Veined (A Guardian of the Angels Novel) (17 page)

“Hell. That. Hurt.” I tried to breathe through the aftershock of Attic’s punch. “You
. . . winded me.”

“You wouldn’t be able to talk if it was anything serious.” The lightness and amusement in Attic’s voice didn’t match the blow that came with it, smacking me so hard my knees jarred against the gym floor as I lost balance. 

I flipped onto my back, holding my aching belly. Attic towered over me with a supremely satisfied look on his face. Anger bubbled, temporarily curing my sickness, and I raised my hand. I’d blow him away and see how long his face stayed so smug looking.

Attic grabbed and twisted my wrist, but let go before he did any damage. “This is hand on hand combat. Someday you might not have enough Angel Blood to hurtle sky elements at your attacker.” He curled his finger. “This isn’t the time for resting. Or were you hoping to engage me in a different kind of activity?” He waggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes.

“Fine,” Attic said, “have it your way.”

Fake disappointment crossed his face, and I laughed. “I’m sure you can get that sort of practice any time, Attic.” A hot flush burst over my face. I sat up, quickly trying to twist away from Attic’s gaze. I scrambled to my feet. He was still staring at me and my body felt awkward. I folded my arms and straightened my back, then unfolded, grinding my fingers into my palms.

I couldn’t put up with the intensity of his stare any longer and ploughed my fist into his stomach. He grunted, bending over, his hands cupping his—Shit. I’d whammed him a little further south than I’d thought. Or intended.

“Oh, God, Attic. I’m sorry.”

With an amazing effort to cover up the pain in his voice, he said, “Certainly won’t be practicing tonight.” He raised his head to look at me. “You’d use this to your advantage.”

I wanted to laugh. He couldn’t be serious. “You’re asking me to continue? Are you crazy?” My voice rose at the end.

“You gotta keep kicking. Even when they’re down.” Attic straightened up. “Come on, pin me to the floor and we’ll call this exercise quits.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. I turned to leave but Attic appeared, standing in my way. I veered to the left and he followed. I feigned passing him on his right, but he anticipated every move. No matter where I turned, he stood in front of me. “Dammit, let me pass Attic, or so help me I’ll—”

“You’ll what, little Lark? Strike?” Hair swept off his ear, revealing a silver earring, and fanned over his forehead. His blue eyes glistened as he stepped closer so we stood less than one body apart. His voice had a cheeky edge to it. Obviously he’d recovered from the punch I’d given him. “You know that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“Cheap tricks included?” I asked, my voice wavering.

“Now you’re learning.
Any
tricks included,” Attic said. Good. Now I was given the go ahead I wouldn’t need to feel guilty.

Unsteadily, I moved closer to him. I didn’t understan
d why I was suddenly so nervous. My palms started to sweat and my throat dried up. Hurriedly, I whammed my hands on his chest. His T-shirt clung to his skin, making his toned muscles visible. I felt the hardness of his body and a nervous feeling sizzled in time to my racing heart. It was as I lessened the push against him that I got angry. Angry at my strange reaction. And pissed at Attic for never giving up.

I didn’t dare look him in the eye. I scratched his chest, digging my nails into his skin. Attic gripped my ponytail, ripping my head back so I had no choice but to look at him. “Not enough.”

The silver of his earring caught in the light and I yanked on it as hard as I could, ripping his ear. I kicked the backs of his knees and shoved my fists into his chest, the earring digging into my palm. With my weight on top of him, he slammed to the floor. “Pinned down,” I said. “Now you’ll let me pass.”

I jumped off him, not wanting our bodies to touch any longer than necessary. But he cuffed my ankle as I started to walk away.

“What?” I kicked my foot out of his grip as I faced him, my eyes narrowed. I had to force the scowl to stay etched into my face when I saw the blood running from Attic’s ear, but I couldn’t control the shaking in my arms.

“Well done, my lethal little Lark.” Att
ic picked himself off the floor. Already I could see his wound healing. I relaxed. “May I have my earring back, now?” He inclined his head toward my arm.

I frowned and Attic gently took my hand and unpeeled my fist. I’d squeezed the earring so tight my skin had almost swallowed it up. I stared at the shiny silver hoop, which could have easily been mistaken for a ring, and I noticed something inscribed on the inner side. Before Attic could take it back, I walked over to the weight lifting benches at the side of the gym. My muscles thanked me for sitting down. I held up the earring to study the inscription. 21071862. “What do these numbers mean?”

Attic swung one leg over the bench and sat facing my side. “May I have that back?”

I twitched at his tone, both demanding and evasive. I got the feeling this was a touchy subject, and I’d crossed a line being so curious. I swung my leg over the bench so we faced each other straight on and handed him the earring. “Of course.”

I watched him as he fiddled it into his healed ear. “How come piercing holes don’t heal up with the Angel Blood?” I asked.

“They do,” Attic said. “I just push it through and once it’s in, the skin heals around it.”

“I don’t get how you can put up with the pain.”

“After what you just did to me? This is nothing, Lark.” The silver finally pierced the other side of Attic’s ear and he clasped the ring shut. Blood had poured out of his ear from my attack and left a trail down his neck. Even through the blood I could see his scar and, not for the first time, wondered how it’d gotten there.

Attic caught me staring and I bounced off the bench. “Wait there a sec,” I said. I sauntered over to the bottle of water and towel I’d brought into the gym for our practices and headed back to him. Why was I doing this? I unscrewed the lid and poured water onto one corner of the towel. “Tilt your head,” I said, surprised at the softness in my voice.

