Secret Worlds (20 page)

I shook my head. “That won’t happen.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re here,” I said. I stuck my finger into his hard chest and let it sit there. At first, I’d only intended the gesture to hammer home my point, but soon, I found myself taking comfort in this small connection. Touching him, even like this, seemed to quiet my mind and steady my stance. “You’d never let anything happen to me.”

“Not in a hundred lifetimes.” His voice had dropped to nearly a whisper.

His hand traveled upward and encompassed mine. Sparks shot through me and, for an instant, I forgot about everything else. I wasn’t a Supplicant. He wasn’t some Conduit’s pet science project. He was just a man, and I was a woman. There was no danger, no pile of lookalike corpses for me to hang my guilt on. There was only this tenderness between us. Tenderness and heat.

He cleared his throat, and I realized he was feeling it, too.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to go spearheading into danger, though,” he said. “We need to go about this in an intelligent manner.”

“Does intelligent mean slow, Abram? Because I don’t think the next poor sap who looks like me has that kind of time to waste.” My hand was still his to hold. My heart was still his to break. But I couldn’t fold on this.

“I know you want to save them, and that’s admirable. But you have no idea what we’re up against. I was dealing with Conduits while your grandfather was still in diapers. They’re dangerous creatures, and I doubt you have the foresight to fully understand that.”

My eyes narrowed accusingly. “So I don’t understand anything?” I wrestled my hand from his. “I’m just some child then?”

He sighed, his expression forlorn. “That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s exactly what you meant,” I answered, grinding my teeth together. “You think that because you’re older than sand, you have some kind of immaculate perspective on this.”

“I think my situation affords me a unique advantage, and if you weren’t so close to the situation, I’m sure you would agree.”

“You’re sure?” I asked indignantly. “And I suppose you’re sure because I’m so infantile and predictable.”

His eyebrows shot up quizzically, which was just what I was going for, and he blew out a thin stream of breath. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Acting like what? Childish? Well, I suppose I’m acting this way because that’s how you see me. Like a child!”

I wasn’t, of course. I knew better than that and, even if I didn’t, I wasn’t the type to go off on some poor guy just because he said the wrong thing. That was way too ‘How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days’ for my taste.

I had slipped into mega-bitch mode only to create a distraction. And I was trying to create a distraction because I didn’t want Abram, with his heightened beast senses, to realize that I was—at this very moment—fumbling for the nail file in my purse.

And he wouldn’t like what I was about to do with it.

“Why on Earth would you think that?” he asked, raking his hand through his hair.

Turned out that, magical or not,
all
guys fell apart into confused messes when the girls they liked got emotional.

“Because it’s the truth!” I yelled way too loudly. “You know it’s the truth! And what about my clothes? I know you don’t like the way I dress!”

“I—What?” Poor Abram. He was as lost as a socialite at a NASCAR race.

“You know you do! All you ever do is judge me!”

“Charisse, I—I don’t understand where this is all coming from. I just—”

I pulled the file out quickly, and ran it across my palm, breaking the skin.

“Goddamn it!” Abram yelled, rushing toward me. He pulled my palm toward him, sandwiching it between his and effectively stopping any of my blood from hitting the ground. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What I have to,” I said, dropping the charade of the easily offended psycho girlfriend. “I have to do this. I have to save those girls.”

“What about
this
girl?” he asked, eyes wide, motioning toward me. “What about
my
girl?”

A touch of guilt pinged at the back of my mind. Dalton had called me his girl not two days ago. And he meant it.

I pushed that aside and let myself drown in the other, more pleasurable sensations that Abram’s proclamation brought about.

I was his, something that belonged to him. He was saving me. He was prioritizing me. He was taking me.

And I wanted nothing more in that moment than to be taken. My inner feminist was appalled by my reaction, but I didn’t care. All I wanted in that moment was his hands on my body, his mouth on my lips.

Too bad he wasn’t done scolding me.

“You can’t be this foolish, Charisse,” he said sternly. “Not when so much is at stake.”

