Secret Worlds (257 page)

They stumbled up the stairs together, his weight feeling like Sisyphus’s boulder on her shoulder. He nodded toward a doorway at the end of the hall, and they staggered through it. As they passed over the threshold she stuck her hand out, hoping to find a light switch. Sheer luck led her fingers to it quickly, and she flipped it on. Windows covered one wall that would probably look out to the sea, and against the adjacent wall sat a large four-poster bed.

She steered Cadan toward it and he collapsed onto the bed, groaning heavily as he settled onto the comforter. Soft, dark cloth covered a sea of mattress set into a heavy wooden frame.

“Cadan, listen to me. Do you have any medical supplies? Extra towels?” The idea of stitching his wounds made her stomach heave, but some of them were deep and miserable. “You need stitches.”

“Bathroom. No stitches. I’ll heal.”

Relief rushed through her. No sewing through flesh today, thank God. But she could still help him, so she turned, scanning the different doors that led from the room, looking for a bathroom. One, near the wall of windows, looked like the most likely candidate.

Inside, she found a large, modern bathroom. After rifling through the cabinets, she found a box of medical supplies and a large bowl beneath the sink and dragged them out. She filled the bowl with water and grabbed some towels. Arms loaded, she headed into the bedroom.

Most of the color had faded from his skin and his paleness stood out starkly against the dark bedspread. Closer inspection revealed that Cadan had drifted into an uneasy sleep, and though he was breathing evenly, his face was tense.

She dipped a cloth into the bowl of water and ran it over his face. It grated roughly over the stubble of his beard, but she managed to remove most of the sweat and blood. Cleaned of it, his features were strong and symmetrical. Handsome, there was no other way to put it.

Diana blew out a breath. She needed to quit ogling. But it was hard, particularly when the man had leapt out of the car to defend her and had received these injuries on her behalf. He’d been so fierce. He’d protect her with his life, but push her away because it was against the rules. He wouldn’t kiss her, not once he remembered that he shouldn’t, and he wouldn’t give her any clues about her identity.

But then, she understood about following rules.

She sighed, then reached into the First Aid kit and withdrew a pair of shears. Carefully, she cut away his tattered and blood-soaked shirt. She bit her lip as she spread it open to reveal his wounds, wincing when it stuck to dried blood.

His sculpted chest was coated in streaks of sweat and crimson, cuts and gashes marring the otherwise flawless skin. As she ran the towel over his chest, she felt each swell of muscle beneath the wet cloth. She wiped blood from the slowly weeping wounds, some of which appeared to be knitting together in front of her eyes.

With the speed that he was recovering, she’d probably just have to put a few of the large butterfly bandages on the more serious gashes. The plastic backs peeled off easily and she put three over the largest wound under his right pectoral muscle, stroking the undamaged skin for a little too long.

Cadan’s hand closed over her wrist in an iron grip. Diana jumped, barely suppressing a scream. He glared at her, shadows haunting his eyes.

“What’re you doing?” he said through gritted teeth.

“I’m trying—” She winced as his grip tightened. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Doona need your help.” Cadan’s voice was harsh and dark with pain. His gaze dropped to her wrist. Scowling, he removed his hand and sat up. “Leave me alone, I doona want your help.”

“Fine.” She rose to leave.

“There’s a bedroom across the hall.” He gestured to the door as he limped around his bed and headed toward the windows. “You can sleep there, but leave the door open. There’s a spell on this house that makes it invisible to most who pass by, but better safe than sorry.”

Vivienne Lawrence accepted the last test from a grinning student. All the others had left within the last fifteen minutes, but this smiling girl who’d sat in the front row was the last to turn hers in.

“Good?” Vivienne asked.

“Great.” The girl’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. She turned and headed back to her desk to grab her bag. On her way out of the classroom she asked, “When will Dr. Laughton be back?”

Vivienne tried to play it cool. “Next week, I think. She’s a little under the weather.”

“Cool. ‘Night.”

