STEP (The Senses)

by Paterson, Cindy

  “She is in detox. You take her now, she will die,” Balen said.

  “The Wraths will kill her if Mariana takes her to the realm,” Jedrik said raising his voice.

  Trinity remained silent and, for the first time since she entered the room, she appeared uneasy. She actually backed up a step so her back was closer to the wall. Everyone waited for an answer, and Rayne was certain Trinity was hiding something.

  “My visions do not include those of my coven,” Trinity said. “I did not know Abigail was playing with Liam. Last I knew, she’d been playing with a Senses. Abigail had a difficult childhood, and because of that, she is rather spontaneous and foolish. She also has always detested vampires.” Trinity looked straight at Waleron. “But if she has drunk from Liam, she must be taken to the realm and killed.”

  Jedrik stood, his eyes glaring at Trinity. “Bull friggin’ shit. No way.”

  Waleron raised his hand and gave a nod to Trinity to continue.

  “As you know, witches come into their powers on their twenty-fifth birthday. Abigail will have her mother Leona’s power.”

  “And?” Balen asked.

  “Liam must know about it,” Trinity said. “He must have discovered who her mother was.”

  “And what is that power, Trinity?” Kilter asked.

  Rayne could tell that Trinity wanted to keep her secrets to herself, but surrounded by Senses it left her with little choice unless she desired a war.

  “She can turn water into blood,” Trinity announced.

  “Holy frig,” Jedrik said at the same time as Balen, Danielle and Keir swore under their breaths.

  “And so Liam will have an endless supply if she turns,” Anstice murmured.

  “When is her birthday?” Waleron asked.

  Trinity paled, and it made her blood-red lips stand out even further. “Yesterday.”

  Waleron’s face turned deadly, brows lowering and eyes churning in swirls of blue and white with gold flecks. “Damien,” he said. And with that one word, he turned to mist, disappearing from the room.

  “You stupid bitch,” Balen shouted. “Damien will give her water to ease the blood thirst. She will turn.”

  “Then Damien will have to kill her,” Trinity said. “As a vampire Abigail will be under Liam’s rule. That is unacceptable. An endless supply of blood will make him very powerful. Vampires around the world will come under his rule.”

  “No shit,” Jedrik said, running his hand through his unruly curls. Suddenly he jolted, his eyes widening and his frown fierce. “You want her to Turn,” he shouted at Trinity. “So you can wash your hands of her. You hated Leona for passing off her daughter to you. Your coven will be in constant danger with Abby’s ability.” He leapt off the couch and went for Trinity.

  Chapter 22

  The emotional turmoil of the past six months came oozing to swamp bottom the moment he woke mid-afternoon and felt coldness seeping into his body. He scrambled off the bed and knelt on the floor, his fingers curling around Abby’s limp, cold hand.

  Nothing in his immortal life could prepare him for this single instant when a woman so young and deserving of life lay lifeless before him. Shallow breaths inhaled with agonizing, coarse slowness, then exhaled in a long drawn-out sighs. Pale and gaunt. Her eyes remained closed to the light that shone through the barred window, and his heart skipped beats at the thought he might never see them again.

  Everything in his body screamed with torment. His insides tossing violently like a tsunami, heart shattering into fragmented slivers.

  “Abb, don’t,” he begged. Lowering his lips to the back of her hand, his mouth caressed the cold, lifeless skin. Her pulse beat beneath his touch, and it was struggling with each thump. Her life was being sucked into a black hole. “Please,” he said. It was a voice he didn’t recognize, a tortured animal crying out with pain.

  Why did it hurt so much? Because he felt . . . worthless. With each ragged beat of her heart, he knew he’d failed her. He couldn’t let her die. Not Abby. Not when she’d made it this far. When they had made it this far.

  Her will to live had slipped through her fingers. No, it was his fingers. It had been his job to give her reason and hope to live.

  Without her, he was nothing. She made his life worthy.

