Shadowlight (17 page)

She’d move in a minute; there was something she had to know. Something that might explain all of it. “What do you want from me?”

“It is too soon for trust,” he said, “and too late for doubt.”

She couldn’t tell if he was trying to reassure her or goad her. Maybe he meant to do both. “Tell me.”

“I want many things.” A faint groove appeared in his cheek. “For now, be with me. Talk with me. Come to know me. You will not regret it.”

The timber of his voice was set to mesmerize, but she wasn’t giving in to that. Not until she knew exactly what had motivated him to drag her out of her life and down into his. “Why did you save me, Matthias?”

“You are one of us. All we have is each other.” He lifted his hand and skimmed his thumb beneath her right eye, tracing the crescent of thin skin beneath her lower lashes. “Have you never imagined being with your own kind?”

Her own kind. She would have laughed out loud had it not been so pathetic. There was no one like her, not even among the Takyn. Their unique abilities made them beautiful and strong and noble, and set them above other people. They were always doing amazing things with them, even in secret. Delilah had the ability to control and use animals, especially dogs, and had tracked and rescued countless people lost in the wilderness. Vulcan used his power over copper to create elaborate sculptures, which he donated to hospitals and museums, while Paracelsus kept an online site that constantly corrected the mistakes historians made about the past. Even Aphrodite, whose ability allowed her to instantly enslave any man she chose, had never used it to hurt anyone. She went out of her way not to.

Compared to the others, Jessa felt cursed by the shadowlight. It forced her to see the ugliness that existed in every heart, and had condemned her to spend the rest of her days alone.

His hand moved away from her face, and the cessation of the delicate abrasion made her flinch. This time the contact hadn’t pushed her into the shadowlight—but why? She couldn’t touch anyone without seeing.

“Jessa?”

Hearing him say her name enfolded her in a tangle of useless emotions and impossible longing. The man was built like a fortress, and he made the woman in her want nothing more than to collapse against him and hold on and feel his arms closing around her. Even as her logic argued against it, her body responded to the promise of his. He had gotten her away from Lawson; he had not harmed her; he would protect her.

All she had to do was give up everything that had kept her safe for the last ten years, and God only knew what else.

“I’m not like you and your friend. I live alone. I handle things on my own. I don’t need anyone else in my life.” She was laying it on a little too heavy; she sounded as sullen and defensive as Rowan. He would respond better to helpless but courageous. “Whatever abilities I may or may not have, they’re my responsibility. Not yours.”

“What if you could use them to help others like us?”

“What others like—” She stopped as Rowan came in carrying a tray with a stainless-steel thermal carafe and two colorful glazed mugs. Piled on a plate between the mugs were tiny triangular cakes studded with dried cranberries and walnuts.

“These are scones. I made them this morning. The coffee is decaf.” She set down the tray and surveyed them both. “I’m going to bed. Just drop the tray in the kitchen when you’re through.” She left before either of them could reply.

“She bakes, too.” Jessa went over and picked up one of the miniature tea cakes. “What does she do on her days off? Rescue people from burning buildings?”

“She feeds the homeless.”

Of course she did. Rowan had that look of a true paragon about her. Matthias would sleep with no one less. “That’s nice of her.”

“Rowan will not admit it, but caring for others makes her happy.” He prepared the coffee and handed her a mug. “You are the one who rescues the defenseless.”

He had no right to talk to her like this. Not in the same breath he’d used to praise his girlfriend. She wanted to throw the hot brew in his face.

“You don’t have your facts straight.” She sat down and hunched forward to compose herself. “I don’t rescue people from anything. I make a living at ruining their lives.”

“Is that how you see your ability?” He sat down beside her. “The young men and women who work with you would not agree, I think.”

“I’ve helped a few people in trouble who didn’t deserve what happened to them,” she conceded, forcing a note of shame into her voice. “That doesn’t excuse the other things I’ve done. Ellen Farley is sitting in jail right now because of me.”

His gaze turned shrewd. “Would it have been better to let her be killed by her partner?”

She absorbed the shock of his question, but only barely. “What are you, some sort of mind reader?”

“Like Genaro, we have friends among the authorities. Not as many, and they are not corrupt, but they help to protect us.” He picked up a roll of paper from the table. “This was sent to us after the Farley woman was arrested.”

Jessa took the fax and read it. It appeared authentic, but of course she had no way to tell if it was. It contained an interdepartmental memo from the Atlanta Police Department. According to the terse paragraphs, Ellen’s partner, Max Grodan, had been identified as a fugitive and the primary suspect in a series of murders, and was being extradited to stand trial in Florida.

“She wasn’t involved in the killings,” she said quietly. “She was going to be his next victim.”

“So you did not ruin her life,” Matthias said. “You saved it.”

He was very good, persuasive and sympathetic. She’d have to be the same. “You said you’ve found others whom GenHance was trying to kill.” She handed the fax back to him. “Who are they, and where are they now?”

“Many places,” he said. “Their names no longer exist. We arranged new identities for them before they were relocated.”

Welcome to the Freak Protection Program,
Rowan had said. “Is that the plan for me?”

He watched her face. “It was.”

But not anymore, she silently amended. Maybe she had pushed enough for one night. “I’m a little tired. Am I supposed to sleep in here?”

“Rowan has prepared a chamber for you.” He stood. “Follow me.”

