Icarus; The Kindred (A Paranormal Romance) (18 page)

Jace seems at a complete loss for words. He's not sure what to say. He can't fathom how to say it. I know, because I've been there.

I can at least try to explain while he regroups his thoughts, "Perhaps right now isn't the best time to talk about this."

Quinn's face falls. "Jacelynd, tell me you haven't done something stupid."

Blake looks between Quinn and Jacelynd, then back to me. "Jessi?"

Jacelynd closes his eyes briefly; a flash of pain crosses his face before he opens his eyes again. "I cannot undo the past, not mine or anyone else's. So I will do what I must to harness the damage that has come as a result of my family's decisions."

Blake, usually the quiet one, is in tears now. "Will do? You've already done something! This involves all of us, why wouldn't you tell us? What have you done?"

Jacelynd nods respectfully. "My sincere apologies for that, Blake. I had hoped to keep you—all of you—unaware of my commitments until it became necessary."

I've never been good at these long, drawn-out, painfully tense scenarios where everyone tries their hardest to not say what needs to be said. "Jacelynd made a deal with the guardians at the gate and traded his immortal soul in exchange for the powers he has now. But, everyone just chill out, this isn't the end of the story."

No one says anything. In fact, no one seems to comprehend what I've just said. They all stare either at the floor or each other in quiet fear.

"Hello! Jacelynd just saved Mr. Temper's life, we still have Death Dealers trying to kill us— or me, but whatever—and this is not a sure thing. How many laws in physics are not all that absolute?" I don't ask this question to anyone specifically, but Liv suddenly takes a book off of the shelf and lets it fall with a loud whack to the floor.I know what she intended with this. She meant to show me that gravity is absolute. "Okay, but you can't tell me you're all just giving up? Did you give up on me? No, or obviously I wouldn't be here now. I'm the sarcastic ass, and you guys want me to be the one who keeps the faith?"

Clearly they do. Blake and Quinn excuse themselves, while Liv quietly begins to pick up the mess. Mr. Temper and a now-conscious Mrs. Temper leave to get changed and most likely to spend a few moments being grateful to be alive. I am left standing awkwardly alone with Jacelynd. He says absolutely nothing in response to my inspiring speech.

"Okay then," I mutter and turn to walk back into the kitchen. Debris is literally everywhere: broken dishes, eggs in places that won't ever scrape clean and in spite of it all, the coffee pot is still on and untouched on the counter. I sigh as I bend down and sift through the shattered wood and debris. I find that my coffee cup is in a few pieces, but there is enough of it left—so I take it over to the coffee maker and pour myself some coffee. No sense in dirtying another dish.

The chairs have been obliterated and I don't feel like going anywhere else, so I sit down on the floor where my chair had once been, my legs crossed and take a good long sip. I hear myself moan, out of irritation or coffee-induced ecstasy—who cares which. At least I think the moan is coming from me until I spy one of the goons that I thought I'd already taken care of. He is lying in a discarded heap near my right foot.

"Resilient little bugger." I lean up and note the table leg protruding from his mid-section. "Wow. That looks painful." I grin and prop my feet up on his shoulders. I take another leisurely sip.

He groans again and makes a sad attempt to move. I lift my legs, allowing him to get as far as couple of inches before repositioning my feet back on his back.

"Who sent you?" I ask offhandedly, sloshing the coffee in my sort-of-still-a-coffee cup. He doesn't answer me, and when I look closer I realize his mouth has a rather unfortunate wound. Hence all the moaning.

"Hmm. Well, why don't we play a little game? I'll say a name and you can indicate whether it's your boss or not. Sound good? Good. Lord Tristan?" He doesn't make any sounds at all, but this doesn't surprise me. My lovely ex-lover has a plethora of titles.

"Trinity?"

Nothing.

"The Seer Cleric?"

Still nothing.

"Damn it, work with me here. Big Bird … Your mother … No?" Now, I'm just being pissy. "Fine … Iris?"

He groans. And my pout fades.

"Oscar the Grouch?"

Nothing.

"Iris?"

He groans again.

