Darkness Fair (The Dark Cycle Book 2)

by Marks, Rachel A.

  “What happened?” Sid asks, frowning at Kara’s naked shoulders. The sheet covers her body, but he’s probably aware that’s all she has covering her right now.

  Holly glares at him like he’s thick in the head. “You know what happened, Sid.”

  He glances over at me, studying my bare chest—I only put on pants before running to get him, but not a shirt—then he locks eyes with me. I look at the floor like a coward.

  “So you had sex,” he says, sounding miserable. “I assumed that wasn’t going to happen.”

  “They’re not monks,” Holly says, beginning to clean Kara’s ears and hair of blood.

  He nods like he’s conceding his foolishness. “Yes.” He sighs deeply and pulls an amulet from his pocket. He places it on Kara’s forehead and then leans over, kissing it, muttering something quietly, like he’s saying good-bye.

  My chest aches, watching, wishing I could act, wishing there was something I could do.

  Sid stands and clears his throat like he’s swallowing sorrow.

  “What’s happening?” I ask. “Is it because of the curse, the counter spell, or the whole Rebecca thing—what?”

  “I’m afraid that it’s everything.” His eyes are heavy with emotion. “And it is you.”

  I stare at him, unable to breathe. “Me.” I did this? I hurt her? Oh, God . . .

  “Yes, I just was hoping . . .” He pulls me away from the bed, turning me toward the window. “If what my reading has led me to is correct, then she can’t withstand what your powers are doing to her. And, as we now know, she wasn’t meant to.”

  “How—” My voice cracks. “How are you sure it’s my power? How do you know?”

  “The scrolls Hanna gave you, the ones I used years ago for the spell, they had warnings. Most didn’t apply and others seemed far-reaching. I read them in the beginning, considered them, but believed none would manifest if you both followed the path with a pure heart.”

  Pure. I am in no way pure at this point. If I ever was to begin with. “What were the warnings?”

  “The spell I did on Kara had two parts. One would reverse the curse her father placed on her, the second would allow for her to be a vessel to attract you and specifically harvest your power so that it could be awakened. In its simplest form, it would mimic what some would call a soul mate. Normally, this kind of spell wouldn’t affect either party in any way other than to allow them to feel closely linked. Once she awoke your power, the secondary spell should have fallen away, or at least deadened.”

  And if that second part of the spell has faded, it would explain why my physical connection to Kara hasn’t been as strong. “That’s happened already,” I say.

  “Yes.” He looks over to Kara. Her skin is so pale. Holly is taking the bloody pillow out from under her, and she doesn’t even stir.

  Sid rubs his bald head, looking miserable. “I was a fool. I should’ve told you as soon as I realized that your power might be healing her soul, and at the same time undoing the spell I placed on her, reversing it, and bringing back the curse. I just didn’t think this,” he motions to my bare chest, “was a possibility right now because of her past.”

  “I don’t understand. Her bleeding this time is because we . . .” I don’t know why, but I can’t say it. Had sex. I had sex with Kara.

  “No,” he says, like he’s trying to reassure me. “It would’ve happened eventually anyway, the more time you spent with her. But this could have sped the process up, made things worse. Since the Awakening, your power is more than she can handle, and as it heals her soul, it’s also killing her flesh.”

  Realization fills me and dread quickly follows. I needed her. I needed her last night and I took what I needed, damn the consequences. This is all completely my fault. I did this to her. I should’ve known this was a possibility after the first time she had the blood-show. I should’ve known I needed to slow down. God, I’m a fool.

  “We need to take a step back and reevaluate things,” Sid says. “You need to consider whether you should pull away completely. Perhaps attempt to pair with Rebecca instead. Maybe that would heal some of this. Since she’s the one you’re supposed to be with, there may—”

  I push off the edge of the window. “No. Don’t even go there. That’s not happening.”

  “You can’t be with Kara anymore, Aidan. Look at her.”

