Inception (The Marked Book 1) (26 page)

I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to do it but I felt powerful in that moment, proud even.

Adrenalin coursing through me, I spun around and spotted Trace and Bobby still warring several feet away. Blood stains dotted both their shirts, but I couldn’t tell whose blood it was. Panic over took me at the thought of it being Trace’s, of him being hurt because of me—to save me.

Without thinking, I catapulted myself onto Bobby’s back and began pounding the side of his head with my fist. It was exactly the momentum Trace needed to gain the upper hand. In the blink of an eye, he had snatched the knife from Bobby and turned his weapon against him. But Bobby wasn’t giving up that easy.

He dipped me sideways just far enough so I’d loosen my grip on him and then launched me off his back.

I hit the concrete and bounced.

Within seconds, Trace and Bobby were back in position, ramming into each other again like two raging bulls. Their fists flying through the air, erupting against bone and muscle. I couldn’t bear to sit back and watch, to risk
his
safety.

I stammered back to my feet and rushed Bobby again, this time tearing and clawing away at his face, at his eyes, doing whatever I had to do to win this fight. To end it. But I didn’t have enough strength left inside me to make any kind of dent. He bent forward and tossed me off his back again, landing me hard against Trace’s body. Both of us went down in a tangle of limbs.

“Stay down,” he ordered, rolling me off his person before jumping back up to his feet.

Winded, I tried to get back up too but didn’t fair nearly as well as Trace did. I was just too tired, too dizzy. Everything was spinning out of control again.

I heard grunting and brash words, though they sounded as though they were coming from a distance—from some far away, long-since forgotten space in time.

And then blackness.

“Jemma? Jemma, open your eyes.”

I blinked several times before focusing in on the most stunning blue eyes I’d ever seen—pristine blue eyes ringed in rich, dark sapphires. Only one man could boast such beauty, such perfection. Somewhere in the hazy recess of my mind, I knew I could spend forever looking in those eyes and still never tire of their resplendent beauty.

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?” I asked, noting the thick gray clouds blooming behind Trace’s head. A part of me hoped, prayed, that it was all just a bad dream. But I knew better.

“We have to go—
now
. Can you walk?”

I held onto his arm as he pulled me up off the floor and immediately spotted the unconscious blond.

“Where’s the other one?” I looked around and found Bobby splayed out on the concrete, not too far from where we’d been fighting. He was down and bloodied, but still alive.

“We need to get out of here before they wake up. My car’s over there,” said Trace, ticking his head at his parked Mustang.

“Shouldn’t we call someone? The police or something?” I asked, confused. I wasn’t sure what the protocol was here.

“For what? They can’t help us.” He stepped forward and snaked my hand into his, the urgency evident in his eyes. “We’re on our own, Jemma.”  

I tossed one more glance in Blondie and Bobby’s direction and gave in, knowing he was right. “Okay. Let’s go.”

I followed dizzily as he led us fast across the parking lot towards his car. Tiny droplets of rain began falling over us, baptizing us with their touch as a mass of angry skies spread out above like a necrotic carpet.

“Drive,” he said, tossing me the keys.

“I can’t! I don’t know how to drive stick. I don’t even have my license!” My voice was several octaves too high.

“Shit.” He bent forward slightly, clutching his side in pain. There was blood all over the place.
His
blood.

“Oh my God, you’re hurt!”

“Give me the keys,” he ordered, holding up a bloodied hand.

I tossed them back and climbed into the passenger seat.

Within seconds, we were tearing down the back roads heading fast towards the woodlands. This wasn’t the way back to town, I knew that, but I didn’t say anything. I trusted him to get us to safety. Wherever that may be.

I looked down at his side and cringed. His crisp white shirt was saturated with crimson blood stains.

“You’re bleeding out,” I rasped through burgeoning tears.

“It’s just a cut,” he said as he put pressure on the wound in-between shifting gears. He turned off the main road and began crisscrossing through trees and brushes as we made our way deeper into the forest.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried, shaking my head as I tried to make sense of out what just happened.

“Why? You didn’t do it.”

“But it happened because of me. You were just trying to help me and now you’re hurt. Because of me!” I was practically hysterical and it really wasn’t helping the situation. 

“I’m fine, just calm down,” he said, as though it were even remotely a possibility.

