Reckless

by Selene Charles

  Cain palmed Flint’s lower back, guiding her back up the trailer steps. “If she said it’s fine, Rhi, then its fine.”

  The kanlungan followed, close on their heels.

  Safely inside, Cain locked the door. Not that it could hold any of the creatures that lived with them out, but it was a subtle cue to anyone even considering interrupting them to stay away.

  Flint sat cross-legged on the bed, Rhiannon took the chair Cain had vacated earlier at the kitchen table, and he crossed his arms, leaning against the door.

  “Flint?” he asked without preamble.

  Biting down on her thumbnail, she nodded. “So yeah, I had a dream. But really, I kind of think I might need to roll this back a little and say I’ve been having lots of dreams lately.”

  Rhiannon frowned. “What kind of dreams?”

  Tucking a long thread of red hair behind her small ear, Flint shrugged. “Like the kind that aren’t actually dreams at all.”

  Her voice had slipped, wavered almost a little, and he recognized that she was nervous. “Princess, I don’t understand.”

  She closed her eyes. It struck him then just how pale her skin now was, the blue of her veins standing out in bold relief.

  “You remember the sword I told you about the other day?” she asked, finally glancing at him.

  Rhiannon’s brows dipped deeply.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “You said it was gone. What is this about exactly? Have you been dreaming about the sword?”

  “I’ve been dreaming about a lot of things. The sword. Fairy. And... a guy.”

  “A guy?” Rhiannon glanced quickly at him.

  But Cain was far from getting jealous over a dream man. He simply nodded for her to continue.

  Picking at a loose thread in the hem of his shirt, Flint took a deep breath. “The night of the dance, I was tossed from my body.”

  He frowned, wanting to ask her what exactly she was talking about but knowing that if he continued to interrupt her she’d lose her nerve. He’d sensed for days that she was keeping something from him, and he suspected he’d learn soon enough what it was if he was patient.

  “How were you tossed from your body?” Rhiannon interjected.

  “Like I was spirit. I don’t know.” The collar of his shirt slid down her left shoulder when she shrugged.

  “Like an out-of-body experience?” he asked.

  “I guess.” She turned bright eyes on him. “I mean, Grace tells me I don’t have a soul, so I don’t know exactly what it is I’m doing, but yes, I saw Layla leaning over me. Saw her bite me. But I also felt it too, in my spirit.” She rubbed her chest. “And I know how crazy that makes me sound.”

  Quickly, he shoved off the door and walked to her side, knelt so that his eyes were level with hers, and grabbed her hands, bringing them to his lips for a quick kiss. “You’re not crazy. None of this is crazy, Flint.”

  Her smile was little more than a twitch, but she visibly relaxed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

  She shook her head. “Because I’ve seen how stressed you’ve been about finding Abel, and I didn’t want to add my psychosis to your plate of things to deal with.”

  “When did the sword come into play?” Rhiannon asked from over his shoulder.

  Twisting, Cain took a seat beside Flint, still hanging on to her hand and gently rubbing the pad of her thumb with his. It felt good to touch her, to feel her.

  “A couple of days later”—she sighed—“the night I got home from the hospital. I had a dream about this red-haired fae that day. Next morning, I woke up with a glowing blue sword lying beside me. But it disappeared just a few hours later.”

  He nodded. “And now it’s come back?”

  Cain glanced around her sparsely decorated room, searching for the sword but not finding one. They’d moved a few items from her old apartment to here, but she’d not had enough time to make the trailer her own. The place was as cold and generic as a typical roadside motel.

  “Only once more, the other night.” She glanced down at her feet when she said it.

  Tipping her jaw up so that her eyes would be forced to meet his, he cocked his head. She’d kept that from him.

  He didn’t like that.

  “Does Grace know?” he asked instead.

  “No.” She gently lifted her chin out of his hand. “She doesn’t know any of this.”

