No. Shut up, McKenzie. You chose a different life.
I click out of my e-mail, annoyed at myself. I should collapse on the couch now, get what little sleep I can, but there’s something else I want to do. I’ve wanted to do it since I left Tholm.
I open a new web browser, then Google “Sight serum.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve entered this search phrase. I’ve done it at least four times before and have always received pure junk in return. I get the same list of makeup miracles and other random, unrelated hits, but this time, there’s one important difference: the top hit is a link to a Web site with a sales page.
Crap.
It’s a simple Web site, not much more than an information and contact page, but it claims that a single injection of their serum will give people the ability to see fae.
“This can’t be legal,” I mutter. People can’t be falling for this. The price tag is outrageous—$12,500 plus a required, in-person interview—and why would any sane person believe that the serum would work? Why would any sane person believe that fae exist? I denied it for a long time, believing I was seeing things that weren’t really there. Surely, the vigilantes haven’t actually sold anything.
But they might have.
I rub at the headache pounding behind my eyes. It’s there despite the fact that Kyol has fissured back to the Realm. I need to sleep it off, but before I lie down on the couch, I do one more thing. I set up a new e-mail account, then send a quick message to the seller telling him I’m interested in his product.
• • •
SOMETIME after noon, I stagger down the stairs, feeling only slightly more rested than I did when I fell asleep. Dreams take their toll, and even though mine were, for once, pleasant, they were stressful. Aren and Kyol filled them—thank God, not at the same time—and I woke bathed in the memories of their kisses more than once. The dreams with Aren were intense—cosmic, even—but they were tinged with fear. If I don’t find a way to get through to him in the next two days, I’ll lose him.
Kyol’s dreams . . . Each kiss we shared made me miss him, and each kiss made my heart break a little. It wasn’t real, but it felt like I was cheating on Aren. I shouldn’t have two men on my mind. It’s not right, and it’s not fair to them. It’s especially not fair to Kyol, who’s able to feel what I’m feeling. He knows I’m in love with Aren, but he knows my stomach still flips when I think of him.
Guilt-ridden and feeling a little sick, I make my way through the living room, following the scent of coffee toward the kitchen. Kyol’s back. He’s sitting on one of three barstools that are lined up in front of the island. His back is to me. So is Nick’s. The human is standing by the coffeepot, waiting for it to finish brewing, I presume. He must have turned the breakers on. The air-conditioning is running now, too.
Nick grabs a couple of mugs out of the cabinet. “I thought . . .” His shoulders rise as he draws in a breath. “I thought the cleansing would spill across the borders. Atroth always catered to the conservative fae, and they saw the tor’um as a corruption, the result of too much human influence.”
“You didn’t have to run,” Kyol tells him. “We would have protected you despite your transgressions.”
I stop at the edge of the carpet, not stepping onto the earth-toned tile in the kitchen. The guilt I felt a minute ago disappears. Kyol thinks sleeping with a human is a “transgression.” That’s it. That’s why I chose to walk away from him. One of the reasons, at least. He’ll always see his love for me as a weakness.
“I didn’t know that,” Nick says, pouring coffee into the mugs. “Atroth was secretive. You all were. But if I’d known you’d eventually transgress, maybe I would have stayed.”
Kyol stiffens. I clear my throat, letting Nick know that I’m here. He glances over his shoulder, sees me, and looks only slightly chagrined by his words.
“Coffee?” he asks.
“Please,” I say, stepping onto the tile, then taking a seat on the barstool to Kyol’s right. When Nick sets a coffee mug in front of each of us, he says to Kyol, “I didn’t steal Kynlee. Her brother came to me. He begged me to take her out of Ristin, and I agreed. I took her as far away as possible and changed my last name so no one could find us.”
“Her brother will want to see her,” Kyol says. “He’s Ristin’s high noble now.”
Nick thumps down a third coffee mug a little too hard. “She’s not going back to the Realm.”
“He could visit her here.”
