by Nya Rayne
No, that couldn’t be it, because none of this made sense. Still, as Stormy settled down on the edge of the tub and started drying her hair with one of the two towels she’d taken off the towel rack, she found herself blinking back tears.
After scrubbing her body from head to toe, shedding the dirt and grime she’d accumulated on her escape from the cave and through the forest, she’d stood before the floor length mirror and inspected every inch of her body for the ankh symbol. While she was doing it, she told herself it was so she could prove both Fury and Tempest wrong and get back to her life.
Stormy wasn’t quite sure why she had bothered.
Using the hand mirror to reflect back into the larger mirror all the areas on her body she couldn’t see straight on, she was able to check behind her ears, her back, buttcheeks, the backs of her thighs, shoulders, arms, and the back of her neck. It was as she had told Tempest; the marks on her body had not changed since she was a teenager.
Stormy should have been happy, perhaps ecstatic, but she wasn’t. Did she want, deep down, to be a part of this three-ring circus? Was some part of her subconsciously hoping there was truth in what Fury and Tempest told her, even as she tried to deny them?
She sighed, brought her wet mane over her shoulder, and tried to scrub it dry with the towel. She closed her eyes, envisioned Fury standing before her, and asked, Where are you? He had said if they were chosen mates, she would be able to talk to him like this and she had, but what did it really mean, if she didn’t have that stupid symbol anywhere on her body? “Maybe it means I’m as crazy as they are, no more, no less.”
I’m right here. She hadn’t expected him to answer her, but couldn’t deny that the sound of his voice made her heart skip not one, but two beats.
She jumped to her feet. Are you all right? He was quiet, but Stormy could feel him in her mind, as quiet as a blood-sated Loxahatchee mosquito. Fury, are you hurt? Answer me. She hated the desperation in her mind, but it was too late to do anything about it.
I’m fine, love. His soft chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. You sound like you miss me.
Stormy stared at her reflection in the mirror above the marble sink. Did I? Well, don’t jump for joy. I only wanted to make sure you hadn’t gotten yourself killed yet. Because I have every intention of killing you myself for kidnapping me, insulting me, telling our business to your family, and then dropping me the way you did.
What was this that she felt for him? She didn’t want to need him, because it was only a matter of time before she would need to leave him. She didn’t want to want him, and based on what Tempest had said, she now knew for a fact Fury believing her to be his chosen mate was a mistake.
If she accepted the things she was feeling and plunged in to a relationship with him head first, what would become of her when he realized his mistake?
You’re sad. Why?
She smiled forlornly at her reflection and allowed herself a moment to revel in his attentiveness. How long had it been since anyone cared enough to ask her why she was sad? How long had it been since anyone, anywhere, had paid her more than a passing glance? And here she was with this handsome, extraordinary man who was promising her everything she’d ever wished for. And just when she was willing to entertain the idea, she had to discover irrefutable proof that she no more belonged with him than she did with a family of wildebeests.
Ambrosia, don’t make me read your mind. We both know how much you despise that.
Picking up the brush she’d found beneath the sink earlier, she lied. I’m not sad, I’m just tired.
You’re not getting any better at this lying thing, are you?
She laughed ruefully. Maybe not, but I should at least get a couple of points for not being a quitter.
“Maybe, but lying is a bad habit you humans have that you should be punished for.”
Stormy spun around, a gasp slipping from her lips. Fury was standing with his right shoulder pressed against the closed door, his arms crossed over his chest and his head turned only slightly to her. He looked disheveled and exhausted. His shoulder length hair was unbound and his untucked shirt spotted with dirt and a brown substance that Stormy could only describe as dried blood.
She took a step in his direction, her hand out for him to take. “How did you get in here?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, I think it does matter.”
He gazed at her in silence for an eternity and she shook her head at his evasiveness while closing the distance between them. “Are you all right?”
Fury closed his eyes as if he were trying to come up with an answer she would be happy with. When they didn’t reopen, she reached up and palmed both sides of his cheeks. “Are you all right? Talk to me.”
He leaned into her touch. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to start thinking you care about my well-being.”
She didn’t step back, but she paused as his eyes slowly opened to hers, revealing dreamy but tired grays. Her soul warmed and her heart fluttered. How? When did he do it? How did he worm his way into my heart in such a short amount of time? Every time she ran from him, she didn’t do it to escape to safety. She did it because running was all she had ever known.
Stormy had been ten the first time she felt the urge to run, and seventeen the first time she had actually done it. It wasn’t as simple as a licensed psychologist would’ve liked to make it, however. Her need came in the form of unshakable dread, like Death’s scythe hanging over the shoulder of a death row inmate. Each time she could see herself dying.
No, it was stronger than that.
She saw herself being murdered, her blood spilling from wounds to her neck, her wrists, her Achilles tendons and her side. She could feel it, her body being torn apart by razors so sharp, she sometimes imagined they were ragged teeth. Never, not once, had she seen what did it, but she could feel its hot breath on the base of her neck, and its long cold fingers reaching for her from the shadows with such desperation. She was certain to allow herself to get caught—even in a dream—would be the beginning of the end for her.
