Into the Mist (21 page)

She yanked her gaze to him. “Yes, I'm fine. What do we do now?”

“We wait,” he said. “Are you hungry? There's a place a block or two away. We could grab something and bring it back here. It would give me a good chance to scope out the area.”

She nodded. Even the unsavory reality of what lay out there on the streets was better than this place.

“Wait here. I'm going to shift and take a look around. I'll be back for you in a few minutes. Then we can go together if you like.”

Again she nodded and tried to control the trembling of her hands.

He touched her briefly on the shoulder then moved away. She watched as he became a shadowy apparition and then disappeared altogether.

It was hard to curb her resentment. Why him and not Damiano? What roll of the dice came up with his lucky number? His ability was a gift, not the curse it was for D. Eli could use and exploit his ability to shift at will while Damiano struggled to prevent it from destroying him.

She dug through one of the bags and pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a shirt. She'd never gotten the chance to get out of her blood-spattered clothes. After a check of the bathroom, she turned on the small shower and waited for the water to heat. Realizing that lukewarm was the best it was going to get, she ducked in and quickly scrubbed the accumulated grime from her body.

A few minutes later, she stepped out and hurriedly dried off. Despite the heat and humidity, she shivered as she walked back into the living room to get her clothes.

She blocked out the smell, the sounds coming from outside, the awful memories of the dark holes in Prague as she quickly pulled off her clothes and stepped into her jeans. After she slipped the T-shirt on, she paced for a few moments then sat on the musty couch, hunched forward, her arms protectively around her midsection.

When Eli shimmered into view a half hour later, relief surged hot and forceful through her veins.

She rose from the couch and had to stop herself from going to him.

“Things are quiet, by Buenos Aires standards anyway,” he said. “I took a look at the garage. Wanted to make sure we weren't followed.”

She nodded.

“You want to go grab something to eat? I'd rather make it back here before dark.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He looked curiously at her, as though he were trying to see inside her. Her unease was tangible, she knew. He touched her lightly on the arm as he headed toward the door.

In an automatic gesture, she felt for her knives. Then she reached for her jacket. Though tattered and sporting a torn sleeve, it offered protection and hid the other knife. And she'd cleaned most of the blood off.

She followed Eli outside. The sun was sinking low in the sky as they walked down the street. It wasn't dark enough yet for the streetlights to pop on, so shadows began to yawn in the darkened corners.

She walked faster.

Two blocks up, they stopped at a street vendor where Eli ordered sausages and empanadas. As Tyana glanced down the streets at the intersection where they stood, she noticed that none of the restaurants seemed open.

She turned back to Eli as he collected the sack of food and paid for it.

“It doesn't seem very busy,” she said as they began to walk back. “I would have thought it would be more crowded. More people out.”

“They eat late here,” he replied. “No one really goes out before nine which is why I wanted us to get our food and be back in our room before things got a lot busier. Much easier to tell if we're being followed this time of day.”

She nodded but kept her eyes peeled as they crossed the street at the next intersection. As they walked past one of the alleyways, a childish cry of fright froze Tyana in her tracks.

She stared down the alley to see a young girl. Maybe twelve. Maybe thirteen. On the cusp of womanhood, yet so young. Too young. She was being shoved against the rough stone of the building wall by one man while another stood to the side leering.

Tyana's blood turned to ice. She felt those hands on her own body, ripping at her clothing, heard Damiano's hoarse protests as he fought to protect her.

Her hand was inside her coat even as she sprinted down the alleyway. She launched herself into the air, her foot connecting with the man holding the girl.

They went down in a tangle. The man bellowed in pain and rage as Tyana landed on top of him. She scrambled up, knife in hand and threw it at the other man before he could react to her attack.

It landed in his shoulder, embedded to the hilt. He staggered back, staring in disbelief as blood ran down his arm.

She turned to face the first attacker just as he lunged at her. He rammed into her like a freight train, and they both went down again. She hit the street with a bone-jarring thump. Pain speared through every muscle, and she gasped for breath.

She reared back to head butt him, but suddenly he was gone. Ripped from her body and thrown against the opposite wall. A snarl of rage echoed through the alley.

Tyana scrambled up in time to see Eli make quick work of the asshole. She turned to see about the girl, but she was gone. Tyana ran to the end of the alley and looked down the street only to see her disappear among the vendors.

“Are you all right?” Eli demanded beside her.

She nodded, still winded from her fall.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing, Tyana? Are you just trying to get yourself killed? Get us arrested? Jesus H. Christ, woman.”

She whirled around, tears of rage nearly blinding her. “If you think I was going to stand by while those two animals raped her, you're crazy.”

She yanked her jacket around her and hurried away from the alley, back toward the apartment. Eli kept pace with her, his hand touching her elbow. She jerked away from his touch as they reached the door of the apartment.

By the time they made it inside, she was shaking violently and she felt ill. So sick. She wanted to vomit.

“My knife,” she said, and she didn't recognize her own voice. She fixated on the knife. “I lost the knife. Mad Dog gave it to me. I never go anywhere without it.”

Eli touched her, tentative, testing. Concern was there in the light probing.

“You have other knives, Tyana,” he said in a low voice.

She wrapped her arms as tight around her as she could, folding inward. She walked to the couch, her composure shattered. Like a leaf blowing in the wind, she wilted onto the sofa, her knees shaking, her limbs jittery, like a junkie in need of a fix.

Eli was there, in front of her, kneeling, his hands on the couch on either side of her hips. He made no effort to touch her, but worry was set like stone in his eyes.

“Tell me what the fuck happened back there, Tyana.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. God, she didn't want to remember. As long as she blocked those memories, she could go on, she could function, she could pretend it never happened, that those years before Jonah and Mad Dog didn't exist.

