And not in a good way.
The brothers move to the side out of John’s way, and my King introduces himself to the patient.
“Hello, Mena. My name is John Black. Welcome to my home. I’m happy you are with us, and you made it out of there. You and your family are invited to stay here as long as you need.” Oh great, just lay down the welcome mat, John. “Anything you need from us, please just let us know.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see a small, dark-haired head hesitantly nod. She doesn’t make a noise, not a sound, not a whisper. How odd. Finally, she clears her throat and then a soft, but hoarse voice speaks.
“Th-thank you, sir. Thank you for letting me impose on your generous hospitality. I will not forget this kindness.”
That voice.
Something about that voice pulls at me as if there were steel strings around my soul, and they are finally being reeled home. Without thought, my body moves. I gently push Aidan out of my way so I can get closer. He obliges with a grunt of indignation, but I don’t care. He takes forever to move.
Finally.
Finally, I can see her. Her head is bowed, eyes downcast in deference to the King. She is rail thin, the shapeless hospital gown billowing around her like a sail. Her wrists and arms are mottled with purple and green bruises.
And the scars…
Faint pink lines crisscross old white ones up and down both arms. A few of her fingers are irreparably disfigured, especially the pinky finger on her right hand. It is crooked and curled, and even though the rest of her fingers are moving, picking at the non-existent pills on her blanket, that one lone pinky stays still. Her fingernails are cracked and jagged but clean and scrubbed.
I feel the metallic tinge of blood on my tongue, and I realize my fangs have descended and have sliced my lip. I feel the pinch of my talons growing, and I understand that my body has gone into a full phase without my mind ever asking it to. Rage, the likes I have never felt, washes through me, and I realize I want to kill someone for the first time in my long life. I have killed in my three hundred years of service to the King, but I have never relished the deaths.
But right this second, I want to know who did this to her. I want to know if it was just Iva or a host of her Soldiers. I want to rip the skin and muscle from their bones as they watch. I want to consume them until they are left writhing in the depths of hell.
My brain seems to split in two. I want to maim and murder, but I also want to comfort her. I can almost taste the bitterness of her distress, how much she must hate people looking at her, talking to her after so many years of captivity. I want to see her eyes. I want to know what she’s thinking. I can’t take the waiting, and I move Ian out of the way and then West and then Evan, making my way to the left side of her bed.
I hear the faint sounds of protests and shouts beyond the harsh buzzing in my ears, but I don’t care. I know my hands are taloned, but I can’t think about reining in my phase. I reach out to touch her fidgeting fingers and in surprise, her head finally rises so I can see her face. Her eyes are wide and fringed in black lashes that make her beautiful olive green irises pop. Her forehead and the left side of her face are covered in bruises, and her nose is pert and cute, even if it’s a little swollen. Her cheekbones are high and sharp, and as soon as I can, I’m making her eat until she bursts.
Those eyes that just a second ago were startled, swiftly turn from surprised to angry and in a flash her irises turn from green to gold. The last thought of consciousness I have before she shocks me stupid is how pretty her eyes are when she’s mad.
3
Don’t Touch the Aegis, Numb Nuts
MENA
One second I’m trying to mind my manners and be as invisible as possible given the circumstances and the next some huge, black-eyed Wraith is trying to grab my injured hand. My right hand has been smashed and snapped and crushed so many times over the years. And just for kicks, Iva would rub Morganite dust in my open wounds.
She was a peach, that woman.
I still can’t move my pinkie finger. I’m pretty sure I never will, and seeing the sharp talons of a fully phased Wraith trying to grab my hand… well, sanctuary or not, I’m damn well going to have my defenses up.
What concerns me the most about this whole situation is that I haven’t been in this house for more than an hour and I’ve already shocked someone. Granted, this time it was on purpose, but I’m genuinely fearful of the next time. I feel it building under my skin. That itch, that urge.
I haven’t felt it in years, but the burn is coming.
“What in the cold depths of hell was that?” I screech as I look over the edge of my hospital bed to peer at the man I just juiced. Everyone seems to have frozen just before things start moving at hyper speed.
Aurelia appears in front of me, looking murderous. Flames are licking up her arms already, and she looks about three seconds from turning the man who tried to touch me to ash.
The dark-haired guard steps in front of the King, ready to tear my head off if necessary. A low, rumbling growl vibrates from his chest. Evan and West look torn between the King and myself, and the brothers, Aidan and Ian, are trying to hold in their snickering. They’re failing, though, and the shorter one, Ian, can’t help doubling over and letting out a roar of laughter.
“She… she… she… well, that’s a crash and burn if I ever saw one,” Ian guffaws. Aidan, who was trying not to lose it, tosses his head back and explodes with a booming laugh. That diffuses some of the tension, but Ari is still mad, and the King’s large guard is practically grinding his teeth to dust.
“What the fuck, John? I thought Javier was a one-off. Do we need to leave?” Rhys growls from his perch at my left shoulder. He isn’t touching me, but his presence there is protective. Like a big brother. It would feel nice if we weren’t in the middle of Wraith-central with one of the King’s guards going all black-eyed on me.
