Through the Static

by Jeanette Grey

  Then she looked at her shoulder and had to close her eyes. A few inches over and it would have been a lethal shot, for sure. Of course, they had intended to miss.

  Her mind spun, tears and panic rising. She wasn’t even sure if she was out of danger yet, and suddenly it was all too much. The fighting and the fear and the stress of her escape. The game of mental chess she’d been playing with the Three and the uncertainty still lingering around her now.

  At the sound of the door opening and closing again, she looked up, heart racing, throat ready to scream. Jinx held his hands up.

  “It’s all right. It’s only me.”

  She had no idea who he was, and her eyes prickled. But at the same time, the stone of terror in her heart softened, and her breath came easier. He was trying to help her. She had to believe he was.

  As her posture relaxed, he crossed the room toward her, setting down a medical kit before sitting on the edge of the mattress again and shrugging off his leather jacket. Dressed in only a black T-shirt, black jeans and boots, he was even more masculine, the muscles in his arms rippling. For all that his attention was focused on her injuries, she felt the same heat pouring off him as she had before. It helped to set her at ease, even as other parts of her tensed.

  Working intently, he flipped open the kit and laid out alcohol wipes and scissors, thread and bandages. He was already pulling on a pair of gloves before his eyes returned to hers.

  “I used to be a medic.”

  Their gaze held for a beat too long. She realized what he was saying—what he was admitting to her. He remembered what he used to be. Hell, he remembered anything at all.

  It was…impossible.

  He hesitated for a moment, as if waiting for a response, but when she failed to give him one, he began opening packages. Peeling her shirt farther down her arm, he shifted her to lie on her side so he could access both the entrance and the exit of the wound. He popped a syringe and brought it to her skin.

  “Anesthetic. And something to help the wounds knit.”

  She held her breath and looked away as the needle nicked her.

  For the next few minutes, he worked over her in silence. She felt only the coolness of the alcohol and the gentle tug of flesh rejoining as he stitched her up. He was good at this, all right, his sure hands implying training. Practice.

  Still directing her gaze at the wall, she cleared her throat unnecessarily, then asked, “Do you remember much? About before?”

  He stiffened, pausing for a fraction of a second before continuing. They both knew he wasn’t supposed to remember anything.

  “Just flashes.”

  “More of them recently?”

  His silence was all the answer she needed. He set his needle aside, then reached for the roll of bandages. Her whole side ached as he urged her arm up to wind the fabric around and around. When he was done, he let her shift to lie on her back again.

  Swallowing hard, she touched his arm, right above the line of his glove, skin to skin. “If you want me to help, you’re going to have to tell me everything.”

  He stared into her eyes, searching, then dropped his gaze to where she was touching him. Lifted her hand from his skin and inspected her palm. She flinched at the pressure on the lacerations from the glass. Without a word, he cleaned those just as carefully as he had her shoulder. After dressing the worst of them, he made an inspection of the rest of her, swabbing at a scrape across her temple and ghosting fingertips over a tender spot on the back of her neck.

  While his mouth was a straight line, his expression all detachment, there was fury burning deeply in those eyes. Fury and concern and a gentleness in his touch that made her want to cry all over again.

  When he was done, he pulled his hands from her skin, lingering and brushing her knuckles for just a moment before tugging off his gloves and packing up the kit. He stood and walked over to a set of drawers in the corner and pulled out a couple black lumps of fabric. On the mattress beside her again, he let his gaze drift down her form, and the air between them grew hot again.

  “You need to get out of this.”

  His fingertips brushed the tatters of her shirt.

  “I know. I—” She went to remove her arm from the sleeve, but a jolt of pain made her stop.

  His hands were there in the next instant, cradling, holding her shoulder steady as he pushed the fabric from her body. And it was such a contrast. He was all hard lines and edges, intensity rippling through every inch of him, but in that moment, he was soft.

  As his hands shook, he seemed to sense the wonder of his own gentleness, too.

  Only when she was bare did his gaze move to her chest, his nostrils flaring as he huffed out a rough exhale. His hand hovered, echoing the shape of her softness, and her whole body prickled with the electricity of anticipation. She wanted him to touch her.

  And it terrified her.

  A quiet whimper escaped her lips, jolting the both of them. His eyes shuttered, his expression returning to something guardedly neutral, and he dropped his arm. He was still breathing hard, but he didn’t look at her again as he helped her into a T-shirt three sizes too big. Then he was standing.

  “You can manage with the rest.”

  It wasn’t a question, and he left as suddenly as he had the first time, slamming the door behind him.

  As she struggled to shuffle out of her skirt and into what she had to assume were his sleep pants, her head buzzed. Scientifically, emotionally and physically, he was a mystery.

  And she was going to get to the bottom of him.

  Jinx slammed his way through the kitchen, his blood boiling, his whole body ready to go out of its skin.

  God, her skin.

