by J. K. Coi
Amy suddenly had a very bad feeling. “Rhys, what does this have to do with Gideon and I?”
“I bet that Kane and Roland, or even Gideon here, could tell you more about the biology of it all, but you and Gideon share a unique gene, a kind of mutation that predisposes you to the transition—the process whereby you’ll take on Doyle’s powers.”
“Why would I want anyone’s…powers? And why would a man who I’ve never met want to give me immortality before he died?”
“He doesn’t pass it on like a handshake,” Rhys said. “After an Immortal is dead, the new warrior’s transition begins immediately. The transfer of power is by way of a psychic connection, kind of like a door opening between Doyle and you at the moment of his death. That’s when the flow of energy started, starting with his memories. That’s what you were seeing in your dream last night.”
Whoa, Amy thought. If that was true, this guy Doyle had experienced a lot of suffering in his long life, and then a brutal death.
“I know it’s a lot to take in right now and I’m sorry. Mostly because there aren’t any choices here. It’s not a job offer that you can turn down. It’s going to happen, is happening now as we speak. Worst of all, it’s going to get…bad.”
Bad. By its very definition, not good.
“I don’t really like that word ‘bad’,” Gideon said, echoing her thoughts. “‘Bad’ is one of those dicey words that might apply to a plate of spoiled egg rolls, but you could also use in the case of Mount St. Helen’s having just erupted again.”
Gideon shot her a worried glance. He was looking pale. Come to think of it, she wasn’t feeling so hot either. She had a case of the sweats and her vision was blurring. She started to sway on her feet, her stomach feeling nauseated.
“So what do you mean exactly by ‘bad’?” Gideon asked Rhys again.
“I mean the last part of the transition isn’t about dreams or visions. It’s about a transfer of immense strength and power, and it takes an enormous toll on the human body. It’s going to be tough on both of you—worse than anything else you’ve ever experienced.”
Rhys glanced at Amy. “And perhaps more so for Amy.”
Gideon visibly blanched. Amy groaned.
Perfect, she thought. Why is it always the woman that suffers the most? Menstruation…pregnancy…football season. And now this.
“Amy, I want you to come with me. I want to have you where I can help you through this. The transition is going to be rough, but more importantly right now…Doyle didn’t just die. He was killed. And it looks like whatever got to him—”
Amy was starting to feel dizzy and disoriented.
Shit.
“I know.” Amy’s voice was soft and far away. “I know what happened to Doyle. I can…can feel…” Her eyes rolled up in her head and she pitched forward. Rhys jumped forward and caught her in his arms before she crumpled to the ground.
Chapter Eleven
Hitching Amy up in his arms, Rhys turned to Gideon, whose face was white and drawn.
“Gideon,” he said sharply. “You’ve got to stay with me, man.”
There was no way in hell he was putting Amy down. He hoped Gideon didn’t pass out on him too because a guy his size would hit the ground hard.
“I’m fine,” Gideon gritted through his teeth as a spasm passed through him.
“I need to get you guys somewhere where you’ll be safe as you complete the transition.”
“Can I…trust…?” Gideon clenched his jaw and shuddered through another tremor.
“Amy can trust me with her life. You’re a pretty big asshole but…”
“Fuck. You,” he replied between deep breaths.
“You can trust me,” Rhys assured him, the urgency coming out in his voice.
“Fine. Let’s go then.” Gideon’s voice was shaky. He was obviously holding on to control by a tenuous thread. The man was going to make a good Immortal. If he lived.
Rhys carried Amy outside to his car, reluctantly surrendering her to Gideon’s arms so he could drive. He maneuvered through the darkened streets, glancing over at her pale, drawn face every few minutes. She was still unconscious. He was more worried than he cared to admit. Every moan that passed her lips and every painful jolt of her body pulled on his aching heart. A heart he hadn’t even known he still had.
They made it to the warehouse at something closing on Mach speed. Kane met them there, having picked the car up on the cameras as it came through the garage doors.
“What the hell is this?” he asked as Rhys lifted Amy out of Gideon’s lap. “Who’s the woman, and why is she unconscious?”
Rhys didn’t bother to answer. He waited to see if Gideon was going to need help getting out of the car, but the guy slowly uncurled from the seat and pulled himself out with a hand braced on the side panel and another holding on to the door.
“Hey, boss. Fancy seeing you here,” Gideon muttered, the pain obvious in his forced speech.
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of been my mantra for the night too.” He groaned through clenched teeth and bent over, arms curling around his stomach. Amy moaned as well, her body tensing. Rhys could feel the shudder of pain working through her. He clenched his eyes shut, wishing he could take the pain away, that he could flow his strength and his power into her.
He carried Amy straight to his rooms. Gideon followed slowly with Kane close behind. Rhys placed her gently on the bed.
“Kane,” he said, “you know Gideon here, don’t you? Will you help him to the room beside Baron’s?”
Kane eyed Amy. Knowing the twins, they had probably done a complete security work-up on Gideon before deciding to bring him in to oversee their research. And being a twin himself, it didn’t take Kane long to appreciate exactly what was going on. Rhys could see it in his bewildered expression.
