Prophecy: Child of Light (18 page)

For one infinitesimal moment, she’d felt like one of the heroines from the movies she watched on the television in her room or the books she had Serenity bring to her. It had taken a lot to remind herself that it was forbidden, and was only made worse by the fact that he was an Aurorea.

An Aurorea who had sentenced himself to death by helping her.

An Aurorea who seemed to feel the same way she did.

She stepped back and looked at the wound, avoiding looking at him.

She had nothing to cover it with. It needed to be bound, not to help it heal, but to stop him from staining the sheets while he slept. She wondered if there were any places open where she could get bandages and things. A glance at the clock said it wouldn’t be likely. It was almost two in the morning.

There was something else he was going to need too.

Blood.

She idly touched the marks on her neck. She had strong blood. She’d heard him say that before. Her blood was strong but it carried even stronger visions. She didn’t know whether he’d be able to take them right now and there was a chance she wouldn’t be able to suppress them if he did drink from her.

“Do not even think about it,” he said and she looked at him. “I will heal.”

“But—”

“I said no,” he interjected. “There is blood in the refrigerator. I can drink that.”

She frowned and went into the living area to retrieve the blood. She stared at it and then at her wrist. If she removed her blood from her body, he wouldn’t receive visions when he drank it and he wouldn’t know the difference. It would be warmer than the blood from the refrigerator, but he probably wouldn’t realise until it was too late.

She extended her claws and punctured her wrist with her thumbnail. Holding her wrist over the glass, she watched the blood trickle from her. When the glass was almost full, she licked the cut clean, sealing it with her saliva. She bit into the packet of blood she was holding and swallowed most of the contents before adding a small amount to the top of the blood in the glass. She smiled at her plan. Now he would be none the wiser to what she’d done. He’d smell the bought blood and not hers, and the first thing he’d taste would be ice cold. He wouldn’t suspect a thing.

She kept her face straight as she carried it into the bedroom. He was sitting against the pillows on the bed, his shirt now completely off, and was inspecting the wound. He looked up when she approached and she held out the glass, willing her hand not to shake. He took it from her. She held her breath when he sniffed at it and then relaxed as he drank it all down in one go. She took the empty glass and placed it into the bowl of dirty water.

Carrying it into the bathroom, she removed the glass and washed both it and the bowl out.

Valentine had moved, leaning at an awkward angle against the headboard to avoid putting any weight on his hurt shoulder.

She rounded the bed, picked up his ruined shirt and her tunic top and threw them into his bath. She walked into her own room, looking for something she could use as a bandage for his wound until they found something more suitable tomorrow night. She remembered that they had to go see the witches and swallowed noisily as her shoulders, stomach and chest ached and burned with pain. She clutched her shoulders, her eyes shut tight as cold fire swept through her veins.

When it receded, she took deep breaths and focused back on helping Valentine. She looked at the array of cards on the dressing table that mentioned all the different services the hotel offered and smiled when she found what she was looking for.

She paused briefly at Valentine’s door.

“I won’t be long,” she said and didn’t wait for him to say anything before heading to the door of their suite and opening it.

Hurrying down the stairs, she went to the lobby and scoured it for a sign of the shop mentioned on the cards. She spotted it down the corridor to her left and went to it, breathing a sigh of relief when she found that it was open. She wished she’d known about it before she’d started cleaning him up; she might have been able to save her tunic top. She filled a little basket with bandages and cotton wool pads, and was about to go to the counter when she spotted bottles of liquid soap. She tossed one into her basket, intent on getting the blood out of her top.

She gave the woman behind the counter her room number and then smiled as best she could when she was handed her purchases in a little plastic bag.

She rushed back to the room and pushed the door open.

“Prophecy? What in the Devil’s name...” Valentine trailed off when she walked around the corner, put the bag down on the end of the bed and tipped its contents out.

“Pharmacy,” she said with a smile. “Sit up.”

He was still frowning at her. She stared straight back, showing him that she wasn’t going to let him tell her off for leaving the suite alone.

“I wasn’t gone long, and I was careful.” She emphasised the last part so he didn’t have a reason to be angry with her.

He responded by sitting up, his good hand tightly holding his injured arm while he shuffled towards the edge of the bed.

Concentrating on her work, she opened the pack of cotton wool pads and the crepe bandages. She wrapped a couple of the pads in some of the bandage to stop bits from entering the wound or sticking to the blood and then pressed them against either side of his shoulder before bandaging him up to the best of her abilities. She’d never had to do this before and it was an awkward place to try to bandage. She frowned while she pinned the end of it into place and then wondered if she’d tied it too tight when she saw the pained look on Valentine’s face.

“I can make it looser,” she said quickly and went to unpin it.

“No.” He caught her hand. “It is better this way. It... it just stings a little.”

She smiled at the way he was trying to mask his pain, as though she’d think any less of him if he admitted that it hurt like hell. Her eyes dropped to their hands. He was still holding hers. When she looked up at him with wide eyes, his fell to rest on where she’d been looking and he quickly let go of her.

“I should rest,” he said and averted his eyes.

She nodded, watching him manoeuvre himself into a comfortable position on the bed. He looked so tired. The wound was going to take a few days to heal, she was sure of that. If it hadn’t been a werewolf bite then it would have been fine by the night after tomorrow. She just hoped that she’d done a good enough job cleaning it up so he would heal faster. One of the guards of her house had been bitten once and it had taken nearly a week to heal the wound. She needed Valentine strong again. Anything could happen in a week.

He closed his eyes and lay on his back, his chest still exposed and his boots removed. He must have taken them off at some point. Had it been when she had gone downstairs? It would have hurt him to do it.