  “Flint, you’ve been keeping this all to yourself? Why? We’re your friends—”

  “Rhi, do you really need to ask me that?” She screwed her face up. “Life is screwed up right now. Abel’s gone. They’ve got me training to try to figure out just what in the world kind of freak I am.” She clawed at her tattooed arm. “The last thing anyone needs is more of my burdens!”

  Cain snatched her hand back. “Don’t.”

  “Cain, I—”

  “No.” He kissed the knuckles of the hand he still had trapped in his. “You’re not a freak. And you’re not alone, Flint.”

  It speared his gut to see her eyes tearing up.

  “You’re right, life is hell right now. Things suck. But even if the world is burning down at my feet, you can’t keep these things to yourself. We’re in this together. All of us. And the only way we’re going to get my brother back”—he turned to glance at Rhiannon too—“is to stay together.”

  Rhiannon nodded. “You’re right. Now tell us the rest, Flint. Who is this strange man, and what’s the deal with your sword?”

  “I think I might actually be calling the sword to me in my spirit dreams.”

  “So where is it now? And what significance does it have to you?” he asked slowly.

  “I don’t know why it’s important to me. Only that in my dreams I see the ginger holding the same sword. But I’ve never seen him use it. And it’s not here now because apparently my subconscious is fried and somehow I’m calling it and then making it disappear, without my even being aware of it.”

  “Do you think that’s your power then?” Rhi asked the question Cain had just considered as a real possibility.

  “Yeah. Probably. Maybe.” She nodded. “Grandma told me that my grandfather is a hunter. So it probably is connected.”

  “So you’ve got superstrength and an enchanted sword. Wicked.” Rhiannon grinned, the first real smile she’d had all night.

  Flint’s own grin was crooked. “I’m thinking the two must be connected, and if that’s the case, then maybe I can try to train with a sword tomorrow.”

  “Grace gave me a book the other day; it doesn’t have much in there.” Cain spoke up, realizing he’d been less than honest with her lately too. “It’s enchanted.”

  Flint frowned. “And by enchanted that means?”

  “That pages only show up at random. Mostly what’s being revealed is a history of the Great War that almost eradicated your kind. But I could take another peek in there and see if there’s any mention of a sword.”

  “I wanna see that book, Cain,” she said.

  He’d bring it to her in the morning.

  Rhiannon snapped her fingers. “Oh, if this thing is a fairy blade, then I’d stake my life on the fact that your sword is like super ’roided or something.”

  They laughed, and something tight and hard in Cain’s chest loosened just a little.

  “Whatever.” Flint rolled her eyes. “’Roided or not, I’m pretty sure my skill set involves a sword somehow. Tomorrow I plan to tell Grace about it, see if maybe my hunch is correct. My gut tells me that if I’m right—”

  “Our little Flintlock might just be one bad-A ninja fighter.” Rhiannon winked.

  “You’re so ridiculous.” She stuck out her tongue.

  “And the guy, who is he?” Cain asked, trying to get them back on track.

  “I don’t know who that guy is, but he’s not the only one I’ve visited lately. There’s another guy, a fae I think, and his name’s Graham.”

  “Have you gotten a chance to talk with him?” he asked.

&nbs
p; “No.” She blinked rapidly. “I only know his name because a spirit fae told it to me. I’m starting to think that a lot of the dreams I’m having are actually teaching me about who I am. And somehow Graham’s a part of all this, because he’s just like me.”

  “Explain?” Cain grunted, still hanging tight to her hand, now rubbing the delicate webbing between her fingers.

  She inhaled deeply. “I’m not even really sure what’s what right now. All I know is Graham’s a fae. For the past few nights I’ve been visiting him. Not consciously though, like I’ll close my eyes and then I’m just there.”

  She looked at her fingers. The gesture was unconscious in nature and one Cain immediately picked up on.

  Noticing he’d looked at her hand, she said, “In that dream world I can move through walls, trees, stone, it doesn’t matter. But when I tried to walk through his bars, they burned my fingers. In the dream and for real.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “You say he’s a fae. Most legends say the fae can only be held down by iron.”

