by W. J. May
“Is he all right?” His voice wavered, as if he could hardly say the words out loud. A scary sort of tension had stretched him to the brink, and Rae didn’t want to imagine what might happen if he didn’t get the answer he needed. “Did he…did he make it through the night?”
“Of course he did,” a deep voice answered. Rae looked up with a start as her father walked up behind Tristan, clapping him on the back. “He was through the worst of it when we left him.”
Flames of ice-blue fire shot from the palms of Rae’s hands as she leapt to her feet, pointing a smoking finger at her father. “What are you doing here?! I told you not to come back!”
He held her gaze as Devon quickly stood up behind her, placing a steadying hand on her back. She felt his cool breath on her neck as he murmured into her ear.
“Rae…Simon saved me.”
The words were soft, yet effective. Just as she had reminded him a moment earlier.
Rae glanced around the room. Molly’s hard look had softened. Luke glanced up with a begrudging glare. Devon was prepared to let the man back into the house. Only she remained immune to the ‘noble’ sacrifice.
“He saved you after putting you in danger in the first place,” she spat. “That’s what he does.” Her heart had literally stopped the moment her father had taken the knife intended for her fiancé, but that didn’t change why there were there in the first place.
“Rae,” Luke reasoned quietly, “we all decided to go—”
“And then my father decided to change the plan.” The fire spread up her arms, forcing Devon to take a step back. “Samantha would have been gone by now—a bullet to the brain—if my father hadn’t decided to try to steal her tatù instead. The threat would be over! She’d be dead!”
But that, it seemed, was the other half of the problem.
Devon stiffened, staring down at his hands as if he could still see the gun, before a silent sigh escaped his lips. “Rae…he saved me from doing that, too.”
She turned back to him at once. The fire vanished as tears filled her eyes. She’d never considered the possibility. Never imagined that, in some small way, he was relieved. Grateful.
In a way, it made sense.
Devon would not be the same man if he’d pulled the trigger. No matter how hard he could have justified it, or what rationalization he tried to make—he would always have been slightly broken by it. Slightly less. On top of that, the man had saved his life. Rae had seen the look on his face when Simon threw himself between him and his father. Taking the blade into his own hand. Standing between Devon and certain death.
But when it came to Simon Kerrigan, intention was everything. It was a lesson that Rae was only beginning to understand. One that she’d been warned of from the very start.
“He didn’t do it for you,” she murmured as she sank back into her seat. “He did it for the tatù. For the power. He doesn’t care about any of you. Or me. He wants our abilities.” Her eyes lifted with a searing glare. “He tried to take Gabriel’s as well.”
The others whipped back around in shock. They had been too distracted by the sky falling around them to see what had happened on the other side of the room. Even Tristan glanced beside him, his eyes searching Simon’s for the truth.
But Simon only had eyes for his daughter. “I wouldn’t have taken Gabriel’s power. Not without his permission.”
A cold, cruel laugh echoed in the room. One that Rae was surprised to discover had come from her. “Liar.” She held her gaze against his. “You want his power. And you know he’ll never give his permission.”
He’d tried to take it before. Ever since Gabriel was five years old, her father had coveted the extraordinary ability running through his veins. He’d done everything imaginable to steal it.
Their eyes held for another moment, and a faint shadow flickered across Simon’s face. She knew the story. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she knew.
If only it would make a difference…
“This isn’t about Gabriel’s tatù,” Devon said softly. “My life, Rae. He saved my life.”
Her eyes flashed as she stared into his. “And we almost lost Julian’s.”
As if on cue, there was a soft shuffling at the second-story landing. The entire room held its breath and watched as Julian limped stiffly down the stairs. One hand was clenched around the banister, while the other held tightly onto Angel. His face was set hard against the pain, but there was a look of unmistakable pride shining just beneath the surface.
“Jules, what are you doing?” Devon leapt immediately to his feet to help—racing halfway up the stairs to take his other hand. “It’s way too soon for you to be back on your feet.”
“I was bored,” Julian flashed him a tight grin, “and I figured you guys were probably all down here pining for me.” He had yet to notice the two surprise guests in the room, focusing instead on the task at hand. “Actually, I had a vision that I can’t manage the last step.” He gestured briskly ahead. “Could you—”
“Yeah.” Devon gently half lifted him and set him carefully back on his feet, his face tightening in concern at the faint smear of blood that had appeared on the side of his friend’s shirt. Julian, on the other hand, couldn’t have been prouder. He glanced back at the staircase like it was his own personal Everest before lifting his eyes with a genuine smile.
…then he froze.
“Julian.”
Dean Wardell had turned into a statue the second he saw Julian coming, his face going shock white as he stared up with some uncertain emotion. Even now he didn’t seem to know whether to step forward, or keep a careful distance. His every decision would be based on what Julian did next.
Julian…tripped.
It was hard to tell if he’d tried to continue forward, or if he’d jerked automatically back towards the stairs. Either way, it was a painful mistake. He gasped quietly as Devon caught him, and leaned all the way back into his best friend’s and Angel’s steadying arms.