  He was keyed up, pushed to the very edge of his control. Through the walls, he could feel the energy Curse and Charm were putting out; suppressed as it was, it got into his bones and sinews, making him sweat and want. As if her energy hadn’t been enough. Even over the sharp tang of her blood, she smelled so good, sensual and sweet. Her voice had been a gentle caress inside his mind after all these years of harsh commands, and her body…

  He reached down and adjusted himself inside the rough denim of his pants, then swiped the back of his wrist over his brow. He’d never known desire like this, never had something for it to focus on like this. When she’d lain there, bare and perfect and waiting for him to take care of her, it had been all he could do to keep it under wraps.

  Nothing since he’d awoken to this life had prepared him for this, and the faint glimpses he’d retained from his life before curled and crumbled, burned to ash in the wake of this inferno.

  He popped the lid on the waste disposal unit and dumped his gloves. They were covered in her blood, and a whole different kind of fire raged across his synapses. Someone had hurt her.

  Maybe someone like him.

  He turned and smacked the side of his fist down against the counter. The pain felt good. Bracing.

  After a few deep breaths, he straightened and reached into the cabinet to pull down a couple of glasses. He chuckled as always at the farce of a crew like his Three putting up in a place like this. A place with glasses and dishes, all of them breakable. He shouldn’t be allowed near anything that wasn’t made of leather or denim or steel.

  He filled the glasses one at a time, bringing the first to his lips while the other topped off. He drained it in one long pull, refilled it and emptied it again, making lists in his mind all the while. After losing all that blood, she’d need water. Calories, too, probably. An analgesic to help her sleep. He turned off the tap and set the glasses down before grabbing a liquid meal ration and a bottle of pills.

  He lingered for another minute there in the quiet space, alone. He could breathe now, but the idea of going back into that room got his pulse going again. The proximity was too much, and all the ways he wanted to touch and protect her were o
nly part of the problem.

  Curse and Charm were going to be in his face in the morning, and they had a habit of pulling rank. He had to keep her safe, had to figure out who she was and what she knew. Especially what she knew about him.

  A low bubble of something too bright and too soft threatened his chest. Maybe she could fix them.

  Or better, maybe she could free him.

  He tamped the thought down, sucking in a breath and closing his eyes. It was too dangerous a thing to think, even behind the screen between him and his partners right now. He couldn’t afford that kind of hope.

  She was reminding him of all kinds of things he couldn’t afford.

  Gathering up his supplies, he headed back to his quarters, treading quietly instead of stomping his frustration into the floorboards. He still bristled at the faint sounds coming from the room on the other side of the hall, at the stillness from the third, open door where Charm was supposed to sleep. Alone.

  Nearly growling with aggravation, he was about to barge right into his room, but he stopped himself, reminding himself there was someone else inside. He gritted his teeth and knocked before turning the handle.

  God. She was in his clothes. Her slight frame swam in them, but the sight still staggered him, triggering something hot and possessive, making his body thrum just as hard as it had before.

  He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. The air was thick with the scent of blood and female sweetness, both overwhelming in their own ways. As he approached her, she gazed up at him, appraising. Behind the sharp perception in her eyes, there was a fatigue that made his bones feel weak and tired.

  His voice was gruff as he placed the glass and the meal pouch on the floor beside her. “Drink.”

  He shook out two pills and held them out, waiting for her to take them, but she hesitated. She looked between the glass and his palm and back again.

  Something inside him fell. She was right to be wary; only a fool would take food and medicine from someone like him without seeing it prepared. The mistrust on her face still crushed the unfurling parts of him. He forced the lines of his mouth to soften.

  “It’s clean.” He inched his hand closer. “Just painkillers. I promise.”

  She glanced up at his eyes and back to his outstretched hand. Hesitation clear in her expression, she flexed her shoulder and grimaced. Sympathetic pains radiated through his arm. Finally, after sizing him up for another long minute, she plucked one of the pills from his palm and reached for the glass.

  “The dosage is two.”

  Her mouth twitched, turning down. “Painkillers affect me strongly.”

  His chest relaxed as she placed the single tablet on her tongue and swallowed it with a deep gulp of water. She trusted him enough to eat from his hands.

  He set the other pill on the floor and backed away until his spine met the door. With a new weariness tugging at him, he sank down the surface of it, coming to rest with his knees bent before him, his big boots planted firmly on the floor.

  It was easier to think with the distance between them, but his hands felt empty in a way they never had before. Restless and impatient for he didn’t even know what, he watched her set the glass aside and gingerly tear open the meal package. She sucked at it slowly, lips soft and pale.

  He wanted to see them flushed, pink and full. He wanted to see her well. To make her well.

  “Are you just going to watch me eat?”

  He nodded. “And sleep.”

  A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. Had she ever smiled in front of him before? Had anyone?

  He couldn’t remember.

  His fingers curled tightly to his palms, he kept his gaze on her. She retained the sly tilt to the line of her mouth, but otherwise she let him look, let him study her.

  When she was about halfway through the packet, her eyes started to droop, her grip slackening. She looked so exhausted. So fragile. What she must have been through tonight…

  Moving as quietly and smoothly as he could, Jinx rose and crossed the room to her. He reached out, tentative and shaky-feeling for all that his hands were sure. With the utmost delicacy, he pulled the packet from her loosening fingers. She started when their skin touched, eyes widening and hands closing around air.