Her brows furrowed while she watched him trying to sleep and images of the fight flashed in front of her eyes. She shouldn’t have hesitated, but that didn’t bother her now, there was nothing she could do to change that. There was only one thing playing on her mind.

The strength she’d felt.

She curled up in a chair near Valentine and stared at him while he slept.

Where had she found the strength to kill that werewolf?

Why had it come to her when Valentine was in danger?

She touched her shoulders.

Why had every mark on her body burned with pain at that very moment?

P
rophecy looked at Valentine. It had been over eighteen hours since he’d closed his eyes in sleep and he’d not moved once. She went to the window and opened the curtains a crack. High above her was a large moon. It was only half full, but it was bigger than she’d ever seen. It seemed so close.

It was fat; that’s what the witches had called it.

She had to go to see them to get the key to the prophecy.

She looked over her shoulder at Valentine. He needed his rest. She couldn’t make him come with her when he was hurt. She would let him sleep and heal while she went out alone to see the witches. She could do this without him. All she had to do was go and collect something. Getting there wouldn’t be a problem as she had the witches’ scents now and her instincts would be able to guide her back to their icy home.

Something told her that if Valentine woke while she was out, he would be angry with her, but there was no point in making him come along when he wouldn’t be able to defend himself if they ran into trouble. There was no way she could protect him. She wasn’t strong enough.

She frowned.

But she had been strong enough. Last night she had killed a werewolf with bare hands, only she didn’t know where the power she’d felt had come from.

She pressed her hands against her stomach and chest as they stung with a sharp, stabbing pain.

Maybe the witches would have the answers to that too.

Giving one last look to Valentine, she walked out of the door.

* * * *

P
rophecy walked with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her eyes fixed on the floor and her senses extended as far as they would go. She had found her way to the area where the witches lived; now all she had to do was find their door. Her stomach flipped and spun, making her feel sick. She turned down the alley and realised that she was almost there. The pavement was wet underfoot and puddles reflected the moon and stars. She struggled to stifle her nerves when she remembered what had happened the last time they were here and wished that Valentine were with her. He wouldn’t let them hurt her again.

She stopped when she recognised the metal door to her right and glanced back up the alley.

Maybe she shouldn’t have come alone. Even in his weakened state, having Valentine beside her would have made her feel safe.

She stepped up to the door and then jumped back as it opened before she reached it.

She stared into the icy eyes of the short witch. The witch poked her head out of the door and looked both ways up the alley.

“Alone?” she said.

Prophecy nodded and willed her nerves not to show. She could do this. All she had to do was go in, retrieve the key and get back to the hotel. It was simple and nothing to be scared of.

When the witch ushered her in, she didn’t hesitate. She strode past her and up the stairs, not slowing down until she was in the circular chamber at the top. She looked at the two other witches as they paused at their work to glance at her.

“She is here,” the tall witch said.

“She is alone,” the short witch added.

“Why alone?” the youngest one said with a questioning frown.

“Valentine was hurt. It was my fault. When I went to help him, I found I had strength that I’ve never had before. Do you know why?” Prophecy watched them exchange knowing looks and then followed them when they intimated for her to come into the other room. She didn’t want to go in there again, but she got the feeling they weren’t going to answer any of her questions until she did.

She sat down on a low bench while they gathered around the table they’d laid her on before. The fur blanket was gone now. There was nothing on it except a small wooden box.

“There is strength in your blood.”

“A strength that you call.” The second one smiled at her.

“Whenever your heart fears.”

“My heart fears? Fears what?” She frowned, not understanding what they were saying. She wished they would tell her straight, not confuse her mind with their riddles.

“We do not know.” The first one picked up the box.

“Your blood is pure.”

“Powerful.”

She kept her eyes on the box as the witches carried it over to her and then peered inside when the youngest one opened it. There was some kind of jewellery sitting nestled in amongst the plush purple velvet lining.

“The key?” She looked up at them and they all nodded. “This is the key to the prophecy? How will this help us translate it?”

They smiled.

“It will unlock what it is supposed to unlock.” The tall witch moved the box closer to her.

“It is a key.” The short one picked up the object.

“A key you must wear.” The youngest one held her hand out.

Prophecy wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do so she just looked up at them, hoping they’d give her more information.

“Which hand is strongest?”

“Which do you write with?”

“Fight with?”

She held up her left hand and they smiled again.

“Perfect,” the tall one said.

“Wear the amulet on your right.” The short witch took her hand and slipped each ring onto her fingers before shutting the clasp around her wrist.

“Like your mother.” The youngest witch smiled broadly.

“My mother? You keep mentioning my mother. Did you know her? Am I like her as you said before?” She looked at the amulet they had placed on her. “Has she worn this?”

“It was hers to keep.”

“To protect.”

“Until death.”

She swallowed hard. “She’s dead then. That’s what you’re telling me. My mother is dead?”

They nodded. She stared at the amulet. A ring fitted on each of her fingers and her thumb. There were strange silvery twisted threads of what might have been metal running from each one. On the back of her hand, they joined and formed an intricate star before attaching to the solid bracelet around her wrist. On her palm, all the threads met to support a dark purple stone. It shone in the icy blue light, and when she looked closely, she swore she could see movement in its clear depths. She flipped her hand over. It was exactly opposite the star. She remembered the night she’d been here last and the marks the witches had been drawing. All stars.

She looked up at them and was about to open her mouth to ask more questions about her mother when they spoke.

“You have memories locked inside,” the tall witch said and she remembered what Valentine had said about her memories and Arkalus.

“They will give you answers.”

“They’ll find their way out in time.”

“How do I use this? What does it do?” She held her hand up.

The tall witch looked at the other two and they both nodded several times. She got the feeling they were talking to each other without speaking again and she wondered what it was about. Her question had been a simple one, or so she’d thought.