  He closed his eyes and leaned over the bed, his lips touching her cold brow. Slowly he let his lips travel across her face, the tip of her nose, the corner of her lips, the sexy cleft in her chin. She never moved. He leaned his forehead onto her arm, his grip on her hand tightening, afraid to let go, terrified that if he did, she’d slip from his grasp forever.

  “I know you’re strong, Abb. You can hold on.” Anger surfaced at her giving up, at himself for being unable to do anything except sit by her bed and watch her destruction. “For God’s sake Abb, don’t you dare give up.”

  He couldn’t recall ever holding a woman’s hand as he did now. He hated it. He hated that he cared what happened to his one-night-stand girl. Women made him cringe, with their emotional baggage, the jabs they gave to the men they so-called cared about. He detested how they needed a man to care for them or the need for confirmation with their looks. It drove him nuts to hear them gossiping.

  He stroked her temple, then her cold pale lips. But Abby was different. Her laughter was real and her eyes were filled with the brightness of the sun. She was smart and playful, brave, sexy and . . . damn it, stupid for sleeping with him. But she didn’t deserve to die.

  He felt a feeble squeeze on his hand and her lashes fluttered, then he was looking into her eyes. The relief to see her eyes was like the weight of a collapsed building being lifted off him. He inhaled a ragged breath.

  So beautiful.

  He grabbed the glass of water he’d tried numerous times over the past couple of days to get her to drink, but all she did was push his hand away and turn her head. “Abb, drink. You have to drink.”

  She ignored the glass of water and instead reached her free hand out and pressed her index finger to his lips. “Damien.” Her eyes closed for a few seconds and his heart stopped. “Thank you for coming back and not letting me die alone.” Her voice was a barely audible, as if it was a struggle to get words past the dryness. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

  “Christ, Abb. You’re not going to die.” He stroked her hair with the tip of his fingers. “Just ride this out a while longer. I won’t leave you again. It was stupid. I just freaked out for a few hours. It won’t happen again. But you have to drink, Abb.” He held the glass up to her lips, but she turned her head away again. He cursed, frustrated at her refusal, and set the glass of water on the nightstand.

  She squeezed his hand. “It was fun, you know. Us. That night.” She stopped to take a deep breath then coughed. “In the shower was my favorite. You looked . . .” She coughed again. “You looked hot all wet.” She closed her eyes and readjusted her grip on his hand. “Don’t let go, okay.”

  “This is not happening, Abb.” He shook his head, horror filling his insides as if black tar was being injected into his veins. “No. You will stay with me. Don’t you even think about dying.”

  A tiny smile came to her lips. “I really like you, you know. You’re so . . . so cute, when . . . I know you . . . want to be tough.” Her grip faltered. “It was my fault. This. I thought I could destroy them, but . . . I didn’t know the bloodlust was so . . . strong. The baby.” She closed her eyes, head rolling to the side with a long drawn-out sigh. “It’s better . . . this way, Damien.”

  “Abb! Abb. Goddamn it, Abby.” He grabbed her by the shoulders. He shook her once. Twice. Her limp body remained unmoving. He frantically looked at her chest. No rise and fall.

  A strangled cry left his throat like a horrid screech of an animal in unbearable pain. He pulled her to him and her head fell back, hair hanging tangled against the back of his hand as he supported her neck.

  “Nooooo! No, Abb. I won’t let you go.”

  He rocked her lifeless body in his arms, his lips in her hair
, his grip refusing to let go as if his own life would seep into her and bring her back to him.

  He failed. He failed her. He failed himself.

  “No, Abb. I can’t let you go. I just can’t.” He was not going to carry her death on his shoulders for the rest of his life. That he wouldn’t survive.

  A tear ran down the outer corner of his right eye and disappeared into her hair. Her words repeated over and over in his head. A promise he’d refused to give her, and this was why.

  He gently laid her back on the bed, sweeping her hair back away from her face, then reached into his boot and pulled out the blade. With one swift arc of his hand, he ran it across his wrist and watched the blood flow to the surface. He never hesitated before, but this once he thought about what the consequences of his actions would be. Abby would live, but as something different, something he hunted and killed.

  The blood dripped to the bedspread and soaked into the material. His eyes watched as Abb’s lips turned blue and her eyes remained open, lifeless and . . .