“No.” He thumps the mug down again. “She’s safe here. She won’t have a chance in the Realm. She’ll be shunned. She won’t be able to find work. No one will want to touch her, let alone marry her. She’s staying with me.”
I’m surprised he mentions the touching and marrying. He hits me as the type of dad who would sit on the front porch cleaning that shotgun of his anytime a boy showed up to take Kynlee out.
“She should know where she’s from,” Kyol tells him.
“She’s from here, now.”
“Kyol,” I interject gently, my tone saying to drop the subject. He does, but he seems agitated. I don’t think that’s just because he thinks Nick is wrong. Something’s on his mind.
“Lorn’s still asleep?” I ask.
He nods. “For a few more hours, at least.”
I look at Nick to see if he’s going to protest our staying here longer. He’s already been more accommodating than I expected, especially considering the fact that he’s worried someone might try to take Kynlee away from him.
Stone-faced, he tosses his empty mug into the sink.
“I have to go to work for a while,” he says. “I’ll be back before Kynlee gets home from school. Make sure you’re gone by then.”
He grabs his keys off a hook by a door on the other side of the kitchen. After he disappears through it, I hear the grinding rumble of a garage door opening.
I take a sip of my coffee as silence descends between Kyol and me. I want to tell him about Paige’s message and the Web site I found, but he feels so . . . I’m not sure how to describe him. Exhausted, yes, but it’s more than that. Soul-weary maybe. I don’t want to burden him with more bad news.
On the other hand, we already suspected the vigilantes were selling the Sight serum. This just confirms Glazunov’s words. And as for Paige’s message . . . It’s still possible Caelar isn’t working with the false-blood.
“Tell me,” Kyol says, staring down at the granite countertop.
I grimace. Of course he’d feel my turmoil. Proximity makes it difficult to hide our emotions from each other. That’s why I’m aware of his mood even though his wall is in place.
“You first,” I say.
His silver eyes meet mine, and it takes everything in me to not react to his familiar, stormy gaze. It feels like a cord is pulling on my heart.
Kyol draws in a slow breath as he looks away.
“It’s nothing,” he says.
“Nothing?” I ask, that heart-cord snapping in annoyance. “Well, then. Nothing is on my mind either.”
“McKenzie—”
“Are you trying to protect me from something?”
“No.”
“Because I can handle it, Kyol. I’ve always been able to handle it.”
He swivels on his barstool, facing me fully.
“There is nothing specifically wrong,” he says. “I swear it.”
“Then what’s wrong generally?” I ask, not dropping the subject.
His jaw clenches. So does mine. I’m pissed at Aren for this same reason. Something is wrong with him, but he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me what. It’s ridiculous for me to have this problem with Kyol, too. There’s no reason to withhold information from me after everything we’ve been through.
I slide off my barstool, start to leave, but Kyol grabs my arm.
“I’m worried about you, McKenzie.”
I look down as lightning circles my elbow. I’m mad enough that the lick of heat doesn’t make me want to
move closer to him.
“That’s it?” I ask, letting doubt slide into my voice.
He releases my arm, then reaches for something beside the counter. When he turns back to me, he’s holding two dull swords with familiar red handles.
I barely suppress a sigh. Maybe I am what’s bothering him. God knows I’m not as good at hiding my emotions as he is, and he’s never had a life-bond before either. This is as new to him as it is to me. I’m probably stressing him out with my chaotic mood swings.
“Please,” he says, holding one of the practice swords out for me to take.
Even though my anger is quickly disappearing, I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you going to be an ass when I get tired?”
After a brief pause, he says, “You learn more quickly when I’m an ass.”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
A few minutes later, we’re in Nick’s backyard. I insist Kyol be visible in case one of the neighbors gets nosy, so he takes off his jaedric armor. He wears it so often, always prepared for an attack, that I’m sure he feels naked holding a sword without it, but his black pants and shirt can pass as human made.
