Hunter, Healer [Sequel to The Society]

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Hurt her. He hurt her. Rage rose, and he smothered it. He couldn't afford to get angry and lose his focus.

  The back driver's side door opened smoothly. “Let's get the hell out of here,” he said, manhandling Rowan into the car. Yoshi leaned over on the passenger side and helped as much as he could, pulling her to safety. Then Del was in beside her, sucking in a deep breath that hurt all the way down.

  The stiletto. It hit deep. Hope it didn't scratch a lung. But I'd be having trouble breathing if it did.

  Yoshi's dark eyes met his as Brew pressed down on the gas pedal. Pavement began to slip under the car's broad tires. “You look awful.” Yoshi offered him a Handi Wipe. “What happened?"

  "Carson.” Del smoothed it over his face, wiping away blood. The scalp wound itched. “Got to Ro somehow. I put his goddamn psychopath down and hit the blind man with everything I had. Hope it was enough. Goddammit, Brew, can't you go any faster?"

  "If you want to be arrested, I can.” Brew, used to postcombat jitters, didn't take offense. Yoshi, leaning over the front seat, watched Delgado. Then his dark, eloquent eyes shifted to Rowan, slumped against a pile of hurriedly-stacked gear. Her pale hair had come loose, glowing in the faint light.

  It was the darkest part of early morning, the time when old men died. One old man died tonight, I hope. If he recovers from that push he'll ... No, he won't. I've killed him. I sank a knife in his throat. He can't have survived that. Please tell me I've killed the two men that nearly killed me the first time I escaped. Have I gotten better or have they gotten worse?

  Hard to get worse than dead. Please let them be dead.

  Yoshi continued to study Rowan. Jealousy rose sharp and vicious, and Del took a deep breath.

  "She is a very dear friend,” Yoshi said suddenly, very clearly. “But no more than a friend."

  Oh, Christ. Del leaned over, finding the seat belt and strapping Rowan in. She wasn't physically hurt, but he wanted to check, to run his fingers over her to make sure.

  "Not like it matters,” he mumbled. His cheeks felt hot. Was he fucking blushing? He hoped not. It was too dark to tell, thank God. You probably deserve her more than me anyway.

  "It matters,” Yoshi persisted. “She's very attached to you, Del."

  "Leave him alone, mate. He's had a hard night.” Brew sounded amused. Almost as if he was suppressing a chuckle, his crisp British accent blurring a little under the weight of laughter.

  Don't they realize we're possibly in the middle of a Sig net? Carson and what's-his-face weren't working alone, were they? Then again, Carson usually does work alone. He worked alone the first time he found me. And Ro didn't sense any Sigs. Then again, with Carson there, they might have been under dampers and he could technically keep a small team under wraps, he's talented enough ... Dammit, Del, keep your goddamn mind on business. Now's not the time to be debriefing, now's the time to clean yourself up and make sure you can fight again if you have to. Get your team to capacity before unraveling the rest of it.

  "Is there a medkit back here?” He swiped at his face again, cleaning off even more blood.

  "You bet there is. Look under her elbow."

  For some reason, Brew seemed to find this incredibly funny. At least he shook with mostly repressed mirth, though the car didn't waver on the road.

  Del worked the medkit out from under Rowan's elbow. She was out cold. Now that he had a chance to breathe, his shoulder wrenched with pain. He probably had almost dislocated it. And the knife hadn't helped any. Neither had the shot to the face, and the little Japanese snot had probably cracked a rib. Lucky it wasn't his spleen. His back hurt, too. The shot to his kidneys.

  He suddenly realized he hadn't been thinking about Zed withdrawal for the last half-hour. Instead, he'd been concentrating solely on getting Rowan out of a dicey situation. He hadn't bothered to think about his own survival.

  Yoshi slid back into his seat and punched Brew lightly on the shoulder. It was a rare gesture of camaraderie. Brew said something too low to be heard over the soughing of tires on the road as he turned onto the main drag. Lights flashed red and blue in the distance. Police lights.

  Brew obeyed the speed limit and took the freeway ramp. Del kept watch out the back window, his hand on Rowan's knee, reassuring himself that she was still alive. He caught no breath of pursuit, but he kept checking. Finally, he let out the long breath he seemed to have been holding since realizing the stairwell was trapped.