  “I’m sorry, Abb, but I won’t let you go,” Damien said closing his eyes as held his wrist over her mouth. A drop of blood slid down his skin, inches from her mouth.

  A sudden blast of power came into him with such force that it knocked him off the bed and into the nightstand. The glass of water went flying, and the cheap lamp fell to the floor and shattered. He grunted as the drywall caved under his weight as he crashed into it.

  “Just in time, I see,” Waleron said, his sold form emerging from mist. “Stay away from her, Damien. It is too late to save her and she must not become one of them.”

  Damien crawled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. “She’s too young. She can’t die. I can’t let her die.”

  “So you will make her something she would hate you for?” Waleron nodded towards Abby. “She turned twenty-five yesterday. With her birthday comes the ability to turn water into blood. A vampire with such ability is a detriment to all. Liam must have known this.”

  Damien glanced over at the cold lifeless body he’d spent every second of every day for months with. Maybe that was why she’d refused to drink the water over the past few days. She knew what would happen if she drank water after her birthday.

  If she had drunk the water, she’d have Turned, and he’d never have known until it was too late. No chains would keep a vamp immobile. She must have known and protected him by rejecting the water.

  “So we just let her die?” Damien said.

  “She is dead, Damien. There is nothing we can do.”

  The words were too real, sinking into his bones like a lead weight, carrying him under until he could barely breathe. White-hot fury enveloped his body, madness claiming his thoughts as the knowledge of Abby being dead became reality. Scorching rods of steel were jabbing his insides. Pain. Anguish. The undeniable sickness of loss claiming his mind, until he felt the bile rise in his throat.

  Never to see her smile, feel her touch, hear her laughter. No. No, she couldn’t be gone.

  Damien inched closer to the bed, needing to feel her, needing to hear her voice, feel her hand resting on his chest. Once more. That was all he needed. Just one more time.

  Waleron grabbed his arm before he had the chance to get near enough and jerked him back. “No, Damien. Leave here. I will take her back to the coven.”

  Damien pulled hard enough on his arm to dislodge Waleron’s steel grip. He glared at his Taldeburu and felt his Scar tingling against his shoulder. It was itching for release, needing vengeance, needing freedom. It had always been an issue, his Scar having a mind of its own, and him not always being able to control it.

  Waleron knew it too by the way his eyes began to swirl with power. “Unleash it and I will retaliate with its demise.”

  “Then give me this. Give me time to say goodbye.”

  “No. I feel your emotions. You will do anything to see her live. I cannot risk it. Walk away, Damien,” Waleron warned.

  Damien made a deep frustrated growl from within his chest. His eyes blazed with fury and his Scar began to creep down his back. Everything in him said to fight for her, but everything sane said to walk away and live another day.

  A sudden intake of breath had both men turning to Abby with surprise.

  “Abby?” Damien murmured as he fell to his knees beside the bed, his hand instantly taking hers. “Sweet Jesus, Abb, I thought I’d—”

  “Get away from her!” Waleron shouted. He nodded to the empty glass of water that had been on the nightstand and now lay empty next to her on the bed. Abby’s face was covered in water. “She has Turned.”

  Chapter 23

  Rayne tied back her hair, plugged her feet into her shoes, which were a size too big, and took one last look at the crumpled bed sheets. It was nearly enough to make her forget the whole idea. But for once, she could do something instead of being a victim.

  Kilter had gone to find answers. When she’d mentioned the idea of calling Roarke, he’d gone deadly quiet, a mask of fury on his face, jealousy and wrath simmering beneath the surface. That was when he spun on his heel and left with one word—stay.

  If he returned and she was gone, he’d be angry. She’d felt his rage, knew how mad he could get, but she also trusted that Kilter would understand why. Well, eventually.

  Roarke knew something about this woman from the compound. He’d warned her about the woman. If Kilter would’ve only trusted her that Roarke was trying to help. But Kilter didn’t trust anyone, did he? God, he’d stormed out of here like a missile. But he couldn’t do it alone. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he needed help, and maybe this was her time to pay him back for saving her life.

