“Like them or don’t, it’s your choice.” He moved up to one of the shooting stalls and set a small black handgun on the counter there. “This is a Glock 26, nine millimeter, with a modified grip for your delicate hands. This clip holds ten rounds, and the mechanisms are fairly simple.”

I looked at the gun. I looked at him, my lip curling up. “So what, I shoot a couple of bull’s-eyes and you take me to wherever you stashed my books? Which is where?”

He rolled his eyes. “They’re in another protected part of the Shift. Prove to me you can handle this gun, from how to work the safety, to switching out the clip, describing the parts in detail, cleaning, shooting from every position, and I’ll consider taking you out of this facility. One does not simply step up and shoot a bull’s-eye the first time.” He beckoned me forward with a curl of his finger. “Come here, Plaid.”

A funny feeling whizzed over my stomach. It was a good feeling.
Dammit
. How did his calling me that give me warm fuzzies? Because it wasn’t as cold as when he called me “Initiate,” or worse, didn’t bother to address me at all. Human beings were so weird. If I was still one. That was up for debate.

He curled his finger again. “There’s nothing to fear. I’ll teach you.”

I shivered at the dark look he gave me, not anger this time, but … what? “Nothing to fear, he says. It’s not the gun that’s the threat in this room, and we both know it. Not to mention the last time you were supposed to teach me something … well … you know how that went.”

He glared at me, one of those slicing-dicing stares that made me hope for a spontaneous sinkhole to open up and eat me. “Pick up the gun,” he said, stepping aside so I faced the shooting alley.

I wrapped my right fingers around the gun. It was cold and heavier than I’d thought something so small should be. It fit in my hand as if designed for it. A pistol made for small hands. How wrong was that? Not that I thought women weren’t capable of using guns, but to make a gun so small a kid could use it should have been against the rules. Like making cigarettes in flavors like vanilla and chocolate.
Look at how small and harmless this is.
Want to ice somebody, little girl?

Asher stepped in behind me. Heat and buzzing energy massaged my back. With my own energy quiet, I was suddenly very aware of his nearness and his own power surging within the confines of his control. It beckoned mine to reach out to his and … do what? Something hot and explosive.

He reached his right arm along mine, hesitating, close but not quite touching. He hovered like that until I said, “Asher?” hating the soft whisper of my voice.

Clearing his throat, he disappeared for a moment, returning with gloves on. He wrapped his fingers around mine where they were curled around the gun. Million-volt tingles swept across my skin even through the leather. His other hand slid along my left arm, cupping around my free hand and placing it around my other fingers just beneath the trigger guard. His heat crawled along my spine at the press of his body against mine.

“Two-handed like this is steadier for beginners. Use the left to steady the gun, the right to move it enough to line up the sights.” He spoke so close to my ear I could not only hear the low, almost intimate quality of his voice, but also feel the vibration of it in my bones. The coconut scent of his lip balm filled my nose and made me sigh inside my head. Thank hell he couldn’t hear it.

I swallowed, turning toward him. I wanted to brush my cheek against the roughness of that shadow beard. My imagination painted the picture for me, and my body responded with a coil of heat around my thighs. Just like in the chamber, he was so real and touchable, so warm. I wanted to drink him up and feel vibrantly alive again, to run my hands up the strong planes of his back and feel his breath against my ear as his pulse quickened.

What would it be like if I could open my box and let my storm go without him fighting it? Spectacular is what it would be. Not just physical pleasure, but healing and bonding that went beyond my current understanding. We wouldn’t hurt each other no matter how long we were tangled in the other’s arms, surrounded by our mingled energy. I’d never been so sure about anything.

“Did you hear me? Earth to Plaid. Pay attention. I’m not showing you the same thing twice.”

“Then you need to stop touching me,” I said, or wheezed more like it. Oh, no, no, no. I did not say that out loud. “I mean, I’m not twelve. Just tell me what to do, already.”

He hesitated, his hands sliding along my arms before he stepped back. It took every ounce of self-control not to back up into him again. Or to turn and see if touching me had affected him at all. Nah. “Line up the sight at the end of the barrel between the notched piece, then pull the trigger slowly,” he said. Taking the muffs from the wall, he put them over my ears.

Why did he sound winded? I glanced over my shoulder, but his expression told me nothing. “Aiming for what? There’s no target.” I probably shouted it. I tended to do that wearing anything over my ears.

“It doesn’t matter,” he shouted back. “I just want you to get used to the feeling of the gun going off in your hands. It’ll jerk a bit, so hold on to it.”

We haven’t time for this. He must take you hunting wraiths now. Tonight.
Izan’s voice flitted through my head.
Do you trust me?

I jumped a little, and Asher made a scoffing sound behind me. “In theory,” I said. “What do you have in mind? What about my books?”

“What are you talking about?” Asher shouted, drawing my focus over my shoulder to him.

Crap
. I shouldn’t have said that out loud. “Nothing.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Squeeze off a shot.”

The knowledge in the pages can wait until tomorrow. Do not fight me, child,
Izan said in my head again.
Let me guide you.

I nodded, unsure if he could see it. The great beating heart rolled up from my deep places. I moved the gun without meaning to. Izan was moving me somehow. My instinct wanted to force him out, like something caught between my teeth, though this guy was caught between my soul and my body, but I let him drop my arms. “Give me something to shoot at.”