Locked in Silence: Grimm's Circle, Book 5

by Shiloh Walker

  His mouth twitched. Then he opened the laptop.

  In the back of her mind, she thought she heard a whisper, a voice…familiar…

  “…not right…so sorry, Vanya.”

  Scowling, she stuck a finger in her ear and wiggled it, watching as he started to tap on the keys. Then he held turned the laptop around so the screen faced her.

  I cannot speak. We’ll be together for a while. If you wish, I’ll teach you to sign so I can speak to you.

  Sign…

  Vanya blinked. Then, shaking her head at the irony, she lifted her hands and signed to him, slowly, haltingly. I understand some. My grandmother was deaf and we used it with her. But it’s been years since I used it.

  His brows, a few shades darker than his silvery-blond hair, arched over those lovely, pale blue eyes. Well, that will help.

  But then he started signing—far too fast for her to keep up with.

  “Slow down,” she begged, shaking her head. “I told you, it’s been years since I’ve had to use any sign.”

  He did, starting over.

  But she still had a hard time concentrating because, once more she heard a whisper in the back of her mind.

  “At least…some sense…nice…”

  Trying to block it out, she stared at his hands, trying to follow him, even as her brain was trying to follow something else.

  You’ll feel weak for a while still. You’ll have to eat a lot, rest a lot.

  Forcing a smile, she said, “It won’t be hard to rest. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

  You may well sleep most of the next week. You need to eat then you should go back to sleep.

  She nodded. “That sounds like a plan. But…um…what do I call you? What’s your name?”

  In the back of her mind, even before she saw his reply, she heard a voice murmur, “Silence. I am Silence.”

  She shivered.

  Chapter Four

  Then…

  He had been alone for so long.

  He’d forgotten how long.

  At first, Louis had come—in secret, of course. I am not doing this to be cruel, boy. But you have no place to go…I merely want to make sure you are safe.

  So you lock me away? he’d written to him once.

  Louis had looked away, but not before the boy saw his guilt. This is not how I would have wished it. But I asked for your help. You would not give it. Are you ready to help me now?

  No. He would not give the sort of help Louis wanted.

  So, he remained locked away, a hidden secret revealed only to Louis. Well, Françoise knew, but she never once returned to visit. And he did not fault her for that—he would not return there either, were he in her place.

  Save for Louis, no other ever saw him. He saw no other.

  So, it was something of a shock for him to wake one night and see a man in his room.

  A man who was not Louis.

  A man with silver eyes, a man who wore all white, a man who spoke of promises, angels, death and second chances.

  A man who disappeared…in the blink of an eye.

  Now…

  Dying was hard enough.

  Coming back to life was brutal.

  But none of that compared to the hell that Silence had in store for her.

  She didn’t know where they were—it was a big, empty, open warehouse, somewhere in the middle of downtown Ann Arbor, and every night for the past four nights, they’d been coming here.

  Coming here so Silence could calmly, collectedly pummel her into a broken, whimpering puddle of useless flesh.

  It was pathetic.

  She’d spent the past seven years of her life kicking ass, taking names…or so she thought.

  In the past four days, he’d shown her that she didn’t know shit about kicking ass.

  She was utterly humiliated.

  Well, no.

  Actually, she was utterly amazed.

  Because just watching him, even if it was from the view of flying through the air to land flat on her back, was sheer amazement.

  She hadn’t known people could move like that.

  Hadn’t known it was possible.

  Especially not somebody as big as he was. He should make noise, should move slow. No. Not Silence.

  She was also acutely aware of the fact that she was developing something that might have been called a crush on him…except it was a hell of a lot more than that.

  A huge hand thwacked her on the side of the head, and she swore, jerked away, glaring at him.

  “What the hell…?”

  He signed, You’re not paying attention.

  Vanya narrowed her eyes.

  “I damn well am paying attention,” she snapped. She was just paying attention to the wrong damn thing—like the fact that she really appreciated how he looked in those loose black pants he wore while he kicked her ass. Just the black pants too—he’d shucked the shirt awhile ago, and sweat gleamed on his pale, scarred flesh.

  The scars—where in the world had they all come from? He had them everywhere too, except his neck up. Some were longer than others, some were more hideous than others. And all of them were old. Just looking at them made her ache in sympathy for the pain he must have suffered. It made her furious, made her want to hurt somebody…or somebodies…as in everybody who had ever left a mark on him.

  She wanted to do nothing more than stare at him, but she suspected he’d clobber her if he knew her attention was wandering, so she backed away, forced her attention to focus.

  They were talking weapons today.

  Weapons, for crying out loud.

  The most she ever did with weapons was to carry a big knife.

  In front of her, spread out over the floor, there was a slew of weapons—mostly axes—Silence really seemed to like axes. But there were also some swords, nunchukas, several different styles of knives and staffs.

  She touched the staff at the end, stroking her finger down it.

  “Walk softly and carry a big stick,” she murmured.

  Silence reached down, closed a hand around it.

