The Hour of Dust and Ashes cm-3

by Kelly Gay

  I slumped against him, grabbing on to his bicep, the side of my face planted in the crook of his shoulder. Tears continually leaked, my body trying to shed the dirt from my eyes. Hank’s heart beat hard and fast in his chest. He wasn’t letting go of me, and I wasn’t arguing.

  “Asking me not to fight,” he muttered in a shaky voice. “Never again. You understand? Never again.”

  Hot pain radiated through my wrist, and pretty much everywhere else on my body, but I heard his words and held them, stored them for a later time.

  My muscles grew stiff as we sat there in the dim tunnel, both of our flashlights remaining on, lying on the ground nearby and giving me enough light to see. Another MARTA train rumbled by, shaking the earth.

  After it passed and the tunnel grew quiet again, Hank leaned back to look down at me, gently laying a hand on my arm. “Your wrist is broken. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. If you hadn’t pulled me up …”

  He reached up with both hands and unclipped the voice-mod from his neck. I went still and slid back, off his lap and onto the ground beside him, our legs touching. “What are you doing?”

  Determination settled over his features as his eyes held mine, shifting into a dark sapphire blue. “I broke it. I fix it. Don’t argue.” He spoke true and deep, and without the voice-mod adjusting his voice, it flowed over me and through me in a warm wave of contentment and pleasure.

  “But I—”

  “You’re not human anymore, Charlie,” he said softly, “you can handle my voice without …”

  Without jumping his bones, declaring my undying love and devotion, offering him everything I had …

  Not exactly the kind of one-sided relationship I was after. But then, he was right, I wasn’t exactly human anymore.

  His hand trailed down my arm. I went still; the only reaction was the light burst of awareness in my stomach. His fingers closed around my wrist. Pain shot up my arm, stealing my breath. His other hand cupped the back of my neck as he leaned forward, pulling me in, his scruffy cheek brushing against mine. My heart started to beat wildly. Pain? What pain?

  I waited, knowing he was going to speak. He was so close, the act so intimate. His fingers clamped harder on my neck as his lips parted against my ear, so close I heard the faint intake of breath.

  And then he spoke.

  Slow, rhythmic, deep words flowed from his lips. Words I didn’t understand, but the exotic language and the accent that came with it seemed to give them power, persuading, demanding, an alluring kind of power. My wounds would obey him. Happy to re-knit and mend for him. Every muscle relaxed, every nerve ignited with vitality, pleasure, contentment, bliss …

  My mouth dropped open and the stunned curse that formed languidly in mind never made it out. My broken nails dug into his arm, an initial burst of pain replaced by goodness as the cuts healed.

  And the words kept coming, going deeper into my senses, and somehow more personal—far more intimate than those first healing words.

  My mark burned—a good kind of burn that matched the heat building in the rest of me. My mouth still hung open and my breath was coming out swift and ragged. I wanted to reach up, to slide my hand around the back of his neck and pull him closer, but my body and mind were too overwhelmed to move.

  His words ended in a low whisper. His lips smiled, brushed past my ear, and pressed into my temple.

  I blinked a few times and finally was able to close my mouth and swallow the lump in my throat. My heart pounded like a damn drum and my entire body hummed with something pretty similar to an endorphin rush.

  As he pulled back and released his hand at my neck, I felt the faint, feathery touch of his breath, and wondered if I was imagining it or was his breath as shaky as my own?

  10

  Hank stayed quiet as he reattached his voice-mod, head bent, expression unreadable.

  Look up! I wanted to shout at him, but he didn’t. I wanted to know he was affected, that this moment wasn’t some usual siren event for him, that I wasn’t the only one feeling something on the inside.

  I drew in a deep breath and immediately started hacking, dislodging the dirt clinging to the back of my throat. I grabbed Hank’s knee, bent over, and spit a glob of dirt onto the ground.

  A wry chuckle echoed in the tunnel. “Well, I’ve never gotten that kind of response before.”

  I shot a dark look over my arm as I wiped my mouth. “Funny.”

  And the idea of him doing what he’d just done to me to someone else? Absolutely maddening.

