Katherine had stilled. I’m sorry, Mother.
She wrung her hands, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for an opening.
With a lusty sigh, he collapsed back on the couch. Gave the kitten a scratch behind his ear. “What color is it?”
That’s okay, Katherine. You want the kitten?
Katherine nodded, a tentative smile curving her lips.
A forgotten breath shuddered out of her. “I, uh . . . .” Color. He wanted to know the color. She dropped to her knees next to them, reached for Oscar and when Julius’ muscles tensed, she dropped her hands to her sides. “He’s got black and grey spots and stripes with a white undercoat. Exotic. His ears are too big for his head and he has blue eyes. His tail is longer than a housecat’s and his paws are bigger.”
Then show me your talent.
Mother bashed the kitten against the wall, letting the limp body fall to the floor. Save it.
“What’s his name?”
“O-Oscar.”
“You suck at naming things.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
Her lips parted. Was he teasing her? She reached out for the kitten. “I can take him . . . .”
His grip tightened.
She knelt and touched the soft fur. Reached out with her Magic to try to heal the kitten, but its spine was severed. She couldn’t heal anything that severe.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused in on the kitten’s heart, stopping it.
Oscar continued to purr. He must not be hurting Oscar. As if to put her concerns to rest, Oscar stretched out his back legs so he lay belly to belly with the big, scary stranger. He never did that for her!
A breath shook out of her. Julius wasn’t Mother. He wasn’t hurting Oscar.
“What else is roaming around this house?”
Even wounded, he was a handsome male. There was something about the cut of his jaw that fascinated her. “Nothing.”
“Liar. There’s a bunch of nothing in the room at the top of the stairs.”
Her patients. How did he know about them? Had he searched her whole house? “They’re caged, not roaming. A hawk, a litter of field mice, and a hen.”
“Sounds like dinner.” He leaned his head down. “Who’s a hungry kitty?”
“Don’t even think about it.”
His fingers shifted and he scruffed Oscar, lifting him so he dangled from his hand. “Now, why don’t you tell me who’s screwing with me?”
A cold sweat broke over her skin. The kitten continued to purr unaware of his peril.
“Don’t hurt him. I’ll tell you whatever you want, but it’d probably make you have another seizure.” She was considering giving him another one on purpose to force him to let Oscar go. The problem was, he might hurt the kitten when his muscles locked up. Or when he fell.
His shoulders slumped. “Christ, I must’ve been a real bastard, huh?” He tucked the kitten into the crook of his arm, the back of one finger stroking Oscar’s belly. “What the hell do you think I’m gonna do, eat it?” His lips pressed into a thin line and he turned his face away.
Had she hurt his feelings? “I . . . um . . . .”
“Explain to me how this works. I end up in your house maimed, with no idea how the hell I got here. I fall down the stairs, am told I’m a prisoner, get tortured via spell, have two seizures which you caused, and somehow I’m the bastard.”
Please help me not be so judgmental and suspicious.
“You’re right.” She drew in a deep breath and tried to relax. If he had his memory, he wouldn’t question why she feared the worst. He’d done the worst and more. No. Not him. The Watcher. This is never going to work if you can’t separate the two.
“It’s not your fault. I had a . . . bad experience once where someone hurt one of my pets. That’s all.”
“Oh.” His jaw flexed. “I shouldn’t have teased.”
Now what? “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”
“I don’t want to be here.”
Her mouth opened. Closed.
“Sorry. Thought we were telling each other the truth.”
Her lips quirked. “There’s nowhere else for you to go and that is the truth.”
She turned her gaze from her mate, to her messy house. It was full to bursting with books: medical, herbals, psychology, and anatomy texts, and glass animals: everything from tigers to spiders, octopi to eagles. She wasn’t a hoarder . . . not yet, but every time she was feeling lonely or sad, she bought something. A new book to absorb her attention—it was almost like talking to someone. A new figure to make her smile, something to fill the void.
