by Eileen Wilks
“Which one?”
His smile was as beautiful as ever, and as dear. It was the calm voice that made her want to hit him. “The Nokolai Rhej. What happened was impossible. I asked her how the impossible could occur.”
“And—?”
His smile died. “She said the mate bond is dissolved by death. Somehow the wraith pulled the bond inside it. And the wraith is dead.”
Lots of impossible happening lately. Like a wraith sliding in past her Gift as if it didn’t exist. It seemed she had a back door. “Now we know who is susceptible to the wraith,” she said wearily. “That’s something.”
“You said something about that earlier.” Rule slid up to sit on the exam table beside her. “Things were somewhat confused at the time, but you said you thought you knew how it . . .” His voice trailed off as if he found the reality too hard to speak.
“How it got in me,” she finished grimly for him. “Yes, I think so. Earlier today I learned that Meacham and Hodge had one thing in common. They both died for a few minutes. Cardiac arrest, no heartbeat. I need to talk to Brown about that, get him checking hospital records. We need to warn anyone who’s been clinically dead for a little while.”
He didn’t speak. She turned and saw that he was gripping the table so hard his knuckles were white. He stared straight ahead.
“Rule.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Unpack it, whatever it is.”
“My fault,” he gritted. “I . . . What you did in Dis, that was because of me. You died. Part of you died. It’s my fault that abomination got in you.”
Aw, shit. She twisted so she could grip his shoulders, making him look at her. He allowed that. The bleakness in his eyes hurt her all the way down. “All of me would have died in Dis if part of me hadn’t.” That came out jumbled, but he knew what she meant. If war was hell, war in hell was a double-dip of deadly. If the other-Lily hadn’t made that sacrifice, they wouldn’t have lasted long.
“And since none of me died for good, it wasn’t a bad deal.”
A shudder traveled up him, and suddenly he grabbed her, holding on tight. He rubbed his cheek along hers, then buried his face in her hair and sucked in air, shuddering again. “This time, I thought you were all the way dead,” he whispered.
For long moments she said nothing, just held him. She needed this, too. Funny. Even without the mate bond, she needed this. Finally she pulled back enough to brush his hair back and look at him. His eyes were damp.
She tried a smile. “You thought Cullen did it. You ass!”
“He was standing over you.”
“You know why.”
“I do now.”
Cullen had seen the ugly smear of death magic covering Lily. He’d read the desperation in her eyes, and he’d guessed what had her. He’d done the only thing he could—scared the hell out of her in order to persuade the wraith it would die if it stayed inside her.
It had worked. When the wraith left, she’d convulsed. Just like Hodge. Unlike Hodge, though, it had left no smear of death magic on her. Once the wraith was gone, her Gift rid her of that.
She’d made Cullen check. Just to be sure. “Did you ask Nettie about my theory?” Cullen couldn’t see the wraith. Her own Gift couldn’t stop it. That told her the wraith might use death magic, might eat it the way the Etorri Rhej had said, but its basic self was something other than magic.
Spirit, in other words. Her Gift didn’t protect her from spiritual stuff.
“I did. She agrees with you.”
“The wraith wanted to talk to someone there at the gens compleo. Ask him something. I think it wanted you.”
Rule stared. “You heard it?”
“Yes.” The others hadn’t, but it never got all the way inside Lily. Maybe that’s why she’d been able to hear it, because they’d shared her body rather than her being shoved completely into the backseat.
There’s two of you . . .
She shivered at the memory. “It wanted me to go to the fire. I could understand why. Ice . . . doesn’t begin to describe that kind of cold.”
This time when he put his arms around her, it was to comfort her, not himself. “Warm now?”
Lily nodded, but it was a lie. She was physically warm again, but inside she was still shaking, still cold. Afraid.
And alone. Rule held her. She felt his breath on her hair, the heat from his body, yet she felt alone in her body in a way she hadn’t for nine months.
Damned mate bond, she thought. And wept.
“OUT. Out. Get out.”
“Shh, baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. It’s gone.”
Yes, the wraith was gone. A dream. That’s all it had been, just a dream. Lily blinked her eyes open, aware of Rule’s body curved around hers, his hand stroking her hair. The smutty air of predawn told her it was early, but no longer night.
She’d dreamed the wraith was still in her, that it had hidden so well it had fooled everyone. And Rule . . . Rule had left her. The mate bond was gone, so he’d left her.
Her damned subconscious didn’t bother with subtlety, did it? Hit her over the head with her worst fear when she was already hurting. Stupid subconscious. She sat up, shoving back her hair. “I need to get to work.”
“It’s early yet. You don’t have to—”
“No. No, listen. In the dream, it kept telling me how glad it was I’d come to see it. But that happened for real, too. It did say something like that. It said that I—that we—came to it.”
He said nothing for a moment, then spoke slowly. “It was already there, in the forest.”
She nodded. “I need to look at the map.”
RULE went with her. She could have stopped him, probably—if she’d had every available deputy at the sheriff’s office man the doors, ready to shoot. He’d know if the wraith got into her again, he said. He’d smell it. When it was in a body, he could smell the death magic.
“Then what?” she asked sourly. “You going to make scary faces at me until it leaves?”
His smile had been faint. Distant.
But he was right, and though she tried not to notice too much, it comforted her to have him with her. Maybe he wouldn’t be with her that much longer.
