Stained (15 page)

Julia screamed as Cayne choked on his blood. It splattered on the rug. Samyaza descended on him like an animal, punching and kicking and cutting in a blur.

Julia's heart seemed to double in size and white light pulsed behind her eyes. She reached for Cayne's aura and screamed as Sam drove his blade into his heart.

Cayne's knees hit the ground, and Julia became a valve. Her energy poured into him like a lake exploding through a dam, taking his pain, healing his wounds.

She watched her bright light flow into the flickering shadow of his aura. Her vision blanked, the scene before her replaced by foreign faces. Lips folding back to scream in agony. Children. Old men. Women. All gasping for a dying breath. And then, as if in memory, she saw Cayne. He was different somehow. Smiling. Watching with joy a head of soft brown curls, eyes blinking in tune with an amber gaze...

As Julia's body gave out, she saw two huge charcoal wings sprout from his back.

For a while she knew only dream things: feathers and blood and snow and feathers and kisses and curls and covers and caves and snow and snow and blood.

Cognizance came, a flash of light.

She was aware of something heavy and soft tucked snugly around her. Other things, soft things, crawled across her cheeks. Stroking. Someone was holding her. Beneath a thorough numbness ran agony, hot and bright. Her eyes flickered back--pink curtains--and forth. And there he was, pale and angry. Maybe heaven wouldn't let him in.

Chapter 20

Nathan scowled. The object of his displeasure smiled sweetly. She even batted her long lashes. Infuriating.

"The common room--"

"Is a common room," she interrupted. Her coffee eyes sparkled as she waved her left arm across the great stone cathedral. "For
commoners
."

Nathan clenched his fists to his sides and ground his teeth. Of the two dozen or so people milling about, only a few were paying them any attention. But even one was too many. Why did she insist on undermining him? Why did she continue to insult his position? Because he followed the rules? Because he was dedicated to their cause? It didn't make sense.

Summoning all his patience, Nathan tried to reason with the unreasonable. "Meredith, the common room is a place for fellowship, not sunbathing." He glanced up at the crystal prism that stretched hundreds of feet above their heads. Thousands of stars twinkled in the dark sky. "And the sun went down four hours ago."

She shrugged. "It was up when I fell asleep. And look," she tugged on a filmy sash tied around her waist, "I changed."

Nathan suppressed a sigh. The flimsy fabric did little to hide what was underneath. "Meredith, I--"

"Want to ruin everyone's fun," she supplied with a smile. She tossed her long, black hair over her suntanned shoulder. "Or maybe you can't control Little Nate when there's a girl in a bathing suit around?"

She giggled and bent at the waste, offering him a view into the top of her yellow bikini. Nathan kept his eyes on hers.

"You are the only woman that sunbathes in the common room."

"I'm the only woman that dresses like a woman, too."

"Communal dress codes--"

"Get you hot, right?" She puckered her lips. "If I dress in gray can I trust myself around you, captain?"

"Come on Nathan." A tall boy with dusty blond hair entered the argument. "She's not hurting anyone."

Randy. Nathan struggled to control his face. Of course it was Randy.

Of the five hundred people living at their haven, only a few dozen were girls around Meredith's age. And all of those had embraced the communal rules. Except Meredith.

In the month since she'd come to their compound, Nathan had found himself at odds with several of the younger men. They misinterpreted her ridicule for teasing, which apparently in some circles meant flirting. And since she was the object of most of their desires, they resented Nathan. Some, like Randy, even challenged him openly.

"My hero." Meredith reached up to ruffle Randy's hair. "At least someone knows how to talk to a lady."

Nathan ground his teeth. Never mind that he was four years older than Randy. Or that Meredith, at seventeen, was three.

"This has nothing to do with you."

"Wow, Nathan, I didn't know they'd made you the Fourth." Randy laughed, and Meredith flashed him a dazzling smile. She encouraged this crap. And she got away with it. Because she was one of the Candidates. Which meant she could insult the Three to their faces and escape unscathed.

Nathan turned his attention to Randy, a target that he could reach. "Why don't you--"

But that was all Nathan got out. Something electric traveled up his spine, and a white light ballooned behind his eyes. He glanced about the common room. Nearly everyone seemed to be experiencing something. Some more than others. Meredith was bent at the waist.

Nathan sank to his knees and grabbed her shoulder. "What do you see?"

"Give her a second," Randy snapped from her other side.

"We don't have a second."

"She needs space to breathe."

"She need to tell me what she sees," Nathan snarled.

"You self-righteous asshole. You don't care--"

"You will be quiet!"

Randy fell as if he'd been hit. He struggled to open his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked horrified.

