Authors: M.J. Scott
Shadow Kin (53 page)
“I’m sorry,” he said, and I could hear the truth in his words. “I’m a stupid, idiotic, jealous, pathetic man who deserves to have you leave and never look back.” He looked away for a time, fingers tracing circles over the blanket’s soft surface.
I held my breath. I didn’t think he had said all he wanted to say.
“When you told me . . . it was too much like Edwina. Too close to home.”
“Edwina chose what she did,” I said. “Yet you tried to save her. I didn’t choose and you condemned me.”
“It brought it all back.” He held up a hand. “I know it isn’t an excuse. I thought I had made peace with losing her. But then you . . . it was like learning all over again that she was lost and there wasn’t anything I could do.”
Which for him, would be the hardest part of all. Having to admit defeat, admit he couldn’t save his own sister.
I shifted a little closer on the blanket, not touching him, not yet. “I’m sorry, Simon.”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I was angry, but as I said, that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have said it and I shouldn’t have behaved like such an idiot afterward. I shouldn’t have let you go to face him alone like that. If you had died—”
A different sort of nerves gripped my stomach now. “But I didn’t die,” I said softly. “And neither did you. Besides, I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”
“No. You were right. I wouldn’t have trusted you if I’d known about it from the start. Wouldn’t have gotten to know you. But I did.” A hint of a smile ghosted over his face. “I do. I know you now. And gods and suns, Lily, when I saw you there, blood running out of you . . . well, if I could kill him all over again, it wouldn’t be enough—”
“Simon,” I interrupted, unable to let him go on any longer without telling him my latest truth. “I haven’t felt the need since Lucius died.”
“Oh, thank the gods,” he said, then buried his face in his hands. “Fuck. I’m an idiot, ignore me.”
I suppressed the laugh that rose in my throat, trying to still sound stern. “You could have asked me before this.”
He dropped his hands, lifted his head to meet my gaze squarely. “I—I needed to work this out in my head. Untangle myself. And I’ve been busy.”
“Busy?”
“Some of the locked woke up. When we killed—”
“You killed,” I interrupted. I still hadn’t entirely come to terms with the fact that it hadn’t been me who’d wielded the blade. I’d wanted to kill Lucius. Wanted to do it myself so I could know with my body that it was true. I had dreams about it. Felt the sensation of swinging a sword, of cutting his head off, and woke wanting it to be true.
But it had been Simon who’d killed. Killed to save me even. Had taken up the sword he’d renounced and fought for me. Part of him had enjoyed it. I’d seen that on his face as they’d fought. He’d let the warrior loose. Had chosen to kill with a blade and his strength in the dark rather than let his powers do the work for him. Lady knew what it had done to him. I knew too well how raw a wound dealing death could leave. For him, with his history, it would be harder still. The healer needed time to heal.
“No, we,” Simon corrected. “I would never have gotten near him without you. What you did . . .”
I shivered, hand drifting to my throat again. “I don’t want to talk about that. Tell me about the locked.”
“They woke up. Not all of them.”
“Maybe the ones who fed from Blood who are now dead?” I suggested.
He looked startled. “Yes, that’s what Atherton thinks. How did you know?”
“We had a few conversations on the subject. Atherton thinks the addiction only survives when there’s a bloodline for the addiction to follow.”
“Yes, though I have no idea how that works.” He shook his head, looking frustrated. A puzzle the healer couldn’t solve, then?
I grinned at him. “Who knows why any magic works? But I’m glad Atherton was right.” Not just for me. “How are they?”
“The ones who woke up?”
“Yes.”
“Confused. Weak. Some are healthier than others. It’s too early to tell what the long-term prognosis is.”
“Have you told their families?”
“We will. We want to wait, make sure none of them relapse. That would be too cruel.”
“Yes.” To be given hope, then have it ripped away from you. This time I agreed with his secrecy. “But don’t wait too long.” I shivered again. “This isn’t over, you know.”
Simon frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Lucius—if he was out to rule the City as he said—would have more than one plot in motion. He always liked backup plans.” A thought suddenly struck me. “Did they ever find Chrysanthe?”
“No. But the fact that she’s vanished would seem to point to her being the spy.”
“But we don’t know what she was doing for him.” Hells. “You need to be careful until you’re ready to let people know. Someone else might want to take up where Lucius left off.”
“You think he was working with someone?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem. Much like you don’t know how news of your cure is going to be received.”
“It’s not exactly a cure yet, is it?” Simon said. “The Blood are never going to agree for us to go around killing them to free the locked.”
“No, but it’s a starting point. You know the part of the bond is magical at least. That must give you some new ideas.”
“Yes,” Simon admitted.
The sunlight seemed to chill a little. The Blood—those who had wanted what Lucius had wanted, a return to the old ways, would not take news of a cure well. And who knew what ties Lucius’ plot might have into the Beasts and the Fae? Or what other plots there might be? But I couldn’t think of that now. I made myself smile at him, let his answering smile warm me again. “That should keep you busy.”