Vivienne stacked the tests and idly watched the girl walk out of the classroom that Diana’s department used for Intro to Medieval History. She’d only covered Diana’s classes for a few days, so she didn’t really know the student, but she knew her type. Sat front row, smart, dedicated, and always turned the test in last because she always had something extra to say on the essay portions.

Vivienne had been that girl. Diana as well, probably. Most archaeology and history professors had been that girl. Vivienne had always been clever, but in truth, it had been her work ethic and sense of urgency that put her ahead of her colleagues.

She tucked the tests in her bag, then reached for her laptop to close it. She’d been analyzing remote sensing data from her last field project in Egypt and she was just flying through it. Normally she struggled with learning a new program for analyzing data, but this one had been a breeze. Her colleagues had been complaining about the interface all summer as they’d gathered the data, but for some reason Vivienne was having no problems.

It was the weirdest thing, but she was reading exponentially faster, too. And grading tests faster. She was just getting smarter in general. She’d considered talking to Diana about it, especially with all the crazy stuff that had been happening to her friend. But she was just too scared. What if she had a tumor? Sure, she was leaping to the worst possible conclusions, but she couldn’t help it. And ignoring it meant that it wasn’t real. Right?

A disgusted sigh escaped her as she tucked the laptop into her bag. She swung the bag onto her shoulder and headed for the door, wondering about Diana. A text from Diana had arrived a couple of days ago. It hadn’t been long, just a note that she was safe.

Hopefully she’d figure out what was going on and be back soon. Her department would figure out that Diana wasn’t teaching her classes and then they’d really have to do some fast talking.

It was crazy, though, what had happened to Diana. Vivienne believed her, of course. Not just because she was her friend and one of the most rational people she’d ever met. She’d been raised by her father to believe that all wasn’t as it seemed. He’d been an Egyptologist too, and one year while on a project in Egypt, he’d met Vivienne’s mother. Vivienne had showed up ten months later, though her mother had died in childbirth. Her father had tried to make her mother seem real to her by sharing the fairy tales and myths of her culture. Ever since she was a little girl, Vivienne had felt a strong affinity for them.

But she almost wished now that she hadn’t believed Diana. Hallucinations were definitely better than what had happened to her. God, she hoped she got out of this safely.

Vivienne flicked the light switch as she stepped out into the dim hallway of the history building. The test had run a bit over, so it was after seven. Across the hall, waiting right near the building’s main exit, a tall figure leaned against the wall. A long leather coat hung off incredibly slim shoulders and a wide-brimmed hat shielded a face that was tilted toward the ground.

Before she could take another step, the head rose. Eerie features, sharp and almost birdlike, glanced up at her and back down. Vivienne’s heart thrummed like a butterfly’s wings.

There was something wrong with the figure. She spun on her heel to hightail it toward the other exit. She had taken only a couple of steps down the linoleum-covered corridor when the chill-inducing sound of leaden footsteps sounded at her back. She picked up her pace, but hard arms gripped her from behind. The scream was crushed from her lungs.

“Not getting away this time, Diana,” the rough voice said in her ear.

Suddenly, all she could see was blackness and it felt like she was being thrown from a rollercoaster. She had no breath to gasp. Hard ground appeared beneath her feet and she opened her eyes, her stomach pitching when she saw three figures standing in front of her, all spindly and harsh-featured like the one who held her. Cold rain sprinkled her face.

She was in a city, and it wasn’t one she recognized. The buildings were all made of old gray stone or muted red brick, far older and larger than anything in Clayton. There were no people except for the monsters who held her.

“Got her,” the voice said from behind her.

Vivienne’s scream was cut off by a blow to the head. A flash of pain, then unconsciousness.

Diana shot awake as if she’d been plunged into a vat of freezing water. She gasped and pressed her hand to her stomach, struggling to keep from throwing up.

Oh God.
It had been the worst dream yet. Fragments swam in the corners of her mind, too vivid for her sanity. She lost the fight and ran to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later she walked into the kitchen, still queasy and shaky. Cadan leaned against the counter with a steaming mug in his hand. Her eyes were drawn to his hair, slightly tousled from sleep, and the simple shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders. She could see no bulky bandages beneath the shirt.