“I don’t even know who they were...or
what
they were.” I flashed back to my bone crushing blow to his knee and cringed. “Were they even human?”

“Yeah, they were human,” he said. “More or less.”

My eyes narrowed. “What kind of answer is that?”

“They’re
Runners
, Jemma. Bottom-feeders under the control of Revenants. Half the time they’re so doped up they don’t even know their own names.” His face twisted in agony as he glanced down at his wound.

My bottom lip dropped. “So you’re saying they’re humans sent by somebody...by a Revenant? That they’re under their
influence
?”

“Exactly.”

“But who? Who would do this?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head and looked at me, worry etched in his eyes. “Have you made any enemies lately?”

I could think of half a dozen people off the top of my head. Nikki and her minions, Dominic, my attacker from All Saints, Engel...my list of enemies was growing bigger by the day.

“It could be anyone,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “God, I’m not safe no matter where I go, am I?”

“We’re Anakim,” he blinked tiredly. “We’re never safe.”

His words thrummed in my ears like a gong. “What do you think they wanted?”

“I thought that was pretty obvious.” He pumped his jaw muscle without looking at me. “They wanted
you
.”

“For what?”

He shook his head. “It looked like they were trying to bring you somewhere…probably back to the Rev that gave the order,” he said, slowing down to park behind a throng of evergreens.

“Is there any way we can find out who’s behind this?”

“It’s going to be hard.”

“But not impossible?” I asked, watching him pull the keys from the ignition. “Is there someone you can call, like a contact or something? Or should we go to the Council? Do you think they can help us with this, or is it better to just—”

“You ask too many questions, anyone ever tell you that?” He flung the driver’s side door open and climbed out of the car without answering any of them.

I scanned my surroundings trying to figure out where we were but saw nothing telling. There was nothing but trees and shrubs and dirt for miles in every direction.

Trace appeared on the passenger side and pulled open the door, holding out his hand. I looked down at it, questioning it as though it could speak to me. As though it had the answers I sought in this foreign world.

“You can trust me,” he said, inching it closer.

I placed my hand into his and climbed out of the car.

32. TRANSFERENCE

“Where are we going?” I asked as Trace led me further away from the car and deeper into the dew-kissed forest.

“We can’t go back to town right now. They know who you are. They’ll know how to find you.” He stopped in a small clearing and turned around to face me. A canopy of plush green leaves blanketed the two of us like a beautiful quilt. “We need to go somewhere safe until we figure this thing out.”

“Where did you have in mind?” I asked, crossing my arms. He better not be thinking about camping out here.

“My father’s cabin up north.” He looked at me with calming eyes. “No one knows about it. It’s completely off the grid.”

“But the car—” I began, thumbing in the direction of where we’d come from but stopped short when he started grinning.

“We won’t need it,” he said. Before I could ask another one of my daft question, he quickly added, “We’re using another mode of transportation.”

“Oh. Right...that
porting
thing you do.”

“Yeah, that porting thing I do.” He took a purposeful step towards me, breaking into my personal space.

“What are you doing?”

He uncrossed my arms and gently began pulling me towards him. “Your body needs to be touching mine for this to work.”

“Oh, so we...okay.” My heart sped up feverishly.

I let him pull me in closer until I was pushed up flush against his body. Careful not to graze the injured area, I circled my arms around his waist and breathed in his intoxicating scent as he slid his own arms around my back, sending my body into a near-state of rapture.

He cleared his throat. When I looked up at him, I could see he was fighting back a smile.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head.

Was he laughing at me again?

“I want you to take a few deep breaths, okay? You’re going to feel cold for a bit, but it’s normal. Don’t be scared.”

Before I could ask any more questions, I felt his body temperature (and my own) drop abruptly, jolting me upright. I tightened my hold on him as the forest began blackening out around us. The freezing air licking at my skin as the world I thought I knew ceased to exist.

In an instant, my mind was spinning out. Or maybe it was us that was spinning—falling, folding upon ourselves in a stateless state, and then suddenly we were solidifying again, the world slowly taking up its form around us. Except the picture was different now. Gone was the forest and its pine-green beauty, and in its place was a darkened living room inside a strange log cabin I’d never been to before. And the cold. The cold was near arctic. I began shivering wildly, still holding onto Trace as he held on to me.

