No. Bad Rory. Remember Matt?
Yes. She did. She also remembered those endless hours of fighting for her life, not knowing if she’d ever be free, or if she’d die as a snack for some monster lurking in that filthy water. Matt had caused that torture, and even though he was dead, Rory would not forget that lesson.
“You know Hope?” she asked, hoping to distract herself from hellish memories.
“Yes. How do you know her?”
She could feel the low rumble of his voice all along her left side. He had the faintest hint of an accent—one that came out only with certain words, like he’d been raised somewhere else. She found it intriguing and sexy as hell. If circumstances were different, she would be happy to simply close her eyes and listen to him for hours. It wouldn’t even matter what he said. Let him recite his recipe for stewed Rory brains for all she cared—she’d bask in his voice all the same.
After a moment of collecting the few scraps that were left of her wits, she cleared her throat. “I went to the old shelter where she worked sometimes. Before it burned down. Back when Sister Olive—” Rory couldn’t finish. Her throat tightened with grief, cutting off her air. She swallowed, trying to work through her feelings of loss and anger at the nun’s murder, but she wasn’t that strong. It was too soon. Only a few months had passed, but every minute had been lonely and isolated. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about what had happened in that abandoned building those demons had converted into home, sweet home.
Words could not make the pain of memories like those go away. Nothing could. She’d carry that grief and terror around with her for the rest of her likely short life.
His thumb slid over her side, clearly an offer of comfort. “Hope told me about her. Her death was a true loss.”
Rory nodded, but that was all she could manage. She still hadn’t been able to shove away the memories of that night and all its lingering horror.
And monsters had found her the moment she came out of isolation. Story of her freakin’ life.
They reached the back of the shelter. The door was locked. Cain tapped it with his boot and a few seconds later, it opened to reveal Logan, Hope’s husband, who was way too pretty to have been born a dude. He had silky, dark hair, and silvery eyes that lit with recognition. The angles of his face were too perfect to be real, and he was much less gaunt than the last time Rory had seen him—back on the night Sister Olive had died.
“Rory?” A frown wrinkled his brow for a second, then his eyes zeroed in on the blood staining her jeans. “Get her inside.”
Cain carried her into the big kitchen, but instead of letting go of her like she expected, he pulled her a bit closer against his body, shifting her away from Logan and his intense gaze.
“I left some corpses a couple of blocks over,” said Cain. “Police are on the way. I need to go clean up the mess and scrub the cops’ minds if they see anything they shouldn’t.”
“I’m far better at such things than you are. I’ll take care of it,” said Logan. “Get Rory to the safe room.” He waved an elegant hand toward one of the doors leading out of the kitchen.
“Patch her up. She’s bleeding.”
“I’m keenly aware of that fact, and of just how heavily blooded she is.”
“Then take her. Make the bleeding stop.”
“Uh, guys. I’m right here. I know the demons can smell my blood. Just put me down and I’ll dump some superglue on the wound and plug the hole.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” said Logan.
“We can’t have you risking infection,” said Cain.
“It’s nothing I haven’t done before. I’ll be fine. Just get me some clean pants or some scissors to cut away the blood, and I’ll be on my way.”
Logan looked over her head at Cain, clearly dismissing her. “Lexi warded the room when she came to visit. That should cut off the scent trail of her blood, at least for a time. I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Logan—”
“We’re wasting time, Cain. Do as I ask.”
Cain’s body tightened. Positioned in his arms like she was, she could feel power tremble through him. Until now, she hadn’t realized just how gentle with her he’d been—how light his hold on her was. And now that she knew, she wasn’t sure if she was grateful for his restraint or feeling deprived that he hadn’t held her closer, tighter.
Even more proof of how stupid this man rendered her.
Cain’s voice rumbled out in a hard warning. “The two demons I killed aren’t alone.”
“They won’t even see me,” said Logan, and then he was gone.
Cain didn’t say a word as he hurried through the kitchen, but she could tell by the muscles bulging in his jaw that he was pissed.
“Was Logan born a girl?” she asked, hoping to distract Cain from the tension running through his body.
He stopped, midstride, and looked down at her. The faintest hint of a grin creased the corners of his eyes. “I think you should ask him that yourself. Preferably when I can watch.”
Then he moved on through the kitchen, but at least now he didn’t look like he was going to chip some molars in frustration.
Rory hadn’t been in the new shelter before, but it was much nicer than the old one had been. Of course, the fact that it wasn’t a pile of cinders and rubble made it no contest.
This building—previously the run-down Tyler building—had been gutted last spring and was now nearly rebuilt. The modern, industrial kitchen was gleaming and bright, with new appliances and lots of stainless steel. Past the door a hallway led to several offices and a small conference room that were vacant at this time of night.
“In here,” said Cain, nodding to a solid wood door with no window. He didn’t have a free hand to open it, so she did the job herself and flipped the light switch.
Inside was an organized array of freeze-dried food, big boxes labeled as drinking water, and medical supplies stacked neatly on open metal shelving. A gurney covered in pristine white sheets was tucked against the far wall, near a giant stainless steel sink. A row of oxygen tanks sat in a corner, along with a bunch of medical equipment she couldn’t name. On the opposite side of the room was what she swore had to be a kind of oven they used to cremate bodies.