Wow, he must really have healed overnight. He’d been a jerk when she’d tried to help him, but then, she couldn’t blame him for being moody when he was covered in stab wounds. He didn’t accept help easily, but perhaps that was because he so rarely needed it.

“Coffee?” His voice was still slightly rough from sleep and she hated what it did to her insides, especially after the dream she’d had.

“Um, yeah.”

His brow furrowed. “Are you all right? You look...unhappy.”

“Give me a moment.” Shakily, she took a sip of the coffee he offered her. Normally she would appreciate the big, beautiful kitchen with windows open to the fresh sea air. This morning, it taunted her. It was so normal in the face of all that was so strange in her life.

She stared out at the overcast sky that hung over an iron-gray sea and focused on her breathing. After a while, the soothing sight of waves crashing against huge boulders at the base of the curving cliffs pushed the pain of the dream away. The horror and guilt as well, though it was something that would never fully disappear.

“I was a bad person, Cadan,” she said when the worst of the pain was gone. With every new fact she learned, it felt like she was losing control of who she was.

He reached out to her, then pulled back. “Ah, lassie, why would you say that?”

“I dreamed that I killed a boy. A teenager. It was so quick, but as I cut his throat with my sword I just kept thinking,
I’ll take what you love.
I was so angry. So hurt.” The pain had bubbled like acid beneath her skin. “But it was horrible.
I
was horrible. Tell me you know what I’m talking about.”

She
needed
to know if she’d really killed that boy. Could she live with herself if she had? But she looked up at his face to see genuine shock. Her shoulders fell. This was one thing he didn’t know.

“Lassie, you weren’t a bad person. You may have made mistakes, but you weren’t evil.”

“There’s no excuse.” And there wasn’t, but she couldn’t help but appreciate his attempts to comfort her.

“Maybe no’. But it doesn’t sound like he suffered.”

A bitter laugh strangled in her throat. “It doesn’t matter how quick the death. It’s still my fault.”

“
No’
yours.” He gripped her arms gently, but his face was fierce. His eyes burned into hers. “You aren’t the same as your past soul. You have some of her characteristics and memories. But you
aren’t
her. This isn’t your fault.”

“It sure feels like it. Every new thing that I learn about her life is more horrible than the last. I feel like I’m losing control of my life.” Her eyes burned. Damn it, she would not cry.

He rubbed her arms, concern darkening his eyes. “You’re no’. You killed a demon last night. You specifically disobeyed my orders—you’re too damn important to take such risks in the future, so doona do it again—but you are taking control.”

“I suppose. I didn’t feel entirely like me when I did it, though. I felt the same unfamiliar skill take over my body. It’s like my body remembers something my mind doesn’t.”

“I’m no’ surprised, and you’ll figure out what it means. But I’m serious. Doona take risks like that again. What you were reborn to do is too important to risk for some demons out on the road.”

“You would have been killed.”

“I’d have been fine. But thanks for the help.” She met his eyes, dark and deep beneath his furrowed brow. This aspect of her past might have thrown him for a loop, but he still knew more than she did. And was keeping it from her.

“Sure. Will you show me where the library is now? I’d like to start researching.” And maybe she could weasel some more information out of him if she could find any clues in the library.

***

Cadan nodded, relieved that the devastated look had faded from her face. He walked to the windows to shut out the sharp scent of sea air and the oncoming storm and then led her out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the library. Though he’d had a home here for most of his long life, he’d razed and rebuilt the main house every hundred years or so, attempting to erase memories as the years tolled on. By the thirteenth house, he’d finally figured out that he was trying to rebuild the home he’d lost so many years ago to the Romans.

He’d stopped building after that, choosing instead to modernize the thirteenth house, built in the early nineteenth century. The ridiculousness of it all had him spending most of his time at his flat in Edinburgh these last two hundred years.