  “Makes sense. I don’t know what the metal was made out of, but immediately something inside me screamed to back up. Like intrinsically I knew it was bad for me to keep trying.” Her lips tugged down.

  Cain clenched his jaw, not really liking where his thoughts were leading him.

  “So you want to find Graham?” he asked, not at all wanting to put more pressure on her. Cain would do anything to help her, but Abel came first.

  She shook her head. “Not really. I mean, yes, I guess,” she spluttered. “Truth is, I think Graham found me.”

  His skin crawled and he didn’t mean to tighten his hold on her, but he did. There was so much happening right now, issues that took precedence over the fact that Flint was an unbonded compass. She could leave him if she wanted to. If she met Graham, she could realize that it was the fae and not him that she really wanted.

  As if sensing his inner turmoil, she smoothed the lines across his brows. “Cain, it’s not like that. I think Graham is being kept prisoner in the same place that Abel is.”

  Rhiannon snapped to attention at that, practically jumping to her feet. “How do you know that? Did you see him?”

  Cain’s heart was glued to his throat.

  “No. But this was why I came out to you tonight to tell you about my dream. The dream I just had, with the spirit fae, he told me.”

  “He might be lying,” Cain muttered, terrified to hope or believe that it could be true.

  She nibbled on her plump red lip, worrying it between her straight teeth, and Cain couldn’t help but rub his thumb across the corner of her mouth. It terrified him how much she’d come to mean to him in such a short amount of time. He couldn’t lose Flint.

  She sighed. “He wouldn’t have a reason to. In fact, he didn’t even seem to care that one of his own was there.”

  The way she said it, Cain knew there was more. She was worried, but she patted his hand. A silent request that he not ask her anything about it right now.

  “Where is he, Flint?” Rhi leaned in, blue eyes intent.

  She shook her head. “I wish I could say I know. I don’t.”

  “If you dream, could you ask Graham?” Cain asked, hating the thought of asking a stranger for help, but this was the closest they’d ever gotten to Abel’s whereabouts, and his pride would take a backseat to anything right now.

  “I don’t know. Every time I try to talk to him he stays silent. I think he hears me, but I’m just not sure.”

  “Try again,” Rhiannon commanded.

  “Rhi,” Cain snapped.

  “No, it’s okay.” Flint held her hands up. “Look, I’m trying to do whatever at this point to help out however I can.”

  It was hard to know that they were so close and still so far. But Cain leaned his head on her shoulder and inhaled a deep breath of her, letting her fill his lungs, body, and soul.

  Flint curled her fingers through his hair, and it felt so good. Sleep had eluded him for days; one touch from her was like a balm to his savage mind.

  “Guys, I wasn’t sure whether I should tell you this next part or not, but when I was with that spirit...” She licked her lips. “He did something weird. I think he’s showing me things, training me somehow.”

  “What did he do?” Cain narrowed his eyes.

  “I was standing next to this robed figure on the hill, and when we turned, I saw this strange vision, like a memory or something, not real time, but it happened at some point. There was lightning snapping around a man that I could only guess had to be my grandfather, and he was looking at this”—she curled her nose—“thing with dozens of eyes all over its body—”

  “Ugh.” Rhiannon planted a hand across her abdomen. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Yeah, it was. But...” She wet her lips, and her eyes grew distant as she seemed to be recalling the dream. “It was something he did. He leaned over, and his eyes, I dunno, they turned like quicksilver or something. Really weird-looking, and he said some words that I can’t even... I can’t even remember what he said. But the language was so weird. And that creature in front of him started to scream, like ripping at itself with its big, black claws, and then I just woke up.”

  Glancing between the two of them, she gave them a lopsided grin. “I don’t suppose either one of you knows what that means?”

  Rhi shook her head. “You’re the first fae I’ve ever met in my life, Flint. I’d say this is definitely Grace’s domain.”

  As much as Cain wished he could say otherwise, he regretfully shrugged. “I don’t know what that could be. I have to agree with Rhi on this one. Talk to your grandmother.”

  Flint nodded but didn’t look at either of them. “I was sort of thinking that maybe I could go over to where the drone was being—”

  “No.” He glowered. “No way.”

