What do you mean, nothing’s happened? Fran’s beaten almost to death, there’s a Crusade Master you nearly killed and another one I had to talk you out of killing in the infirmary, and the safehouse might not be so safe. What am I doing sleeping? Dear gods.
“I’d better get back to Fran,” she heard herself say mechanically. The room was dark, only the faintest reflected gleam of citylight coming in through the window, no night-light in the bathroom. They’d moved her luggage, and Caro hadn’t protested that hard. There was bravery and then there was stupidity, and she had probably been practicing more of the latter lately.
Merrick had apparently taken the sweater-coat off her, He pressed his hand against her shoulderblade and sent a heat-tingle through her aura. It hit her softly in the solar plexus and spread out to fill her fingers and toes with warmth. She also caught a glimpse of what he was feeling. That brought a hot flush up from her neck to drench her cheeks.
“Be calm, love. Breathe.” He sounded a lot less ironic than he usually did.
Stubborn resistance rose inside her, but she forced it down and took a deep breath. Another. It did help, a sense of calm returned. With it came renewed acuity, as if a fog of cotton wool had lifted away from her brain. She literally hadn’t been thinking straight before, too tired and punch-drunk with one crisis after another.
She leaned back into Merrick’s hand. It felt good, she decided. He paused, then slid his hand up under her hair until he cupped her nape. The feel of his skin against hers sent a wave of tingles down her back, and she was fairly sure that if she simply reached she could find out what it felt like to him. She was, after all, a Mindhealer.
And he was her Watcher.
He kept his hand there for a good ten minutes as Caro breathed, then reluctantly took it away. It was odd how such a lingering release of the pressure of his skin against hers could feel more intimate than a caress.
“Better?” He moved restlessly, as if he was planning on getting up off the bed.
Caro gathered her courage. “Much.” She pulled her knees up, got her balance, then reached down for the hem of her sweater and pulled it off over her head. My hair’s a mess, and I’m all bloody and I probably smell. Gods, I hope I’m not disgusting.
Merrick froze. Caro almost wanted to laugh, decided she’d better not. “It’s the middle of the night,” she said, in a very low, very clear voice she hoped wasn’t shaking. “If anything happens, Trev will come find me.” What do I say now? “You want to take your shirt off?”
Great, Caro. Wonderful. That’s really, really slick.
She was saved a great deal of embarrassment when he almost tore the rags of his shirt off. Certainly didn’t need to ask him twice, did I? She wondered how she was going to get out of her skirt, but didn’t have much time to figure it out, since his fingers brushed her back and a jolt of lightning went all the way through her. He trailed his fingers up her spine, just lightly skimming, and her breath caught in her throat. Her pulse rocketed into orbit, tingling that had nothing to do with magick racing through her.
She actually giggled when he cursed, struggling out of his jeans. Her own fight to get her skirt off was less protracted but more tangled. She was still all bloody and would have worried about dried blood on her face if there had been any light to see it by. She would have worried again about her hair or about a hundred little things if his mouth hadn’t found the sensitive hollow between her neck and her collarbone, just exactly the most vulnerable spot.
Caro’s entire body turned to warm oil. She was only barely aware of curling her fingers in his hair and moving to get as close to him as she could, despite the fact that there were still tangled sheets and a quilt in the way. The bed was probably going to be covered in dried blood and she would have to strip it, carry the sheets to the laundry room and—
He bit her lightly, in just the right place, and Caro heard herself moan. Good God, whoever knew he had it in him? The covers were beginning to be a major irritant, especially since his callused hands were roaming her torso, finding the most sensitive spots and teasing at them. His thumb brushed her nipple lightly, and she surprised herself by arching her back and hissing in a sharp breath. Did I really think he’d need a little coaching in the foreplay department?
Guilt returned, sharp and deadly. Here she was in a Watcher’s arms, enjoying herself, while Fran was unconscious on pain meds down in the infirmary, under heavy guard. It was only small consolation that they hadn’t had time to beat her as badly as they had Colleen or Nicolette.
She stiffened, and Merrick seemed to catch her mood, because he stopped. Simply held her, even though she could feel his readiness through the layers of rucked sheet and blanket and quilt between them. He rested his chin atop her head and stroked her back, evenly, smoothly, his calluses rasping. Said nothing.
Oddly enough, that managed to make her feel even guiltier. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his throat, his pulse throbbing under her lips. The shiver that went through him echoed in her own body. It would be so easy to drown in what he was feeling, the feedback squeal of pleasure that was a Watcher’s reward.
“Why?” He sounded baffled.