“Fuck, Rhys. Is this what I think it is?” Kane’s gaze swung back and forth between brother and sister.
Gideon leaned heavily against the wall, his eyes focused on his sister, worry and fear showing in every pained line of his face.
Rhys faced the other Immortal. “Kane, now isn’t the time. Get Gideon out of here.” At Amy’s sharp hiss, he quickly turned back to her. She was still unconscious. He pressed a hand to her forehead. She was running a fever.
After tucking her beneath the sheets, he turned to see why Kane and Gideon were still standing in the doorway like idiots.
Gideon watched Amy with concern.
The look on Kane’s face was something entirely different. Calculated interest flickered in his expression.
In two long strides Rhys had Kane’s throat in his grip. “You don’t go near her,” he growled.
“But—”
“You don’t go near her.” Rhys threw the other Immortal from him. Kane stumbled backward and massaged his throat. His gaze was automatically drawn to Amy again, as if he were fascinated by her.
“Rhys, you can’t,” he said. “You know what this could mean for all of us.”
“I don’t care. She’s not your science experiment. Stay away from her.”
Kane’s face was hard with resolve. “We’re not done with this, but I’ll let it go for now. She’ll have to survive the change first anyway,” he warned, finally leaving the room.
“What the hell was that about?” Gideon asked, his shoulder propped against the wall. Sweat formed on his brow from the effort he was expending just to stay upright.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. For now, just go with Kane. He’ll make sure you get through this.”
Gideon shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not after that crazy outburst. I’m staying right here with my sister.”
“You’re going to be unconscious in about ten more seconds, and I’ll just move you to the other room anyway,” Rhys paused. “Don’t worry, Gideon. I’ve got her. I promise.”
Gideon and Rhys stared each other down, silently acknowledging the fact that they both cared about the woman who lay betw
een them. Gideon relented. He obviously didn’t want to. Rhys understood the man’s need to protect the only family he had, but it wasn’t going to do him any good to keep arguing.
“There’s something going on between you two,” Gideon muttered, his gaze soft as it rested on his sister. “As much as I hate to admit it.”
“I won’t let anything happen to her. I promise.”
Gideon finally nodded and turned to leave the room, slowly following Kane down the hall.
“You’re going to need to crash,” Kane said, showing Gideon into a smaller, more utilitarian room than the one he’d left Amy in. “And the more you fight what’s going on inside of you, the more it’s going to tear you apart. Right now you’re experiencing everything that Doyle went through when he died.”
“No shit,” Gideon muttered as he moved to the bed, feeling like a rheumatic, hunched old man.
“Well, in a few hours that’s going to feel like a jog along the beach, because your own physical change is going to kick in big time.”
“Oh goody,” Gideon retorted on a low groan of pain.
It took all he had to hold on to consciousness, but Gideon refused to succumb to the powerful forces working on him. Not yet. He wouldn’t let his guard down in front of strangers.
“I’m going to leave. I know that sitting here by your bedside is just going to make you want to keep fighting the natural course of the change.” Kane rose and stepped back a few paces. “Your sister will be safe here. I promise you.”
Gideon just snorted as he sat on the edge of the bed, his energy and focus trained inward.
“If you need anything,” Kane continued, “just pick up the phone on the bedside table there. You don’t even have to dial. It’s rigged to buzz one of us immediately.”
He dimmed the lights on his way out and Gideon sighed, collapsing on the mattress and closing his stinging eyes.
He draped an arm over his forehead, trying to keep the light from filtering through his lids. It hurt his eyes. His stomach was turning too, and his chest burned so deeply he couldn’t breathe. It was as if he’d been stabbed by some phantom blade.
He couldn’t believe how quickly it was happening. His brain still couldn’t make heads or tails of what was happening, but whether he believed any of it or not, his body told the truth.
His eyes exaggerated every image, sending sharp rainbows of color spinning through his brain, vivid bright flashes that felt like needles in his retinas. His muscles were knotted and refused to obey him when he tried to move.
Now that he was alone, he forced his jaw to unclench and tried to relax. He took a deep breath, focusing on one body part at a time. First the calf muscles, then the thighs, abdomen. Relax the arms, unclench the fists. Focus. Focus. Breathe. Eyes closed.
He let out a deep groan. Kane had been right, at least to a certain extent. The release of tension seemed to alleviate some of the ache in his chest. At the same time, though, without that iron control he had no choice but to succumb to the images flashing through his head. Images of blood, death, and madness.
Amy drifted back and forth between what was taking place inside her head and the discussion between Rhys and Gideon that she could just hear on the edges of her consciousness. She could feel Gideon’s confusion and concern for her. She was vaguely aware of certain things while totally oblivious to others.
For instance, where was she? She couldn’t remember leaving her apartment.
And why couldn’t she open her eyes? Why did everything hurt?
She seemed to remember a battle, a fight. She’d been wounded, hurt…killed. But that didn’t make any sense.