“And if someone sees the swords?” Kyol asks, raising his blade between us.
“We’ll tell them we’re with the SCA.”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“Society of Creative”—I fake a direct attack, swing down toward his left leg—“Anachronism.”
He blocks my wild move with ease and counters with an unnecessarily hard hit to my ribs. “Practice the forms. No wild swings.”
Wild swings are for the untrained. He told me that at least a dozen times between Tholm and Corrist. Wild swings rely on luck not expertise, but isn’t that the whole point of my training? I need to be good enough to be lucky because, God knows, if I end up in a sword fight with a fae, I’m going to need a huge dose of luck to survive it.
Besides, Aren gets away with wild, messy swings when he fights. It’s not that he isn’t trained, but sometimes, being unpredictable can create an advantage.
“Your focus is elsewhere.” Kyol hits my practice blade so hard, I nearly drop it.
I grit my teeth and tighten my grip on the red hilt. Right. Focus. I can do that.
Within minutes, my skin glistens with sweat. It’s frustrating considering Kyol isn’t even breathing hard.
“You need to leave Vegas,” Kyol says, swinging at my left thigh.
“Aren’t I supposed to be focusing?” I ask, blocking his attack. But I knew he’d bring this conversation up.
“You can’t return to your apartment.”
“I—” His blade arcs toward my head. I fall on my ass, avoiding a concussion. “Jesus, Kyol.”
He squats in front of me. “Good. Next time, roll away from your opponent. Roll to your feet.”
He offers me his hand. Is this his attempt to not be an ass? Or is it a trap?
My eyes narrow, and just in case, I get to my feet on my own.
“You’re doing well, McKenzie.”
I keep my guard up, still suspicious. “Are you patronizing me?”
“No,” he says, stabbing toward my stomach. I block his attack and turn sideways, making myself a smaller target.
“It takes fae years of training to develop muscle memory,” he continues, launching another attack, this time a low one aimed at my knees. “You’re developing it within hours. And you’re quick.” A jab toward my left shoulder. “Quicker than you used to be.”
I get what he’s saying, and even though this can be seen as a positive thing, the implication makes me uncomfortable. What else has the life-bond changed? And are all the changes for the better?
Kyol senses the dark path my thoughts are taking, so I give him a small smile, and say, “Good thing I’m bonded to the Realm’s best swordsman.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up ever so slightly.
“Is that a smile, Lord General?” I tease. “While you’re in the midst of a fight? Sloppy.”
I feign an attack at his midsection, but dodge around his block, balling my off hand into a fist, which I aim at his jaw. The move is smooth and natural, and the blow would probably hit if Kyol weren’t the best swordsman in the Realm. But he knocks my fist with his elbow and somehow manages to clip my chin in the process.
Ow.
I step away from him, reach up to rub my jaw. I yelp instead, seeing his sword arcing toward my calves. No time to block it so I try to leap over it and—
Fail. His blade hits so hard, he knocks my legs out from under me. I land on my right shoulder, my sword pinned beneath my body.
A twinge of guilt moves through the life-bond, but Kyol extinguishes it quickly.
“You were supposed to block that,” he says, kneeling in front of me.
“Yeah,” I snap. “I kind of figured that out.”
I sit up, then pull up my pants leg to look at the injury. Our swords are dull, but I expect to see a gash in my leg anyway. There’s not one. Just an angry red line that’s beginning to turn purple.
“Is it broken?” Kyol sets down his sword, then runs his hand over my calf.
“I’m not that brittle,” I say. I mean the words to be angry—an accusation of sorts—but his hand is warm, and a bright blue bolt of lightning skips to my skin.
Touching opens our bond completely, and Kyol’s lust rushes into me. I rock back, dizzy with the intensity of it, and my body flushes with heat.
It’s just magic, I tell myself. This feeling isn’t real. It isn’t. It isn’t. It isn’t.
Kyol meets my gaze. His hand is still on my calf, desire is still rocking through him.
I want another chance.