She shrugged, shifting awkwardly. She was half in his lap, and the covers were all tangled. “Want to lie down?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He tried to make it sound like a joke, and her hitching little laugh sounded more like a cry of pain. She let go of him reluctantly, tossing her skirt to the floor. I’m never going to get the wrinkles out of this. It probably has blood on it. Maybe I should burn it.
In less than thirty seconds he had magically restored order to the bed and tucked her in, sliding in next to her and pausing for only the briefest moment before she cuddled up close to him, throwing her leg over his hip and hugging him as hard as she could. Her fingers found his scarred shoulder, and he tensed. “Caro—”
“I’m such an idiot,” she whispered. “I feel like a teenager again.”
“Really?” His fingers polished her hip, drifted up the curve of her belly, found her ribs, tickled slightly.
She tried not to squirm. “Like I’m going to get caught. Like I shouldn’t do this while so much has gone wrong.” Her breath caught, and she realized she was crying. The tears rolled silently down her cheeks. She tried not to sniffle and warn him. She hadn’t ever wept willingly, not even during her childhood.
Marvelously, blessedly, he didn’t speak. Instead he turned on his side and kissed her, gently. It was like the first time, awkward and tender. He didn’t tell her not to cry; he didn’t tell her it was going to be all right. At least not in words. And when the tears stopped and she shook with the slanted white fire of climax, the only thing he said was her name, whispered raggedly as the bright flame of the link between them became a star in the dark. It was all the promise she needed. There, for that moment, the darkness was kind instead of dangerous, and she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, trusting that promise for a few hours until she had to wake up and be responsible again.
* * * *
The next morning, a knock at the door brought Caro to a complete standstill from the rut she’d been wearing in the carpet, pacing from the window to the empty cold fireplace. A shower, a pot of coffee, and some peanut butter toast had restored her to some kind of normalcy. She stepped into her heels and met Merrick’s eyes squarely. He had already unfolded himself from the neatly made bed, where he’d been sitting cross-legged, repairing his T-shirt with flickers of Power and infinite patience. She reminded herself, once again, to get him fully outfitted. He shouldn’t have to repair a blood-sodden rag like that, but Caro didn’t have a shirt that would fit him.
“Keenan,” he said, his green eyes glowing. His scars flushed for a moment, and muscle moved under the bare skin of his chest. “Probably with news.”
Caro nodded, biting her lower lip. She’d managed to fight her hair back into behaving, mostly with Merrick’s help. He had actually laughed at her discomfiture while he patie
ntly combed out every tangle. Properly dressed and in her heels, she felt a little more ready to face the next crisis.
The door opened, and Keenan’s dark-blue eyes flicked over the room. “Duty,” he said, quietly.
“Honor,” Merrick responded. “Come on in, mate.”
Caro was sure she saw a look pass between them, Keenan’s eyebrow raising a millimeter and Merrick’s infinitesimal shrug. “Good morning, Keenan. Would you like some coffee?” How’s Fran? What’s going on? Why do you look so worried under that straight face of yours? Is Trev okay?
“No, ma’am, just had breakfast with your brother, he’s fine. The Council witch is better. The healers say she’ll definitely pull through. She’s out of the woods and resting comfortably.”
Relief weakened Caro’s knees. “Any other news?” Gods, please. Let it be something good, not another crisis.
“Lots. The tech witches have been busy, and the Crusader—Brennan—has been talking. There’s also . . . other news.”
Caro folded her arms. A weak rectangle of sunlight lay against the green carpet, and the air stiffened with heat from two Watchers. Merrick pulled his repaired shirt over his head and bent to pick up his weapons harness. It came alive in his hands, a supple thing that curled around his body. She leaned back on her heels, one hip stuck slightly out, and wished the shoes didn’t make her lower back hurt. It was a tradeoff, feeling a little bit of professional confidence hand in hand with an aching lumbar spine. “All right. Give it to me straight.”
Keenan clasped his hands behind his back, stood at parade rest with his shoulders pushed back. “There’s been another wave of attacks,” he said, with no discernable emotion. “Up north, in Saint City. The Guardians are all right—Theo and the baby are fine, Elise has a broken arm and a severe case of frustrated rage but she’s otherwise in fine fettle, and Mari’s down in the Library, digging. Jack Gray took a lot of damage getting Anya to safety. Apparently this organization—Dominion—is the Crusade’s new best friend, and they’re paramilitary. Bunch of evangelical Protestant fanatics. The Crusade funds them, and they’ve been training for a few years to strike. The tech witches cracked a major Crusade node last night and got us a list of targets. The Crusade’s targeted a whole roll of Lightbringers we didn’t even know about. The High Council is mobilizing every Watcher they can to stand guard and bring them in.” He took a deep breath. “The tech witches also got us translations of the texts used to create the new Seekers. The bad news is, the Crusade’s going ahead with creating them, and their version of Watchers too. They’ve perfected the process. They call them Slayers.”
