For the first time, I want it. I need it, because the searing pain in my back is killing me. I try to breathe, gulp air, afraid I’m going to stop breathing. I’ve experienced a lot of pain, but this is bad. Like being set on fire bad.
It rips through me, shattering my sense of self, trying to pull me apart from the inside. I curl up, unable to stop the tears streaming down my cheeks or the sobs I try to stifle with my hand. A force builds along my spine, pushing from within like something trying to get out and it … burns.
Oh, please, it has to stop.
The door bursts open. “Grace!”
Cain storms into the room, wraps his arms around me, and picks me up.
The moment he touches me, the agony stops.
I gasp a pain-free breath, my eyes shooting wide at how suddenly it disappeared. I hiccup, gulp, and try to see his face.
He is intent on carrying me to the bed, shifting his balance to place me on it, but I cling to him like a cat about to be dropped into water.
The pain stopped when he picked me up. I don’t know why, but I can’t let it come back. I don’t think I’ll survive it.
I’m ready to wrap my legs around him if I have to. “Don’t let me go!”
He pauses. “Grace?”
“I can’t explain, but please … don’t stop touching me.”
He lowers me onto the bed but I refuse to release him, curling my fists into his shirt and forcing him to come with me. He ends up lying half beside me and half under me, my chest pressed to his and my right arm pinned beneath his broad torso. It will go numb in this position, but it’s a consequence I’m willing to take.
As he brushes the hair out of my eyes, his ring glows. It leaves a soothing trail across my cheek, and I suddenly wonder…
It’s the ring. It has to be. The assassin’s magic made the pain stop.
His voice is a low rumble, compelling me to answer him. “Grace, please tell me what’s going on.”
Truth is hard, but somehow I manage to speak it. “This happens after a fight. I pass out. But only if I fight with a weapon. It doesn’t matter what the weapon is. Gun, knife … baton.” I try to smile, but fail. “When I hold a weapon in my hand, I get calm. Nobody can beat me. But afterward, I pay the price.”
He asks, “Is that what happened this morning? You fought Lutz and then you collapsed.”
“It used to take much longer to hit me. But now it’s minutes after the fight stops.”
“What about on the floor just now? What was that?”
I say, “I’ve never felt that before. That pain … in my shoulders … it was intense.”
He twists, lifting me a little. “May I take a look?”
I hesitate. “Okay, but don’t—”
“I won’t stop touching you.”
He places a hand on my waist, lifting himself so I can extricate my arm from under him and rise to a kneeling position beside him. Then he sits up, positioning both hands at my waist, skimming my body as I turn around on the bed so my back is to him. I lift my shirt up over my head and scrunch it in my lap. Little shivers make my toes curl as his fingertips travel gently up to my shoulder blades.
I hold my breath. “What do you see?”
He pauses. Then he says, “Your skin is…”
“What, Cain? Please, I’m a little scared right now, and believe me when I say it takes a lot to scare me.”
He is deadly serious as he says, “I know, Grace. You are fierce and protective. I don’t mean to keep you in suspense. I’m finding the words. Your skin is a different color here.” He presses each of his palms flat against my shoulder blades.
I suppress the rising panic, focusing on his touch instead. “What color?”
“Copper.”
I nearly jolt out of his hold. “You mean like … orange?”
His tone is soothing. “No, burnished gold. Like a sunset. But only across your shoulders.”
“Well, that’s…” Weird and unusual. “It must be bruising.”
Except that Brenna only hit me on one side. I promptly ignore that thought.
He responds with, “Hmm.”
His fingertips travel outward across my shoulders. He pauses at my left shoulder and murmurs, “This wound was meant for Parker, wasn’t it?”
It’s the place Brenna hit me with the baton.
Cain shifts closer, his knees moving to either side of my hips as he presses a light kiss against the wound.
He says, “Thank you.”
