Soul Avenged (Sons of Wrath, #1) (35 page)

He towered as
tall as his twin brother Zeke, but the waves in Zayne’s blond hair
and the black tattoo beneath his eye created a distinction between
the two. If a goth and jock had a baby together, it’d look like
Zayne, with his pierced lip, nose and eyebrow. A black muscle
hoodie flaunted arms adorned with tattoos and as toned as if they’d
been carved of stone.

Gavin told her
he’d always been quiet and a bit dark. Since Sheyanna’s death,
though, black had become his signature color. Had he not been so
consumed by his loss, he’d have had women in abundance, as he too
carried the features of a god.

He tucked his
hands into his pockets.

“I’ve been
better,” Ayden answered, drawing away from him and gave an
empathetic tip of her head. “More importantly, how are you?”

His gaze
turned from her toward the lycan. “I’ve seen better days, as
well.”

Kane arched up
on the bed, his body elongated as his limbs and spine contracted
along with his muscles. The clench of his jaw made a deep grinding
sound.

Ayden sat
beside him. Her ankle had already just about returned to its normal
form. Her hand that had been riddled with long scars had already
begun to resemble her forearm, the whiteness darkening to flesh
tone again.

“What is
this?” Zayne raised his brow, his eyes brimming with curiosity.
“The Ayden I know could never sit so close to one without itching
to tear its limbs from its body.”

She glanced
back at Kane and smiled at his body gone lax again. “Oh, believe
me, I have my moments with him. But it’s not like that, Zayne. He …
he’s kind of different … sort of.”

“Yes, he’s a
halfling. For the most part, still human.”

“You say that
as if …”—she gave a quick glance his way—“as if I should treat him
as one. A human.”

“Why wouldn’t
you? He didn’t
ask
to become one of them. As far as I can
sense, he hasn’t murdered anyone, yet.” Zayne possessed an uncanny
ability to see deep inside a person, to their very core. It made
him an effective tormentor, revealing pieces of a victim’s
soul.

It was also
how he had come to forgive his brother, Ferno, for the death of his
mate.

Zayne could
put people on edge, the way he focused so intensely on their eyes
when he listened. The wise calm in his voice made it difficult to
dispute him, though.

“And what
happens when I have to kill him, Zayne? How can I do that if I
don’t look at him as the enemy?”

“Perhaps you
should wait until he gives you reason to take his life.”

She turned
back to him, her brows tight. “Let him become one and murder an
innocent human being?”

“Of course
not.” Something that resembled a half grin spread across his face.
“The woman who kept him imprisoned and threatens his very existence
will be the first on his kill list.”

She rolled her
eyes and snorted. “Do you know what Gavin would do if I allowed
that? Here? In his house?”

“Gavin has his
own agenda for why he wants this halfling dead.”

I knew
it.
“Which is …”

“Just food for
thought, Ayden.” Zayne smiled brighter than before. “Do what you
feel is right.”

“How are you
and Zeke related?” She shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

“I’ve asked
myself the same question every day for the last century.”

Ayden
chuckled. “Good to have you back, Zayne.”

“It’s … good
to be back.” His smile faded. “And good to see you back at the
manor.” He patted her on the shoulder before striding from the
room.

Ayden’s gaze
returned to Kane. She couldn’t deny that her drive to kill him had
lessened. As if her instincts had finally sensed some innocence
inside of him.

As long as
Kane remained a human, she seemed to be in control of the urge.

Leaving him a
moment, she headed into the bathroom and brought back a damp
washcloth.

Kane’s lids
seemed heavy, open to only slits, but at least his convulsions had
eased.

Ayden pressed
the washcloth to his forehead.

He turned
toward her and smiled. “Was vengeance served?”

Just hearing
his gravelly voice again brought some relief.

Why?

“I saw nothing
in Evan,” she said, the sting of disappointment rekindling. She
shook her head. “I don’t think he’s the wolf that bit me. Which
still leaves you an enormous mystery for me.”

“A man of
mystery. I like it,” he said, as she dabbed his cheek. “You know,
I’d never admit this to you under normal circumstances, but I
figure you won’t try to kick my ass right now.” Kane cleared his
throat. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Ayden paused.
Though sweet, something about his comment pierced her soul. “You’re
lucky your ass is already being kicked. Or I’d take you out for
saying that.”