The room he showed her to was located a few doors down from the kitchen—probably so Rowan could keep an eye on her, Jessa thought—and contained a bed, a dresser, and a color television. There were also a variety of paperback novels on a three-tiered bookcase and one of the wrought-iron stands with a porcelain basin and jug. She walked around the room, looking for surveillance equipment, but discovered only a small spiderweb and a few patches of dust that Rowan had missed on the carved wooden headboard. She turned around to see Matthias standing in the doorway. Acutely aware of the bed behind her, she offered him a cool smile.

“This is fine,” she said, and as he turned to leave she added, “You never told me what your ability is.”

“No.” He glanced back at her. “I did not.”

With that he closed the door.

“We expected that she would.” He read the message. “You can decipher the meaning of this?”

“It’s not that complicated. Basically she’s telling the others that she’s alive, in trouble, and she’s giving up control of the group until she’s safe. She wants them to watch their backs and cover their tracks.” She looked up at him. “You do realize, of course, that this whole nice-hostage act of hers is total bullshit.”

He nodded. “She is afraid for her friends.”

“I think her friends can take care of themselves just fine.” Rowan used the keyboard and opened another window. “According to the late news, Queenie’s just made the feds’ top-ten most-wanted list, which I’d say totally blows the plan. You’d better make sure she doesn’t find a way out of here. Genaro will have her on a cutting table so fast she’ll think she’s sushi.”

“She does not wish to escape now.”

Rowan uttered a sour laugh. “Matt, the only thing that girl wants is out of here. She’s just trying to play us to find out how much we know. So quit thinking with the little head.”

He ran a hand over his cropped hair. “My head is not little.”

“Not around her, it isn’t.” Her mouth twisted. “And before you ask, no, I’m not explaining that one.”

“Very well. Allow Jessa access to every room except the library and the armory.” He stood. “I will relieve you in four hours.”

She cleared the screen and brought up a game of mahjongg. “Pleasant dreams.”

A lifetime of self-discipline and constant travel had taught Matthias to sleep where and when he could. He slept lightly and woke at whatever hour he wished. After Rowan had come to live with him, he discovered she could do the same, but for far different reasons. He also learned never to go near or touch her when she was sleeping, even when he knew she was in the throes of one of her nightmares. The one time he had tried to wake her, she had attacked him like a wounded animal before coming to her senses.

In his chamber he stripped to his skin, washed, and stretched out on the thin pallet that served as his bed. Jessa would not be sleeping, he guessed as he stared up at the ceiling. She would search the room, wait for some time, and then slip out to search the tunnels.

He closed his tired eyes and willed his body to relax. Being near her and refraining from touching her had required more effort than he cared to admit, but he was not accustomed to denying himself. When it was convenient, he sought out and used willing women at regular intervals to relieve his physical needs. Now it was decidedly not convenient.

Silencing his thoughts tonight proved as difficult as relinquishing his mind to the darkness. Sleep was like food: Having too much or too little could make one weak and muddled. He knew Rowan would not allow Jessa to escape, but the resentment and anger she felt toward their unwilling guest might influence her judgment.

He understood in part why his young friend disliked Jessa—she had enjoyed most of the advantages that life had denied Rowan—but there was more to it than he was sensing. Rowan had a good and generous heart, but she had already closed it against Jessa. It could not be merely out of envy.

Matthias drifted into the light, dreamless sleep from which he could easily wake, but the sound of footsteps roused him an hour before he was to take over the watch. He knew it was Jessa the moment she slipped into his chamber. Confronting her would serve no purpose but to frighten her, so he lay still and kept his breathing slow, and tracked her by the sound of her movements and the intensity of her scent.

She moved around the room, searching it methodically before she crouched down to look under his pallet. At first he imagined his chamber appeared odd to her, lacking as it was in most of the modern amenities, but then he remembered how her bedchamber had looked from the skylight. For a woman her needs and tastes were as Spartan as his own. She stood, and his skin prickled as she came around and moved to stand over him. He did not mind her looking down at his nakedness; he knew he was made well and that most women responded to his body with natural desire. He had looked upon her in her bed, too; it seemed fitting that she see him in his. The only sound he could hear was the gentle rush of her breathing, but she remained there looking down at him for some time. Then, so lightly that he barely felt it, her fingertips brushed over the insides of his wrists, first the left and then the right.

She was checking him for the marks, and touching him as little as possible so she would not use her ability.

He pretended to stir and turned onto his side, giving her his back. That allowed her to see the left side of his neck, and as he expected, she touched the twining black snake etched into his flesh.

Slowly her hand moved away, and he fought the impulse to turn over and pull her down atop him. If he did, he would have had her under him before she could gasp, and accepting him into her body before she could speak. His shaft, already stiff and thick, swelled and lengthened at the thought. In another time and place he would have ignored convention and done just that, for among his people no woman would touch a sleeping man unless she wanted his attention.

Perhaps on some level she did.
Touch me again and I will give you what you truly seek.

To his great disappointment Jessa moved away, and left his chamber as silently as she had entered it. He turned over slowly and listened as her steps retreated before he opened his eyes. He could still smell her in the air, feel the silk of her touch on his skin. He sat up and looked down at his cock, the head of which had emerged, fully engorged and ready to stroke and pleasure.

Finally he understood what Rowan had meant, and in spite of his discomfort, he smiled. “Quit thinking, little head. The woman is not ready for us.”

Not yet.