Rhys. She needed Rhys. But her throat wasn’t working, she couldn’t call for him. Gideon. Where was he? Why was he in pain? She could feel it, hovering in the air, stirring her senses and making her want to cry. He was tired, in pain and worried…about her. How did she know that? Amy wanted to tell him that they could trust Rhys, but the words wouldn’t form.
After a few moments, Gideon reluctantly left the room. She wanted to call him back—she didn’t want him to be alone.
Amy couldn’t move her arms or legs, couldn’t even open her eyes. Her mouth was dry, her throat raspy and sore, and she was so cold, shivering. Rhys immediately turned down the lights and turned up the heat, but Amy continued to tremble uncontrollably, her teeth chattering.
“Ah, honey. Your lips are turning purple.” He seemed to be trying to keep his words light, but she caught the note of anxiety in his tone.
He tucked another blanket over her. It didn’t seem to make much difference. She curled into a little ball, trying to ward off the chills racking her body.
Rhys climbed into bed, hugging her close to the warm wall of his chest. He’d taken off his shirt. Amy sighed in relief, and after what seemed like forever the shivers abated just a little bit.
She slept.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she opened her eyes and tried to sit up. She gasped as the light, dim though it was, hurt her sensitive retinas. She closed her eyes again, but not before she caught a glimpse of Rhys’ drawn and tired features. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her.
“How long?” she croaked through dry, cracked lips.
“A while. Don’t worry about it,” he replied softly. “Here.” He pressed a cool glass to her lips. Amy sipped slowly at the water, sighing in relief as it passed down her parched throat.
“Tell me,” she demanded.
“Twelve hours.”
She’d been completely out for twelve hours? Well, it was surely possible, since it felt like a lifetime had passed. Had Rhys been with her the whole time? She had a good idea that he had been.
“Why do my eyes hurt so much?” she asked him.
“You’ve started the physical part of your transition now. The sharpness and depth of your vision is changing, along with your other senses.”
“How much longer is it going to hurt like this?”
Rhys flinched and took her hand. “I don’t know, but I’ll be here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Gideon?”
“Same as you. It’s tough on him, but he’s strong. We’re all looking out for him.”
Amy sighed, letting her body relax into the mattress again. Her head ached and she became aware of a tightness in her arms and legs, almost like when she overdid it in her spinning class…if the spinning class were run by the devil in a black leotard and lasted for twelve hours straight. She flexed her thigh muscles underneath the sheets, wincing at the strained, burning feeling.
She was suddenly aware that her senses were picking up on so much more than the shadows of the darkened room. She could feel Gideon just down the hall. It was kind of creepy. She sensed that he was sleeping, that his mind was restful at the moment. She couldn’t remember ever having felt this level of connection to her twin since they were very young children, and probably not even then.
Her mind reached out, but it wasn’t Gideon whom she focused on. It was Rhys who flooded her. He broadcasted concern and worry until she felt it as her own.
“Am I turning psychic or something? Is that why I’m feeling you all around in my head right now?” She tried to focus, to get some specifics, but she couldn’t read Rhys’ thoughts. She was limited to a sort of empathic awareness of his feelings.
“It’s very possible. Most Immortals develop a psychic gift of some kind,” he answered.
“It’s kind of freaking me out a little bit,” she said, pressing her fingers to her temple.
His emotions overwhelmed her. So much frustration. Anger. Pain. All twined together with his fear. Amy couldn’t help but wonder how much of all that was his standard baggage and how much was because of her. It made her want to take him into her arms and tell him everything would be okay.
Maybe later…if she ever regained enough strength to lift her arms.
She closed her eyes for a few minutes, trying to control her double-crossing body with the force of her wil
l.
“Talk to me?” She wanted the sound of his smooth husky voice with its rich rumbling bass to ease her.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked.
“Tell me about your human life. Where were you born?”
The last thing that he wanted to do was talk about things that were best left dead and buried. But when he looked down and saw her forehead creased with pain, he knew he’d do anything she wanted him to do. She’d been so strong and brave. It took an intense amount of focus and concentration to stay in control. He was amazed by her vitality and fortitude, but now she was close to breaking and was asking for his help.
“It’s not a very exciting story,” he warned. He knew what she was asking. Amy wanted to know if he would share with her now what he had refused her before.
“Please,” she said.
If only she came out of this intact, he would never be able to deny her anything again—if she wanted his heart on a platter, then that’s what she’d get.
He held her and started talking.
Rhys had spent his youth as a fisherman’s son in a small village on the coast of Wales, spending many afternoons daydreaming of a life of adventure, as all boys do. He’d never really minded helping his father, nor had he really expected anything different from his life. At least not until a cavalry detail had come through the village the year Rhys turned seventeen.
He and his father had been luckier than usual that day, pulling into port late in the evening with a full hold of fish. By the time they’d packed up their catch, it was very dark. At home, supper would have cooled over the dying embers of the fire and his mother, who rose early in the morning, was probably already asleep. Instead of heading home and waking her with their clumsy stumbling through the tiny cottage, Rhys’ father had sent him to the tavern to grab some dinner while he finished wrapping up the fishing nets.