The King looks almost smug as if a plan has come together perfectly. Iva would get that same look when I did something out of character that gave something away.
I don’t like that look. It gives me the creeps.
“I believe Mr. Crane’s intentions were of a more… affectionate nature than he portrayed,” John smiles, faking a cough to mask a chuckle.
“You don’t think… Shit,” Aurelia pauses. “We’ll talk about this later. For right now can you remove this bumbling oaf from the med bay until Mena is feeling better?” Aurelia asks, but she doesn’t exactly make it into a question. More like a thinly veiled threat wrapped in an ass-kicking promise.
I love my sister.
Her flames go out just before she reaches down and slaps the fallen guard upside the head. That rouses him and a long, pained groan escapes him.
“Ooooooowwwwwww,” he moans. “What the hell happened?” he slurs from the floor.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Asher. Are you new? Don’t touch the Aegis, numb nuts,” Aurelia chastises him.
For some reason, this irks me. I don’t shock people willy-nilly. Well, except for Rhys, but that was an accident. I could accept a hug from someone. Someone could hold my hand. I’m not a bomb that’s about to go off.
Well, that may not be true. I’m not a leper. At least that’s true.
“Don’t treat me like a child. I can defend myself. I just demonstrated that fact not ten seconds ago. You are not my keeper or my defender. Now, tell him you’re sorry for smacking him. That’s adding insult to injury; I already knocked him out. Smacking him is just mean,” I scold her before turning my body so I can see around the wall my sister is making.
Who knew someone so small could fill so much space?
When I see him, I’m struck dumb. He is no longer black-eyed or taloned. Fangs no longer tear into his lips, but the blood still stains them red. His eyes are the blue of a cold winter morning, and though he still lies prone on the cold cement floor, I can tell he’s taller than me, and that’s a difficult feat to achieve. His hair is light brown and cropped
short, and due to the nice jolt of electricity I slammed through his system, it is sticking up in all directions. His skin is tanned gold and his nose is bleeding.
I don’t like that at all. Something about seeing the blood staining his upper lip, something about knowing I’m the one who put the blood there, makes me want to cry. I feel the biting sting of tears hit my nose.
“Are you all right?” he rumbles from the floor, his head cocked to the side. He’s frowning, a tight pucker of his brow and the sheer lunacy of this moment makes me smile.
“I should be asking you that. I’m sorry I shocked you, but you looked hostile,” I say ruefully as I shrug a shoulder.
“My apologies, miss. I mean you no harm,” he murmurs, and from his expression I believe him. His words are like a balm, soothing and cool against my skin. It makes the ache go away for a moment.
“Got a funny way of showing it, Asher,” Rhys says from the foot of the bed.
I didn’t even notice him move. I look around, and the room has been mostly cleared. All that remains are Evan, my sister’s tiny best friend, the King’s dark-haired, angry looking guard, Rhys, and Aurelia.
The guard makes me nervous, and a shudder of fear snakes its way up my spine as I shrink back in the bed. He is huge and hulking and stalking toward me, but everyone is looking at Asher and not the pissed off Wraith coming at me.
But Asher must have seen the fear on my face before I shrunk back because before the guard can make it to the foot of the bed, Asher is in front of him snarling. Not just snarling. He is fully phased; eyes the black of a moonless night, long upper and lower fangs descended. His fingers are curled, ready to slash, and the thick talons erupting from his fingertips put a lion to shame.
The thing that is most worrisome is the swirling black mist that surrounds him. I’ve never seen anything like it. He must have something extra, some other ability he is drawing on because the rest of occupants of the room are backing away slowly toward the door.
Even Aurelia.
You know, when the psychic starts to bail, it’s time to leave.
I move my legs as quickly as I can without making a noise (read: slow as freaking molasses) toward the floor. My legs probably won’t hold my weight, but with the Wraith death match about to go down in front of my hospital bed, I’m going to make a concerted effort to try.
“Stop moving,” Asher growls, and I have no idea who he’s talking to since he is still looking at the other guard, and the guard hasn’t moved an inch since Asher stepped in front of him. I freeze anyway just in case he was talking to me because the less I can piss off the scary man, the better.
The guard tears his eyes away from Asher and looks at me. I’m sure I look like a wobbly baby doe, wide-eyed and scared, but there isn’t much I can do about it now. He gives me a nasty superior look before giving Asher his back and heading toward the door.
Bold move. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing him again soon and not to exchange pot roast recipes if you catch my drift.
Super.
Now I have to worry about more than the evident psychological issues left over from my captivity. I get to worry about how safe I am. At least in my cell, I knew who was trying to hurt me. Here not so much.
Fantastic.
I am still staring at the door when Asher turns around. His face is back to his usual handsome self again, and the swift way he can phase makes me uneasy. It has been so long since I have phased, I’m not sure I can even do it anymore, but the way he does it is absolutely frightening.
His face turns from enraged to contrite in an instant. He must sense my fear of him, and I wish I could tamp it down, but I can’t. I hate that my emotions are so palpable to the people around me.
Asher leans over, his fists to the mattress as he looks me in the eyes.