He nodded, then eased back on his elbows, turning his face to the sun. “And you? What are you going to do with your time?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. Now that I was healed, I needed to do something. I needed money to keep a roof over my head. But apart from fighting, I had few skills to offer.
“Bryony thought you might be good with plants.”
I looked at the abundant life around me, green and welcoming. The urge to reach out and touch and stroke the leaves and flowers tingled through my fingertips. “Maybe. Helping things grow has a certain appeal.”
“Bryony is good at knowing what will suit people.”
“Bryony thinks she’s good at many things,” I said tartly.
Simon laughed. “You should give her a chance. And yes, before you ask, I’ve given her the same speech. I think the two of you would get along well.”
I shook my head at him. “One of these days I’m going to ask Guy whether he really did drop you on your head. Bryony is as likely to befriend a wraith as, well, as I am to sprout wings and learn to fly.” Despite her telling me about my father, I didn’t think she would ever be truly friendly toward me.
“You’re too pessimistic.”
“And you have way too much faith in people.” I laughed suddenly. This had the feeling of an argument we might be having for a very long time.
“Regardless of who came up with the idea, you should think about it,” Simon said. “I’m sure we can come up with funding for any schooling you might wish to undertake. We owe you a debt, after all.”
I looked away, smoothing my hair for a moment while I thought of a suitable response. “I’m not sure I’ve done anyone that much of a service. More likely I’ve just stirred up a wasp’s nest. Given people even more reason to dislike my kind.”
Simon’s brows drew together. “Don’t say that.”
“What?”
“Your kind.”
“It matters, what I am.”
He shook his head, pushing up from the blanket. “No. It doesn’t. Who you are matters, not what you are.”
I tilted my head at him, trying not to hope he might mean what he said. “So it doesn’t matter to you? That I’m a wraith? That my kind are feared?”
He shook his head. “I don’t care. Show them they’re wrong about your kind. I already know all I need to know about you.”
I dropped my eyes, suddenly wanting to cry. The truth about my father hovered on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to tell him that I was human too—at least partly—but something held me back. Something that just wanted to bask in the warmth of his acceptance. I would tell him soon enough. Soon enough but not today.
“All you need to do is let people know you,” Simon said gently.
I raised my eyes, saw his shining blue as he smiled at me.
“You’ve given us a chance to change things,” Simon said, shifting a little closer. Now we both sat cross-legged, facing each other over a foot or so of blanket. Such a small space but it felt like a chasm as deep as the warrens.
“Of course, what we do with the chance is up to us,” Simon continued. “The same applies to the Blood and how they react.”
He took a breath and looked at me. The color of his eyes seemed almost too blue. Full of light. I couldn’t look away.
“Studying would fill your days at least,” he said slowly. His voice had dropped to a low velvet tone.
My stomach fluttered. “That still leaves my nights. . . .”
“I have some ideas about what you can do with those,” Simon said softly. He reached for my hand.
“Such as?” I said, letting him take it. His skin was warm and felt even better than the sunlight on my skin.
“This.” He leaned in and his mouth met mine.
This time it wasn’t a roaring fire that took me at his touch. No, this time it was something richer, truer. Something golden and glowing like the man himself. Like swallowing the warmth that the sun was pouring onto my back and letting it flow through my veins. Happiness. No, something deeper than that.
Love.
“Don’t leave me, Lily,” he said when his mouth left mine. “I love you. Stay here with me.”
I smiled and reached out to touch his face. “It seems I was wrong about something.”
“Oh?” His dimples flashed and the sunlight glinted off his hair, turning it to gold. I wondered if I’d ever tire of looking at him in the light.
“What was that?” he asked.
“I needed a white knight after all.”
His smile was bright enough to chase away any shadows that might still linger in my heart.
“Consider me at your service, my lady.” He leaned in and kissed me hungrily.
I felt the answering hunger rise in me. Not the need. Just simple longing for this man. Full of love and warmth.
We sank back on the blanket, moving slowly. No need to hide anymore. No need for darkness and the cover of night. “I’m in favor of that idea,” I said when we finally came up for a breath. Simon was on top of me, shirt undone, hair rumpled. My shirt was a crumpled thing lying around my shoulders. My skin hummed with pleasure everywhere he and the sunshine touched it.
“So am I,” he said. “And I can think of some services I can offer right now.”
I laughed at him and took his hand. “Show me.”
We lay back down in the light and began all over again.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
M. J. Scott
is an unrepentant bookworm. Luckily she grew up in a family that fed her a properly varied diet of books and these days is surrounded by people who are understanding of her story addiction. When not wrestling one of her own stories to the ground, she can generally be found reading someone else’s. Her other distractions include yarn, cat butlering, dark chocolate, and fabric. She lives in Melbourne, Australia. Her Web site is
http://www.mjscott.net
.
is an unrepentant bookworm. Luckily she grew up in a family that fed her a properly varied diet of books and these days is surrounded by people who are understanding of her story addiction. When not wrestling one of her own stories to the ground, she can generally be found reading someone else’s. Her other distractions include yarn, cat butlering, dark chocolate, and fabric. She lives in Melbourne, Australia. Her Web site is
http://www.mjscott.net
.
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