Caro almost swayed. Oh, God. “I know how to stop the infection,” she heard herself say, in a cool businesslike tone. “I should report, and I need to see those translations to figure out if there’s a better way to combat it.”
Keenan nodded. “You’re now a High Council special deputy. To teach every Mindhealer and anyone else you can how to—”
“What?” She was vaguely surprised the window didn’t shatter under the force of her screech. “I mean, why? For God’s sake, I nearly got Merrick killed and didn’t figure anything out until it was too late, and—”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am.” Was Keenan trying to hide a smile? “You almost single-handedly solved the mystery, and if you hadn’t kept your head and gone to find the Council liaison, we would have had two Masters and another one of those new Seekers loose in the safehouse. You also saved Asher. All in all, the Council’s very impressed. So’s everyone else.”
Caro’s jaw threatened to drop. “You can’t be serious.”
“Rarely anything else, ma’am. I’ve got to get back to the infirmary. Trev wants me to spell him at the Council liaison’s bedside. With your permission?”
She waved him away. “Special deputy? What am I supposed to do? They can’t.”
“They just did. Honor, brother.” Merrick held up his ripped and tattered coat, returned Keenan’s nod.
“Duty, brother. You’re in for commendation. Oliver sent word for you to stop worrying.” And with that, the younger Watcher ducked out the door, shutting it softly but decisively.
Caro hugged herself, cupping her elbows in her hands. “Gods above.” I sound shocked. I feel shocked.
“Going to be interesting,” Merrick remarked mildly. “Watchers bringing in witches instead of just standing guard and waiting for a Lightfall witch to make contact. A whole list of Lightbringers we didn’t know about and the Crusade did.” He shook his head and laid the coat down on the bed, a blot of darkness against the sunflowers. “Caro? You all right, love?”
“No. I’m not all right. There aren’t enough bonded Mindhealers to treat all the cases in time if the Crusade’s really serious about this.” She crossed to the window, unsteady on her high heels, finally kicked the damn shoes off. Maybe she should start wearing flats.
“Bonded Mindhealers?” He sounded curious.
“Of course. That’s the trick. It has to be a bonded Mindhealer linked to her Watcher before she goes in, or the parasite can drag her down and her heart stops. Not to mention the risk of being knocked out of her body and other fun and games.” Fran’s going to live. Thank you, gods. “That’s why Danica died. She wasn’t linked to her Watcher while trying to heal Colleen. The parasite simply dragged her down when she disturbed it. It went dormant until I disturbed it again—as luck would have it, on the final day of its incubation. If I hadn’t been linked to you, I’d be dead.” And I feel like such an idiot, I should have pieced it all together sooner. All the clues were there. I’m getting dense in my old age.
He was silent for a long moment. Then, dangerously quiet, “You’re just telling me this now?”
“Well, you didn’t ask.” Caro swung away from the window, stepped back into her heels, and headed for the door, pausing to glance at him over her shoulder. “I want to go see Fran, make sure she’ll be all right. And Trev’s been down there all night. I’ll need to bully him into bed. Then we’ll get those translations, and—what?”
Merrick glared at her, his eyes bright and piercing under his messy hair. “Tie you up,” he muttered. “And sit on you.”
“Ha.” She shook her head, and glared right back. “Just try it. I know where you’re ticklish. Look at it this way, I’ll be so busy inside the safehouses I’ll barely be able to step outside.”
“No consolation. You could get into trouble in a nunnery.” He shrugged back into his tattered coat. At least he’d been able to clean the blood off it, the smoky smell of Watcher magick hung in the air.
“First things first, though. We’d better stop by Requisitions and get you some new clothes. And a haircut wouldn’t be amiss, either.”
Merrick drew himself up. Nodded, his eyes fixed on her face.
Caro held her hand out. “Are you coming?”
His eyes dropped to her hand, flicked back up to her face. He took four long steps and his fingers slid through hers. His skin was fever-warm and dry. The carefully reined strength was reassuring, and she let out a sigh as their linked hands dropped between them.
“If you’ll have me. Lead on, witch.”
But she paused, looking up at his scarred face. “You’re sure? I mean, I’m not the easiest person in the world to—”
“Caro,” he said, gently, “you’re my bloody witch and you couldn’t pry me away with a chainfall. Let’s get to work.”
Well, that answers that. So she gave him a worried smile and led him out the door. Let’s hope I’m smart enough to keep us both out of danger and find a way to stop the Crusade this time.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mindhealer. Copyright ©2008 by Lilith Saintcrow. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the require
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