The room solidified with colors, each detail falling into place, almost as though its molecules were being put back together again one by one. Or maybe it was our own molecules. And then, just like that, our body temperature rose, buzzing, climbing back up to a normal level. Well, as normal as it could be while standing this close to Trace Macarthur.

I stepped back and looked up at him in awe. “Oh, my God.”

He tried to laugh but winced again as he clutched onto his side in obvious pain. “I’m okay,” he assured upon seeing my worried expression.

“No you’re not. You should have taken us to a hospital!” I reached forward to touch him.

He caught my wrist mid-air. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom. First door down the hall.”

I pulled my hand back and followed his instructions. When I came back into the living room, he was already sitting on the wooden coffee table unbuttoning his shirt. Unprepared, I froze mid-step in the entrance at the sight of his peeking flesh.

He looked up and quirked an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“What? Yeah. Totally.” My cheeks flushed.
Get it together, Jemma
. “I’m fine.”

I stepped in the room and handed him the first aid kit. Not wanting to get caught staring again, I busied myself looking around the room, pretending to be interested in the decor. The antlers above the stone fireplace only mildly held my interest.  

“Can you help me get this off?” He motioned to his injury as proof that he needed my assistance disrobing.

I nodded coolly though I could feel the heat surging through me when I knelt down on the area rug before him. Without making any eye contact, I carefully took the collar of his shirt and began sliding it off his shoulder, then down his arm—his taut, muscular, beautiful arm. To my relief, the sleeve came off easily, exposing the entire half of his body.

I looked up at him and caught him watching me.

My heart thumped at asinine levels as I reached up and took the other side of his shirt, gently sliding it over his shoulder. Careful not to scrape it against his injury, I slipped my thumb under the fabric and let my finger graze against his skin as I dragged the shirt down his arm. His skin was as warm as a fever and ignited my blood like a fire storm.

I peered back up at him in a daze and noted that his eyes had closed again. Even in this sorry state of pain, he was the picture of otherworldly perfection.

“I can hear you,” he whispered. His eyes flicked open and sang with regret.

“Huh?”

He gestured to my hand that was still touching his skin. “I try not to listen in—I prefer not to, but...” he shrugged as though it were beyond his control.

Oh crap
. My cheeks felt volcanic, like at any moment they would burst into flames.
Say something, Jemma
! “I was just thinking that you, you know, still looked
decent
despite what happened to you tonight.”

He arched a brow at me. 

“Just shut up,” I warned, even though he hadn’t said anything. If he knew what was good for him, he’d leave it at that. “How well can you hear me anyway?” I wondered if it would be inappropriate to demand we test this thing out.

“Well enough.” He looked down to examine his wound.

The bleeding had slowed considerably but there was a gaping wound that looked as though it would need a few stitches. I tossed his shirt on the armchair and tried to move around him to take a seat on the couch. Far away. Where there would be no more skin-to-skin contact.

He grabbed my wrist. “Where are you going? I need you to do this for me.” He motioned to his injury again.

“Do
what
for you?” I recoiled.

“Stitch me up.”

“Are you insane? I can’t
stitch
you up.”

“Yeah, you can.” There wasn't the slightest hint of reluctance in his voice. “It’s just like sewing.”

“And what makes you think I know how to sew?”

His dimples flashed on both sides. “Wishful thinking.”

I looked down at his sultry eyes, and those perfect lips, and that chiseled jaw from the gods, and prayed for the strength not to throw myself at this man like some unworthy peasant.

“Sit,” he whispered, pulling me to the floor again.

“I don’t have a steady hand.”

“I can’t do this on myself.”

“I’m going to butcher you—turn you into Frankenstein!” A hot one for sure, but a Frankenstein nonetheless.

“I’ll walk you through it. You’ll be fine.” He bent forward to pick up the first aid kit from the floor and let out an audible grunt.

I couldn’t stand seeing him in pain like this.

“You need painkillers,” I said, taking the first aid kit from him. I cracked it open and searched through its contents for the contraband. “Here, take these,” I ordered, handing him a packet of over-the-counter painkillers.

He tossed two in his mouth and swallowed sans water.