  I do, and my chest constricts with agony. How could I let this happen? “I can’t let her go, Sid. I just can’t. She’s a part of me now. I wouldn’t even know how to take it back if I could.”

  “I know, son. I see that you care about her deeply.” He releases a long sigh. “We’ll try to make it right. But if it’s not possible . . . you may need to prepare yourself to let go. Otherwise you could lose her forever.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Rebecca

  There are a hundred reasons for me to be panicked or overwhelmed by confusion right now, but as Connor leads me out into the waves, both of us dolled up in wetsuits, I’m completely at ease. He has this way about him. Like even when everything’s chaotic, he’s solid in the storm.

  And he looks amazing in a wetsuit.

  I, however, am wearing Jax’s old suit, and while the kid’s body is a straight stick, mine is definitely not. Moving and breathing in this thing is a challenge.

  Connor brought his longboard for me to ride, a yellow-and-black number with a wave decal on the nose. It’s so bright I could find it in a hurricane; nine feet long, but thinner and lightweight for the length. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to stand up on this monster of a thing. If this wetsuit doesn’t strangle me to death before I get past the break, that is.

  The water is a warm sixty-eight degrees and the swell is a clean three-to-five feet. There’s no wind. No clouds. You can see the islands out there like dark sea monsters on the horizon. Then it’s blue all the way to Hawaii. A perfect day.

  I sense Charlie in the briny smell of the water, the taste of salt in the air . . . He’s so close it’s like I could turn and see him coming up behind us, his crown of auburn hair dampened to dark copper, a smirk tipping his mouth because he just told a joke about my freckles eating me if I don’t get my lily face out of the sun. Then he’d pass me with that blue Maverick board under his arm and slide into the waves like they were where he was born.

  Instead of where he died.

  “Hey.” Connor kicks water onto my board to get my attention.

  I blink away the past and squint at him through the sunlight bouncing off the water.

  “You good to go?” he asks.

  I nod. My leash is on my ankle, the massive board is under my arm. Sort of. And I’m dying to wash away the madness of my life in the Pacific.

  “Okay.” He eyes me warily, then directs me to look to the right, where the shore curves out and becomes a rocky cliff. “We’ll paddle straight out from here, but the break—that’s the place we’ll want to catch a wave—is over there. So we’ll just paddle parallel to the shore once we get outside—see the part that’s past the waves where that guy is bobbing—”

  “Yes. I know where the outside is,” I interrupt, feeling like he must think I’m from Kansas or something. “And I know what a break is. What a duck dive is. A left, a right, or a barrel. So you can save me the lingo lesson. I’ve been out here my whole life.”

  He just stares at me, his mouth open a little.

  “What I need is practice,” I say. Then I add, “Please,” to soften the sass.

  “Okay.” He gives me a short nod, looking me over again, like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Just wave if you need me.”

  “Perfect.” I give him a curt smile and then start walking farther out into the waves, wondering if it was smart to paint myself as some kind of North Shore ripper, when I’m really just a beach bunny who listens to cute surfers talk about themselves a lot.

  He pats my shoulder like a chum and takes off, running past me, through the break until the water is mid-thigh. Then he’s leaping forward to
slide his short, swift board into the waves. He goes over them, one, two, three, then dives under the next few, until he’s past the break, outside, all in what felt like a minute.

  As I get deeper—and as the waves begin knocking me over—I realize that this board is freaking ginormous. It wouldn’t be so bad if the swell was half this size, or the ground under my feet wasn’t suddenly becoming rocky, cutting into my soles. I drop the board and push it with my hand, guiding it over the waves. I’ll get this thing outside the break if it kills me.

  Determination fills me and I finally start swimming, towing the massive board behind me. The waves yank me back again and again, but eventually I triumph over the current’s insistence and make it to the calmer water. As I get myself positioned on the board and begin to paddle, Connor glides up beside me.

  “You made it,” he says, like he wasn’t sure I would.