  He snapped his fingers and she glanced over. It wasn’t necessary for him to do a damn thing to get her attention, but she wasn’t about to tell him that—wasn’t about to tell him that she was making it a hobby to quietly watch him without him noticing.

  He held the staff in front of him, twisted it.

  Immediately the staff expanded, from roughly four feet to six, and now there were blades on either end.

  “Oh, now that’s cool,” she said, grinning.

  He twirled it, making the silver blades gleam in the air. Abruptly, he stopped and then twisted it again, causing the staff to retract on itself. The blades were gone just that easily. He signed to her. Like it?

  “It’s damn cool. That doesn’t mean I can use it.”

  Not now, no. The point is learning to use it—you need to find some weapons that appeal. Killing demons with your bare hands isn’t how you want to do it. Pick a weapon—master it.

  She eyed the staff then looked at the rest of the weapons.

  The swords, maybe. The axes were out of the question. She didn’t feel comfortable even thinking about them. Knives, sure. But the staff…she did like the staff. “If I had to pick one I’m interested in, I’d say the staff,” she said, nodding toward it.

  He laid it back down. I’ll get you one made, then. It will have to be designed for your height—that one was made for me. For now, we’ll practice with the knives. He smiled at her before bending down and grabbing a couple of knives. I saw that you already know your way around them.

  She grimaced.

  Something told her he wasn’t just going to have her going through a few motions.

  Silence took this training thing seriously…and since she healed stupid quick now…

  “This is going to involve me bleeding at some point, isn’t it?” she asked glumly.

  Do you plan on letting me get that close?

  “Plan on it? No. But some
how I don’t think I can stop you.” She sighed and took the blades he offered. Then, before he could make the first move, she lunged.

  At least she’d get a point in, she thought.

  His grin flashed at her as he blocked it.

  “Damn,” she muttered. “Almost.”

  She’d almost had him, Silence thought, as he backed away.

  She was a natural with a knife.

  He wasn’t surprised she’d gone for the bladed staff, either.

  Just as he wasn’t surprised she hadn’t liked any of his axes. They didn’t appeal to a lot of the Grimm. He liked the axe because it had been his first weapon, but not everybody could use one well.

  Vanya eyed him warily as she eased around, moving away from the table—and the rest of the weapons.

  Smart girl, he thought. Earlier, he’d let her disarm him and she’d had a brief moment of victory, but they’d been close enough to the table that he’d immediately rearmed himself—with a sword.

  She’d only held a knife.

  Then, they hadn’t drawn blood.

  He wasn’t going to go so easy on her this time.

  Going easy on a student was a sure way to see them in an early grave. She could still die. He wouldn’t let it happen.

  He’d watched it once.

  As much as it bothered him on a very deep level, he ignored it and set about doing what he’d been brought here to do—teach her.

  Her eyes went wide the first time he cut her.

  She got pissed the second time.

  By the third time, when blood was making it hard for her to grip the knife, he was about ready to call it off—he’d done enough, and he had to admit, he was impressed. She was quick.

  Very quick.

  Silver flashed—big brown eyes glinted.

  And he hissed out a breath as Vanya was suddenly pressed against him, her knife lodged against his belly, the tip barely penetrating.

  “I think this means I got the next point,” she said, smirking at him.

  There was blood on her face, just a smudge, from where she’d wiped the sweat from her eyes.

  He lifted a hand, without even realizing it, thinking to wipe that blood from her face. Thinking about…

  No. He couldn’t think about that.

  Closing his hand into a fist, he nodded.

  Taking a step back, he gestured to the weapons.

  She cocked a brow.

  “Damn, you’re letting me off easily,” she said.

  Yes.

  Because he needed some distance.

  Before he did something foolish…he’d almost kissed her.

  Silence hadn’t played slice and dice today, but damn it, she almost wished he had—if he’d pushed a little harder, she might have worked herself into unconsciousness.

  She hurt.

  Hell, if she were still human, she doubted she would have lived through what he’d done to her.

  A month.

  They’d been at this for a month and she still didn’t feel like she was making any progress.

  Damn it.

  He was worse than any drill sergeant on earth—she was certain of it.

  She swore in a language she barely even understood as she stumbled into the little hotel room, the hulking shadow close at her heels.

  She shivered as she thought she heard a quiet laugh in the back of her mind. Each day, it seemed, she heard him clearer. She wondered if she really did hear him…or if she was going nuts.

  Although part of her dreaded looking, she couldn’t stop herself, and when she peered at him over her shoulder, his eyes were bright with amusement and there was a wicked smile on his face.

  “What are you laughing at?” she snapped. She tried to pretend she wasn’t all but staggering over to the bed, but she doubted she’d fooled him. He knew damn well he’d worked her over. She felt like something that had been dead—completely dead—for a week.

  As she sat on the edge of the narrow double, she looked at him, but he shook his head. The amusement in his eyes hadn’t faded a bit.

  “What?”

  He lifted his hands, started to sign, and then abruptly stopped—shaking his head.

  And if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

  “What, damn it?”

  He rolled his eyes and then signed to her.

  You just called me a fucking whore.