A grin
stretched across his face. “I’m ready.”

“For
what?”

“For you to
take me out now.” His eyes clamped shut as he adjusted himself on
the bed. “I feel it getting closer.”

His words
suddenly struck with jagged edges, rendering Ayden confused once
more. She shook it off.
He’s nothing.
“You want me to kill
you now?”

He nodded.
“I’m sure your demon friends are dying to feast on my limbs.”

“They don’t
eat humans.” At least his humor was good for something. She
dismissed whatever palpitation had stirred in her heart a second
ago. “Not that I know of, anyway.”

“I don’t want
to be a child killer. And I sure as hell wouldn’t want to look at
you any different than I see you now. Like some kind of dark
angel.”

“You’re
delirious.” Ayden sighed. “And I promise you, I won’t let you
become a child killer.”

“I’ll rip my
own head off if it comes to that.”

A hiccup of
laughter escaped Ayden. “I’d spare you the awkward task of trying
to do that yourself.”

“I wish we
could have met under different circumstances.” His voice sounded
stronger than before. Less strained.

She smirked.
“Like what?”

“Something a
little less exciting. Like … maybe I would have seen you at a
coffee house or something. I would have flirted with you. You’d
have played hard to get and told me to fuck off.” He grinned, yet
it held the same weariness his eyes did. “But I would have charmed
you with my smartass remarks and good looks.”

“You really
are delirious right now.” She unfolded the cooled cloth in her
hands. There was something kind of endearing about the visual, but
so far away from reality it was almost funny. “You’d be a fool to
pursue a girl like me.”

“Maybe. But
why?”

Her demeanor
sobered in an instant. “I have a gift for destroying everything
around me.”

“You still
want to rip my throat out?”

“Very much
so.” Ayden smiled again.

“I have that
effect on women lately. Nature of the beast sort of thing, I
guess.”

“Kane. You’re
… not like any …. You’re … just different.” The words scrambled in
her head and arrived cautious. Admitting anything more would give
him the wrong idea.

Regardless of
her growing tolerance, the fact was—he had to die.

“You
do
like me, then.” He winked at her.

“
Like
is a strong word.” Ayden’s gaze trailed off toward the ceiling.
“Let’s just say I’m less inclined to stab your eyeballs out with
toothpicks and add them to my Martini.”

“A step in the
right direction.” His eyes squinted. “Fuck!”

He coiled in
on himself. The veins in his neck popped out like a roadmap. Only a
white clamminess clung to his skin as though every ounce of his
blood had drained away. “Something ...”—he choked out—“anything …
please.”

With hands
balled into fists, his back arced off the bed and shook violently,
holding his taut position, like pictures she’d seen once of a man
with tetanus. Sweat beaded across his body. His jaw clenched so
tight it seemed as if his teeth would crack under the pressure.

“Something
what?” Her voice reflected the irritation she suddenly felt. “What
the hell am I supposed to do?” Watching him made her stomach turn.
Ayden squeezed her eyes shut.

What the hell
is my problem? Am I going soft?

“Jesus, Kane.
I…” She reached her useless hands out to him but drew them back.
No. I can’t do this.

“Motherf—!”
His body arched, stiff as a plank. Long cords of muscle elongated
beneath his skin, like snakes crawling below the surface.

A rush raced
through her veins, that dark storm of fury thickening her blood.
Kill
. His tortured cry hit her ears like a drug.
More
. Her hands trembled, yearning to grip his neck and snap
it.

No. God,
no.

For reasons
she couldn’t understand, Ayden willed the urges away. She squeezed
her eyes so hard they’d lost focus when she opened them again.
“Kane, I’m here.” Her fist slowly unfurled and reached for his
hand. Gently, she slipped her hand inside of his clenched fist.
“Hey, settle down, okay?” The soothing tone of her voice surprised
even her.

