Wrath: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 2 (35 page)

I rolled my eyes to the left and right, trying desperately to pick up some clue to his identification. On the off chance I lived through this, I wanted to be able to finger the bastard. I saw golden skin and darker hair, and my heart fell.

But it wasn’t him.
It
wasn’t
him!
my mind shouted. I made a gurgling sound in lieu of a whimper and my breathing grew harsher, causing the blade to cut into my skin even farther. I grunted in pain.

“I see you think you know who I am, whore. Too bad I’m going to kill you before you get closure.” Then he reached down and licked my ear, and his brown hair fell into my field of view.

Black spots danced in my vision; I saw the hand draw away and his grip shift on the knife just as I heard voices coming down the hall. They say that a victim’s life will pass in front of her eyes in the final moments of life, but that wasn’t the case for me. Time slowed so that it ebbed and flowed like the shifting of a glacier—the pops of distinct sound like the sound of his hand on the knife handle and his labored breathing, the unseen movements from the men in the hall, the unfamiliar rustling of something in the corner of the room. Nothing happened until the knife began to descend. I yanked my head down with all my might and felt hair tear from the top of my head in a white-hot pain, and suddenly I could breath. The knife slammed through the hand that was spread out on the floor. I thought I heard a woman scream just before I passed out, but it could have been me.

I woke to the feel of my hand being seared over an open flame, and I tried to plead for mercy only to find my voice was gone. All I could manage was a mild rasping sound. I rolled my head and found Hellion bent over my hand and Mark and Stearns, the driver, holding my arm still. Several other coven members gathered around, some mumbling unintelligible words while others looked on with a mix of curiosity and horror. I felt nausea building hot and bitter in the back of my throat, and I rolled toward the edge of the bed where the men were working. Despite my best efforts to hold my stomach, I lost its contents all over the floor and the shoes of those closest to me, namely the men. Mark and Stearns glanced my way but no one said anything. That scared me. Panting and wanting nothing more than a cold rag and a sip of water, I tried to fold my fingers up to get Hellion’s attention.

“Easy,
mo shíorghrá
, you’ll not want to push too hard. The wound is healing, but slowly.” His voice was like salve to my battered body. In it resided love and safety. I closed my eyes and nodded, but my brow must have creased because he said, “This is normal when other magic is part of the injury process. Just like when you couldn’t heal the fae’s curse?”

I nodded slowly once again. I’d never used the word “weary” to describe myself before, but for the first time it felt entirely appropriate.

“We’re nearly done, Maddy. One last push and you’re through. Be brave, my heart.”

I wasn’t sure if he was speaking to me, or if he was literally asking his heart to be brave. Either way, the sentiment made me smile.

Another blast of raw heat seared my hand, and I screamed and started to thrash about involuntarily, but someone grabbed my ankles and pinned me down. Looking down, with tears flowing down my face, I saw Darius and I froze. He was burned everywhere that leather hadn’t covered his body. His clothes had been removed from the waist up and his chest, neck, face and hands were a series of oozing blisters and split skin. Closing my eyes seemed cowardly, but I just wasn’t up to dealing with his pain as well as mine.

Darius’s voice was raspy when he spoke. “Rest easy,
mia cara
, rest easy.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Italian,”
I thought at him.

“Ah, yes. Telepathy is quite handy,” Darius answered, clearing his throat. “I speak several languages, as a matter of fact. How did you know it was Italian?”

“I honestly don’t know. Tyr said I’d have a gift for languages.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, grateful for the conversation that was keeping my mind off my hand.

“Tyr? So he’s really your great grampy, huh?”

“I can’t believe you just said grampy, you mean-ass metrosexual, you
.”

He bared his fangs at me again, and they were wicked sharp, but I’d bought that ticket and been to that show when I’d saved his life in Ireland. I wasn’t impressed anymore.

“Can’t even intimidate the damned locals,” he muttered, and I laughed. It was nothing more than the whooshing of air, but it was a genuine laugh.

“Thanks
,” I thought at him. “
I wasn’t sure if I’d laugh again after that little nightmare come to life.”

“You’d be surprised,
cara
, what one can and will live through. Fear is a fierce weapon, and violence acted upon is equally effective, but the human spirit is amazingly resilient.” He stroked my ankles now that I wasn’t struggling, and I relaxed some. “You were amazing.”

“Right. Once again I ended up getting my ass handed to me on a platter, and I’m a fucking hero? Uh huh.”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “
If you were American, I’d ask if you’d ever sold used cars for a living because you wade through bullshit with amazing aplomb.”

He chuckled then hissed as his skin cracked. “If I were American, I’d have asked you to just let me die earlier instead of letting Hellion save my so-called life.”

“Don’t hate on America, Darius. You’re just mad because you fry up faster than an unlucky turkey at Thanksgiving.”
I grinned, and he shook his head again.

“Ah, you mean the holiday you Yanks celebrate where you invaded a foreign land, introduced disease and then took the land, lives and liberty away from the natives?” he asked, all pious innocence.

I squinched my eyes at him and thought very clearly, “
Don’t hate on me for what happened well before I was born. Besides, you’re just pissed because we threw your sorry British asses out of the country…twice.
”

He chuckled again and shook his head then hissed again at the pain.

“If you two are done yukking it up over here, I think we’re through with you,” Hellion said gently. He laid his hand over my throat and, without his even uttering the words this time, my voice was restored.

“Thanks,” I whispered. Mark reached over my shoulder and handed me a glass of water, which I started to take with my right hand before I remembered it was wounded. I looked down and saw it wrapped in a mountain of gauze, and I looked back to Hellion.