“I am sorry for this, Mena. I promise you this will not happen again. I’ll make sure of it,” he murmurs as he reaches his hand out and runs a finger along my ruined pinkie that is clutched in the rumpled bed sheets. He gently clutches my hand, eyeing me warily as he brings it to his lips.
“You will be safe here. I swear it,” he whispers against the skin of my hand, sending chills along my arm and down my spine.
The softness of his mouth is in direct contrast to the roughness of the stubble on his chin as he rubs his lips in a gentle whispering kiss against my skin. He carefully places my hand back down on the bed and then stalks to the door like a man with a purpose. I don’t know if I should be turned on, afraid for my life, or seriously concerned for the King’s other guard.
“So this has to be the weirdest day of my life, and I have been in prison for the past fifty years at the hands of a mass murdering psychopath, so that’s saying something. Anyone want to explain what just went on here?” I say not taking my eyes off the door Asher just walked through.
“Anyone?”
“Bueller?” Evan says as she skips back in the room. She has a quirk to her mouth, a tiny half smile that is at odds with the pucker of her brow.
“What?” I ask.
“Eighties movie reference. You missed some good decades. I’ll catch you up on pop culture soon enough,” Aurelia tells me as she straightens the blanket back over my legs and smoothens the sheet.
“You still aren’t telling me what’s going on, which I’ve got to say, does nothing for my stress level.”
“I’m positive me telling you isn’t going to help much,” she hedges.
“Go ahead and give it a whirl. We’ll see what happens,” I prompt.
“Umm… Well,” she stalls, “Evan? You wanna take this one? Because I’ve got nothing.”
“Did you ever learn how Wraiths mate?” Evan asks me, and my brain decides it has learned enough for one day since her voice is replaced by a heavy ringing in my ears.
“You know, I think I’m good with my ignorance for a few more days. You can quit talking now,” I mutter as my head swims and my vision wobbles. I cannot possibly deal with what any of it might mean for me at this particular juncture of my life.
“So noted. No talking about a possible romantic future with a ridiculously hot dude. Got it,” Evan quips. She is a little spitfire, that one.
“You are the least subtle person in the known universe, you know that?” Aurelia grouses at her best friend rolling her eyes.
“How about you get some rest, and we can talk about your fun reentry into society tomorrow. I get to teach you five decades of pop culture. It’s going to be awesome,” Aurelia smiles at me. “Unless you want me to stay with you, because I can. I can hang here if you want. Are you hungry? I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich,” she asks, her face hopeful.
“No. I’m good here, and you stuffed me full in Oregon. My stomach can’t handle any more food.”
After Aurelia’s constant but gentle questions making sure I’m me and I’m sane and if I’m okay. Jesus. I cannot take one more ‘are you okay?’ or ‘do you need anything?’ I know she means well, but I’ve used my voice more today than I have my whole life.
Honestly, I haven’t been around this many people in a long time, and I need my space. Maybe then I’ll breathe easier.
I hope.
4
I See an Ass Kicking in His Future
ASHER
I’m going to rip his fucking head off. I am going to tear his lily-livered, pansy ass to shreds.
“Oh, Cameron. Come out and play!” I shout through the gym. The open concept workout area is empty, so I move on.
That little shit.
He’s probably hiding from me. As he well should. He knows his actions are disgraceful. Not just that, but I could legally light his ass on fire and watch him burn on the front fucking lawn, and no one could do a thing about it. Not even John.
Attacking a mate is the oldest and most sacred of all our laws – not that Wraiths have many. I can only think of three off the top of my head. Rule one – don’t harm a mate. Rule two – fulfill your duty. Rule three – respect your King. That’s it.
So far, old Cam has broken two of the three today, and I am dying to teach him a lesson. I don’t even bother to travel; I walk up the stairs at a slow leisurely pace just waiting for that little fuck to make a move.
Spineless little shit.
After everything I have done for him, after every single time I have saved his ass, he goes and does this? I stalk up the cement stairs leading to the game room, and only briefly pause when I see John in his heavy leather chair. He looks tired and exasperated. Well, boo-fucking-hoo. I know he sees me half-phased, and I don’t give one single, solitary fuck. Before I can make it out of the room, though, John calls me back.
“Asher,” he says. No inflection, not raising his voice at all, but I feel the censure anyway. Even after three hundred years, I still don’t know if that ache in my gut from hearing his voice is from the oath or if it’s just his innate ability to say so much with so few words. I feel scolded, and he only said my name. John is good at that.
“Sir,” I say as I turn around to face my King.
“Teach him a lesson, but don’t kill him. And after you’re done, make him clean up. Let him know from me that I am considering his dismissal. Be it temporary or permanent is still up in the air. One more toe out of line and I’ll have his head.” John’s brown eyes hold mine. I feel less like I am looking at my King and rather like I’m looking at a disappointed father. I hate that, and I’m not even the one in trouble. I’m three hundred and nineteen years old, and I feel more like a fuck-up teenager.
I swallow before moderating my tone, “Yes, sir, I will be sure to convey that message. I most likely will have to wait for him to regain consciousness to deliver it, but it will be done all the same.” I go to leave, and his low voice stops me again.
Falling Ashes Page 3