Any reply I might have made evaporates. His lips are soft and the unexpected contact kicks my heart rate up a thousand percent. Despite what must be a growing bruise, the sensation running through that part of my body is anything but pain. I can’t find my voice as his other hand trails down my spine.
I close my eyes, allowing myself to soak up his touch. Being touched like this … like every part of my back is worth exploring … isn’t something I’ve experience before. Sex with Jeremy was very much a basic in and out kind of process, leaving me wanting something I couldn’t reach. I convinced myself I was okay with it, that being with someone took time, that I would figure out how my body works. Eventually. Maybe.
But between fighting me this morning—if I can even call it fighting—and tending to my wounds, Cain has already touched me more thoroughly than Jeremy ever did.
It scares me.
I’ve made myself vulnerable to him in more ways than I ever intended. He controls the roof over my head and my safety. I can’t let him get close to my heart too.
I whisper, “I think it’s safe for you to let me go now.”
He makes another one of those non-committal “hmm” noises.
Then he asks, “What if I would like to not let you go?”
His touch is light, gentle. I close my eyes, soaking up the sensations as his hands brush slowly back and forth along my spine, up across my shoulders, and down my arms.
I spin so fast that he blinks.
Then he smiles. I’m still firmly ensconced between his knees. His hands lifted away from me as soon as I moved, allowing me to turn, but now they slide safely back around my waist. A very uncompromising place to hold me.
He says, “I need to keep touching you, Grace … because I have to take care of those stitches. I also want to put some ice on your shoulder right away.”
He arches an eyebrow at me, challenging me to read anything else into his intentions.
I narrow my eyes at him, but it’s not because of the way he touched me. My chin has stopped bleeding; my stitches can wait, because I missed his explanation before about why we’re here. “Why did you bring us here, Cain? Really?”
His smile fades. “The phone call I got in the car. It was Briar.”
“Briar! Is she okay?”
“Yes, she’s safe, but she wanted to warn me. Lady Tirelli’s people are mobilizing. Word is out that Archer Ryan—you—have resurfaced. Lady Tirelli can’t afford to let you challenge her. On top of that, Lutz is hot on your trail. Simply being in my territory is not enough to protect you anymore. This is your only safe place.”
I contemplate him. There’s more. Something he’s not telling me. “But…?”
He fixates on the floor for a moment. Then he shakes himself. “There is no ‘but.’ Please stay with me until we know what we’re dealing with.”
I won’t give up my freedom or my control, but his concern is valid. The minute I outed myself in Boston, I put myself in danger. I bite my lip, answering him carefully: “Given that every assassin in this place wants to kill me, I’m not sure this really is the safest place.”
His response is emphatic. “Even if they wanted to hurt you, they can’t. The Assassin’s Code dictates when we can and can’t kill. To break the code means death. Besides, I’ve added extra protective spells around my quarters.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. His gaze drops to my lips. “And … I told them you’re my woman. They don’t expect you to leave my bedroom.”
My lips part, a re
tort the only response I can make: “I will stay with you, but I won’t hide.”
He leans over and drops a kiss on my bare shoulder. “I don’t expect you to.”
Before I can process his touch, he slips off the bed and prowls into the kitchen, returning with a medical-grade ice pack—a gel one that won’t melt—cloth bandages, and a medical kit. I’m relieved that the pain in my back hasn’t returned. I’m in the process of pulling my shirt back on, but he halts me.
“You need this directly against your skin. Here. Lie down on your right side for me.”
I eye him but do as he asks. He quickly sets about positioning the pack against my left shoulder, carefully bandaging it in place so it defies gravity. The cool sensation is welcome against my skin.
Cain kneels beside the bed and checks over my face. “I was worried the stitches had pulled out, but they’re intact.”
He opens the medical kit and sets to work cleaning the wound. My eyes close as he concentrates. The touch of his other hand is light against my cheek and neck. Every now and then he brushes my hair back, his fingertips stroking through the strands around my face and neck, lulling me to sleep. I forget that I’m only wearing a black t-shirt bra. I’m surprised to realize that I don’t feel embarrassed or exposed.