Maybe this—being mated to Julius—wasn’t real. Maybe the idea of having a mate, having someone to love had been so enticing, she’d jumped the gun. Maybe he’d become part of her collection: Another cold ornament she could pretend was real.
“I’m sorry.” She cleared the lump from her throat and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I wanted to help you. I assumed you would want help.” Like Mother. She’d always been trying to change Mother but had never even come close. “Maybe I shouldn’t have interfered.”
“I don’t understand why you did.”
“There’s been times when I’ve not done what I could to help those around me and I’ve discovered that when you do the opposite of what you were meant to do in life, it hurts.”
“And you were meant to . . .?”
“Heal.” She’d been born to heal. “It’s easy to fix broken bones. To make tissue regrow. What’s hard sometimes is preventing those injuries from happening in the first place. For doing the right thing as opposed to what you’re told to do.”
His brows furrowed. “Who hurt your pet?”
“Mother.”
“Do you have any other family?” He removed the cub’s claws from his skin. “Brothers or sisters?”
She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her gesture. “No. Mother recently . . . passed away. I had no siblings.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t be.”
His hand froze mid-pat, his face snapping up.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I must sound horrible. I didn’t get along well with Mother. She could be difficult.” That was an understatement. Mother had been an abuser. A murderer. And at one time, Julius Crowley’s ally.
No. The Watcher that had possessed him had been Mother’s ally. There was a difference.
His hand resumed its motion on Oscar and the cub relaxed again. “I find it odd. You’re helping me, being kind to me when, best I can gather, I’ve hurt people. But when you speak of her—”
“You were framed.” She hated that her voice shook. “Mother relished inflicting pain on anyone who got in her way.”
“Did you get in her way?”
She stood and began tidying the room, a lump burning in her throat. She should’ve gotten in Mother’s way far more often than she had. “The house is a mess. There are too many things for you to stumble over. I need to clean up a bit and then we’d better head upstairs. I haven’t boarded these windows yet and the sun will be rising any time now.”
She couldn’t talk about Mother; it was too soon and she didn’t know him well enough, mate or not. This was too personal, too painful.
“You lied to me. Earlier you told me I had a few minutes until dawn. Now you’re talking like it hasn’t happened yet.”
Oscar jumped onto the bookshelf where she was returning books to their rightful place. She sensed more than heard his approach. Gaia, she couldn’t do this. She didn’t want to argue with him anymore. Didn’t want to talk about Mother. “You need to rest.” She used her firmest voice, turning to confront him. The last thing she needed was for him to say some mean, spiteful thing and send her into a cry fest. “You’re as grouchy as the first bear in spring.”
“You owe me for the lie, so answer me. Did you get in her way?” He stood too close, his hand rising with unerring accuracy to cup her chin. “Hm. I never believed that a blind
man’s other senses heightened to make up for the loss, but I believe it now. I swear I can sense the hurt pouring off you.”
Damn it, now he was kind? She covered her eyes with her hand, trying to hide or maybe stop the tears that fell. “Stop it.”
“Intriguing.” He pulled her into his arms. “A healer who needs healing.”
Maybe this was the stress she’d been under. Or maybe the fact that he could be so kind after being such a jerk, but the tears poured out of her and she accepted the truth of his words. Everything had moved so fast, she hadn’t allowed herself time to grieve.
He scooped her up and carried her back to the recliner. How he did so without stumbling she couldn’t say. She shouldn’t have let him. He needed to rest, but she cried too hard to scold him. He must think her a loon.
“I take it a lot’s happened recently.” He rested his chin on her hair. “Transformation, your mother’s death, you’re holed up here, wherever here is, with an accused murderer. You’re a busy woman.”
She choked on a half sob, half laugh. “I’ve always been an overachiever.” She grabbed a tissue from the end table and wiped her eyes and nose. “I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”
“I prefer this,” he spoke into her hair. “I hate this feeling of being at your mercy.” His whole body went rigid, as if he’d realized he’d said something he shouldn’t.