“Dean Wardell,” he said faintly. Strange how those adolescent titles refused to fade. “I’m sorry, I…I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Typical of Julian to apologize to the man who’d plunged a knife into his chest.
A look of quiet devastation tore across Tristan’s face as he took a tentative step forward.
“I can leave,” he offered swiftly. “I don’t have to—”
“No, no, of course not.” Julian tightened his grip on Angel. Half to restrain her, half for support. “I was just…coming down to see what we were going to do about Samantha.”
Another typical Julian move. Shifting attention away from himself.
“We aren’t going to do anything,” Angel said firmly, leading him to a sofa on the far side of the room. “You’re going to rest. It looks like you already pulled one of your stitches.” She fussed over him for a second, flashing a lethal glare. “You did just get stabbed after all.”
Tristan turned a delicate shade of green before sinking into a chair. Simon stared another second at Angel, and settled down beside the dean.
How old was she the first time he saw her? Rae glanced between them with sudden, morbid curiosity. She couldn’t have been more than just a toddler. A baby maybe? The thought twisted inside her. Like her baby?
“Whatever we do about Samantha, it’s going to have to be quick.” Luke unwrapped his arm from Molly’s shoulders and leaned forward onto his knees. “She knows we’re after her. And the last thing she did before vanishing into thin air was swear her eternal revenge. We need to move fast.”
Devon nodded swiftly, turning to Simon. “Where is she now?”
Simon met his eyes for a split second, his brow furrowed with a frown. “Excuse me?”
“The tracking tatù,” Devon replied. “The one you used to find her in the first place. Where does it say we need to go?”
A look of sudden understanding flashed across Simon’s face. Followed by sudden fear. “The tracking tatù. Of course.” He shifte
d uneasily in his chair, looking hyper-aware of the fact that Devon’s father was sitting beside him. “I don’t…I don’t have it anymore.”
“You don’t have it?” Devon repeated blankly. “But you can’t just lose an ink, can you? I thought it had to be replaced with another—”
“I took yours.”
Tristan made a compulsive movement, while Devon’s face lightened in honest surprise.
“Mine?” He glanced reflexively down at his tatù, as if checking to see whether it had been diminished somehow. “That’s not possible. When would you have even—”
“When I knocked you to the ground,” Simon replied quietly. “I knew you wouldn’t feel it.”
A deafening silence rang through the room as each person processed the information. Some were angry, some were afraid, others were simply shocked.
After a few moments Simon felt Tristan’s eyes burning into him, and chanced a nervous glance at his friend. “It’s a good thing I did. Otherwise I might not have gotten there in time—”
“After,” Tristan interrupted quietly. He met Simon’s eyes, suddenly looking very sad. “That all happened after you stole his tatù.”
“It amounts to the same thing.”
“It means something completely different.”
Rae folded her arms tightly across her chest, staring at her father like she’d never seen him clearly until that very moment. He didn’t care about Devon. Or, if he did, it was simply as an afterthought. He needed the fox ink for speed. He needed to be fast enough to get Samantha’s tatù.
Gabriel was right about him. Gabriel’s been right all along.
But then a quiet voice spoke up from the corner. Saying the last words from the last person that anyone expected to hear.
“You saved Devon’s life.”
The room went dead quiet as they turned to look at Julian. He was propped up painfully in his chair, staring at Simon with a curious expression dancing in his dark eyes.
“Last night,” he spoke in a soft undertone, working it out as he went along, “I remember you…you saved him.” The two men locked eyes for a long moment, then Julian inclined his head. “…Thank you.”
Just two simple words, but they ended the question of Simon’s inclusion once and for all. As furious as everyone was, as astonished as everyone was, if Julian could forgive the man—who were they to judge?
“Come on,” Angel said quietly, helping him to his feet. “We need to change that bandage.”
The crimson stain on his shirt had now spread to the other side and Julian followed along without protest, giving Tristan an inadvertently wide berth as they headed to the kitchen. The others watched them go before turning back towards the center. Feeling strangely numb.
“So…where does that leave us?” Molly asked quietly.
Rae leaned back in her chair with a tired sigh. “It leaves us right back where we started.”
Chapter 8
Rae got up early the next morning, even before Devon. She slipped into his tatù for absolute silence as she dressed quickly and headed down the stairs. The rest of the house was still fast asleep. Julian had overdone it slightly with the stairs, and had spent the better portion of the afternoon paying the price. As no one in the house was willing to leave him alone for even a second of the grisly recovery, it had been a long day for all of them.
Unwilling to use the noisy coffee maker Rae conjured a steaming shot of espresso in her hands, followed immediately by two more. She threw them back in quick succession, then pulled on her boots and headed out the door.
The air was crisp and grey, charged with that anticipatory stillness that usually happened right before it began to rain. She glanced up nervously before breaking into a little jog. The park that separated the gang’s various London homes was beautiful, and on any other morning she would have taken her time. Promise of rain or not.
But this morning was different. This morning, there was someone she needed to see.
“Hey, Capri,” she greeted the receptionist behind the front desk as she sailed into Gabriel’s apartment complex. “Looks like it’s going to rain.”