“I’ll take your silence as confirmation that you do indeed care about me.”
Stormy shivered against the memory and turned her attention back to Fury. He was still leaning against the door, his eyes closed and his head resting on the door.
What would it have been like to be with this man every day for the rest of my life? To belong with and to someone as unnatural, yet wholly natural to me as him? She shook off her private thoughts. “I don’t care about you. I simply don’t want you dying on me until I’m ready for you to do so.” She slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him away from the door. “Come sit down so I can clean that blood off of you.”
“You have to stop that.” He allowed her to guide him to the toilet where he sat down with a thud that shook the ceramic tank.
Grabbing the washcloth she had used to bathe with, Stormy ran some lukewarm water on it, lathered it with soap, and then set it down on the counter before turning her attention to the dirty shirt he was wearing. “Stop what?” Only then did she notice the rips in his right side and the reddish brown trail of blood oozing down onto his thigh. “Fury, what happened to you?”
“Lying,” he said, his voice sounding like he was a man awaking from a hard sleep. “You try to lie to me entirely too much and it’s unnecessary.”
“It’s very necessary.” She grabbed his head and turned it from right to left looking for the cause of the blood. When she found it, she yelped. “Oh, God!”
“Are you in love with that man or something? One minute you’re calling me Jesus, then Christ, and now God? I’ll have you know, they are one in the same, but he has always preferred Jesus.”
She ignored his stab at humor as she gaped at the hole in the left side of his neck. The wound was ragged, the skin around it reddened, swollen and twitching like it had a life of its own. “What…Your neck! Christ, who did this to you? How are you still alive?” She grabbed the washcl
oth and laid it over the gash before she started gently cleaning around it.
“There you go again. Should I change my name?”
Fury didn’t flinch or let on if he felt the slightest amount of pain. He sat with his head tilted to the side, allowing her to tend to him. She moved back to the sink, washed the cloth out, and went back to nursing his wound. “Who did this?” she asked again.
“An old friend.”
“With friends like that, who needs enemies?” It was as clichéd as it came, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. What kind of friend would use another friend for a teething ring? As a matter of fact, what kind of fool would call someone a friend who could do such a thing to them? “We need to get you to a hospital. You might need a tetanus shot, and you definitely need to have this wound packed and stitched.”
He grabbed her hands gently but possessively. “It will heal. I simply need to hibernate.”
Stormy stared down at him and noticed for the first time how drawn and ashen his face looked. She tried not to let the horror she felt show on her face, but could tell by the way his brows drew together and his facial muscles tensed, it was too late. “Are you going to tell me you’re part bear now?”
“No, I’m part canine,” he drawled matter-of-factly. “It will heal. All I need to do is rest.”
She didn’t have the mental fortitude at the moment to touch his canine comment so she ignored it. “Rest won’t cure a wound like this. You need medical attention.” She pulled away from him and turned, heading for the door. “I’ll get Tempest.” She didn’t see or hear him move, but when she looked up, he was standing before her, his gray eyes flat. “Fury?”
He pulled her into his arms without a word and kissed her solidly. Her head spun, her stomach flipped, and the moment the night air rushed over her, she knew what he was doing.
He was transporting them in the way she was getting too familiar with.
Chapter Seventeen
Stormy counted to fifteen, and when her head stopped spinning, she opened her eyes to find herself back in the foyer of Fury’s home, still wrapped in the towel from Tempest’s house.
Okay, there isn’t a chance in hell that I’ll ever get used to that, she mused.
Fury released her sluggishly, his eyes locked on her. “Do you know how absolutely breathtaking you are?” He brushed his knuckles down the side of her face and spared an extra moment to trail his thumb across her lower lip. “I’ll admit I never gave much thought to finding my chosen, but had I, I would have thought only of you,” he told her as he leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth. “I want you to know that I am thankful for you and for what you have given to me.” His eyes lingered on her before he turned and shuffled down the hallway. “I need to hibernate.”
Stormy shook her head and ran up to him just as his hunk of a body swayed. Slipping her arm around his waist, she helped him to the bedroom. “What do you mean by ‘hibernate’? Don’t you mean rest?”
“No, I don’t. When I hibernate, my sleep is deep.”
“Don’t you normally do that?”
“No,” he answered.
Wow, so being hurt makes him more forthcoming. If I had known this, I would’ve taken a bite out of him myself. She immediately felt ashamed for thinking in such a manner when he was so gravely wounded.
“I rest my body, but my mind and my senses are on the alert to what’s going on around me.” He yawned wide, his weight settling on her like a boulder. “Anubi rest for no more than an hour at a time. When we hibernate, we sleep for hours, depending on the wound. Sometimes it could be days.” He sighed heavily, his head dropping forward. “I’ve lost so much blood, it’s probably going to take at least half a day or so.” His chuckle was low and dry. “So, I guess you have a half of a day’s head start.”
“Only a half of a day, huh? Well, I should get going.” She had enough time to pull his shirt up over his head before he collapsed backwards onto the pillow, his eyes closed. Stormy settled down at the foot of the bed beside him, her eyes coming to rest on the open wound in the side of his neck and then tracking down over the numerous bruises and abrasions layering his skin. “Fury, what happened? Who did this to you?”