Despite the fact that they called this the safe room, it made her feel anything but. “Looks like they’re preparing for the zombie apocalypse.”
“Something like that,” said Cain as he kicked the door shut behind him.
He set her on the gurney and pulled away.
The moment her hand left his neck, the visions came back, blasting her with a barrage of lights and colors so ferocious her stomach gave a dangerous heave. Pressure built behind her eyes, as if all the sights she’d missed out on for the last few minutes were there, waiting to flood in and torture her.
A shrill sound of pain filled her ears, and it took her a moment to realize that she was the one making that horrible sound.
She clamped her lips shut, and breathed through the assault, letting it wash over her. Slowly, her breathing evened out and she opened her eyes.
Cain was on the floor, his big body shaking. She blinked to clear her vision, wondering if what she was seeing was real.
A flash of an advertisement in a gun magazine superimposed on top of someone washing his hands captured her attention for a second before she could regain a moment of control.
She wasn’t seeing things. Cain was sprawled on the white tile, making a horrible choking sound.
Panic darted through her bones, freezing her in place for a long second. Once her heart started beating again, she gathered her senses and glanced around for signs of an attack. No one was here, but she couldn’t imagine what could have been strong enough to knock the giant on his ass like that.
Rory knelt down beside him. Pain spiked through her knee as if someone had taken a hammer to it. She felt blood seep faster from the wound, but ignored all of that.
She grabbed Cain’s head to keep it from slamming
into the metal shelving, and he went still in her grip. Fast, hard breaths rose from his lips.
Once again, Cain was the only thing she saw. No lights, no visions, just his face.
So strange, and yet so very, very welcome.
Concern lined his forehead and sweat dotted his brow. A vein in his temple throbbed and his breathing was labored. “You okay?” he asked, his voice rough and strained.
He was asking about her? “You’re the one on the floor. You were thrashing around like you were choking.”
His hands covered hers, vibrated against them, and she swore she could feel his ring buzzing near her skin.
“Sorry. I knew it would be bad for me, but I didn’t think it would hurt you, too.”
He sat up. His face was close to hers now, and for the first time, the lighting was good enough for her to actually see him. He was older than she’d first thought. With a heavy build like his and those gliding reflexes, she’d guessed him to be in his twenties, but now that she got a closer look, she knew that was wrong. He looked like he was in his thirties, but that didn’t seem to fit, either. He seemed older, though he had no heavy creases or lines, no gray in his hair. There was a kind of depth in his moss green eyes, a kind of awareness or wisdom she’d seen only in people like Nana who’d lived a long, long time.
Several small scars marked his hands and face, supporting her theory. His dark brown hair was mussed from the wind, falling over his forehead in places. A few strands clung to his damp skin. She realized she’d been staring for a long time. Too long.
Rory cleared her throat and looked away. “You didn’t think what would hurt me?”
“Breaking contact. I saw your face before I . . . collapsed. I heard you. You were in pain.”
She wasn’t about to talk to him about her visions. No way. All she needed was to get patched up and back out there to hunt for the person who could make the visions stop.
The way he did.
Maybe he was the person she’d been looking for. Maybe he was the one who’d stopped her visions before.
“Do you live nearby?” she asked.
“No. Why?”
“Were you ever at Sister Olive’s shelter before it burned down?”
He shook his head, frowning at her. “Not that I remember.”
“Near it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Why does it matter?”
“I’m looking for someone.” She felt obligated to tell him at least that much. He had, after all, saved her life tonight.
His gaze roamed her face, so palpable it was almost a caress. “Who?”
Oh baby. She could get lost in a man like this. It wouldn’t even be hard. She was so used to being invisible—to people merely glancing at the surface—his complete focus was nearly too intense to stand. If he’d tried to make a move, she would have freaked, but he hadn’t.
The door opened and Hope walked in, glowing with health and so beautiful it made Rory shrink back so Cain wouldn’t compare them.
“Rory. You’re safe.” Hope rushed forward and engulfed her in a hard hug full of love and friendship. Rory had to blink back tears so no one would see them. She was not sappy. She did not cry, except during that one coffee commercial that aired during the holidays, but that was forgivable. Crying now over some silly hug would not be.
Hope didn’t seem to mind showing others weakness, because tears were streaming down her cheeks openly as she pulled back. “I was so worried. You just disappeared after that night. No one knew where you’d gone.”
“What night?” asked Cain.
“I needed some time alone,” Rory lied, cutting Hope off before she could tell Cain things that were none of his business. He didn’t need to know about her captivity. No one did. Her ignorance and shame at falling for such a stupid trick was not something she wanted him to know.
The visions that had been blissfully absent while she’d been held captive had come back before the chaos had settled and survivors were toted away. Not only had the visions come back, but they were stronger. She’d been scared shitless. She hadn’t wanted anyone to see her like that, so she’d scurried away like a timid bunny.
Hope wiped her eyes, which glowed with compassion. “I understand.”
No, she didn’t. No one did. But Rory didn’t want to be rude and point that out.