To call the building where Gabriel lived an apartment complex was a ridiculous understatement, and to call Capri a receptionist was laughable at best.
The place looked like it had been constructed as some whimsical pastime by the same guy who did The Louvre and Westminster Abbey. Just two buildings down from Molly and Luke’s penthouse, it had the same ritzy-modern feel, while maintaining a strong sense of ‘old-world’ beauty as well. Tall stone pillars stretched up into the sky, inlaid with intricate carvings depicting paintings and people long since passed. The lobby itself was fitted with a breathtaking mosaic of stained glass, and if it wasn’t for the steaming cappuccino maker in the corner Rae might have guessed that she was in a museum.
The entire place was manned by a woman who looked like she’d stepped straight out of a Renaissance portrait and into a designer mini skirt. Capri Romano was hands-down one of the most beautiful, intimidating people Rae had ever seen, which was saying a lot in the tatù world. Standing at an impressive six feet, she would have looked more at place on a catwalk than answering phones behind a desk.
Unfortunately, the only person she was interested in seemed to be the only person immune to her seductive charms.
“Been raining all week,” she answered without looking up from her nails. Capri was friendly enough to most people, but was decidedly less so to girls who visited Gabriel’s apartment. She’d clearly fallen madly in love with him the day he’d moved in, and the fact that he had yet to even notice her was a source of increasing frustration. “Want me to call him?”
“No, it’s all right.” Rae flashed her a quick smile as she breezed past. “I’ll just head up.” One day, she’s going to stab that nail file into my back…
Avoiding the elevator in favor of the stairs, she bounded up to the second story and flew down the hall to Gabriel’s flat. After shattering his door on her last visit—an unfortunate canine feat of strength—he had found it prudent to make her a key. She searched around in her purse for a moment before jamming the thing into the lock and storming inside.
“Gabriel?” she called, making a quick rotation in the living room. “You awake? Shoot, you even here?”
The place was sparse, but tasteful. And incredibly neat. After spending the better part of his adolescence beneath ground, Gabriel had developed a strong aversion to all things unclean.
“Gabriel!”
A sudden wave of citrus steam poured into the room as the bathroom door opened and Gabriel walked into the living room—naked, save for the small towel wrapped around his waist.
For a second, all Rae could do was stare. She might be desperately in love with the man she was about to marry, but that didn’t mean that she was immune to the man in front of her. She still had eyes, after all, and Gabriel wasn’t really the kind of guy you could ignore.
Clouds of steam rose off his muscular shoulders as his golden hair fell damp around his neck. Little rivers of water found their way into the sculpted grooves of his bronze skin, trailing down his chest and stomach in a way that sent a blushing shiver across Rae’s skin.
“You okay?” he asked, concern etched in his eyes but hidden everywhere else.
A blossom of heat reddened her cheeks as she mentally slapped herself senseless. He was staring at her with a faint smile, his head tilted to the side to get her attention. Was he concerned because she’d just barged into his apartment, or because she wouldn’t stop staring at him?
Freakin’ wake up, Rae!
“Uh…hey,” she stammered, averting her eyes. “Sorry, I guess I should’ve called. I didn’t realize how early it was.”
He shrugged, grabbing a water bottle off the counter and taking a quick swig. “I just got back from a run. What’s up?”
A damn good question. One that she’d been asking herself a lot lately.
“I just…wanted to get out of that house
for a while.” She dropped her eyes to the floor, more troubled than even she had realized. She looked up slowly. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
He cocked his head towards the bedroom, and she followed along. That citrus smell was almost overwhelming—in an intoxicating way—and she found herself absentmindedly wondering if she should open a window. The bed was made and she perched delicately on the edge, watching as Gabriel rooted around in his closet before twirling his fingers teasingly in the air.
She grinned and turned around. The Gabriel she knew didn’t give a crap if she saw him naked. In fact, he probably would’ve welcomed it. But ever since he and her fiancé had battled it out a few weeks ago in Kent, he’d made a concerted effort to rein the impulses back.
Not that he was always successful.
“All right. I’m…decent.”
She turned back around with a mischievous smile. “I guarantee that no one, in your entire life, has ever described you that way.”
The towel had been replaced with a pair of faded jeans, and he was digging around in his dresser for a shirt. A little grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he grabbed one. “You wouldn’t be wrong.” He lifted the shirt to his head, then paused suddenly. “Would you prefer that I didn’t? It looked like you were enjoying yourself.”
He wouldn’t be wrong… “Would you stop?” She smacked him with a pillow she tossed and he pulled the shirt over his head, shaking out his wet golden waves with a quiet chuckle. “Why do you keep doing that?”
He settled beside her on the bed, unapologetic as ever. “Why do you keep showing up at my apartment?”
She flashed him a rueful grin. “Because we’re friends, Gabriel. And I need a friend.”
He smiled and leaned back on the pillows, stretching his arms above his head. “I can be a friend.” He made it seem like the easiest thing in the world. “I can be as friendly as you want me to be. Just say the word.”