He looked at me, his dark eyes bearing clear down into my soul. And I realized that the thing at stake—the thing he was putting so much emphasis on protecting—was me.

“I just wanted to—”

“I know,” he said, leaning in close and shutting me up with his nearness. “But the only way to keep everyone safe is to keep our wits about us.”

He opened his hands, revealing that he had soaked up most of my blood with his palm. It shimmered, gold and sparkling against his tan skin.

“My God …” I murmured. “I’ve cut myself before. It never—”

“It wouldn’t, not unless your blood came in contact with someone of a supernatural persuasion.” It was then I noticed just how hard Abram was trying to keep his hand from shaking. “Just one drop of your blood,” he said, biting his lip. “You have no idea how much—”

“Oh God, are you in pain? Is this hurting you?” I asked, pulling my hand away. “Am
I
hurting you?”

“Not you,” he answered, closing his eyes. “The magic. I’m an abomination—all beast, no magic, remember? The magic doesn’t take to me very well.”

“Well, wipe it off!” I yelled, reaching for him.

“No!” He pulled his hand away. “It’s a beacon. Conduits can track it. If this touches anything, it’ll send the person after you right to us.”

“That was the point,” I said.

He glowered at me, but his scowl soon turned to a wince.

“Okay, so maybe this wasn’t my best idea.”

He shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not playing that game with you again. But could you please stop with the blood luring?”

My hand was still bleeding, but I hadn’t touched anything. That was all I had to do, and the trap would be set. As I chewed at my lip, contemplating, his hand shot out to cover my wound again, his face twisting into deeper pain.

“Charisse,
please
.”

God, his voice was so strained. But what other choice did we have? “We can’t do nothing.”

“I promise we’ll do something,” he said. He barely got the words out. “Something. Not this. Please.”

Seeing Abram beg twisted up my insides. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see him like this.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I won’t, okay?”

He nodded and released my hand again, then stumbled back to sit on the floor, leaning back against the wall clutching his hand against his chest.

“I didn’t mean for you to get hurt,” I said, overcome by guilt.

He balled his hand into a fist. “I’ll be fine, Charisse. This is far from the worst pain I’ve been in.”

“Uh-uh,” I said. I dug in my purse for a bottle of Evian. “At least let me help fix it.”

I kneeled beside him, opened the water, and pulled his fist apart before splashing the liquid onto his hand. The blood dispersed, as if by magic. Just … gone. When Abram’s hand was clean, I noticed his palm had been scorched.

“God,” I said, staring at his palm. “If that’s from me, then maybe I’m the monster.”

“You’re a miracle. I’m the monster,” he answered, visibly relaxing. “But that’s all right. If a monster is what it takes to keep you safe, then I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And there it was, the miracle and the monster. But even if Abram was okay with being a monster, as he called himself, I wasn’t. He
wasn’t
this horrible thing. Hell, even in his beast form, he had done everything he could to keep me safe.

But that didn’t change the fact that, once the sun went down, he would lose control of himself. He would be forced to take a shape that wasn’t his own, to live a life that wasn’t of his choosing. And he had done it every day for well over a century.

“Satina,” I muttered, looking at him and seeing not just the man I adored or the monster that intrigued me, but also the naughty roguish boy who had gotten himself into a hundred and fifty years’ worth of trouble. “You said something about breaking the curse.”

“I said no such thing.” He wouldn’t look at me.

“No more lies, Abram,” I said, grabbing his chin and turning his face toward me. “And no more secrets. You said Satina’s spirit is connected to you until you die … or until the curse is broken. How do you break it?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” he grumbled.

“Well, for one, because I want to hear it from you. For two, we both know damn well she’s a liar.”

His gaze swung toward me. “And who do you think told me how to break the curse?”

“Right,” I said, feeling the sinking of defeat in my stomach. “Satina.”

Which meant anything he might know about breaking the curse was a moot point. For all we know, if he even tried to do what she said, it would only make matters worse.