  The thought of Kilter’s life at risk sent a shiver from her head to her toes. They’d had a single day together, and yet she’d known him for almost a year. He was in her thoughts, her skin. Despite being in Rest, Kilter had always been a part of her thoughts. He’d never really left her.

  Her biggest dilemma was getting out of the mansion without being detected. Not so simple with Keir being a Sounder and his brother Galen a Taster. She felt both of their presences in the house, Galen up in the attic, fingers typing on a keyboard. Keir and Anstice together in a room on the third floor talking. Their words were mumbled, as her hearing wasn’t as good as an actual Sounder, but when she concentrated, she could home in on the other Senses.

  Jedrik and Delara she suspected went after Kilter as she heard the door slam moments after Kilter left.

  In order to make it out without detection she was going to need one thing—her Scar. And the last time she called on Serafina she had slept like the dead. But she’d been already calling to her for an hour and nothing.

  Could she really be dead? No, Serafina would never leave her.

  “Serafina, rise from inner sleep.” She called for the five hundredth time. “Sleep no more. Rest no longer.” Rayne traced her finger along the scar on her inner thigh, slow and steady with her eyes closed and her mind focused on Serafina’s form. “Serafina, please.” She closed her eyes and tried something different. “Serafina, the game has begun and it is your move. You don’t want to lose, do you?” Nothing. Not a tickle, a slither, a hint of pain. “Serafina.” She dug her nail into the center of the Scar. “Checkmate.”

  She crumpled to her knees as a searing hot pain shot through her thigh, down her leg and back up again. She’d forgotten how much pain it caused to call on her. No wonder she’d stopped playing chess as a child.

  She gasped as a brilliant red-hot stabbing sensation went across her abdomen. “Damn it, Serafina,” she moaned. “Be nice.”

  “I am,” the feather light voice replied.

  Rayne lifted her eyes from the floor to see her friend standing in a brilliant white light, her eyes beaming a turquoise hue from their narrow dark-lined sockets. Hair hung in a black-and-lavender blanket down her back to the floor, with tiny pearls interwoven within the strands. Face pale, lips thin, and nose matching her features, slender and nar
row. Regal, sexy and childish all in the same woman.

  The link between them remained, a thin string of light connecting them together, and yet Serafina could and did walk on her own. Often when she was a child, Serafina would drag her along like a puppy dog and refuse to go back to sleep when told. They’d been the best of friends. Rayne’s only friend.

  “Damn you, Rayne-drop,” Serafina shouted in her whispering voice, which sounded rather raspy and odd when she attempted to raise her voice. “Leaving me locked up for so many years. I nearly died a few times, thanks to you.”

  “Serafina, I’m sorry. It was too dangerous at first and then Anton had a—”

  “Oh, fart on you. Look at me.” She gestured to her thin five-foot-nine form. “I’m a disgusting skinny piece of brittle wood because of you. Run your body into the ground again, and next time you need me, I’ll be dead.” Serafina took a step forward then smiled revealing her white teeth that held two sharp fangs. “My beautiful little Rayne-drop. How are you? You feel better, look stronger.” She wrapped her arms around her and squeezed. Tight. “I’ve missed you Rayne-drop. I’ve missed our games and adventures. Did you have a game in mind right now? Oh pretty please. I’ve been sleeping so long I need a good brain stimulant.”

  Rayne smiled. She’d missed Serafina. She hadn’t realized until this moment how much. “We don’t have time, Serafina. I need your help getting out of this place without being detected. There are—”

  Serafina’s nose tilted to the air. “Senses, like you. Interesting. You’ve been busy. Three of them. Finally, others I can meet and play with.” She grabbed her hand. “Come, let’s go play some dodge ball or hide and seek.”

  Rayne pulled back. “No, Serafina.” She softened her voice when she saw her Scar’s disappointment. “I need to get out of here without them knowing. I need you to Mask us, like we used to do.”

  Serafina scrunched her nose as a child would when she didn’t get her own way. “Pooh, I’m finally released and I have to hide again. Blimey.”