"Damn it!" There isn't any way she could have known enough to send out Death Dealers prior to Callmadus blowing up, which means only one thing: she survived the blast. And … there is a world-dominating bastard number two. Who knew? And what the hell is she doing in power over forces like these?

The kitchen door that leads into the garage creaks open and a familiar face waltzes in like he owns the place.

"How do I always miss all the fun?" he asks. "Who's your new footstool?"

"Oran?" I have some words for this guy, considering how many conversations over the years I had with him and he said nothing about who I really was.

"No. My apologies. Oran is my twin. I was impersonating him the last time we spoke. I'm Nicodemus. You and I have actually never met before. I left to join the Rebellion a few years ago. When Jacelynd found out my brother was in Lord Tristan's employ, he contacted me. I've been on standby for a few months."

I'd wondered. Oran was more faithful than most. "Is Oran dead?"

Nicodemus shakes his head. "No, no. He might wish he was, but he's being well cared for by a secure faction of the Rebellion. He'll come around. I did."

"You had a little help, as I recall," Jacelynd says from behind me.

Nicodemus bows. "My liege. It appears I came too late. Is everything all right?"

My new buddy groans and I kick him with my heel, smiling at the boys. "Yup, peachy."

"Has he given up anything?" Nicodemus asks.

Any prayer of living through this, his dignity and probably whatever he was holding in his bladder.
"Sort of," I say.

Nicodemus bends down and lifts the guy's sleeve to reveal a series of circular markings. "He's pretty high up."

"Not anymore," I say darkly. This actually does explain why he is still breathing.

Nicodemus points to the scars. "Each scar is equivalent to an assassin's ranks, or something close. This guy would be the equivalent of a master assassin."

"Did Oran tell you nothing about me?" I ask. "Or did you see all the pictures at Trinity's estate and figure I was little more than a bloodsucking trophy wife? Death Dealers aren't new to me."

Jacelynd leans over my shoulder wordlessly, a question forming on his lips.

"Relax. His love for partying apparently hasn't changed much over the centuries. I was forced to pose for more than a couple candids."

Nicodemus remarks reservedly, "Oran spoke highly of you, but through his cursing at me I couldn't glean much more than just the basics. I take it you were an assassin, then?"

I nod.

"You would have made master eventually, I'm sure," he says sweetly.

Jacelynd clears his throat before making the correction. "She's Covenant, Nico. Has been for a while now."

Nico looks around at the kitchen with new eyes. "Ah, so Jace, you weren't responsible for this?"

Jace pats me on the back. "Nope, didn't even know it was happening." The way he says this leads me to believe he thinks I should have called to him mentally.

"Sorry. Next time I'm getting my ass handed to me, I'll be sure to call for my naked husband to come running down the stairs to my defense." I smirk. "In all seriousness, there was no need to alarm you. Wet towels are totally useless against Death Dealers."

Nico laughs, but Jacelynd, for whatever unimaginable reason, doesn't find this at all funny. Could be the whole life-or-death thing. Whatever.

"He did indicate," I say, "that not everyone we thought died in your fireworks display actually died."

Jacelynd finds this even less than funny. "Who?"

"Some nun. No wait. He said
my
sister Iris, not
Sister
Iris."

Jacelynd flies into a rage I couldn't have predicted even if I were Nostradamus himself. He rips my new friend from under my feet with one hand. "Where is she?" he growls.

I want to tell him that clearly the man can't talk, not with half his mouth missing, but I figure that would seem a stupid thing to say since Jacelynd is staring right at him. But this could go on for a while if I don't do something. "He can't—"

"Answer me!" Jacelynd is seriously off his game here if he thinks this guy can …

Kerius, leading the raid.
The voice comes from the Death Dealer, but not from him. It's this sickly disembodied sound that makes me want to wretch.

"Never seen a Death Dealer do that." I try to wipe the disgust from my face. I'm not successful.

Jacelynd drops the Dealer and though the name Kerius sounds mildly familiar to me, I have no idea what that means in the scope of everything else. Jacelynd looks at Nicodemus. "Give me your cell." Nico hands it over. Jace frantically dials several numbers before he walks out onto the patio.