  “The aches and stiffness will return,” he said. “Your wrist is healed, but it’ll be sore for a while.”

  “Thanks.” I sat straighter. “For healing me.” My hands were covered with dirt, so I grabbed the end of my shirt and used the inside edge to wipe the dirt from my eyes, but it was just as grainy on the inside as it was on the outside.

  “Here.” Hank pulled off his button-down, and then yanked his T-shirt over his head, using the inside end of it to help get more dirt away from my eyes and off my tear-streaked face. He held it to my nose. “Blow. You’ve got dirt shoved up your nose. That’s why you’re breathing out of your mouth.”

  I hadn’t even noticed, but he was right. Now I knew why I was still feeling a ton of pressure in my face. I grabbed the shirt and blew the corks of packed dirt from my nose, thinking maybe I should just accept the fact that Hank would always see me at my worst.

  Hank pulled his button-down back on, and I finally got a good look at him. Streaks of sweat-soaked dirt on his face. Pants, hands, and forearms covered in dirt and grit. Mostly dried blood had made tracks on his fingers and hands from where he’d broken nails or sliced his skin and palms against sharp rocks, digging me out.

  “Jesus,” I managed, staring at him.

  How long had he been digging for me?

  “Nothing compared to what you look like,” he said, pushing to his feet and extending a hand. “Well enough to stand?”

  “Yeah.” I rolled onto my hands and knees, and stayed there for a moment to regain my equilibrium. Then I brought my legs in one at a time and slowly stood. A little wobbly, but otherwise okay. I went to brush the dirt from my clothes, but what was the point? It wouldn’t help. I could feel the small, gritty particles on my scalp, in my bra and underwear, in my shoes and socks …

  Hank picked up our flashlights and handed me one, his light beaming over me in a quick downward slash. “You look like a deranged cavewoman.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I sniffed and gave him a haughty look. “I have dirt everywhere,” I said, walking past him. “I’m going to Bryn’s to clean up.”

  Oh, the looks that were thrown our way as we made our way down Solomon Street, into the plaza, and then down Mercy Street. The walk was brutal. Dirt rubbed me raw in all my delicate places.

  One foot in front of the other, that’s all I could concentrate on until I made it to Hodgepodge and Bryn’s apartment above the shop.

  Shower. Rest. Food.

  Or maybe shower, food, rest. I wasn’t sure yet, but Abracas was smelling pretty damn fine as we hobbled by. And they delivered.

  I used my key and let us inside, barely able to make it up the stairs and refusing Hank’s offer of a “lift” at least three times. At the top of the stairs, I paused to catch my breath before inserting the key and entering my sister’s dark apartment. Hank came in behind me, shutting and locking the door and then proceeding to find the light switches.

  The couch beckoned me like never before, but I bypassed it and went into the kitchen, where the dirt could be swept from the floor. I grabbed the counter for support and then slowly removed my boots. Dirt fell in streams onto the tiles. And more fell as I held them over the trash can and shook.

  Hank and I worked in silence, things coming off—our shoes, socks, weapons, harnesses, and belts, all of it piling onto the countertop in a dusty heap.

  Once I was down to my pants and T-shirt, I glanced at Hank to see him still dressed, but shaking the dir
t out of his socks and shoes. Even sweat-soaked and grimy, he looked obscenely good. I rolled my eyes, bent over, and shook out my hair. His lure never seemed to take a day off, but I guessed I couldn’t really fault him for what was as natural to him as breathing.

  Get used to it, Charlie, I told myself. Then frowned inwardly. I thought I had.

  “I’m taking a shower,” I said, straightening as he sat on the stool, pulling his socks back on. “What are you doing?”

  He grabbed his boot off the floor and shoved his foot in, not bothering with the laces. “Going back to my place to shower and get clean clothes. There’s nothing here for me to wear. I’m just one street over. I’ll be back before you even get out.”

  The other boot followed and he stood as I pulled Bryn’s key off the counter and tossed it to him. “Bring some food back with you,” I said.