  Vanya clamped a hand over her mouth, tried not to laugh. Okay—she knew her grasp of Russian was admittedly pretty damn shoddy. Ever since her father had died, there wasn’t really anybody to speak it with. He’d died when she was young. Too young. Both she and her sister had been raised to speak both languages, and in school, naturally, they’d spoken English. They’d preferred to use English with each other, for the most part. With Grandma, they’d used an odd mix of ASL, Russian and English, and a mix of Russian and English with their father.

  And he hadn’t ever taught them those words—they were just words she’d remembered hearing from him occasionally—usually in a fit of anger, along with other colorful phrases.

  “Well, that’s sad,” she drawled, finally lowering her hand. “You speak it better than I do.” Then she winced, blood rushing to her cheeks. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean it like that I’m so sorry.”

  He smiled. Why? I don’t speak. It would be pointless to get upset over a casual remark and pointless for you to have to walk on eggshells and watch every single word you say. He dumped the large leather duffel he’d been carrying onto the floor and sat on the bed across from her, eying her closely. You’re tired.

  “I’m fine.”

  You’re tired. Too tired. I’ve told you, it will take you a few months to completely adjust, and I’m pushing you hard with your training. You are allowed to be tired. He pointed to the phone and the neat stack of take-out menus he’d collected from somewhere. Pick out somewhere to order food from.

  Vanya’s belly chose that exact moment to growl, even though the last thing she needed to be doing was ordering takeout. Her money was running pretty damn slim, and somehow it didn’t seem right that she keep stealing the way she’d always done. Granted, she’d taken money from those who wouldn’t need it—namely the demons she’d killed—but still. She was supposed to be an angel now—a guardian angel. Angels shouldn’t steal. “Ah, maybe I could run to the store and pick up some stuff for us to keep around here…”

  Silence lifted a brow. Like you did last week? He opened his mouth and mimed gagging himself. If I never see Ramen noodles again, it will be too soon. No, you need to eat—real food, Vanya.

  “Look, I don’t have much money…”

  Silence lifted a brow. I’ll pay for it. After all, it’s only fair. I’m sharing the room. I’ll handle the meals.

  She should argue more…

  But she was pretty damn tired of Ramen noodles, peanut butter and all that crap herself.

  Still, feigning reluctance, she reached for the menus.

  Well, one nice thing—there wasn’t a shortage of decent places to eat in Ann Arbor. Nice thing about college towns. It meant there were plenty of places that offered takeout. She settled on Italian, figured her body could use the carbs. Silence had told her she’d be very hungry for the first few months, her body replenishing the reserves she’d depleted while she went through the change.

  While she was studying the menu, she was vaguely aware of Silence rising from the bed, vaguely aware of him moving around the room—although he didn’t make a sound.

  He was so damn quiet—Silence was an appropriate name for him, all right.

  Wavering between the fettuccini alfredo and the lasagna, fighting the heavy weight of her tired body, she sighed. That voice—the one that had her convinced she was going out of her mind—was there in the back of her head again, murmuring, muttering…

  “I push her too hard. She looks too tired. I should let her rest more.”

  “I’m fine,” she said absently.

  Then she stiffened and l
ifted her head, all too aware of his sudden, intent interest. Swallowing, she met his pale blue gaze.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Blood rushed to her cheeks.

  “Um…nothing.” She looked back at the menu in her hands, tried to ignore the voice.

  It was harder, though—because now his voice was louder.

  More focused.

  And now, he was calling her by name.

  “Do you hear me, Vanya?”

  Pointedly, she ignored it. Lasagna, she thought. She really thought she could use some lasagna. It had been a while since she’d had a good dish of lasagna. And after all, he was buying, right? Bread too. Salad. Yeah. That sounded good.

  “Vanya, look at me.”

  She started to whistle as she reached over and grabbed a pen and a notepad from the bedside table.

  “You’ll have to figure out what you want and then I’ll call it in,” she said, forcing more cheer than she actually felt into her voice.

  “Just order me what you’re getting.”

  “Okay, two—”

  Fuck.

  Her hand tightened on the pen, and then she carefully laid it down before she looked over at him.

  He was eyeing her closely, a narrow, appraising look on his face.

  “You hear me,” he said pointedly.

  “Ah…well, not all the time,” she hedged. Licking her lips, she looked at the menus and then laid them back down, sighing. “I just…hell, I thought I was going crazy or suffering some weird, post-death, come-back-to-life thing.”

  That deep, rumbling laughter whispered through her mind, and a wide grin split his face.

  “Exactly how often do you hear me?”

  “Shit,” she muttered, shifting around on the bed. Sighing, she tucked her hair back behind an ear. From the corner of her eye, she saw the menus. Seizing on that distraction, she shoved one toward him. “Aren’t we going to eat? I’m hungry.”

  He lifted a brow.

  It was amazing how many things he could say with simply a look.

  Still, she didn’t look away, didn’t lower the menu.

  He signed, I already said, whatever you’re having. Order. Then we talk.

  Naturally, it only took two minutes to place the order—nowhere near enough time for her to get her thoughts straight.