"Where is Kerius?" I ask.

Nicodemus' eyes are wide in shock or fear or both. "It's a safe haven in the mountains. It's mainly women, children and the elderly. I can't imagine why anyone would want to—"

"To hurt me, avenge what she believes has been done to her, who the hell knows?" My insides seize with sorrow. Was this was the place Jacelynd took me, where our friends were, where the young girl was who was so excited to see me again?

"I can't even tell you where it is, not many know the way," Nico says.

Must be why I was blindfolded. It wasn't all because of Trinity. Jace never even told me the name of where they were taking me. On cue, Jacelynd walks back into the house, grief never more present in his expression.

"Less than a quarter of them survived. They were hit early this morning," he says.

"Is that where we were, where you took me before?" I know the answer, but I want to hear it anyway.

He nods and I feel the world spinning.

Nico touches Jace gently on the arm. "Are you going to tell the others or shall I?"

I want to console him. Words have bounced around my head for hours, but none of them is right.
It took us a while to leave the house, mainly because of the sheer volume of arrangements that needed to be taken care of concerning Mr. and Mrs. Temper, the decoys that would be left in their place should Iris get wise and send another round of drop-in guests, and the various responsibilities of tending to the safety of segments within the Rebellion. Almost all of this has fallen on Jacelynd alone.

He's exhausted by the time we board the private jet to Ireland and falls asleep almost the moment we are seated. I lay a blanket over him and make my way to where Liv is looking out the window.

"You doing all right?" I ask, sitting down beside her. She doesn't answer me right away and for a long while we sit in a comfortable silence, both watching the ocean below.

"I'm an awful friend, Jess. I should be asking you that."

These people are the most selfless beings on Earth. "You're just what I need right now, Liv. And from what I hear, you've always been an amazing friend." I, on the other hand, have spent the last ten years avoiding as much close contact with others as I can.

She smiles that sadly sweet smile again and tearfully gazes back out the window. "I'm a completely unfortunate friend. I should have gone with you that night, when you and Iris left. I had a bad feeling and I never said anything. I thought I was being silly."

I grab her softly by the shoulder. "What did you just say?"

She looks at me doe-eyed. "I had this dreadful—"

"No, the first thing you said."

"Completely unfortunate?" she says unsurely. "It's kind of a joke. We used to say it all the time."

"Liv. What's your middle name?"

"Lora."

I know she thinks I'm nuts, but I throw my arms around her and I can't stop laughing. I've never been giddy—not in any lifetime I can recall, but damn if I'm not now. "Lora, my college roommate who used that phrase with unbelievable panache, oh my God! Liv—I remember you."

"But we weren't roommates. I never went to college and I'm fairly sure you were pretty old by the time they came up with the idea."

Quinn and Nico stand near us now, no doubt curious as to the nature of my sudden outburst after hours of morose silence. "I know, but you have this absurd aversion to French toast and you sleep with your socks on. And you love Eddie Vedder. That was your shirt I wore not too long ago."

"We were out of town once, you borrowed it and never could remember to give it back to me," Liv sobs. "You really remember me?"

"Somehow my brain must have held on."

Quinn sits down across from us. "So it's kind of like the
Wizard of Oz
, where everyone is someone else?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Liv manifested as my college roomie, I saw Jacelynd in my dreams. My dad was a kick-ass cop who—"

"Taught you some pretty amazing self-defense moves. Maybe a little martial arts. I held a mortal job as a cop for years. It's how we met Liv and Damian. I guess I never could shirk the whole protector part about knighthood." Quinn smiles and suddenly I can't breathe.

"Jessi, do you realize what this means? Trinity threaded your real past—parts of it—with your donor's memories. Had you been wiped totally, you wouldn't remember any of this." Quinn tries to sound comforting, but this is unnerving. The idea of having my past all come out of someone else's head was difficult enough to comprehend. Having that past hand-picked by Trinity is almost unfathomable.

"Yeah, but my dad?"

