Immortal (31 page)

The alben's short scream turned to coughing and horrible wheezing. He let me go; I felt wetness on my front, heard the blade fall.

The floor boards boomed as the ælven rushed in. I was on my knees, though I didn't remember how I got there. Cautiously I opened my eyes.

Dark again. I held still, panting, listening. The remnants of chile hanging in the air irritated my throat. I was cold—and wet. Oh, yeah. Bleeding.

Hands caught my shoulders. I gave a small shriek, then recognized Caeran.

Len. You're hurt!

Yeah, cut. Not too bad, I think.

I started shivering. There were footsteps, angry voices, but I was too freaked to sort them out.

A cloak draped around my shoulders, and a moment later something warm and soft pressed against my throat. Both smelled like Caeran.

Hold that there.

I took hold of the cloth—Caeran's shirt—and tried to stop shaking. The cloak was warm and wonderfully comforting. Gradually my shivering subsided.

The door opened wide, letting in enough light for me to see a little. The opening was blocked briefly by moving figures.

Madóran—is he alive?

Yes.
Caeran's tone was grim.

Show me, please.

Caeran shared his view with me. Madóran lay not far from me—horribly still.

I struggled to get up, and the view shifted to me. I froze, blinking in confusion. I was a mess: hair every which way, blood all over my shirt, cloak slipping from my shoulders.

Caeran caught the cloak and tucked it around me, then helped me to Madóran's side. Clumsily because of the weird perspective, I laid a hand on the healer's cheek. It was icy.

No blood, no wound. What did that bastard do to him?

I could feel Caeran's anger.
He fed on Madóran's khi.

They can do that?

Any ælven can draw upon khi, but it is forbidden.

He doesn't seem to care much about your taboos.

He will never break them again.

That sounded ominous. I turned my head toward Caeran, but the view didn't change.

What are you going to do?

It is already done.

I caught my breath, stunned at the swiftness of the ælven's retaliation. Not that I liked the alben much—he was a vicious bastard—but the ælven didn't seem like the kind of people to take a life so quickly.

They hadn't, I realized as I continued to gaze at Madóran. They had given the alben chance after chance—mostly because of Madóran's compassion—and they must have finally decided he wasn't going to be stopped any other way.

I touched Madóran's throat, looking for a pulse. I found it, but it was feathery and light.

We've got to get him warmed up. Can you carry him to the car?

Yes. Can you drive?

Um. I think so. Where are my keys?

Caeran knelt beside me and touched my right hand, which was clenched shut over my keychain. I sighed and leaned against him. His chest was bare, his skin warm. Shuddering, I clung to him.

Aren't you freezing?

No.

My cloak's here somewhere—

I see it.

With Caeran's help I got to my feet. He fetched my cloak and tossed it over his shoulders, then picked up Madóran.

The air outside was cold, setting me shivering again. Two ælven men stood waiting by my car. They helped Caeran load Madóran into the back seat, then exchanged a few words with him in ælven and took off running north.

I got in the car, glancing at Madóran lying across the back seat. His pallor frightened me. I started the car as Caeran got in, cranked the heater to high, and drove carefully back to the hacienda. As I came near the house I saw a bonfire in the field behind it. A big bonfire.

“What's that about?”

We burn our dead.

“Oh.” I swallowed.

Made sense. Good way to dispose of a body.

I felt oddly sad about Gehmanin's death, though I sure never wanted to see him again. It was an opportunity missed. He was the inspiration for Madóran's and my agreement, and now he'd never benefit. Of course, if anyone was going to benefit, we had to help Madóran.

Nathrin and Faranin were waiting at the door. They came out and carried Madóran into the house, laying him on the sofa in the front room. He looked terrible now that I could see him better, and my dread grew.

“Build up the fire.”

I pulled off my cloak to drape over Madóran, and Caeran did the same. Gingerly, I pulled the shirt away from my neck. It stuck a little, making me wince. I couldn't see the cut but it had mostly stopped bleeding.

I pulled the hassock over beside the couch next to Madóran, and tried to figure out what to do. Panic rose in my chest. I wasn't a healer, just a wannabe.

Maybe I should just call 911, except how would I explain the problem? This guy's had his khi sucked out of him?

Remembering what I'd seen Madóran do in the treatment room, I held out my hands toward him. Heat flared in my palms, so fast I gave a startled yip. I moved them around over Madóran, trying to figure out where to put them. The heat increased when my hands passed over his heart, so I decided to try there.

I laid my hands side by side on his chest and closed my eyes.
Please, whoever can help, let your power go to him.

Hands touched my shoulders from behind. Caeran, sharing his khi. I felt it pour down my arms and into Madóran's chest. It grew stronger and stronger, and I was vaguely aware that the others were joining in, putting their hands on Caeran's shoulders, on each other's. A pyramid took shape behind me, focusing khi through me to Madóran.

More aware of this amazing flow of energy than of anything else, I felt adrift in the warmth. How long we stayed that way I had no idea. I only came down when the intensity started to lighten and the furnace in my hands began to cool.

Opening my eyes, I saw that Madóran's face held color again. Tears of relief ran down my cheeks. I wiped them away, sniffing, and became aware that my back was stiff. Caeran lifted his hands from my shoulders, only to wrap his arms around me as he sat beside me on the hassock, squishing close. Still shirtless, which was fine by me, and everyone else was politely ignoring it.

“Well done, healer,” he said.

“Junior assistant healer in training, please. If that. I've never even taken CPR.”