Eventually, he says quietly. “All done. You’ve had a long day. You should get some rest.”
He pulls up a blanket. It settles over me like a cloud. Oh boy, these are definitely expensive blankets. Nothing like the scratchy old one I had.
I can barely keep my eyes open. It’s unusual for me to relax so completely, which makes me suspect Cain had something to do with it. I didn’t notice his assassin’s ring glow like it did when he subdued Parker, but I ask, “Did you do that thing to me? What you did to help Parker sleep?”
I catch the smile in his voice when he says, “No. Whatever you feel right now, it’s all you.”
I rouse myself enough to ask, “Will Parker be okay?”
“She’ll be fine while I’m gone.”
My eyes flash open. “Where are you going?”
He pauses in the process of standing up. “I have to deal with the assassins. I won’t be long.”
I settle back onto the pillow. I’ve been alone for years. It doesn’t bother me if he takes off. But I have to admit … I won’t be sorry when he comes back.
8
A confusing amount of light glows behind my eyelids when I wake, together with an equally confusing warm body next to mine. I usually wake up with freezing toes, but the soles of my feet are happily pressed against a warm pair of calves. Deciding not to make any sudden moves, I crack open my eyelids the tiniest bit to see what I’m contending with.
No help at all. I’m facing away from him.
My eyes are gritty and dry. I don’t normally sleep wearing my contact lenses. No matter what happens, I can’t show Cain my eyes. I can’t show anyone.
Refusing to rub my eyes, I roll over very slowly, trying not to shake the bed.
Cain’s deep breathing remains unbroken. His dark eyelashes rest against his cheeks and his lips are relaxed. One arm rests outside the blanket, the sleeve of his white t-shirt pulling across his large bicep. He isn’t lying as close to me as I thought. In fact, I was the one who extended my feet toward him.
Poor, cold feet. Not their fault.
His rumbly voice startles me. “I put Parker in the spare bed. I tried the couch, but I couldn’t get to sleep.”
His eyes remain closed. His breathing remains even. He’s so still that I start to believe I imagined him speaking.
“Cain?”
His green eyes slowly open. “I’ll get out if you want.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s your bed. I should sleep on the couch tonight.”
He relaxes. “Hmm. Nope.”
As if my response gave him permission, he reaches over and scoops me toward him, tucking me into his side so that I’m facing him. “If someone barges in, they’ll think it’s strange if you’re on the couch.”
The press of his body is like electricity through me. My breath catches, then speeds up. I hide it by tipping my head back in indignation. “I thought you said nobody could get in here.”
Unperturbed by my accusation, he strokes one hand down my back, resting it on my upper thigh, where it warms my body. His other arm tucks under my shoulder and his hand curls up into my hair, cradling the back of my head.
His eyes change color in the morning light, his gaze deepening. His focus shifts to my lips, his own curling up at one corner in a lazy smile. “There goes that excuse, then.”
My stomach fills with beating wings. My heart stutters. Being held like this, totally sheltered in his arms, feels both powerfully safe and intensely dangerous. My back is arched to allow me to meet his eyes, our chests smooshed together, my hips pressed against his. I fight the need to hook my upper leg around his hips and draw him closer—as close as we were yesterday when we did that dance I’d prefer to call “fighting.”
He takes a deep breath but doesn’t make another move. He closes his eyes again, seeming content to stay just as he is. I’m not sure what to do with this. His nearness sends all sorts of messages into parts of my body that should not be awake right now. Parts of my body I can’t listen to or I’ll make my situation way more complicated than it needs to be.
His chest expands as he takes a deep breath, his eyes still closed. “What do you like to eat for breakfast?”
Talking is good. Talking is safe. “Toast.”
His lips part in a chuckle that rumbles around in his chest. “Just toast?”
I swallow. “It’s cheap.”