Attic followed my instruction, peering at me from the corner of his eye as if he too were trying to make out why the hell I was doing this.

Blood stained the towel as I wiped Attic’s neck and ear. Once he was clean, I dried it using a fresh corner. I focused on his neck, shocked at what I was doing, unable to stop it and scared to make eye contact with him. I tracked over his scar with the towel, and jumped back when Attic spoke.

“It’s from when I died.”

I wrung the towel in my hands, not knowing what to say, but Attic continued, “Rebel attack, American Civil War. A regulation infantry officer’s sword did that.”

I was unsure what to do, whether to comfort him or give him space. I chose to perch on the other end of the bench, show him I was listening, but wouldn’t get too close.

“We had my older brother in hiding and when they found out, we were all slaughtered. Except for Tanya. At the time, she and I thought I’d survived the attack. We ran, and I looked after her. Until . . .” He touched his earring. “I’ve worn this as long as I can remember. I bought the earring to detract from the scar, and inscribed it with the date I died, sort of as a grave stone to myself.” He shrugged. “That’s what those numbers mean. The twenty-first of July, 1862.”

I tucked my knees under my chin, balancing precariously on the bench.
Thud. The bike landing on my leg. The cracking of bones. The splitting of plastic.
I understood the clarity of the memory. The pain of thinking about it. And I knew no words could make it better.

I studied Attic’s face. How much more had he experienced in all his time being a Guardian? I averted my gaze and glared at the blood stained towel between us. How much of his blood had been spilled in that time? How many times had he had to endure a stab wound as a Guardian, only to be reminded how he’d first died—how his family had suffered? How was it he could keep going? Keep up his charming attitude and wicked sense of humor?

“Are you all right there, Lark?”

I wished he hadn’t asked me that, because the softness of his tone made my eyes well.

“Dammit, Attic,” I shouted, jumping up and throwing the towel in his face. As fast as I could, I stalked out of the gym, slamming the door shut, thankful to the heavens that he’d had the sense not to follow me.

In room fourteen, I sprawled onto the bed, replaying the scene in my head. I couldn’t fathom why I’d reacted like that. It was silly and bitchy as hell.

Ah crap. Now I’d have to apologize.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably. I checked the alarm clock on the side of the bed. Ten o’clock. When was the last time I’d eaten?

I stripped off my track pants and T-shirt, clinging to me with sweat, and had a glorious hot shower. When I emerged, I pampered myself. After pinning my hair, fiddling my necklace on and choosing my ballet slippers to dress up my jeans and cashmere sweater, I nipped out of the room into the flickering fluorescent lighting on the balcony.

Each tiny movement—the squeak of a door opening, the crunch of gravel in the parking lot and the whoosh of wind as it blew around the side of the motel—had my heart racing. I was on edge, as if waiting for something to happen. And each time it didn’t, I felt disappointed.

“Sylva,” Albelin said as I entered the kitchen. He sat with his hands linked behind his head at the table. “How are the trainings coming along?”

I glanced around the room and recognized Toby scraping food off his plate into a bin and Cordelia filling the dishwasher. Reluctantly, I approached the table. “Um, it hurts.”

Albelin roared with laughter. “Goodness, I remember it myself. The constant bruises, broken bones—and you don’t have an easy instructor. I bet he’s pushing you harder than any of us had it.”

My gaze fell on Cordelia.
I couldn’t imagine her in a fight. She was so beautiful and elegant, it didn’t seem right.

Albelin followed my gaze. “She’d beat me any day of the week.” His voice was full of pride. So sweet
, I had to smile. In a more serious tone, Albelin said, “If you need any painkillers or if you feel any injury isn’t healing right, you come straight to me. Is that clear?”

“Thanks,” I said, heading into the kitchen. “Right now all I want is to,”
apologize to
Attic
“eat something.”

Cordelia’s head spun in my direction and she gave me a sharp look. She closed her eyes and breathed in slightly, and when she opened them again, a dazzling smile graced her face. I wondered what she’d sensed from me this time that could make her look so excited.

“There’s a stack of hamburger patties in the oven. Help yourself,” Albelin said.

Cordelia opened the fridge and pulled out a green plastic bowl. “Here’s some salad, too. You need some vitamins.”

I took the salad, but it was the idea of meat that got my stomach worked up again and my mouth watering. I slapped two patties onto a plate and prettied it with a leaf of lettuce. I ate quickly, my body thankful for the fat, the carbs. I stuffed the lettuce leaf into my mouth,
the vitamins
.

“Shit,” Toby cried out, his hands grabbing at the sides of his head. Albelin was quick to jump up and help him to a chair.

“How many? Where?”

When Toby dropped his hands I gasped. His eyes had a film of white glazed over them, only a faint outline of his irises remained. A turquoise light shone through the back of his sweater, casting a dim light on the slits of the chair and casting green squares onto the table. He blinked and the color in his eyes returned. “Eight Keres,” he said, “And an Arae. Corner of Oat and Hill street.” My back straightened. Close to school. “Fuzzy on the time,” Toby said, apologetically. “Anywhere between ten minutes and two hours.”

Albelin squeezed his shoulder and flicked open his cell, pressing a few numbers. Cordelia handed Toby some water, which he drained as if he were parched. And I was still staring.

“What was that?” Great, that didn’t sound polite.

Toby leaned back on his chair and grinned, obviously not phased at the intrusion of his privacy. “Sylva, right?” When I nodded, he said, “Ever wondered how Albelin and the others know when and where a demon attack is coming?” He prodded a finger at his chest. “That’ll be because of me. It’s my ability.”