Nathan felt a flash of remorse, which he quickly buried. In theory, all of their brethren had the ability to exercise the same control, but personality and environment heightened some gifts. Nathan's was his voice. Only the most strong-willed could refuse a direct command.

He turned his attention back to the swaying girl beside him. Hers was empathy. "Meredith."

"It's dark," she whispered. "She's in a house. It smells like blood."

As Meredith spoke, images appeared in Nathan's mind like cloudy photos or impressionist paintings. He saw a large living room. He saw three figures. The girl was off to the side, watching the two males fight. Nephilim, Nathan realized. Hunters. Which meant the girl--

"She has to help him. She needs to help him. He's killing him."

Nathan watched, awed, as the girl pushed an impossible amount of energy into the dying Hunter. Bile swam in his throat as he sensed the ease with which it was delivered. She had saved this monster before.

This girl, the Candidate for whom they were searching, collapsed under the stress of her effort, and she slipped into unconsciousness. But not before Nathan saw the Hunter she had healed throw the other off. He turned to her. And Nathan saw his face.

Chapter 21

Julia opened her eyes and saw him at the window.

Her heart went staccato. She slowed it with a long breath, taking care that he didn't hear. While her eyes danced over Cayne, her brain began to reboot. She was torn for a moment between the overwhelming urge to save him and the realization that he was fine, standing right in front of her, raking his fingers through his hair, as it looked like he had a hundred times.

She realized something else: he had just been near her.

Eyes still half closed, Julia assessed her surroundings--a pistachio hotel room with rose garden prints and pink curtains--and herself. She was underneath heavy layers of fabric. A scratchy thin comforter, a few velour blankets, a cotton robe and...
a
robe
!

Julia's hands swished under the covers and found, to her dismay, lots of skin beneath that robe. She was still wearing her bra and underwear, but her jacket, shirt, pants, and socks were MIA.

Her face and hands felt clean, but the rest of her was sticky, and Julia offered a silent prayer of thanks to whoever would listen. She had never been so grateful to be grimy.

Her hair was clean, too. Smelling of hotel shampoo, it spread around her head, swept onto the pillow by his stroking hands. Julia froze mid-thought, swaths of memory sparking a fire in her cheeks. Her sharp inhalation made him spin.

The change on Cayne's face was almost comic. His eyes, wide under raised brows, dropped shut, while his worry-tight lips relaxed to part. Every muscle in his body seemed to deflate. He rubbed his hand over his face and smiled wanly. "You're awake."

Julia nodded. She couldn't take her eyes off his face. It was still moving, a million little expressions ricocheting through skin and muscle, as if he couldn't decide how to feel.

Then he was sitting at the foot of the bed, looking at Julia like he had never seen her before. "How do you feel?"

She stretched, testing her limbs. Unfortunately, she saw her arms and the robe around them and remembered that Cayne had seen her half-naked. She turned lipstick red, and he noticed. And she was sure that this time, his cheeks actually got a bit pinker.

"Your nose bled." He pointed to his own. "It got all over your clothes. And they were dirty anyway."

Julia couldn't make her mouth work, and after a moment, Cayne continued. "I didn't want to leave you in those things--"

Oh no.

"And you didn't wake up--"

Don't say it.

"So I undressed you."

There it was. Out loud. Between them. Cayne undressing her. Cayne taking off her clothes. Cayne seeing her. And he knew that she knew.

Julia slid back down her pillow and pulled the blankets over her head. She didn't care how childish she looked. She couldn't bear another second under his earnest gaze. Now every time he saw her he'd see her half naked.

From the other side of the covers, Cayne asked, "Should I have left you alone?"

She shook her head.

"I waited several hours."

"Mmmmmk," she mumbled.

"What?"

Julia poked her head back out. "It's okay."

Relief smoothed his face, and he nodded. "You never said how you feel."

It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. When she did, a fever vision made her shiver, and a flood of memories swept her out of the room and into the past.

She was swamped with light--bursting from her, flowing unerringly into him. Cayne. His light had almost gone out, and the need to heal him had consumed her. Everything she was, good and bad, rushed into his fading form.

Some of him rushed into her as well. Julia registered the sensations of his life like an emotional seismograph. Each fleeting memory jolted her up and down, up and down. The salty spew of the sea, wet on his face, fear a fist around his heart, and Cayne, younger Cayne, pushing his boat into the lake.

The comfort of the familiar. His warm bed. His mother, dozing in the next room.

Knowing came like a needle. The pain of understanding. Julia felt it sink into his skin. A cloak of gray fell over the vibrant green world, and under the charcoal sky men in odd clothes leered, livid faces animated by hate sharper than the rocks against his bare back. And then a razor's edge, cutting him until his own blood made him sticky.