  Cain didn’t even need to hear her finish the sentence to know what she was getting at.

  Hissing, she glanced up at him. And for a second the face he loved more than anything else in the entire world looked so foreign and different to him that Cain got it. Understood she wasn’t human anymore. She didn’t need him to baby and coddle her. But she also wasn’t trained. There was so much Flint still didn’t know about herself, and that made things just as dangerous.

  There was no breeze in the air, and yet her hair undulated across her shoulders like the sinuous movements of agitated snakes.

  “You don’t get to decide these things for me, Cain. I want to find Abel as much as anybody else.” She flicked a glance at Rhiannon.

  Angry, scared for her, Cain felt all these things and it killed him. Because he wanted her to be independent, wanted her to feel a sense of worth, he wanted to treat her like he treated Janet or Rhiannon, but she wasn’t either of them. Because he didn’t care for anybody else in the world the way he cared for Flint.

  Outwardly she looked changed, but was she powerful enough to come up against a drone who had no heart, no morals, and win? He wasn’t ever going to be comfortable testing that theory out. And yet she wasn’t his child either.

  His voice was a scratchy burr as he said, “Flint, I—”

  “What if we just let her look at it through a window?” Rhiannon asked softly, interrupting him. “Maybe see if that would help activate her powers?”

  Sighing, realizing he’d lost this battle with them, now two against one. “Fine.”

  Rhiannon immediately jumped to her feet.

  “No. Not tonight.” Cain shook his head.

  “But—” Flint frowned at him.

  “Humor me. Please.” He looked at them both. “Most of us are still out trying to round up any strays. I’d rather not take any chances of anything going wrong.”

  “Cain,” Rhiannon snapped. “She has you and me and—”

  If there was one moment he was willing to push back, it was now. He loved his brother, and he was going to get him back one way or another, but he wasn’t willing ever take unnecessary risks where Flint was con
cerned.

  “No, he’s right.” Flint sighed. “I’m excited, but the truth is, I’m tired and I still don’t feel well.”

  His heart tumbled furiously in his chest with gratitude.

  Rhiannon looked on the verge of tears, and though he suspected she wasn’t altogether pleased by their words, she didn’t fight it.

  “Goodnight then. I’ve gotten crap sleep the past few nights—better do something useful with my time.” Rhi slipped off her bracelet, faded to mist, and fled.

  “She hates me now,” Flint said softly.

  Stroking her cheek with his thumb until she turned toward him, he shook his head. “She doesn’t hate you. She’s desperate. I can’t say that I don’t understand that feeling well.”

  Her lips pursed.

  He knew she wanted to say something; he could practically hear her thoughts screaming at him. “What?”

  “Do you hate my dad?”

  To be honest, Frank wasn’t his favorite person in the world right now. But he didn’t hate him. “No, princess. I don’t.”

  “Do you hate me?” Her voice was reed thin.

  “Why would you ever think I hate you?” he asked, genuinely confused. “Flint, I love you. You mean everything to me.”

  Her bottom lip quivered. “Even with me looking like this? My dad can hardly stand to look at me now, Cain, I look so diff—”

  Clutching her fingers tightly enough that he cut off her words, he shook his head. “Beautiful. You look beautiful. And there are so many things I wish I could say to you right now.”

  Her lips parted. “Things like what?”

  Suddenly Cain grew very aware of the fact that they were alone in her trailer. That she wore only his shirt as covering, and that they sat on top of her bed. Her hair was rumpled, and so were the sheets.

  He groaned, heat and need pulsing through his blood like a raging fire.

  He framed her satin-soft cheeks with his callused palms, the room growing fraught with tension. Her chest rose and fell heavily.

  Bonding, taking that final pledge, pounded through his body like steel-hammer blows. They were young, but he knew he’d never feel like this about anyone else.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Flint,” he said in a voice grown thick and deep as the rager in him came to life, but not with fury. “And when I’m done, you’re going to tell me to leave your bed.”