Quinn smirks. "You think that's too far from reality? It wasn't just Tristan finding out that he had
Jacey
over there to worry about when courting you, it was me, and Jacelynd nearly got the beating of his life when I found out about the two of you. He was really lucky that I hated Tristan as much as I did. As much as I still do."

"Were you there when we traveled to his court with Trinity?"

Quinn tilts his head in question. "You remember that?"

"No, Jace told me about it. I was just curious."

"Yes, I was. I accompanied you and Aunt Isabelle because your father couldn't make it. It was something of an uneventful trip."

"For the rest of you, maybe." Jacelynd has woken up and stands behind Nicodemus and Quinn. His mood is lighter than before, though not by much.

Quinn groans. "Like I said, you were lucky."

Jacelynd tiredly laughs. "You were so pissed. We would have gone to blows over it, I think."

"I was only as pissed as someone with hardly a title can be at a prince. And yes, had you been anyone else, we would have." He pauses before adding, "I think Blake and I were just offended that Jess hadn't told us herself."

"How did you find out?" I ask.

Liv laughs and I have a feeling this isn't going to be a straightforward answer.

Jacelynd almost smiles, "That uneventful trip is when you finally accepted my proposal of marriage. And because of the recent signing of a certain treaty, we had real concern for your parents' safety had it become known. We kept our marriage secret for several months, which is why I wasn't with my family when they were killed. Anyway, before that ill-fated night, Quinn caught us in a rather uh, intimate, setting and it was everything I could do to get him to shut up long enough for me to tell him you were my wife and not some wanton conquest."

Quinn nods. "Tristan found out Jacelynd's life was spared the same way he found out that he'd lost you. Needless to say, he didn't take it too well."

Trinity did say I'd called off the engagement for Jacelynd. That was one way of putting it. "Then Trinity wasn't actually there, when your family was … ?"

Jacelynd says, "No. But he was well aware of it occurring and did nothing to stop it."

I lay a hand on Liv's shoulder. "We'll talk more about all of this later. This Eddie Vedder thing, it's probably time for an intervention."

"Where are you going?" Quinn asks. He seems happy to know that my subconscious made him a father figure.

I look at Jacelynd and sigh, stretching like I'm the one who's sleepy. "I need more sleep. I'm going to go close my eyes. You coming?"

Jace nods and follows me. He waits until we're seated to speak. "That obvious huh?"

"Yeah, your eyes are red. Come here." I lift the arm of the seat as I recline and guide him until he is resting against my chest. He curls his arm around my waist and it's no more than thirty seconds before he's asleep again.

I've never minded flying and I could get used to traveling via private jet. I've only flown a handful of times with Trinity, but it was usually commercial—though our accommodations were a bit on the lavish side. I listen to the lulling sound of the engine and the steady pace of Jace's heart and though I don't mean to, I fall asleep.

I
dream that I'm running from something in the night. I'm dressed in uniform and bleeding from my midsection. That might explain the screaming pain that's radiating from my ribs. For a moment, I think this might be a re-enactment of my rather close encounter with a twelve-gauge, but I can't recall ever running from a target. Even that particular night had me chasing my pursuer like an idiot, if that's even linguistically possible. I never said I did everything right, I just said I never cowered.

A shrill whirring sound flies past my left ear. Then a second one. Moments later a third one flies past my right ear, but this one clips the skin.

The grime and sweat of the city is all around us, but—and I gather this must be the dream—there aren't people milling about. See, even if you're sent on a mission that takes place at 3 a.m., there is still life in the city, whether it be bums, hookers, drug dealers or stupid frat kids who've been dropped off on the wrong side of town as a prank by their friends—those guys are always a blast to mess with.

I take several sharp corners and no longer hear the sound of something behind me. So I stop and take a second to survey my surroundings and find the same old downtown crap you'd find in any major city in America. Minus the superhuman furry creep that just crashed through a department store window and is now right on my ass.

I swear below my breath and consider briefly trying to wake myself up, but something about the pain I'm feeling leads me to mildly wonder if I am indeed dreaming. What if I was dreaming all that other stuff and this is actually my reality?