  “Shh.”

  He brought the glass to her lips and urged her to take another sip. Gaze fixed on his, she did as he bade before letting her head fall back. Her eyes closed and she breathed out a shuddering exhale.

  “You’re safe.” His lips moved along with the silent words. “Rest.”

  Her whole body slackened, and something inside him did, too. She was so beautiful, so trusting, there in his clothes on his bed.

  He couldn’t help himself. His fingers twitching, he brought the backs of his knuckles up to run along the line of her cheek. She flinched, and he cursed in his head, tensing for her to pull away. She didn’t, though. She leaned into him, as if seeking comfort. From him.

  Stunned, he let his hand fall. Though he was still aching for contact and for more, he retreated to the other side of the room. Put his back to the door, resolving not to move as feelings he didn’t know what to do with swirled inside him. Protectiveness. Lust.

  A desire for something beyond the needs of his Three.

  Her breathing slowed, her eyelashes fluttering. As she slipped off into unconsciousness, he watched over her.

  The whole time, the backs of his knuckles burned.

  Chapter Four

  In the dream, Aurelia was running. Everything was panic, a glinting metal blade whirring through the air and past her ear. Her shoulder was a mess of blood, and then the pain exploded outward. A bolt of lightning shot through her skull. When she lifted her hand to touch the side of her head, it came away wet, wiring sparking against her fingers. Her heart seized and she staggered.

  Voices ripped the night apart, echoing in brilliant starbursts in her synapses.

  “It’s her.”

  “Under our noses all this time.”

  “Get her.”

  She pushed forward, but out of nowhere, another star-shaped blade tore through the night. Tore through her flesh. She tripped.

  The second before she hit the ground, her eyes flew open.

  She shot up from the mattress, pushing up to sit. Her head and shoulder screamed as she whipped her head around. For an instant, her whole body sagged in relief.

  She was in Jinx’s room. She was safe.

  Then she turned and met dark eyes—the same dark eyes that had looked at her with both tenderness and hunger. In the early dawn light, they were run through with fear.

  “What’s going on—”

  “Shh.”

  He was still sitting with his back against the door, his knees bent in front of him. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he rose to his full height and reached into the waistband of his jeans. His hand emerged wrapped around a weapon, and Aurelia’s heart thundered.

  She scrambled to anchor herself back in the connection between their minds. “Jinx.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Gone was the sensual man of the night before. His movements were all stiffness as he stepped away from the door and raised his arms.

  He pointed the weapon at her.

  She should have known.

  Before she could despair, before she could try to formulate a plan, his voice was in her head again. It was panicked and unsure, but the underlying tone was imploring. “You should have told me, Aurelia.”

  Oh, God. He knew her name.

  In the next instant, the door burst open. The other two members of his Three stormed into the room, weapons similarly drawn. As they did, Jinx’s posture straightened even further, and a little part of Aurelia’s heart broke. Except for his eyes, he looked every bit the automaton he was meant to be.

  She met his gaze, sucke
d in a deep breath at the way his irises burned. He didn’t push any more words into her thoughts, but she sensed his emotions all the same. They screamed of treachery.

  But was it his partners’ betrayal or her own?

  The shutters to his mind slammed down, forcibly shoving her back and into her own thoughts. She shivered against the cold isolation there, something frantic clawing at her lungs. The world felt suddenly empty without the touch of his consciousness against hers.

  She forced herself to look away, but being confronted with the barrels of three guns did nothing for her calm. She lifted her arms, wincing against the flare of pain, and scooted herself backward so her spine was to the wall.

  The big man stepped forward, eyes narrowed, smirk triumphant. “Well, well, well. Aurelia Locke.”

  She didn’t respond to the name except to raise her chin. Isabel’s words echoed in her head.

  Take control of the situation, even if it’s completely beyond you. Act as if you own it.

  At the time, Aurelia had scoffed, but her mentor’s advice on how to handle a kidnapping came back to her, sounding sage through the lens of hindsight.

  Sure enough, as she stared him down, a little of the man’s bluster faded, the slightest twitch appearing under his eye. He kept his dominating stance, though. Tilting his head to the side, he asked, “You get anything out of her?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  Aurelia wouldn’t let herself look at Jinx. Whatever betrayal he felt couldn’t possibly be a match for her own. He’d been so kind the night before, so fierce in his protectiveness. She shook her head against the emotion tugging at her throat. He’d been a good actor was what he’d been.

  Thank God she hadn’t let him touch her.

  The leader sneered. “No? Well, we’ll fix that.”

  The menace in his words made her want to cower, but she kept her outward calm. She was weak and outnumbered, but as her gaze flitted between the three guns and their owners, she was scrambling, too. She had strengths. Knowledge.

  She flung her mind out into the network of invisible wires between them, trying yet again to infiltrate the Three’s silent communication. Much as she had the night before, she was able to hook onto the frequency of it, but the words and thoughts flew past her in crackles and pops, isolated ideas that ended as quickly as they had begun.