She said defensively, “It’s not disrespectful, it’s affectionate! And I don’t call you those names in front of anyone else—”
“You called me ‘ducky’ in front of Lumina just yesterday!”
She stopped to consider it. “Did I? Hmm.” Her look sharpened. “Which bothers you more: that I did it, or that I did it in front of her?”
He exhaled hard. The rumbling noise in his chest grew louder.
Morgan looked pleased with herself. “That’s what I thought. But don’t worry, I won’t let it slip again. In front of anyone.”
She began to brush past him but he stopped her with a sharp, “Wait.”
Morgan turned with lifted brows, surprised by his tone.
Voice lowered, he said, “I assume you heard about what happened during the Assembly last night.”
She’d missed Honor’s little “demonstration.” Immediately afterward, the meeting had ended before it had even begun, as everyone fled to their respective chambers to whisper and conjecture. Except for Jack, who’d nervously over-served Lumina the infamous vodka while she stared in numb silence at the wall, and Hawk, who stood watching Lumina from one corner of the room with a face as stormy as a hurricane. As for himself, he’d made good use of the heavy bag he’d found in an abandoned gym on one long-ago search trip, and dragged all the way back to the colony so he had something to do with his fists other than beat them against the walls.
He used to do that a lot.
Morgan said, “Oh. That.”
“Well?”
She stared back at him, defiant. “Well what?”
“Did you know?”
There followed a weighted silence. Finally Morgan relented. “I suspected. We suspected; Xander was there, too, when Caesar was killed. It was during an Assembly meeting.” She released a soft breath, and some of her defiance went with it. “Everyone else who was at that meeting was lost.”
Lost meant one of two things: killed in the battle that followed the Flash, or captured, as the Queen had been. Magnus had been a mere eleven years old that day. He’d lost his entire family, had watched both his parents fall from gunfire as the hidden enemy shot from the trees. Leander had been shot, too, and badly wounded, and Jenna had had to make the most terrible choice a wife and mother could make.
Who to save: Her husband? Or her children?
Magnus knew this part of the story because he’d seen it with his own eyes. Crouched low in the underbrush, terrified and not knowing whether to run or pick up a weapon and fight, he’d seen Jenna give one of her babies to Morgan, who, protected by Xander, ran. Then Jenna Shifted to an enormous white dragon, picked up her other baby gently in her teeth by its little onesie, and flew away, leaving Leander lying motionless on the ground.
Magnus had no idea how much time passed, but the dragon returned and took shape again as a woman. She crouched on the ground by her husband, cradling his head, crying, whispering something into his ear that Magnus couldn’t hear.
Before Jenna could turn to dragon again and spirit Leander away, she, too, was shot. Then a knot of booted, armed men had collared them both, and dragged them into the trees.
Chaos, never ending. The jungle burned, gunfire rang out, the stench of smoke and gasoline permeated the air in fuming clouds that choked him. Hundreds of military aircraft had been plucked from the sky and lay in broken pieces between the trees, their ragged metal guts spilling out a gruesome slew of bodies.
There had been a ground assault, too. A very effective one: Corpses had lain bent and broken everywhere, festooning the earth and trees like hideous ornaments.
“What did you see? What happened at the meeting?” Magnus stepped even closer, staring down into her face, his heart pounding inside his chest.
“What did I see?” she repeated softly. Her gaze turned distant. “I saw two infant girls end the life of a madman. From firsthand experience, I know that insanity runs in Caesar’s family; all the men of his Bloodline were touched by it. But he was born with something far more sinister than a garden-variety crazy streak. Something that made him invincible. Untouchable. Something that made any wound heal, no matter how it was caused.” Her voice darkened. “He’d died a hundred times before the final time in that jungle. And the only difference was the girls.”
Her faraway look cleared, and she gazed at Magnus with a burning intensity in her eyes. “That’s why Jenna was able to let Hope and Honor go; she knew they’d be all right. She knew they could take care of themselves. Even though they were just little babies, their mother knew those children would never be in any real danger.”
All the hair on Magnus’s nape rose. He whispered, “Because she knew they couldn’t die.”
Morgan nodded. “They stole Caesar’s Gift. Then they lit him on fire without even touching him, and he burned to death, right before my eyes. He’d come to kill us all, and the only reason he wasn’t able to was Hope and Honor. They saved my life, Magnus. And the life of my husband. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be standing in front of you right now.”
Stunned, Magnus whispered, “Stole it from him? How?”
From beneath the load in her arms, Morgan slipped free a hand, and held it aloft.
Understanding hit Magnus like a ton of bricks; that was really why Lumina had asked him for the gloves. But, no—Honor never wore gloves. And why . . .
“So Honor’s known, all these years? She knows she’s . . .” He could barely bring himself to say the word, it sounded so impossible. “Immortal?”
“We never spoke of it. But from what I understand about what happened between her and Lumina yesterday, there wasn’t a doubt in Honor’s mind that plunging that sword through her sister’s back would cause no permanent harm. So she must know. And I suspect that has a great deal to do with her attitude, as well.”
His brows pulled to a frown, and Morgan’s expression softened.