  Rowan made a small sleepy sound. Del glanced down at her, his heart finally beginning to slow down. His lungs didn't hurt quite as much now. She wasn't very hurt, just had a nosebleed and a slight scratch on her scalp as well as a bruised wrist. He spread antiseptic over the cut and wiped the blood away, checked her again. Pulse strong, her breathing even. She was out cold. The best thing for her right now was rest. Her violated psyche needed a little oblivion to distance itself from Carson's filthy touch.

  He managed to bandage himself and changed his shirt in the back seat, wincing and hoping his ribs weren't truly cracked.

  Then again, hanging around her will heal me up in no time. He swallowed the sick, acid taste of fear. Just rest, angel. I'll take care of everything.

  "How did they find us?” Brew shook his head. “What should we do? Henderson needs to know about this."

  "Goddamn Carson.” Del coughed and considered spitting out the window. How did Carson get so goddamn close? “Think he triggered the cops on us to flush us out?"

  "We were clean. You were clean when you came to the house.” Yoshi stared straight ahead out the windshield. “I scanned you and every inch of gear you brought in. Maybe they caught some chatter or codestringing. Damn it."

  Del was about to reply, but a horrible thought froze him. The Zed. The bag with the Zed. Maybe the last hypo had a tracker, or the bag itself. My God. I could have led Sigma straight to them.

  He didn't know for sure, but it was a damn good guess, and it felt right to his gut. “It doesn't matter,” he said harshly. “We got out of there and Rowan's safe. We'll be cautious and go radio-silent for a while."

  Brew accepted this with a nod. “Glad you're here, Del. I wouldn't want to take on Carson alone."

  If the old man hadn't been so occupied with Rowan, I would have been dead in the water. She was vulnerable to him, but she put up a hell of a good fight. Delgado shivered. Now was not the time to think about what could have happened.

  "Glad I was here too,” he mumbled, and settled back in the seat, watching Rowan's breathing. “Let's just hope I hurt them bad enough that they can't follow for a day or so."

  * * * *

  Rowan stayed in a soupy, half-conscious daze for a good three days. They reached the new headquarters thirty-six hours after the attack and Del half-carried her into the main house. He had to admit, Henderson had outdone himself this time. The new base for the Society was a former Catholic school and seminary perched outside a pair of cities that glared at each other over a river and a state line. They were close enough to the urban sprawl that the static of so many deadheads would camouflage them, yet far enough away and with considerable grounds attached to the old school to give them some privacy, plenty of escape routes and room for expansion. It was just about perfect, especially since the property was near an old defunct gravel pit. They had already started the excavations that would eventually make an underground complex too, but it would take a good five years or so before they had anything like the extensive transports and other advantages of the last Headquarters. Having the gravel pit next door would provide them with the perfect means to get construction equipment and get rid of the excavation debris. Concrete and crushed rock could be sold and a legitimate business used as a front.

  He didn't see much of it for the first day and a half. After dumping Rowan on a bed in the room Henderson had shown him, he'd made sure their bags were in a pile, thrown a sleeping bag down on the floor in front of the door, and collapsed, leaving Brew and Yoshi to make their reports without him. Henderson wi
sely left him alone, maybe realizing Del was on the fine edge.

  He slept deeply, waking only once to stumble to the bathroom as swords of summer sunlight poked through the gap between the navy curtains and lay along the blue-carpeted floor. When he came out, clumsy with weariness, he instinctively crawled into the bed next to Rowan, past caring about guarding the door or giving her space. Fully clothed except for his boots, he pulled the sheet and blankets up, and curled around her. She was on her side, her back to him, and he immediately fell asleep again. It was dangerous to pass out so completely, but he didn't have a choice. There was a limit to even Sigma-trained endurance.

  He returned to the land of the living slowly and piecemeal, surfacing with a feeling he hadn't had in a long time—safety and warmth. Rowan's head weighed down his left arm, and he was sweating in the almost-uncomfortable heat from sleeping in his clothes and under blankets.

  Rowan stirred.