Without waiting for his prompt, I pulled out some gauze and a bottle of antiseptic and started cleaning the area around the wound until I had a clear view of the puncture. I may have been a novice at stitching flesh together but I certainly knew how to clean out a wound. And it
definitely
needed stitches.

“Lean back,” I told him, standing on my knees now. “We can’t close the wound until we flush it out or it’ll get infected.” Of that I was sure.

He slid back onto his elbows, exposing his washboard abdomen and causing my core body temperature to rise even higher than it already was. I bet they outlawed bodies like his in certain parts of the world. I bet it was downright illegal. And for good reason, too. I was a hop and skip away from going into cardiac arrest.

Leaning over him, I poured the antiseptic liquid into the wound until I felt (in all my infinite medical wisdom) that it was sterile enough to be sealed. “I think that should do it,” I mumbled, trying to keep my eyes from roaming.

“Thanks.” He offered a bleak smile and straightened out.

When he pulled out the needle and a spool of string that bore an alarming resemblance to a fishing line, I decided that it was the perfect time to distract myself with a phone call. I grabbed my phone and checked for service.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looping the string through the needle head with ease. It was obvious he’d done this before. With his short fuse and propensity to brawl, he probably stitched himself up every other day.

“I’m calling Gabriel to let him know where we are. Maybe he can help us—”

“No way,” he said, taking the phone from me quick as a thief. “How do we know he wasn’t the one who sent the Runners?”

“Are you high?” I snatched the phone back. “Gabriel would never do that. Ever. He’s a good guy.”

“He’s a Rev—”

“You don’t know him!” I snapped, cutting him off. “He would never do anything to hurt me. It’s not him, Trace. Trust me.”

He stared back at me, his sublime blue eyes taking me in.

“Besides, I think I know who’s behind this,” I added, fingering the Amulet under my shirt. “But I need to speak to Gabriel first. He needs to know what’s going on.”

“Fine,” he said, though the tension in his jaw never gave.

My phone call with Gabriel was short and to the point. Even though he presented his usual calm and reassuring facade on the exterior, I could hear the anxiety undertones in his voice. We were both thinking the same thing: that this was probably related to Engel and the Amulet. So what now? Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything he could do until sundown, for obvious reasons, so I was ordered to stay with Trace until he got there and not to answer the door to anyone but him.

As if I’d planned on doing otherwise, I thought, hanging up the phone and turning my attention back to the beautiful boy sitting before me.

This was going to be a long day.

After a brief crash course in sutures that didn’t cover nearly as much as I would have liked it to, Trace handed me the sterilized needle and cocked an eyebrow. “Are you ready to do this?” he asked, knowing full well I wasn’t.

My hand shook. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“That’s okay,” he smirked. His dimples flashing as though they were winking at me. “I’m pretty enough.”

That he is, I thought, biting down the words. Sucking in a deep breath, I pinched the wound shut with my thumb and forefinger before driving the needle into his flesh.

“Gah!” I squealed as hair-raising tingles zipped down my spine. I think I felt the entry more than he did.

“You’re doing fine,” he said, trying to reassure me. He was the one getting his skin sewn together by a high school student and he was trying to keep
me
calm. Figures.

“The calmer you are, the better it is for me,” he answered.

Startled momentarily, my eyes shifted to our connected body parts as realization set in. “You know, this reading my mind thing is going to take some getting used to.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind working on it with you.”

Private one-on-one sessions with him flashed through my mind, making me blush. I thought I saw him smiling from the corner of my eye but I was too mortified to look up and confirm it.

“Does it ever bother you?” I wondered, curious to know more about his ability. “Hearing other people’s thoughts?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “I hated being touched as a kid. I didn’t know how to block it out.”

I couldn’t imagine being constantly bombarded with other people’s mundane thoughts and noises every time I made contact with someone. “It must be horrible.”

“It’s not all bad.” He shrugged it off. “It has its advantages, too.”

“Like what?”

He let his seductive gaze pour over me, slow like molasses. “Use your imagination.”

I pulled my hand back just as my mind derailed. I didn’t want him to know what I was thinking, and I sure as hell couldn’t focus when he looked at me that way.

His eyebrows rose.

“Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he laughed coyly.

“You’re distracting me and if you don’t stop it and let me concentrate, I’m going to end up sewing your belly button shut!”

The hint of a smile graced his face as he looked down at me, seemingly fascinated.