“How would you feel, Magnus, knowing you were going to outlive every single person you loved . . . over and over again? Knowing that to get close only guaranteed you pain? Knowing that even if you someday tired of life, if you’d lived a thousand years and couldn’t stand a single minute any longer, there was nothing you could do about it?”
The enormity of it stole his breath. He stood there in the dim corridor with the sound of dripping water like cannon fire in his ears as he thought about—really thought about—what it would be like.
Morgan said, “I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t like it. In fact, I think I’d feel cursed. The thing that makes life so precious is that it’s fleeting. Take that away, and life becomes like visiting your in-laws; just one more irritating obligation you really wish you could get out of, but can’t.”
“You’re right,” he admitted. “That’s got to be the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Remember that the next time you’re tempted to snarl at Honor,” Morgan gently admonished.
“Snarl? I don’t snarl!” His shout echoed down the corridor, and Morgan lifted an eyebrow, smiling.
Magnus said, “Okay. Conversation over. A man can only stand being wrong so many times in a one-minute span.” He turned and began to walk away.
Morgan’s laugh followed him. “Now you know how my husband feels!”
Magnus felt a deep wave of sympathy for Xander, which was quickly overtaken by a pressing need to get horizontal; Lumina’s hangover had given him a respite for a few minutes while he talked with Morgan, but judging by the pounding in his temples, and the strange noises emitting from his stomach, his time was up.
He strode through the shifting shadows toward his cave, his mind a tangle, his stomach in knots, his head feeling as if it weighed a thousand pounds, completely unaware of the blinking red glow that had begun to emanate from Beckett’s darkened lab on the other side of the colony.
FOURTEEN
The bath was sublime. Cold
, but sublime.
Morgan had taken Lu to a breathtakingly lovely pool, fed by a fast-running stream that dropped into a waterfall. The water was so clear she could see the silver glint of minnows swimming near the rocky bottom, and after Morgan left her so she could have some privacy, Lu floated on her back, staring up at the constellation of stalactites on the shadowy ceiling high above, pondering all that had happened in the last few days.
Then, alone in the cool, echoing dark, she finally allowed herself to cry.
She had to eventually get out of the water to do it because the sobs were too strong, wracking her body until she could hardly breathe. She sat on a rock, wrapped in one of the soft towels Morgan had given her, with her arms wrapped around her knees, wretched and homesick and soul-bruised, letting it all go.
“I’m sorry, Father.” Her whisper carried over the water, bouncing softly off the cave walls until it died under the rush of the waterfall. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”
Though Magnus had said her birth mother was alive, and her birth father might possibly be as well, her heart was broken. The man who’d raised her had died because he’d taken her in, protected her, and sacrificed for her. He’d been killed because of her.
I’ll never let that happen again. Even if it meant never getting close to another living soul, she wasn’t going to be the cause of anyone else’s death. From now on, she would take care of herself.
She might, however, do a little killing of her own. The memory of the Grand Minister’s cruel, sneering face flashed before her eyes, and her hands clenched.
The can’t-die thing might prove to be useful.
The thought of what else it might prove to be was too much for her to consider. And she took a little solace in the fact that at least there was one other person she knew who was afflicted with the same thing: Honor.
Frigid, sword-wielding, Bitch of the Universe Honor.
She dressed in the clothes Morgan had left for her and headed out, determined to have a cozy little one-on-one chat with her sister. But she was quickly intercepted by Beckett and a group of a half dozen other young people, trailing behind him like admiring puppies.
Even the three guys looked at Beckett as if he were some kind of luminary. It could have had something to do with the soft yellow light emanating from his head.
“Hi!” Beckett enthused, flashing his thousand-watt smile. “We were just headed out; you’re coming, right?”
Before she could answer, Beckett said, “Oh, sorry! My bad manners again.” He began introducing the group, pointing each one out in turn, the guys first. “Sean, Dash, Oz, Kali, North, and Sayer.”
If Lumina’s own name hadn’t been so strange, she might have felt the impulse to question each about the origins of his or her name, but she only nodded at them, receiving a mix of hesitant smiles and looks of outright intimidation in return.
She guessed they’d all heard about what happened last night with Honor.
Wonderful.
Sidestepping the awkward silence that had descended, Lu asked, “Um, Beckett? What’s up with . . . that?” She gestured to his head.
“My Gleam, you mean?” As he spoke, the sunbeam glimmer around his head spread to his entire body, until the air all around him was aglow. She had to admit it was a pretty spectacular Gift. And she wasn’t the only one who thought so; two of the girls actually sighed. “Yeah, it comes in handy around these dark caves.” He shrugged, but Lu could tell he was pleased she’d mentioned it.
In light of her recent vow not to get close to anyone, she made a mental note not to mention it again. She didn’t want Beckett getting the wrong idea.
She said, “I bet. Anyway, have you seen Honor? I need to talk to her.”
He blinked in surprise at the change of subject, and Lu wondered how often someone turned the conversation away from him. Never, judging by the way everyone else was blinking in surprise at her, too.