A gentle hand touched her cheek, cupped it in a warm, sweet grasp. “Tyana, listen to me. Nothing can hurt you here, sugar. It's only you and me. No one else.”

To her horror, a tear rolled down her cheek, colliding with his hand. He brushed it away with his thumb, a tender gesture that proved to be her undoing. Another slipped down. And another. A low sob caught in her throat, and she swallowed fiercely, determined not to give in. Not to be weak.

She tried to turn away, but he wouldn't let her. He folded her in his arms and held her tightly as he rocked her gently back and forth. She pushed and he pulled. She tried to move away, to hide from him, but he kept those arms locked around her.

Emotion, raw and tearing, swelled in her throat. She fought against it, tried to keep it in, because once let loose, she would break.

And then he kissed her. One tiny, gentle brush of his lips against her forehead. Quite simply, she shattered. There in his arms. There was no defense against his quiet understanding.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

He held her. Soft. Comforting. His hands stroked repeatedly over her hair as her tears soaked into his shirt.

When there were no more tears to shed, she simply lay against him, limp, drained. He slid his hand over her damp cheek and pulled her away so that he could look at her.

“What happened, Tyana?” he asked. “What is it that you're so afraid to tell me…anyone?”

“That was me back there,” she whispered. “It was me all over again. And no matter how hard I train, no matter how hard I become, it always comes back to me being a defenseless young girl fighting for survival on the streets. I can't forget her. I can't make her go away. I don't want to be her anymore.”

His eyes softened. He carefully got off his knees and moved to sit on the couch beside her. She faced forward, her knees spread, her arms between her legs and her head bowed.

“Tyana, she'll always be there,” Eli said softly. “She's an important part of who you are.”

She shook her head.

“Tell me about her.”

She turned her head to look at him, not sure she could get the words past her frozen lips. He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and let his hand linger there at her temple.

God. Where to start?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tyana drew in several long, steadying breaths. Eli's fingers still touched lightly at her temple, drawing a line down her cheek and back up again.

“My earliest memory is of an orphanage in Prague. I remember being cold and hungry, and there were children crying. I don't know how I got there. Later I was scornfully told that my mother had dumped me on the doorstep and ran as fast as she could, but who knows if that's real or just the drummed up version of what they told every kid there.

“I used to hide in one of the corners, just hoping to escape notice. That's where Damiano found me. He was older, but skinny as I was and as dirty. I'll never forget how he took my hand and told me it would be okay, that he'd look out for me.”

She bowed her head as another hot tear trailed down her cheek.

“He kept his promise,” she whispered. “He took so much for me. Always put himself in front of me when the headmistress was angry or when the men came every month to select the orphans they wanted for the workhouses.

“As we got older, Damiano filled out more. He got bigger. I didn't develop the curves that the other girls did, and while I didn't understand then why that angered the headmistress, I realize now it was because she had every intention of selling me to the highest bidder.

“She ran a profitable business. Young virgins offered at premium prices. Damiano was so determined to protect me from that. When I did finally begin to have the semblance of breasts, he made me wrap them to keep my chest flat. We stayed as filthy as possible so no one would want us. Boys, especially good-looking boys like Damiano, were just as in demand as the girls.”

Eli slid his hand up her back and palmed the back of her neck, massaging lightly, but he never said a word. He just listened.

“I think the headmistress caught on to us because one night she locked me in a room by myself. Later a man showed up. I was asleep. When I woke, he was there…” Her breath caught on a sob and she raised her hands to her throat in panic.

“It's all right, Tyana,” Eli said soothingly. “I'm right here, sugar. Nothing can hurt you here.”

“It hurt,” she said in a small voice. “I couldn't fight him. I just lay there crying while he took his pleasure.”

Eli pulled her into his arms, his fingers tight at her waist. She could feel the pounding of his heart and the tension in his big body.

“Damiano found me the next morning. I'll never forget the look in his eyes. He helped bathe me, and then he told me to wait for him, that we were getting out, but that first he had something to do.”

She turned her head up to Eli. “He killed her,” she whispered. “He killed the headmistress, and I wasn't sorry. I hated her. I
wanted
her to die.”

There was no condemnation in Eli's eyes. Anger, sorrow, but no judgment. She lowered her head again.

“Damiano came back, took my hand and we fled into the streets. For months we existed hand to mouth, doing whatever we had to in order to survive. We stole, Damiano sold himself, just so we didn't starve. I hated myself for that. Hated that he sacrificed everything for me. I was at a point where I was willing to prostitute myself so that I could feed us both, and Damiano would have a warm place to sleep, where he'd be safe.

“He completely flipped out. I've never seen him so angry with me, never before then and never since.”

Eli pressed a kiss to the top of her head and stroked her hair.

“One night I picked the pocket of a young man, only he was on to me in two seconds flat. He chased me down and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck. He had a friend with him, and they laughed as I threatened to kill them. I don't think they believed me, but I would have.

“Damiano damn near killed himself trying to take them on, but they weren't even trying to hurt us. When we realized that, we took off as fast as we could.”

“Jonah?” Eli asked.

She nodded. “And Mad Dog. They didn't catch us that night, but they tracked us down two days later. I still don't know why they did it. Maybe they felt sorry for us. But they took us in. Didn't offer us sympathy. Just asked if we wanted a better life. It took a long time for them to earn our trust but when they did, it never wavered. We owe them our lives. We would have never survived on the street.”

“You would have,” Eli murmured. “You're a survivor, Tyana.” He levered away from her and framed her face in his hands. “You're one of the bravest and gutsiest people I know, man or woman. Damiano is lucky to have you.”

She shook her head adamantly. “No, I'm the one who's lucky. I wouldn't have lasted a day in that orphanage if it weren't for him. He saved me.”