  “Planned to.” He shoved the key in his pocket and grabbed his wallet, leaving his other things. Then he leaned down, kissed me on the cheek, and walked out. As normal as you please. As though he’d been doing that for years.

  I blinked, staring at the closed door for a long moment, trying to wrap my mind around this new and sudden step—no, leap—in our relationship.

  There was so much mud in the tub that I worried about clogging Bryn’s drain. I had to keep mashing it with my feet to thin it out, but finally the water ran clear and nothing backed up from the drain. My wrist ached, but I could move it without too much trouble. Soap stung the scratches on my face and the tender skin around the corners of my eyes, mouth, and nose.

  As I massaged my scalp with suds, my eyelids closed and I let my thoughts drift into the background. The natural energy inside of me took over, working and healing.

  I went into a calm, meditation-like state, relaxing every muscle and letting go of the worry, anxiety, and pressure to make things right.

  The vision started so slowly, sneaking up on my unprotected mind, overtaking me before I knew what hit me.

  * * *

  Gray landscape. Valleys. Mountains. Cloud-laden sky. Mist-covered ground. All moving below me at great speed. Down over foothills covered in grass to flatlands that eventually turned to sand. To a desert and a sparkling river under a blazing white sun. To the walls of a massive temple rearing up on the other side.

  Straight up the wall face and over the balcony. Through the massive columns. To a courtyard.

  “No!”

  “Our purpose is at an end. Our lives here, in this state, are over. It was always meant to be like this. You know this.”

  Denial. Anger. Shouting.

  And then the scene speeds away again, going back through the temple columns so massive I can’t see the roof. Over the land, to a darker place of mist and gray jagged mountains.

  The blinding light comes next.

  I’m on the rooftop of Helios Tower. Dawn of the winter solstice. Llyran removing the sarcophagus lid.

  The agate no longer masks the power inside. The pulse of energy steals my breath and flows through every fiber of my being, so deep and powerful, it feels as though it has taken part of my life force with it as it ebbs.

  And with that pulse the scene shifts to the black Earth. An eye blinks open.

  I came out of the vision with a heart-pounding gasp, losing my balance in the tub and flailing for the wall before I slipped. The water still ran warm, and the suds were still in my hair. I ducked my head under the spray.

  Apparently, only a few moments had passed, yet it felt like I’d been gone for a lifetime. It was exactly the same as before, but this time I couldn’t call it a dream. It was much more than that.

  A tingle of fear crept over my wet skin as I turned the water off, stepped out of the tub, and grabbed a towel.

  As my body morphed into something more than human, I had experienced some odd things. Seeing through and inside solid objects, hearing voices … All things I hoped would go away once my body decided on what it wanted to be. The vision could be just another one of those things.

  But still it was hard to shake the ominous feeling that came along with it.

  I went to my assigned drawer—Bryn had gotten so tired of me coming by and borrowing her clothes if mine were ripped, bloodied, or soiled that she gave me my own space for my things. I pulled on a pair of underwear and a tank, and then crawled under the covers, curling onto my side.

  It was dim in the room, the blinds drawn, the light off, and I was so spent that even just a few minutes of sleep would do me a world of good.

  I heard the voice before I saw it. Deep. Ancient. Powerful. Familiar. Vibrating with a natural echo, the language containing hints of Elysian, Charbydon, Aramaic …

  I turned onto my back. My eyes widened. The shadowy creature was back.

  It hovered above me. A dark mass of terror. So close. So black and empty, yet something had to exist within. Preferably something with a heart.

  It spoke again, sounding almost … curious.

  I didn’t even have time to breathe before it flew at me and my vision bled to black.

  I woke with a jerk, the shadow creature leaping into the forefront of my mind. But I was still in Bryn’s bed, head on her pillow. The thing had appeared, did its “in and out of body” trick, and then disappeared, leaving me knocked out for a little while but otherwise unhurt.

  I relaxed back into the mattress as other elements in the room began to filter through my senses, namely the extraordinary warmth at my back. The air was filled with the smell of masculine skin and hints of cologne, soap, and dryer sheets.

  Hank was back. And his scent wasn’t the only thing surrounding me; his arm was thrown over my hip and my back was tucked nicely against his front.