“Uh . . . yeah. She’s already topside.” He seemed disoriented for a beat, then straightened his shoulders. “I’ll take you to her, okay?”
His self-confident, charming smile was back, and though she guessed it was the exact same smile he sent in every girl’s direction, Lu had to admit it was pretty irresistible. She smiled back. “Great. Thanks.”
Then she and Mr. Gleam and his fan club began the long, winding ascent through the caves to the surface.
“Holy . . .”
It was the only word that came to mind.
The view that greeted Lu when she emerged from the gloom of the caves into the brilliance of the day was the single most spectacular thing she’d seen in her life.
Color, everywhere. So much color it stung her eyes. The gently sloping hillside where she now stood gaping was carpeted in emerald, and dotted with the darker forest green of trees. The sky was blazing, enamel blue, the clouds so white they shone like pearls. Even the air smelled like a color: green. Lush, verdant, and rich with life. Off in the distance, the moors teemed with wildflowers, lavender and sapphire and pink, and a gentle gray-blue mist rose from the peaks of the faraway mountains.
But none of that compared with the glory of the sun. She’d never imagined such a color could exist. Pictures couldn’t do the blinding golden-yellow-white-diamond of it justice.
Lu closed her eyes and tilted back her head, basking in the most profound pleasure she’d ever felt: sunlight on her face.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Even without opening her eyes, she recognized Magnus’s voice. And his scent. He’d approached so quietly she hadn’t heard him, and briefly wondered if that was another of his Gifts: Utter Silence.
“Good doesn’t even come close.” She was whispering, not wanting to break the spell. “An orgasm doesn’t feel this amazing.”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to swallow them back. Idiot! What were you thinking? Heat spread across her cheeks to her ears, and it wasn’t from the sun. She opened her eyes, cleared her throat, and quickly changed the subject. “You didn’t let me properly thank you earlier, about the hangover thing. So . . . thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Are you feeling any better?”
She chanced a glance at him. He wore a black jacket with a hood that partially obscured his face, but what she could see of it was, if possible, flushed an even deeper red than hers.
“No.” His tone was gruff, the word a clipped syllable. He wouldn’t look at her. Instead, he was paying close attention to a nearby clump of bluebells nodding cheerfully in the sun.
“Why aren’t you resting, then? I could barely sit up in bed earlier, how are you even—”
“I heard you’d come up. I wanted to be here. To keep an eye out.”
An eye out? Lu scanned the landscape with new dread. “Morgan said we were safe here.”
He finally turned his head and looked at her. The color still hadn’t left his cheeks, leaving the scarred side of his face blotchy, ruddy beneath the snarl of pale scar tissue. “Safe is a relative term. There are all kinds of ways to get into trouble.” He glanced away, and his gaze fell on Beckett and his group, who’d given her a moment alone and were waiting at a respectful distance by a nearby stand of pines.
Beckett was looking back at them without his trademark smile.
“You don’t like him?”
That eloquent muscle in Magnus’s jaw jumped. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, but judging by that death glare you’re shooting him, I’m making an educated guess.”
The bluebells were now subjected to the death glare. He said, “In case you haven’t noticed, this is my normal expression.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” This earned her a sharp glance, which she didn’t wilt under. “But this particular look is more severe than most. It’s borderline murderous. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were planning on committing a viol
ent act against Glowlight Gary over there.”
Magnus crossed his arms over his chest and looked into the distance. In profile, he was truly magnificent; the unscarred side of his face was all perfect planes and angles, high cheekbones and full lips and the serious slash of his brows. She wondered if he’d stood on her right side on purpose, and felt her heart give a little twinge of . . . what? Empathy? Is that what made her suddenly want to wind her arms around his shoulders and press herself against him?
Yes, she told herself firmly. It’s only empathy. And you are a terrible liar.
“Should I infer from your little nickname for Beckett that you haven’t been sucked into the bottomless chasm of his charm yet?”
The bitterness in Magnus’s tone stunned her. As did the final word he’d spoken: yet. He fully assumed she’d be looking at Beckett the way Kali, North, and Sayer looked at him. The way everyone probably looked at him: googly-eyed and drooling.
“Nah. I could never be interested in a man prettier than me. My ego’s way too fragile.”
She’d been joking, her tone light, but he turned and looked her fully in the face with an intensity even more surprising than his obvious dislike of Beckett. He said vehemently, “There isn’t a person who’s ever lived who’s prettier than you.”
Her heart did a funny little flip. No one had ever said anything remotely similar to her. She’d never thought of herself as pretty, only as different, dangerous, an outsider who was worth more dead than alive. To everyone else but her parents, she’d been a thing.
To everyone else but her parents . . . and the Magnus of her dreams.
She said, “Thank you. That might be the first compliment anyone’s ever paid me.”
To which Magnus replied, “That’s because people are fucking morons.”
His posture held the same rigidity it always did when he spoke to her, his face the same hard, closed lines. But his eyes burned dark with raw emotion, and for a split second she almost recognized her dream lover.
Then something vast hurtled by overhead with a powerful whoosh of cold air, darkening the sky, and Lu ducked down with a scream.
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