  My bluster is long gone and he knows it. When the ocean kicks your butt, you have no choice but to be humbled. “Okay, so it’s been a while.”

  He just laughs and paddles beside me as we make our way to a good spot. I know he could go a lot faster but he’s being nice.

  When we get to the break, he settles in, sitting up on his board.

  This is the part I was always best at, the waiting. I slide up, straddling my board, balancing easily.

  Connor watches me for a second, his gaze searching, like he’s trying to figure me out. But then he seems to give up without a word, looking out to the break. He strikes his usual pose, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching, as he watches the distant swell like a psychic reading the future. I study his profile, the strong cut of his jaw, his regal brow, and I wonder again who this guy is. And why he’s sitting here with me.

  But soon the sun warms me to the bone and I’m too relaxed to care. My legs swish back and forth in the cool water as I watch the kelp float by. The rocking of the swells and the sound of the crashing waves on the shore behind us lull me into a state of perfect peace.

  “Last night,” Connor says. “I’m sorry I was a jerk.”

  He’s apologizing about last night in the club? I release a small breath of laughter.

  “I know I can be . . . unfun,” he adds.

  I can’t help smiling. “You mean uptight?”

  His features relax into a comfortable smirk when he sees I’m not upset. “Something like that.”

  “Thanks for bringing me here.”

  He nods.

  “You might not be too horrible,” I add.

  His smirk turns a little more deadly. “You too, Surfer Girl.” And then he slides down to his belly again, paddling away, toward an approaching swell in a graceful glide over the water.

  We set our boards in the back of the Jeep, and I contemplate my saltiness. Connor pulls out two gallons of water, hands me one, and motions for me to dump it on my head. As he rolls his wetsuit down to his waist and begins washing himself off, I realize we haven’t spoken two words to each other since getting out of the water. He’s just comfortable being quiet and it’s nice.

  “Thanks,” I say. “For distracting me for a while.”

  He lowers the half-empty gallon to look at me, hair slicked to his forehead, water dripping down his face and chest.

  “Sure.” He sets the jug down and picks up a towel, doing a rough dry of his short hair. “You still have that look on your face, though.”

  I frown. “What look?”

  “The one that you’ve had since yesterday. Pinched.” He imitates a furrowed brow and a tight mouth.

  I sigh and begin peeling off my wetsuit to the waist. “Well, it’s how I feel, so that makes sense. Pinched in the fingers of life, like a trapped bug.”

  “Yeah, I get it.” He wraps the towel around his waist and begins pulling the wetsuit down his legs.

  I have to turn my gaze away, trying to pretend I don’t feel totally awkward, knowing he’s naked as a jaybird under there. When we got suited up earlier, I was too busy squeezing myself into my own straitjacket to notice him changing. Now I’m standing three feet away, facing him.

  He pulls on his shorts under the towel, seemingly oblivious to my embarrassment. “I like your tattoo,” he says, setting the towel aside. He motions to my body.

  I look down and realize he means my monarch, on my ribcage. “Oh, yeah. I got it after my brother, um, died.” God, I can’t even say it and it’s been almost a year.

  He stands up straighter. “Your brother?”

  My throat tightens, but I want to answer. I want to talk about him. Especially here, in his sacred place. My dad never will; he always changes the subject when I bring him up. It’s like Charlie was never a part of us and it just feels wrong. “Yeah. He’s the one who taught me to surf. Well, sort of.” I laugh past my sadness, remembering how he used to tow me out and then tease me about seeing sharks as he showed off for the girls on the beach. Not much learning, but a lot of laughter.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Everyone always says that. “Yeah.” But I know there’s nothing else to say. Words don’t help. “He was a total beach bum, always ditching school to surf. My dad was livid because Charlie had totally blown off college applications and he missed his window for Stanford prelaw. Charlie would’ve never gone anyway. No matter how much money Dad threw at him. He was determined to stay free.” I look out at the water. “And I guess he is.”