Though, she
had no idea what to say to him next, what words could ease his
burden. Not a beast in creation frightened her more than casual
talk. “Hey, um …”

A vision
struck her, out of place and unexpected. “The sun is so warm on my
face, as if I can …
feel
again. So good on my skin. So
warm.” Her mind instantly lost to it, she narrated the details with
an awestruck timbre, like a story playing out in her head. “It
streams between the leaves of a large maple tree. I tip my head
back. Wind dances through my hair. Dozens of helicopter seeds spill
from the sky. I spin and laugh as they fall all around me. A child
is laughing. I see her. Just a baby. She sits in a stroller beside
me, reaching for the seeds. She’s bundled in a hat and coat, with a
blanket over her lap. Her little laugh is infectious.” Ayden
smiled. “It makes me laugh more. Seeds catch in my palm. I step
toward the stroller and toss them above her. They circle through
the air and land on her blanket. She giggles and picks them up,
blowing as she releases them. My heart feels …
happy
watching her.”

Ayden blinked
as awareness returned; her eyes searched aimlessly for a moment
before settling back on Kane.

Body no longer
bucking, he lay limp, his skin cold and damp.

So
still.
Her heart lurched.
Dead?
She leaned in to listen
for breaths.
Nothing.
Placing her head against his chest
summoned nothing more than the hollow silence of an inactive
heart.

“Kane.” Ayden
cupped his face. “Look at me.” A harsh firmness deepened her tone
as she patted his cheeks. “Look at me!”

***

Draven’s
tightening of the stretch of fabric around Jacob’s bleeding stump
set the boy trembling. Tears gathered in his eyes and fell down his
cheeks. “It happened again.” Each word escaped on a panting breath.
“This … time … I’m going to die.”

“Shut up!”
Draven ordered in a cold, flat tone. “You’re not going to die.”

“I am. I don’t
… have the antibody … like you do, Draven.” He coughed and choked;
a clump of blood tumbled down his cheek.

Draven winced
at the sight. “Stop talking. Just be still. I’m going to sew your
stomach.”

The boy’s face
ashened. “I’m cold.” He’d begun to shiver.

Draven removed
his coat and lifted Jacob’s body to wrap it beneath him. Jacob
groaned, but Draven kept working. “Just sit tight, okay? I’ll sew
this up and you’ll be good as new.” Somehow, Draven had convinced
himself.

He’d managed
to find a syringe lying on the ground and removed the needle out of
it. Junkies were, at least, good for something. He held the needle
in the small flame left over by the bum he’d scared off. The long
point glowed bright then died down to blackened silver. Draven
popped some of the stitching from his jacket and tied it tight
around the needle. He’d busted off most of the plastic adapter,
leaving just a small nub to hold the thread. He leaned over Jacob,
whose eyes began to roll back into his head. A light tap to the
cheek, and Jacob’s eyes came back into view.

Jacob lay
unflinching at each pierce Draven made with the needle, as if he
didn’t feel a thing. “Did I ever … tell you that I had a dream
once?” His voice grew weaker by the moment. “It was a
memory
.”

“That’s
ridiculous, Jacob.”

“No, it’s
true.” He slowly shook his head. “I don’t know how it happened. But
I dreamed it. I saw my mom and dad’s face. We were at the park. And
Calla …” He coughed again, another teaspoonful of blood trickling
down the corner of his mouth. “She was there. We played together in
the sand. A playground, I think.”

Draven paused
before continuing to thread the needle through Jacob’s ghastly
wound. “It was probably just something you saw in a magazine and
your mind remembered it.”

Jacob’s head
shook more frantically, his eyes widened. “No. I remember. I cut my
finger on a piece of glass. My mom cleaned it.” He sucked in a
breath that sounded like the last bits of fluid from a straw. “She
put a Band-aid on it. I had to have it sewn shut by a doctor. Calla
kissed it for me. Look.” He lifted the only trembling hand he had
left.

Draven stopped
threading his wound for a moment and stared down at the proffered
thumb. A white scar stretched across his fingertip. “Did you tell
Calla about this dream?”

“I did. I even
drew our mother’s face for her.” He stared off behind Draven. “But
she didn’t remember. She tore the drawing and told me to tell no
one.”

“She worried
for you,” Draven said, brow furrowed. “Calla’s always been very
protective of you.”

“I think … she
didn’t want to remember them.”