  She yawned and stretched, her head bumping his chin. He moved automatically, easing his aching left arm from under her head. Then he tightened his right arm around her, pulling her back against him. He took a deep breath, waking up completely with the fuzzy feeling of having slept more than twelve hours.

  She was awake. For a few moments she rested against him. Del kept his eyes tightly shut, breathing in the smell of her hair and feeling the electricity of her talent against his skin again. She was safe. Here in this room, in his arms, she was safe. The relief was indescribable. He kept breathing, waves of something he was almost afraid to call happiness swamping him every few moments. The feel of her tangled hair brushing his skin was almost too sweet to be real.

  Finally, she edged away from him and he reluctantly let her go. She pushed herself up, shaking her head, and slid free of the bed, then made her way on unsteady feet to the bathroom. He opened one eye just enough to watch her, and saw she was moving all right. Her long pale hair fell over her shoulders, tangled and beautiful. She shut the bathroom door, and Del stretched, feeling his joints pop and his muscles twinge in various places. He felt better than he had any right to. Even his shoulder didn't hurt any more, and his ribs seemed to be fine. He curled cautiously up to sit on the bed, grateful when Zed withdrawal didn't immediately start pounding inside his head. It still lurked in his bones, a deep half-healed ache, but his skin prickled like a bad sunburn instead of carnivorous ants. He seemed to be ... well, if not cured, then at least halfway there.

  Sunlight still fell through the same crack in the navy curtains, and the feeling of dampers closed around him. He sensed other minds inside the building, familiar minds going about their business. The room, carpeted in sky-blue, housed a severe missionary style bed and a dresser in matching pale unfinished wood. The closet door was half open, showing a few dangling hangers and nothing else. It was bare and almost soulless except for their suitcases, duffels, and kitbags in a messy heap. His rig lay tangled by his side of the bed, and he pulled the knife out from under his pillow, sliding it back into its sheath.

  When Rowan reemerged, she went straight for the pile of luggage on the floor and started digging until she extracted a toothbrush and toothpaste. She gave him a single inquiring glance, her eyes suddenly very green, their depths shadowed.

  He tasted morning in his mouth and nodded. She dug out his toothbrush, too, and tossed it to him. He reached up to catch it, and found himself smiling. Actually smiling. It hadn't taken him very long to relearn that trick after all.

  She smiled back, the expression lighting her eyes. His chest tightened. The feeling that jolted through him was the same deep emotion he'd felt from her before. Was it her or something else? He still couldn't figure it out, could not name something so huge it made his throat close and a hot weight prickle behind his eyes.

  "Good morning.” Her voice was husky. She slowly straightened, pushing her hair back with one hand. His mouth went dry.

  "Morning yourself. How do you feel?” You survived Carson. There aren't a lot of people that can say that. We were damn lucky to get out of that room alive.

  "Sore. Headache. Feel like I got hit with a train.” Her smile widened. “But we must be at Headquarters. I knew we'd make it."

  He shrugged, deciding that he did want to get out of bed. The carpet was warm under his sock feet. He wasn't unsteady, but he did walk gingerly, testing his legs for any sign of weakness. None seemed apparent. “Give me a couple minutes, can you?"

  "Sure.” She tossed him the toothpaste and bent back down, probably rummaging for a comb. He shut the bathroom door quietly, more out of habit than out of any real need to be silent. Alive. We're both alive, and she seems almost happy to have me around. First things first, though.

  It was still a luxury to visit the bathroom by himself, especially one tiled in blue and white with a claw footed bathtub. No shower, but that was all right. It was a bathroom, and he was in it by himself. And Rowan was outside the door. The little things about being a free man, he supposed. He still felt grateful.

  Ten minutes later they were brushing their teeth together over the gleaming porcelain sink, a strangely domestic chore. It was unexpectedly intimate, especially since the entire time passed in silence and their eyes met in the mirror more than once. She rinsed her mouth out twice, maybe getting rid of a sour taste that wasn't quite physical. Then she carried a comb back to the bed and sat down, sighing. He watched her pull her legs up and sit tailor-fashion, the slim paleness of her ankle catching his eye for a moment. Even her ankles were pretty.

  "I feel like I have a hangover.” She began to work on the tangles in her hair, pulling with a little more force than Del would have. “My head hurts."