“Grace … not what do you eat for breakfast. What would you like to eat for breakfast? If you could have anything?”
I allow myself to smile, not believing for a minute that he’ll take me seriously. “A blueberry muffin and a mocha latte.”
“Consider it done.”
Before I can draw breath, he gathers me up against him, rolls onto his back so I’m lying on top of him, pulls my legs around his hips, and lifts off the bed while I cling to him in a position that I never imagined being in fully clothed.
I fight every impulse to arch into him, to drop my weight back onto the bed and take him with me. I focus intently on the shadow across his jaw to stifle my instincts as he walks to the bathroom, supporting me in that position.
He says, “Let’s check your wound.”
All business, he props me on the bathroom counter, running his palm across my cheek to tilt my face so he can examine my chin. His fingertips brush my earlobe and … I’m done hiding the effect he has on me.
I sigh at the sensation, allowing my eyes to close, refusing to fight how it makes me feel—alive and calm at the same time.
He murmurs, “It looks much better than I thought it would. Sarah came by last night and took a quick look while you were sleeping. She’ll check you over again today to make sure.”
As the breath draws in and out of my lungs and his hand remains where it is, there is a moment of stillness.
Then…
“Grace.” His thumb brushes across my cheek for a moment, his palm sliding out from beside my ear, allowing his fingertips to reach my lips. He traces the outline of my bottom lip in a tingling movement.
He asks, “How are you so perfect?”
My eyes flash open. “Are you mocking me?”
He is focused, serious, his own lips slightly parted, a gentle frown resting on his forehead. “Never.”
His expression loses nothing of its intensity as he says, “Sarah will take Parker to the apartment and stay with her there. I’m sorry you need to remain here, but … I want you to come out into the Realm with me. I’ll show you everything, tell you everything about this place. And if you want…” He smiles suddenly. “I’ll show you how I beat you yesterday.”
There’s a challenge in his gaze that I can’t ignore—it’s an expression he wears often when he looks at me, a
s if he’s daring me…
Actually, I’m not sure what he’s daring me to do, but I’m determined to figure it out.
I tip my chin, inadvertently turning my cheek into his palm. If there’s anything perfect in my life, it’s the way his thumb rests against the corner of my lips, sending tingles to my toes.
I manage to say, “You didn’t beat me. I let you win.”
He says, “We’ll see.” In the next breath he continues: “You’ll find clean clothes on the counter. I guessed your size. Your bag is there, too. Take as long as you want. Breakfast will be waiting when you get out.”
He’s gone within moments, closing the door behind him.
I rush to strip off my shirt, trying to see my shoulder blades and the strange golden color he described yesterday, but everything looks normal. It must have been early bruising.
Then I pounce on my shoulder bag, digging out the little box containing my spare contact lenses, along with the special solution to clean them.
Leaning over the basin, I slide out my current lenses, blinking my eyes with relief. Thank goodness. I can leave them out while I shower.
I freeze when I glance in the mirror. I don’t recognize myself.
The color of my eyes changes my face.
I look … different.
Not normal.
Dad’s voice thunders in my memory. I rub my neck, remembering his meaty fist like a vise around my throat when I forgot to put in my contact lenses one morning. But at least it wasn’t a cigarette butt on my arm. He shoved me against the wall, cracking my head against it, shouting, Stupid girl! Put your fucking contacts in. Show anyone your eyes and I’ll fucking kill you.
He’s no longer here to kill me, but I learned my lesson: distinguishing marks are memorable.
Memorable is dangerous.
Violet eyes are … unforgettable.
9
I wash off the memories, emerging from the shower feeling in control again. The clothes Cain gave me fit surprisingly well—fitted jeans with lots of stretch for movement, brand new underwear, and a navy-blue shirt that’s equally soft. I’m not sure whether I should feel uncomfortable about the fact that the bra is exactly the right size, but I’m pretty sure the tag on my bra was visible yesterday after I took my shirt off.
Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 48