She studied his face, wishing she could see his eyes. For some reason, their color escaped her. Were they blue? Hazel? He was handsome, even with the bandage hiding part of his face. Even with the scars. He had strong, chiseled features, a straight nose, kissable lips. She liked his stubble-covered jaw. There was something about the stubborn set of it that made her want to lick him there. Bite him.
“What are you thinking?” She watched his mouth while he spoke. “Don’t go getting any ideas that—”
Before she could think better of the idea, she leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers.
His fingers flexed where he held her and she fit her mouth more fully to his. His lips were warm, firm. The scruff on his chin scratchy on her skin. Under her palms, his muscles eased. He parted his lips, allowing her to deepen the kiss.
And then she lost control of the situation.
The souls were good but Abaddon was evil. He grew jealous of the souls created in pairs. He hated the angels who were created in groups. All the goddess’ creations could see her but him. Abaddon was alone and he nursed his resentment into a hatred so black, it began to infect the other souls. He was destroying her creations.
The goddess banished Abaddon, The Destroyer, to the Abyss.
Chapter 6
It wasn’t enough.
Julius threaded his fingers through her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. He explored her mouth, stroking her tongue with his and, Jesus, she tasted good.
But it wasn’t enough.
He didn’t remember moving, but he must have. She was no longer on his lap in the chair, but rather on the floor beneath him right where he wanted her.
This wasn’t a good idea, but her heat reached him despite the layers of clothing between them and drove him nearly out of his mind. She was so damn soft, so responsive and he needed her. He needed to be buried deep inside her. Wanted nothing more than to crawl under her skin. He rotated his hips against her and shivers collected at the small of his back.
She moaned low in her throat.
The image in his head shifted. No longer did a beautiful redhead fill his mind’s eye, but rather a thin blond woman. She lay beneath him, her lifeless eyes staring in horror. Her throat splayed wide open in a horrible grin.
SUBMIT.
He reared back. “Jesus.”
Someone had cut her torso from sternum to pelvis, her insides displayed in a macabre smorgasbord. Some bit of gore lay next to her on the pristine white sheets.
“Mary Jane,” he whispered the name. “Mary Jane Kelly?”
His hands shook. He raised them to wipe his eyes, but stopped. His fingers were bloody. Fuck. He was holding her liver.
No. He wasn’t with her. Couldn’t even see. He lifted his hand closer. Sniffed.
Soap. Not blood and gore, only soap.
He looked back at Mary Jane. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
Mary Jane opened her eyes. She sat up and her insides shifted, sagging out. She reached for him with one hand, the other trying to hold her insides where they belonged.
OBEY.
Julius jerked back.
The gruesome scene blinked out and once again, he was blind.
Holy hell, had he done that? Was that a memory of his crime? If so, he needed to be ashed.
SUBMIT TO THE SUN. BURN YOUR SINS AWAY.
His own harsh breath echoed back to him in the silent room. He couldn’t hear Kat. Shit. Shit! What had he done? Had he—?
BURN. BURN. BURN.
With one palsied hand, he reached out to her. He touched her face, her neck, and she was whole. Her warm, steady hand slid into his.
BURN YOUR SINS AWAY. BURN AND BE FREE.
“What’s wrong?”
“I shouldn’t have.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t.” She had to get away from him because he didn’t want to . . . what if he—? He was insane.
OBEY ME. SUBMIT TO THE SUN.
That voice grew louder, stronger, more insistent.
OPEN THE BLINDS.
SUBMIT.
BURN.
He stood, and with her hand still in his, he helped her up.
Gaia, she was ten kinds of a fool.
Why would he want her? He was injured and here she was trying to seduce him. He was gorgeous and he had no clue what she looked like. Her cheeks flamed and she looked away, grateful he couldn’t see her.