His breathing was heavy and the rise and fall of his chest lethargic. “I trusted him,” he said without preamble, his tone hoarse. “My best friend. He was closer to me than blood—than flesh, Ambrosia.”
There was so much pain in his voice that it clawed at Stormy, forcing her to move away from the bed even as an invisible string tugged at her heart. “Who?”
“For three millennia it was he and I against them, and in a matter of minutes it was gone. H-He…” He trailed off momentarily. “Every moment of brotherhood, all the promises we’d made to stick together until we both were given our mates, meant nothing. For lucr—money, Ambrosia. He betrayed me for money. He did to me what she did to my lord, my father.”
“Fury?”
His story began in her mind without warning…
There was something about Amorgos, Greece in the spring that Fury couldn’t deny, that he loved. He had lived all across Europe—the world, even. But there was no place like Amorgos right now. Perhaps it was the sweet smell that wafted to him on a warm breeze. Or maybe it was how vivacious the white buildings looked in comparison to the vibrant greens of the grass and yellows, pinks, and purples of the flowers. And still, it could have been the smell of the ocean as it lapped against the beaches surrounding the small island.
Fury dropped the last body to the ground near a broken, time-weathered tombstone. His part was done. Terroar would handle the cleanup this go round, making sure that no evidence was left behind for humans to find.
With midnight fast approaching, a trillion stars winked down at him from the heavens as he crossed the ancient graveyard and passed through the tarnished wrought iron gates that were supposed to keep grave-robbers and drunkards out.
Nine, he gave the count via their mental link and waited patiently for his longtime partner, friend, and pack member to respond.
You’re getting old, Furiosus. It took you nearly six minutes. It seems even you can’t break your own record. Terroar chuckled.
Go to hell on Anubis’s coattail, you bastard. We’ll see how you do when it’s your turn.
I’m certain it’ll be better than yours. You waste too much time chatting. Are you hoping that one day, one of them will talk back to you? Perhaps the two of you will talk about old times?
The last part of his statement had to be rhetorical, so Fury ignored it. Follow your own advice and then I’ll consider listening to the counsel you dole out so freely.
Touché, but even a hungry lion enjoys playing with his prey from time to time. Terroar chuckled again.
So you understand then. A stab of pain that wasn’t his struck like lightning through Fury’s head. He broke into a run. What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re getting careless in your old age, friend. Did one of them sneak up on you?
There was a grunt from the other end of the link and an unclear word or two as another stab of pain shot through his head. Fury locked onto the link as he leapt from the street to the roof of a four-story building and raced across it. He jumped from one building to the other, scaled up the side of a small mountain, and raced across the peak to get back to the seventeenth century steeple he and Terroar had been holed up in for the past three days while surveying their targets—a group of unruly Yazaron.
Without warning, the link vanished just as Fury crossed the last leg of his track and landed on his haunches within the small steeple, prepared to do battle. Terroar was nowhere to be found. And if it wasn’t for the metallic scent of Terroar’s blood, Fury would’ve sworn Terroar had never been there either.
Fury scented the air and crossed to the hatch that led down into the church. He stopped as a piece of wood creaked underfoot. He glanced down and spotted a torn piece of cloth. Eyes narrowed, he picked up the material. It was soft between his thumb and forefinger and
had a gentle honey fragrance to it. A woman?
He didn’t see or even really feel the blow to the back of his skull, but darkness, with its thick arms and well-endowed bosom, came calling before he could register what had happened…
“How do you know it was him?” Stormy asked. “Couldn’t it have been someone else? The woman?”
“It was him,” he spoke adamantly, “Because when I was being dragged away, the bastard waved goodbye to me and even winked as he was receiving his payment. The woman—she was chanting the spell he gave her to bind me from escape.” Fury coughed and tried to clear his throat as he continued, “I will never…forgive him. Not as long as the sun still rises in the east and sets in the west. Never.”
“Fury, I’m so sorry.” She wanted to say more, to somehow make the whole sordid thing right for him, but she couldn’t come up with one thing to say or do.
He was quiet for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke again. “Wherever you are, I’ll come for you.” His declaration was a promise, not a threat, which took them back to their previous conversation as if he hadn’t just allowed her a glimpse into his heart.
Stormy crossed to his armoire. After pulling out another one of his oversized shirts and slipping into it, she headed up the stairs to the bathroom, filled a basin with warm water, grabbed a clean wash cloth, and carefully headed back to the side of the bed. It took a moment to get his jeans off, but once she did she slowly washed every drop of blood from his body. When she was sure his wounds were clean and he was sleeping as soundly as a hibernating bear, she covered him with a blanket and settled down on the floor beside the bed, her head resting back against the wall, her heart in her hands.
She glanced around the room, her eyes coming to rest on her purse. Regardless of his promise, now would be the perfect time to leave. He was nearly out of it—almost comatose—and if he wasn’t lying, would be for the next twelve hours.
If she could find her way out of the jungle he was hiding her in, she could be on a plane and across the Atlantic before he woke up. She could do it. She could get away from him and this whole twisted little fairytale.