Cain was watching the whole exchange. He was holding Rory’s hand, his fingers laced between hers. He hadn’t let go, even though they were all on the floor in an awkward heap.
Hope finally saw their joined hands, then her gaze slid up to Cain’s throat. A narrow, iridescent band stretched around his neck, hugging it. Colors swirled inside the band, as if it were alive. Shimmering blues and pinks slid in a slow dance around plumes of lavender and darker purples. The colors were way too feminine for a man like Cain to wear, but then Rory figured a man like him could wear whatever the hell he wanted and no one would say a thing for fear of being pounded into pulpy bits.
Shock widened Hope’s eyes, and then she looked at Rory. A grin spread over her face and she dove in for another tight hug, only this one felt like some kind of congratulations.
“What?” asked Rory, confused.
“She doesn’t know,” said Cain.
Hope looked at him. “But you’re sure?”
He nodded, but rather than looking at the stunning woman who’d asked the question, his gaze was fixed directly on Rory. And she felt that gaze all the way down her spine in a thrilling rush.
“What am I missing?” she asked.
Hope cupped Rory’s face in her hands. “You’re one of us. Welcome to the family.”
Family? A family who fought demons and had a “safe” room stocked like some kind of survivalist nutcase? That didn’t sound like her kind of family. “Whoa. Hold on a second. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Let it go, Hope,” said Cain. “We’ll deal with that after she’s patched up.”
“Patched up? What happened?”
Rory tried to pull her hand free of Cain’s, but he didn’t let go. She glared at him while she answered Hope’s question. “Just me and my suckful luck with monsters. You know. The usual.”
Logan walked in. His nostrils flared and his eyes seemed to glow. “Your bleeding. It’s gotten worse.”
“That’s my fault,” said Cain. “I collapsed. She came down here to help.”
Logan’s mouth flattened as he looked at her and then Cain. “I see. We’ll deal with that in a minute. Right now we need to stop the bleeding.”
“They’re compatible,” said Hope.
Cain scowled at her. “Not now, Hope.”
Rory’s confusion deepened as she watched the silent play between them. Hope was looking like she’d just opened a shiny new toy. Logan was clearly trying to take that toy away, and Cain kept a tight grip on Rory’s hand like she was going to float away if he let go.
Rory wanted to mind. She wanted to be pissed off, because that was a lot easier to deal with than all of this unsettling, sappy, tingling nonsense.
Cain rose to his feet in one graceful move. He held on to her hand, his thick fingers laced between hers. In one easy lift, he set her on the edge of the gurney.
He didn’t back away, though she could see his body tense as if he was getting ready for her to kick him in the balls or something.
“You need to let go of her,” said Logan.
“I know,” said Cain in a tone that warned Logan to back off. “I’m working on it.”
“Do it slowly. I’ll do what I can to ease the pain.”
“Pain? Will one of you please explain what the hell is happening here?”
“In a moment,” said Logan as he grabbed Cain’s wrist. “Just hold still.”
“Ease hers,” said Cain. “Last time we stopped touching, it hurt her, too.”
“Interesting,” said Logan, and then he looked at Rory like she were a new and intriguing puzzle for his amusement.
She almost told him that it wasn’t
pain she felt, but if she’d done that, she would have had to tell them about the visions, and she wasn’t about to do that. She didn’t know these people. She didn’t trust them. Even though she and Hope had been through something horrible together, that didn’t mean Rory was ready to be BFFs.
Logan laid his hand on her forehead, and she flinched away from his touch. His fingers were slender and cool, not at all like Cain’s. She didn’t like the way Logan’s hand felt on her. It was . . . wrong somehow, like a kind of betrayal she couldn’t understand.
“I won’t hurt you,” said Logan. “Just relax.”
She had no intention of doing any such thing, but a second later, she felt her tension drain away. She sat there on the edge of the bed, swaying and content. Even knowing that whatever he’d done to her was fake, she couldn’t find the energy to care.
Cain took several deep breaths like he was about to go free diving, and then eased his grip on her hand. His fingers loosened and slid between hers, inching away. She was sure he hadn’t meant it to be a caress, but she felt it all the way to her curling toes. Those heated vibrations trickling into her wherever he touched seemed to cling, wrapping around the tips of her fingers. She swayed toward him, eager to deepen the contact again, but he continued to back away, keeping just enough distance between them that she couldn’t make any headway.
Finally, after she was gripping the edge of the gurney to keep from lunging toward him and getting more contact with his skin—wherever she could find it—the slightest bit of his index finger was still in contact with hers.
Electricity arced between them, so intense she swore she could hear it crackle. There was something precious and powerful in that tiny contact—a promise of something she didn’t understand, but yearned to possess all the same. She recognized the power, as if a piece of her had been chopped off at birth, only to return to her now in this form.
It was hers and she wanted it.
He broke away, and all thoughts of power were crushed from her head. The relentless stream of images was there, waiting for her, ready to strike. Within seconds, she was completely blinded by the flood of lights and colors that did not belong. Never before had it been this bad. Not even in the daytime. There were too many sights. She couldn’t absorb them all.
Falling Blind: The Sentinel Wars Page 4