A line of little dots of light appeared on the ceiling, the result of the first rays of morning sunlight streaming through the string holes on the closed blinds. Dawn had arrived. As the sun continued its assent, those dangerous little orbs of light would crawl down the wall.
She needed to get him upstairs where she’d boarded the windows. Where they’d be safe. Tonight, she’d board these windows so they could have full access to the house during the day.
Her gaze fell from the little spheres of sunlight to her mate. She opened her mouth to direct him upstairs, but hesitated.
Something had changed. It was subtle. A tension in his muscles. A deepening of the brackets around his mouth. A hardening of his presence. Whatever it was raised the hairs on her neck. He paced, shaking his head every few seconds.
“Are you thirsty?” A shiver snaked up her spine.
“No.” He prowled her small living room with the agitated grace of a caged lion, his fingers grasping, relaxing, clenching.
“Is anything wrong?”
Again, he shook his head. His mouth worked, forming words she couldn’t hear.
What was going on? Was he angry with her for her failed seduction? Was he angry at himself for almost letting her seduce him? Or was this another antic designed to make her kick him out?
The colors of his aura were all wrong. Deep angry black swirls twisted around his body.
“Submit.”
She jumped. “What?”
“Submit.” His jaw clenched tight. “Obey. Burn. Burn.” He turned and took two long strides to the window.
“No!” She ran to him.
He reached out, grabbed the cord for the blinds and pulled. Sunlight poured in. His skin turned red. Smoked. Blackened.
She tackled him, using a burst of Magic to snap the blinds closed. Struggled to keep him down, but he was too strong. He shoved her aside, leaping to his feet.
“Burn.”
“Watcher!”
He dropped to the ground, the memory curse overriding whatever voice he heard.
“Gaia help him.” The Watcher had killed him . . . it was only a matter of time.
Even through the seizure, his body tried to follow the commands. “Oh-oh-oh-oh-bey.”
His muscles were all locked tight as he seized, he couldn’t move, couldn’t follow the commands, but he tried to speak them. “B-b-b-urn b-b-urn.”
She sagged back against the wall. The good news was that he wasn’t psychotic. Vampires were notorious for their self-preservation mechanism and yet twice now, he tried to destroy himself. A felo-de-se hex could explain this self-destructive impetus.
The Watcher wanted him to suffer. That’s why he only had to bind Julius’ memories for a short time because he’d placed a suicide hex on him. Already he had survived two dawns, much more than the Watcher could have expected considering both the Guardian and the coven wanted Julius’ ash.
“B-b-b-burn.”
She covered her ears. Tears etched itchy trails down her cheeks. It seemed like forever before Julius began to quiet. From the way the sun shone through the blinds it must be full daylight. Finally, between exhaustion and his injuries, he passed out.
She levitated him upstairs with Magic and lay him in bed, pulling off the singed remnants of his shorts and assessed the damage. One side of his face around the existing bandage was charred black, as were his chest, belly, hip, and the front of one arm.
The burns were superficial; she could reverse the damage. She held her hands over him, closed her eyes, found her center, and healed him.
The spell was simple and should have been an easy process, but she grew tired within minutes and her hands ached. Pain crept up her arms. She did her best to stay focused. She ignored her discomfort with firm determination and kept at the healing until the last of the burns faded to healthy pink skin. The whole time, the pain continued to intensify until her arms throbbed from fingertips to shoulders.
She opened her eyes, glanced at her arms and gasped. Her veins showed under the skin in stark relief. They webbed under her flesh in a thick black network all the way to her shoulders. She released her Magic. The black turned to a more natural color and then her veins faded beneath her skin.
She’d seen this once before. One night, Mother had overreached—tried to perform a spell solo that required a full coven. As she exhausted her Magic, the blackness had crept under Mother’s flesh and spread until she’d given up on the spell. Like this, once she’d released the Magic, the blackness had faded.
The Knight: The Original's Trilogy - Book 3 Page 6