He took the glass of water from Mark and sat next to me, helping me sit up. He held it to my lips and I took a small sip, reveling in the cool relief of such a rarely appreciated resource. “The gauze is just a precaution. It shouldn’t need to be wrapped up any longer than the rest of this evening. Then we’ll be able to remove it, and you should have the use of your hand back.” He cleared his throat and looked away, taking a deep, shaky breath. I started to reach for him but he got up and walked out of the room without seeing my gesture. He handed Mark the glass of water as he passed through the doorway, and Mark made his way back to my bedside.

Looking over at the vampire, Mark said, “Darius, you should probably go rest, yourself. Dawn isn’t that far away, and I know you need to feed again and be bedded down before daylight breaks. You’re too weak to fight the sunrise today.”

“You’re right, Mark. Thank you. Will you look after our girl here?” Darius’s fingers lingered, and he stroked the small node of the tibia on the inside of my ankle. His eyes were warm as he looked at me, and I blushed, feeling that same strange sexual tension I’d felt before he was magically flambéed.

I pulled away from him and sat up, embarrassed. “Thanks, Darius. I’ll, uh, see you tonight.” Gathering my wits about me and shielding my mind as hard as I could, I slid off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Behind the safety of the closed door, I could hear the men and the few remaining coven members gathering the flotsam of their visit and getting the hell out. I sat on the closed toilet and cradled my throbbing hand in my lap. I hadn’t had time to break down after the assault, and now I found myself shaking and dizzy.

Slow down, Niteclif. Think about what you know for certain
, I coaxed myself. But my brain just wouldn’t engage. It was partly because I was afraid of what it might confirm for me. That dark hair….

No! Not going there. Pick another train of thought,
my mind demanded. I complied.

I tapped my good hand against my thigh, anxiety beating against me like a thumping bass speaker at a nightclub, but it was my heart that set the rhythm.

Get a grip. What’s the one thing that immediately stands out, the thing that is most irrefutable?
I made a conscious effort to stop the nervous movements and focus, but I couldn’t help but continue to worry my bottom lip with my teeth. Replaying the scene as I’d walked in the door, the most relevant fact broadsided me. The assailant was a man. I knew there were supes who could perform glamours to either appear to be something they weren’t or else enhance what they were, but this? No. He had clearly been a man. And I had thought I’d recognized the voice despite his efforts to keep it low and gruff.

But if the assailant was a man, how was he connected to the blond hair in the letter and at Amaly’s? Because unless it
was
glamour, his hair hadn’t been the true blond of the hair left behind. That would confirm an accomplice. I’d have to ask Hellion about the probability of a wizard capable of dematerialization being able to both carry a passenger
and
breach wards. If one was rare, the combination should take truly remarkable skill. That should narrow the list.

And if my assailant was a man, where did that leave Gaitha, Queen of the Fae? Was she a suspect or just a crazed and grieving mother?

The door opened slowly and Hellion stepped through. He looked so dispassionate that I was concerned for a moment he might be upset with me. Then understanding blew across my skin. Hellion was struggling with the typical alpha male hero complex. That just wasn’t going to work.

“You realize that there’s nothing you could have done, right?”

“How well you already know me.” He took several long strides into the room and dropped to his knees in front of me, taking my one good hand into his. “If I’d come to the bedroom with you when you asked—”

“Then we would have both been taken by surprise.”

“Not necessarily.”

I pulled my hand back. “I
know
you’re not saying you would have defended us successfully whereas I only managed to get a beat-down.”

“Maddy,
a mhuirnín
, how can you ask me to not regret anything that brings you harm?” He stood up and stomped to the mirror, his frustration palpable. “I’d have taken every blow. The one to your hand…” He paused, seeming bothered.

Pretending I was brave, I held it up so he saw the bandage reflected over his shoulder. He glanced at it and then looked quickly away. “I’ll live, Hellion. In fact, I’m only alive right now because you came down the hall when you did. So thanks for saving my life yet again.”

Hellion looked at me with a studied look, as if determining what was true and what was false in my words. He finally accepted my gratitude and nodded in response. “Do you love me?”

“Yes, I do.”

His gaze was unwavering, his black eyes still and deep. I stood then sat again, shifting on the toilet seat and trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable. I continued to squirm and he finally asked, “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Hellion, I love you. I sincerely, honestly love you.” The words still caused a thrill to run through me. I stood and walked toward him, carefully gauging his response. Just like earlier in the parlor, something was out of balance. This time, however, it was between the two of us. “Is there something you want to discuss?”

He turned and leaned against the counter, ankles crossed and hands clutching the edge of the counter. “Was it Bahlin, Maddy? I need to know.”

“I don’t think so.” Hellion shook his head and started to gather himself to leave but I grabbed his arm and snapped, “We seem to be doing this an awful lot, and I’m getting tired of it.”

He stopped and looked at me, clearly confused.

“Don’t you even see it?” I asked, shaking my head and squeezing his arm. This blind ignorance was a source of frustration for me. “You’ve done this over and over, and it’s getting old. You ask me a question, I answer, and you either don’t believe me or you dislike my answer so you prepare to walk away. I’m forced to nearly beg you to have faith in me, and I’m not doing it anymore.” He looked at me like I’d bitch slapped him with a Louisville Slugger. Tough shit—the truth throws a wicked curve ball. “I know Gretta lied to you. I know she betrayed you in the worst possible way. But you need to understand that I’m not Gretta.” I let go of his arm and waved toward the door. “Go if you need to make some sort of statement by walking out on me. But when you’ve gone, I want you to think about what kind of statement it really is.” I waved toward the door a second time but he just stood there.

“If I’m honest, I’ve got to admit I’m not exactly sure what to say to you right now.” He reached across his chest and rubbed his shoulder, looking at a point on the floor somewhere between us.

“Then there’s really nothing to say, is there?” I asked gently. “I’ll gather a few things and go to a spare bedroom for the night.”