  The creature’s visitation must’ve really done a number; I hadn’t heard the siren come in, hadn’t smelled the food that wafted in now from the kitchen, and definitely hadn’t noticed when he lay down on top of tovers behind me and pulled me close.

  It was nice. Good. Right, even. And then another feeling struck me in a novel way. Protected. I felt protected. A disbelieving laugh bubbled in my throat as I lay there, a small smile parked on my face.

  I was always the one out there protecting people. And after Will and I had split, I’d had no one to go to for comfort, to let all my guards down, to take a rest from being the caregiver, provider, guard, and detective. To let someone else be tough for a while.

  Had to admit, I liked it. And I never thought in a gazillion years I’d find this feeling with an off-worlder. I liked Hank’s strength, his power, his quirky humor, even the badass attitude he caught sometimes.

  I was in so much trouble.

  My stomach growled loudly. Hank stirred, voice sleepy. “Was that the gargoyle?”

  I turned onto my back, letting my head fall to the side, facing him. “Gizmo is at the League with Bryn. That was my stomach.”

  Hank’s eyes opened and studied me for a long moment. “You look better.”

  “So do you.”

  Several seconds passed and it hit me that we were just lying there staring at each other. And even though I tried, I couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot.

  “What did you bring?” I asked.

  “Food, woman.”

  He got up from the bed and swaggered into the kitchen, calling as he went, “I saved you, I healed you, I brought you food … I am a god.”

  I threw the covers over my head and laughed—not giggled—letting the feeling wash through me, a rare moment of feminine happiness.

  Then my stomach rumbled again.

  Without delay, I scrambled from the bed, dressed quickly, and hurried into the kitchen, finger-combing my hair as I went.

  Hank was pulling utensils from the drawer as I zeroed in on the two big takeout boxes on the table. One was filled with bow-tie pasta with chicken drenched with a thick, creamy pink sauce—my absolute favorite dish from Abracas. The other contained a large cheeseburger and steak fries. Hank sat down, handed me a fork, and then lifted the burger.

&nb
sp; I stabbed the pasta, impressed that he’d remembered what I liked.

  We ate for several minutes in a food-frenzied silence before he asked, “How was your nap?”

  I speared a piece of chicken. Now that I had food in me and had gotten over Hank’s presence in the bed, my thoughts went back to the mysterious creature. “The nap was fine. The shadow thing that keeps showing up, not so much.” I stuck the food in my mouth.

  An eyebrow lifted high and he regarded me for a long second. He grabbed a fry. “Why am I not surprised.” He shoved the fry in his mouth and made a rolling motion with his hand. “So what does it want?”

  I told him everything, about the visions I’d been having, the altercation7;d had with the creature at the club and then here, earlier, in the bedroom.

  Hank stated the obvious. “I think it’s safe to assume, based on what Sandra had to say and its appearances so far, using your power triggers its arrival.”

  I nodded, stabbing a couple bow ties with the fork. “Yeah, but why? Alessandra said it was a destroyer, death, called it Sachâth. Ever heard of that?”

  He shook his head. “No, but if that’s true, it makes it even more strange that it’s not attacking.”

  “I know. At first I think it’s going to—that’s the feeling I get—and then it hesitates … I’m not even sure if that’s the right word. Sometimes it sounds confused or questioning. Frustrated, even. And then it just sweeps right through me, knocks me out cold, and vanishes.

  “Well, we know how to keep it away from you.”

  “Yeah, if I don’t screw up and use my power. That little bit in the shower was just healing …” And the creature was sensitive enough for that tiny slip to trigger its arrival.

  Hank chewed another bite of his burger. “I think we should pay a visit to the Grove.”

  “You think Pendaran will know what this thing is?”

  “If anyone does, it’ll be him. He’s been around for a while. Couldn’t hurt to ask. Besides, we should check on the progress he’s made with the Old Lore.”

  I nodded. The Old Lore, a collection of Elysian pre-history tales and accounts, resided with the Druid King. Llyran had stolen it from Elysia and brought it to Earth. In it was the only known record of the First Ones.