He doesn’t say those words out loud, but his emotions are screaming them.
I pull my leg away from him, and some emotion akin to hurt moves through the bond. It’s barely noticeable beneath the want, but it makes my throat burn. I can’t do this. I can’t keep hurting him.
“Kyol—”
“Again,” he says, grabbing his sword as he stands. A thick wall drops between us, silencing his emotions.
Swallowing, I get to my feet. I try to build my own wall. I try not to let him feel my frustration and angst, my regret that I can’t say the words he wants to hear. I focus completely on the moves he teaches me. My muscles remember them, even a few forms he hasn’t taught me yet, like the slight twist to my wrist I need to slip through his overly slow defense. I let my mind go blank, focus only on the movements of my body and his. I watch his eyes, the set of his shoulders. My peripheral vision is attuned to his sword. I block a third of his attacks, which is a huge improvement from the last time. His blows hurt when they hit home, but it’s a dull pain that I can shove to the back of my mind.
Circle and attack. Follow up. Parry.
I’m drenched in sweat, but I keep going, keep concentrating on the rote movement of my body and the soreness in my muscles.
Dodge a high swing. Counter with a low one.
My worries fall away, and I let my subconscious take over until Kyol lowers his sword, his eyes closing.
“There,” he says, tension pouring out of him.
I’m so, so tempted to attack while he’s vulnerable, but I haven’t felt him this relaxed since he formed the life-bond with me.
“There?”
He opens his eyes. “That’s how I keep my emotions from you.”
I frown. “How?”
“If I concentrate on the forms, on mine and my opponents’ movements, everything else falls away. That’s what you’ve just done, and it’s . . . peaceful.”
“You block your emotions when you’re not fighting, too.”
“I have decades of practice,” he says. “I’m able to re-create the emptiness. Most of the time.”
I nod slowly. “I’ll work on it.” I’ll work on it every second of my existence until I’m able to keep him out.
I raise my sword, ready to re-empty my mind.
“We’re finishe
d for today,” he says.
“I have a few more minutes left in me.”
Before I have time to even blink, he disarms me. My sword flips once in the air and lands in his left hand.
“We’re finished for today,” he says again, this time looking pointedly at my hands.
I glare down at them, too, angry that they didn’t hold on to the sword. Then I see the blisters. Apparently, my emotions weren’t the only thing that I faded out. I blocked out the pain, but now that I see how red and agitated they are, they hurt. So does every part of me that Kyol hit, which is basically everywhere.
“I didn’t know you were available for lessons, Lord General.”
I turn toward the back porch. Lorn is there, leaning against a column. I wouldn’t say he looks great, but he doesn’t look half-dead anymore.
“I have a few fae who could use your expertise,” he says, when we approach.
Kyol doesn’t bother answering. He turns to me, tells me he’ll be back soon, then he fissures out.
My gaze locks on his shadows, and I itch to draw them out. I haven’t attempted to shadow-read since Tholm. The earlier worry I had about the bond bringing negative changes circles through my mind again. I wasn’t able to identify Nimael’s location, and I should have been able to. I need to sketch out a map again.
But Kyol’s heading back to Corrist. I don’t need a map to tell me that. As soon as the shadows completely disappear, I head inside.
Lorn tsks as he follows me in. “No thanks for saving your life?”
If I thank him, it’ll imply I owe him a debt, so I follow Kyol’s example and ignore him. I walk to the kitchen and turn on the faucet to wash my hands. Holy crap! The blisters burn.
“You at least owe me an apology, don’t you think?” Lorn says, hovering behind me.
At least he’s back to his usual, haughty self. And he’s found clothes. I don’t know how Nick is going to feel about Lorn raiding his closet, but the black slacks and white button-up shirt fit Lorn’s personality. The shirt is wrinkle-free and crisp, the cuffs buttoned.
“Lena’s the one who arrested you,” I say. “I just told her my suspicions.”
The Sharpest Blade Page 18