  “It’s nice that you guys were close.” There’s a longing in his voice that makes me curious.

  “I think every little girl needs a big brother,” I say. “Mine was the best, though.”

  A smile forms on Connor’s face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  My curiosity grows, so I dare to ask, “What’s your family like?”

  The fake smile vanishes.

  I hurry to add, “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

  He looks away, to the passing cars on the highway. He stands there for so long I’m not sure what to do, and I can’t tell if he’s mad or sad or something else, because I can’t see his face.

  I clear my throat, feeling totally lame for blowing the good mood, and then I figure it’s best to just move on. So I peel the wetsuit the rest of the way down my legs, leaving myself in only the bikini I borrowed from Holly, skin covered in goose bumps. I dump the gallon of water on my head, sighing as the sun-warmed contents of it soothe my chilled skin. Then I towel off, put my yellow sundress on, and slip into my white sandals.

  Now Connor is looking past me at the waves like he wishes he were out there again.

  “So . . .” I say, because the silence is becoming strange, “time to head back.” I comb my fingers through my hair, attempting to untangle it as I watch him stare.

  He nods but doesn’t move. “I wish I’d never known them, you know?”

  His confession startles me, even though I don’t exactly know what he means. “Who?”

  “My parents.”

  “Oh.”

  “They were addicts. Nothing about them was good.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, returning the useless words.

  “Nothing about me was good, either, though. Not until recently.”

  I frown, unable to see him as anything but steady Connor.

  He turns to me, his features hard. “I hated them for a long time. Sometimes I still do. For what they put themselves through and what they put me through. I was just in their way. And I was the jerk kid who thought his parents gave a fuck. I didn’t even realize how much they hated me until I woke up in a gutter one morning after they’d dumped me there.” He watches me so intently, and when my eyes widen in question, he adds, “I’d passed out from drugs they had given me—drugs they’d given me more than once to be sure I left them alone to do their partying. I was twelve.”

  I move closer, not able to stop myself.

  He steps back but then settles, like he didn’t mean to. “I don’t know what a real family is. Sid and Kara, everyone in the house, they’re my family now.” And then he says
, quietly, “And you, I guess, if you want.”

  He’s staring right into me with those honest eyes.

  “Me?”

  He gives me a sad smile. “Every girl needs an older brother.”

  Warmth fills my chest, replacing the ache of hearing his painful confession. “Yes. They do.”

  He just keeps looking at me, studying my face as I study him. Something passes over his features and he starts to reach out, almost like he’s going to touch me.

  But then his features harden again and the moment’s gone.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Rebecca

  The house is silent when Connor and I get back. Finger’s not even in the living room playing Xbox.

  “I need a shower,” I say as we come to the bottom of the stairs. “A bottle pour isn’t gonna cut it.”

  “Arrowhead would be insulted,” Connor says with a smile in his voice.

  I grin back. “Thanks for today.”

  “Anytime,” he says, his voice soft.

  We both stand there, staring at each other, and I want to say something so the connection between us won’t end. But before I can speak, Jax comes out of the office, making a beeline for Connor.

  “Man, thank God you’re home. Things went south with Kara.” He looks genuinely worried.

  “What is it?” Connor asks, suddenly focused and tense again.

  Jax glances at me, like he’s not sure he should say anything with me around.

  “Rebecca’s fine,” Connor says. “Spit it out.”

  “It’s the bleeding. She and Aidan had a conjugal and now she’s not waking up. Her eyes, nose, everything, man, all leaking blood.”

  Oh, God. “Kara?” I ask. “She’s bleeding from her eyes?” Wait, did he just say conjugal?

  That means Aidan and Kara . . . oh. Oh, wow. I did not want to know that.

  “She’s bad,” Jax says. And my heart breaks because Jax—Jax of all people—sounds like he’s in pain, too. “Sid isn’t sure—”