I felt Madóran's pulse. Much stronger, and his skin was warmer. Daring to hope he'd be all right, I drew a shuddering breath and looked around the room. The other ælven were all gathered there, even Mirali. Only Savhoran was missing.

“And it was all of you as much as me,” I said.

Faranin shook his head. “You were the focus. That is a gift that few possess. We might have helped Madóran without you, but less effectively.”

My cheeks went hot. Strange to be praised by these incredible immortals, who had been so indifferent to me at first. I felt undeserving, an impostor.

“Could someone go make some tea?” I said. “And maybe warm up some of the soup?”

Mirali and Nathrin headed for the kitchen at once. Lomen went to the fireplace and put more wood on the coals. That they had burned so low was an indication of how long we'd been here.

“Where is Gehmanin?”

I turned to see Madóran's eyes open, gazing at me. His voice was weak and he looked exhausted. Seeing the worry in his eyes, I couldn't answer. My throat tightened on the words.

“He is gone, my lord,” said Bironan. “We had no choice.”

Madóran's eyes glanced aside, then closed. A frown creased his brow, and I felt tears again. Even now, after the jerk had almost killed him, he still loved that bastard. I was sorry for his heartbreak.

Caeran's arms tightened around me. I leaned my head against his, grateful for his support. I was luckier than Madóran had been.

Madóran looked at me again, his glance flicking to my throat. “Did he do that?”

I glanced at the blood on my shirt. “Uh, yeah. It isn't as bad as it looks.”

He lifted a hand toward my throat. I felt the tingle of his khi.

“You should rest—”

“This is simple.”

His hand was warm against my skin, and the khi took away the discomfort that I'd been aware of in the background, the raw edge of the cut made by the alben's knife. After only a moment, my skin felt whole again. Madóran's hand dropped away and I caught it, squeezing.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, Lenore. Your light led me back from the darkness.”

“Was it that bad?”

“I have never been so close to quitting this world.” He frowned in grief. “I do not understand Gehmanin's actions. We might have helped him.”

“We can help others. You're still up for it, right?”

He met my gaze, and after a long moment, nodded. “We will have to find another—sufferer—to cooperate with our studies.”

“We'll figure something out. That's down the road a ways. I've got a lot to learn first. Will you teach me?”

A tiny smile curved his lips, and he nodded. That more than anything told me he'd be all right.

Mirali and Nathrin came in, carrying soup and a tray with the teapot and cups. Caeran and I helped Madóran sit up while the others converged on the tea. I nabbed a cup of tea for Madóran, and watched while he sipped it and ate a little soup.

Bironan came and sat beside Madóran, asking him about what sort of property might be available nearby. Apparently Caeran's family liked the area enough to stay. I suppressed an instinct to shoo him away. The distraction would probably do Madóran good.

The others gradually dispersed, some to find a late meal, others to the privacy of their rooms. When Madóran had finished his soup I collected the bowl and spoon and slipped away, Caeran shadowing me.

Tiruli was in the kitchen, stirring a small pot of soup that was heating on the stove. She glanced up, smiling.

“Savhoran asked for something to eat.”

“Oh! I'm so glad!”

I wanted to hug her, but chickened out and went to the sink instead to wash the dishes. Shyness, and the fear of accidentally offending. The ælven had their own customs, and I didn't know what they were. I had a lot to learn.

I paused, gazing at the blue and white tiles of the counter, wondering if I could successfully live in two worlds. Here, in Madóran's house, my life at the university seemed distant, almost a dream. Would this place seem like that when I was back in school? Maybe, but I wouldn't let it slip away completely. I'd come back here, as often as Madóran would let me. To learn, and to be among the immortals.

Setting the clean bowl in the dish rack, I turned and found Caeran watching me, leaning on the end of the counter. His arms were folded across his bare chest. So gorgeous. I stood staring at him, the gold-green eyes, the auburn hair spilling over his shoulders. His smile widened and he held out his hand.

We headed out the back door, but when we reached the enclosed
portal
I was drawn to the courtyard. The moon had risen, painting the leftover snow blue-white. I went out and walked over to the fountain where I'd seen Madóran standing.

What was it that drew him here? Just the magic of moving water?

His footprints had worn a trail around the fountain. I followed it, wondering what he thought as he walked this circle, what it meant to him. As I reached the east side again I realized that Caeran had followed me. He was beaming.

“What?”

“Do you know what you just did? You walked around the world.”

I glanced at the footprints in the snow. “I was just following Madóran's path.”

“A good path to choose. You and he share a bond. I can see that.”

Did I hear a hint of envy in his voice? I turned, reaching for him.

“A common interest. Oh, geez—you still don't have a shirt! Aren't you freezing?”

His smile widened. “Warm me, then.”

His arms went around me and I hugged him back. He didn't seem to need more clothing—he felt wonderfully warm. I, on the other hand, had a wimpy mortal body and I wanted to be inside, by a fire.

Come, then.

His warmth filled my mind, my soul. Breathtaking. Though I treasured my growing friendship with Madóran, it was nothing to this. I let that thought float freely through my mind.

We walked slowly across the courtyard to the north door, and to my room. Caeran made a fire while I pulled off yet another bloodstained shirt. There was a pile of clean clothing on the dresser, including my socks. When Madóran had found the time to deal with laundry I had no clue.

I pulled on the ælven shirt and joined Caeran by the fire, settling into his arms with a sigh. “This is nice. No threats, no constraints. No hurry.”