  He settled himself next to her. Watched her profile. This familiarity was so sudden and delicate he didn't want to break it.

  "I'm sorry,” he offered. “I didn't know he would hit you that hard. I thought he'd concentrate on taking me out."

  I thought he'd figure me the bigger threat. Why didn't he? Of course, I was busy with his bodyguard.

  Did she wince ever so slightly, yanking at her hair? Maybe it was a particularly bad tangle. “It's my fault,” she said finally. “All of it."

  Say what? He was actually speechless.

  She took a deep breath and met his eyes squarely. “If I wasn't such ... an anomaly, Sigma wouldn't want me. My father would still be alive, Hilary would still be alive, Headquarters would still be standing and all those people ... would still be alive. And Sigma would never have caught you. I'm sorry.” Her mouth turned down at the corners, a bitter but beautiful expression that hurt like a knife between his ribs.

  Del's hand blurred out and tore the comb out of her fingers. “Stop it. Stop it.” His voice tore, deep and husky, in his chest. The comb bounced on the carpet, and she flinched. The small, fearful movement physically hurt him.

  Great. Christ. Good one, Del. Now she's just as scared of you as everyone else. But the rage boiling in his veins, the utter injustice that she would feel responsible for the fucking jackals of Sigma, demanded he do something. He wanted to get up and pace, to throw something, to put his fist through the wall, and to find someone to fight.

  Startled, Rowan stared at him. Her eyes were luminous, and full of tears. “Justin,” she whispered, her lips shaping the name of a dead man.

  A dead man she'd resurrected. It had been Delgado for as long as he could remember, until she'd showed up.

  His hands shook. He reached out carefully, control clamped tight, and touched her cheek, cupped her chin in his hand. He felt calluses scrape against her soft skin.

  Be careful. Christ be careful. She deserves someone who can be gentle with her. Give her something, Del. Come on. Use that psychological pressure you're so good at and help her, goddammit!

  "Being a psion isn't a crime, Ro.” He had to clear his throat before he could force the words out through the fury constricting his windpipe. “You were born with a gift. You used it to help people. And Sigma came blazing in with guns as if you were some kind of criminal, bec
ause they think of you as a commodity. A thing. It's not your fault, Rowan, it's not. Goddammit, you're the only good thing that's ever happened to me in my entire goddamn life. Don't do this to yourself."

  Well, not the most eloquent speech in the world. Why can't I talk to her? He wanted to tell her so much more. Wanted to tell her that she was good, far better than he would ever be. Wanted to tell her that the only thing that had kept him sane in the hell that was Sigma was the memory of the empty room she'd made in him. Space to breathe in, maybe, or just a part of what he felt for her that he couldn't bring himself to forget. He wanted to tell her what it felt like to see her and ache all the way to the bottom of his chest, a sharp pain that was somehow sweet because even if she could never love a damaged ex-Sigma killer, he would still hang around her, breathing in the same air she breathed, and that was enough.

  He wanted to say he loved her, but he buried the thought almost as quickly as it rose.

  One of her threatening tears spilled out and left a trail of dampness on her cheek. “You might be right,” she whispered, her skin moving against his fingers. “But I still feel responsible."

  "Don't,” he whispered back. “Please.” Then he was leaning forward, and he knew he was going to kiss her. He couldn't have stopped it any more than he could have stopped a bullet once the trigger was squeezed.

  Their mouths met. She shook with silent weeping as he kissed her slowly, taking his time, his fingers sliding into the tangled silk of her hair. He was ready to push her back onto the bed and try to get through her clothes to find bare skin, so he could get closer and closer to her. But he settled for breathing her in, tasting her, and barely letting her breathe before he kissed her again. Slowly, slowly, the barriers between them melted, his mind sliding into hers, giving comfort, taking solace. When her mouth slid away from his, he kissed her cheek, her forehead, and the corner of her tear-wet eye, tasting salt. He printed another gentle kiss on her cheek before she leaned into him, pushing him over. He ended up lying across the bed with Rowan in his arms, her head on his shoulder and his arms around her. He felt her heartbeat and cherished the small, uneven sigh as she sank even further into him, the borders of their minds blurring together.