Okay, no time for dream analysis, sweet cheeks, let's go!

My pep talk works and I turn down an alley. I climb the first couple rungs of a fire escape ladder, but my fingers are slippery from the blood that is dripping down my arms. Down my arms? From what wound?

Sharp pain that feels so much like what I courted in Hades suddenly ravages my back as I am ripped from the ladder and hit the ground in a breath-taking fall.

I cough and spit up blood. The creature looms above me, teeth bared, ready to gut me like a fish. Saliva drips onto my chest and face, like something out of
Alien
.

If this is a dream, can't I conjure some otherworldly powers, or at the very least turn this thing into a puppy? Better yet, why can't I access the powers Trinity gave me? Stupid, stupid dream.

"Nice puppy," I say soothingly.

Hmmm.

Huge claws swing down and stab into the pavement just as I roll away—yes I meant to say
into
the pavement. It takes him a second to jerk them free and go full tilt after me down the alleyway.

I think I'm making decent headway when one of those whirring sounds I keep hearing finally makes full contact with the back of my knee and I tumble face-first to the ground.

Damn it!

I wipe my bloody mouth and pull the silver throwing star out of my leg before struggling back to my feet. I've dealt with this before, why is everything so different now? I mean, this creature is the great-granddaddy of the lovely beast I fought in Hades, but still.

It's taken me a minute to catch on, but this open alley thing is apparently not going to cut it, so I kick in another department store window—by the way, do you know how thick those things are? It looks to be a Sears. Either that or Macy's has really extended its definition of "fashion accessory," because I see nothing but lawnmowers and refrigerators. And ties.

Yup, definitely a Sears.

I hear my admirer coming down an aisle next to me and it brings to mind a scene from one of the nine hundred
Jurassic Park
movies where the kids are in the kitchen hiding under a big steel table while the raptor walks right by them. I wonder if I'm that lucky. That question is answered when every toaster that was on the rack above my head abruptly lands at my feet. I look up and smile. "We really need to work on your temper."

The creature leans over and lets loose a horrendous squall.

"Or not." I scramble to my feet and haul ass to the escalators, which strangely enough are working just fine. I throw over a tall stand of sunglasses behind me before I step on. The creature—let's just call him Harry, as in
Harry and the Hendersons
—stares furiously at the mess before he gets frustrated and goes to the other escalator.

Now, you know I'm going to laugh at him. It's going the wrong way. So, I wave and laugh some more as I make my way slowly to the next floor. At least, I'm laughing until I see who, coincidently, has decided to host their annual lodge meeting at the local Sears.

"You've gotta be shittin' me," I say below my breath. This is definitely a dream.

You're probably expecting a whole gaggle of Harrys, or at the very least Death Dealers, but no. That might actually mean something, while this is ridiculous. It's Trinity and his devotees.

He is wearing a white ribbed turtleneck, which makes his blue eyes stand out ridiculously well. His slacks are dark chocolate, his shoes perfectly shined. He sees me and smiles, rising to his feet.

"I didn't think you would come," he says enigmatically.

"Sure," I laugh. "Don't I always come to Sears on Monday night, especially when I'm in the mood to get my ass kicked?"

"What are you talking about?"

"No way, you can't miss the bl … " I point down to my bloodied clothes, but find that I am as naked as when I came into this world. "Um, I've never been known for being a prude, but seriously?" I am a little embarrassed that I'm so exposed in front of all … well, never mind, we're totally alone now. And no longer at Sears. We're suddenly at Trinity's estate.

Trinity pulls his shirt off, carefully, and when he tosses it onto the bed I see why. His chest has been cut open.

"Oh, God, what is this?" I ask, rushing to him. I don't want to seem overly concerned here, but I did care about him. And he looks like something out of one of those horror flicks I like to watch.

He takes my chin in his hand. "You know this isn't real."

I scoff, "Then why the hell am I dreaming about you?"

He runs his hand lovingly through my hair. Now I know this is a dream. Or has he done this before and I don't remember it? The tenderness, not the gaping hole in his chest. "You tell me. Unfinished business?"