“I don’t want to get either of our hopes up, Charisse,” he said quietly. “I’m not keeping secrets, and I’m not lying to you. I’m just not sure what the truth is.”

“I see. But there has to be a way,” I said, “And my hopes are getting up regardless, Abram. It’s a little something called
faith
that my Grandma taught me.”

“Hope you have enough for both of us,” he muttered.

I smiled. “At least I got you hoping for something.”

Abram didn’t respond. Instead, he straightened where he sat and tore the sleeve from this shirt. “Give me your hand.”

“Um, okay,” I said, stretching my hand out to him. He tore the fabric sleeve in half, making a scrap of cotton that he began to wrap around my wound.

As I watched him, I tried to think what our next move should be. My blood was magical—the sort of magic that was no less than poisonous to the touch (at least for Abram). If we were going to see our way out of this, we were going to need guidance—the same sort of guidance Abram sought out when this whole thing started.

“We need her help, Abram,” I said, though I couldn’t believe the words were coming out of my mouth.

“Whose
help?” he muttered as he finished tying off the fabric. He looked up to me, and his expression shifted from blank curiosity to sheer disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Charisse.”

“I am.”

“Satina’s not going to help us. Never, not in a million years. Just get that idea out of your head right now.”

I placed my uninjured hand over his and gentled my voice. “If we’re going to even have a chance of surviving this, we need her on her side. You must have had that thought at some point, too—that’s why you brought her back here.”

“And we see how well that went.”

“Abram,” I said, steeling my voice. “You need to set her free.”

He nearly choked on the air. “That’s a little unfair, don’t you think?
She’s
the one who needs to set
me
free.”

I knew why I needed Abram. Having him in my life meant it was safe for me to have moments of weakness. After years of staying strong while my mom fought cancer, I needed that. I needed for it to be okay to not be strong all the time.

But now I knew why Abram needed me. He needed someone to help him move past all his anger and bitterness, his self-loathing and regret.

“Maybe she
will
set you free,” I said. “Or maybe she won’t. But do you think she’ll even consider it while you’re keeping her captive?”

He swallowed and looked toward the staircase leading up to the room where Satina sat locked away and chained to a wall.

“We’ll try it,” he said slowly. “But if she tries to hurt you, I really will be the one to kill her this time.”

“I don’t like this idea,” Abram said, standing beside me in front of the enchanted room that held Satina. “I know I agreed and, since I’m a man of my word, I’ll do it. But I think it should be noted that I don’t like it.”

“Noted,” I answered drolly, arms folded. “And your word, is that the only reason you consented?” I arched my eyebrows at him.

A grin spread across his face. This was a dark time. That much was true. But, if being there for my mother through her painful last days taught me anything, it was that darkness without a touch of light was too unbearable to get through.

“It was either that or your lips,” he answered.

“My lips?” I asked, surprised.

“They curl up when you get angry. Would you find it demeaning if I said it was arousing?”

A spike of warmth seemed to leak out from my heart, filling my chest. “No,” I admitted. “Not if
you
said it.”

He looked at me for a long moment. It was clear that we were lost in each other, sinking gleefully into the possibility of what we might be to each other. Soon though, his expression sobered. We didn’t have time for this, and we certainly didn’t have the luxury of forgetting what we were here for.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” he said, turning his attention back to the door. “Satina isn’t going to help us.”

“You said you brought her back for the express purpose of helping you. Try to channel some of whatever you were feeling when you did that.”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Abram said, running a skillful hand through his hair. “And you saw how much good that did. If you didn’t have your father’s eyes, who knows if I would have ever made the connection. I might have still been scouring that stupid club, combing through beautiful women.”

The idea of Abram combing through beautiful women didn’t sit well with me, regardless of how pure his intentions were. But that wasn’t the only thing about his sentence that I took offense with.

“Don’t call The Castle stupid. It’s where we met. It’s your work.”

“You’re my work,” he answered. “The club as just a vessel to facilitate that.”