Shut up, she told herself. Rule hadn’t stopped loving her when the mate bond snapped. They’d adjust. They’d be okay.
Assuming her brain didn’t fry. Was she blinking more than usual, or just noticing it more?
“Here’s the spot where you found the bodies.” Lily pointed at three red pins. “Here’s where Deacon and I shot the dogs.” Those pins were blue, and almost on top of the first three. “Last night we were . . .”
“Here.” Rule tapped a spot a few inches away. “The blue pins are animal deaths?”
She nodded and stuck in a white pin, then used her finger to estimate the distance. “That’s only about five miles between the bodies and the picnic site. The way the roads curve around, it seemed farther.”
“What’s this?” Rule tapped another white pin.
“Meacham’s house. It’s not far from the woods. Well, we knew that, but we were thinking in terms of how easy it was for him to take the bodies there, not—”
The door opened. “How come I always have to get my own donuts?”
It was Brown, disgruntled as ever. And holding a white box with the Dunkin’ Donuts logo. “Here,” he said, thrusting the box at her. “You might as well eat some, since I damned near had to draw on that deputy to get past without him mooching. And don’t give me any crap about your diet.” He glared. “Someone who’s been in the ER needs sugar.”
It was a get-well gift, Brown-style. “Thank you.” And bless him, there was a chocolate cake donut with chocolate icing. She snagged it.
“What are you doing here?” Brown asked Rule with no more belligerence than usual as he helped himself to one of the donuts. “And where’s the other one, the pretty guy?”
Lily had to smile at that description, but with her mouth full of donut, she let Rule answer.
“Cullen’s holed up at his hotel. His wife couriered him some of his materials. He hopes to find out more about wraiths. And I’m watching out for Lily,” Rule finished levelly. “I can smell death magic.”
“Oh. Good idea.” Brown chewed as he talked. “If that wraith gets in her again, you’ll know, huh? Not sure what you can do about it, but at least you can warn the rest of us. What?” he said when Rule narrowed his eyes. “It’s not a great idea to have the lead on an investigation under the control of a crazy spook. She’s armed, for Christ’s sake. I’d appreciate a little warning.”
“I’ll do my best,” Rule said dryly.
“I’ll be having frequent MRIs,” Lily told Brown. “To make sure my brain’s functioning normally. For now, I’m clear of crazy spooks and my brain’s working as well as it ever does. Which isn’t all that great, but I finally noticed something.”
She pointed at the map. “Here’s Meacham’s place, where the wraith entered a human for the first time. Here’s where the dogs were, the ones it had been riding. We think the wraith was in one of those dogs when it attacked Rule near the grave site, right here. And here”—she tapped the map—“is where it was last night. It told me . . . It said we had come to it. It was there already.”
“You think that’s where it’s hanging out? In the woods?” Brown came closer. “Reasonable, but over here’s Hodge’s place, nowhere near the other spots.”
Lily exchanged a glance with Rule. “It may have followed me or Rule into town when we discovered the bodies. It . . . wants to talk to someone, possibly Rule.”
“The crazy killer spook wants a conversation?” Brown shook his head and grabbed another donut. “So you figure its grave is out in those woods?” When they stared, he waved the donut in his hand, looking almost embarrassed. “I just thought—you know. Graves. Spooks. Seem to go together.”
“Maybe the death wasn’t reported,” Lily said slowly. “If it wasn’t, the woman, the practitioner who created it, had a body to dispose of. And maybe”—she looked at Rule—“Meacham didn’t bury those bodies. The wraith did, while still in Meacham’s body. It had some sense that bodies should be buried, and it took them to the place it knew.”
“Not quite the same place,” Rule said. “I would have smelled another body if it were close.”
“A seven-month-old body?”
He considered that a moment, then nodded. “I think so, yes. I’d have to be close, but the soil smells different when there’s a body beneath it.”
“So you could do it now. You could find it.” A body would mean an ID. A name.
“I can try.”
“Let’s go.”
“Lily.” Rule gripped her arm, stopping her. “You’re the last person who needs to go looking for the wraith’s grave. You’re too vulnerable.”
She kept herself steady. Inside she wasn’t, but she kept her outside steady, and she was proud of that. “You’re going to go sniffing without me?” She shook her head. “It may not be there. It could be right in this room now. We don’t know—”
“It’s more likely to be there than anywhere else.”
“I think I know how to keep it out.”
“That’s not good enough.”
She lowered her voice, hoping to keep Brown from hearing. “It came in through . . . the other-Lily. You know what I mean. It came in when I’d just felt her memories brush against me. If I close her out, it can’t get in.” Maybe. She swallowed. “I need to know, Rule. I need to know I can keep it out.”
When he let go of her arm, it wasn’t really acceptance. His eyes were too flat and closed to call it that. But at least he wasn’t fighting her.
Okay. Get moving. Lily grabbed the other chocolate donut and shoved the box at Brown. “You’re going to need these. You’ve got that list from the hospital?” The list of those who had, temporarily, died.
“Yeah.”
“Bribe some cops. You’ll want help finding and notifying the people on that list that they’re in danger.” She looked at Rule. “Let’s move.”
They did.
Lily had a hunch. The wraith was cold, unbearably so. That’s almost all she’d noticed at the time because it hurt her with its iciness.
But she’d also felt alone, horribly alone. And in her dream . . . in her dream, she hadn’t been the only one who’d lost someone, who was left alone.
Maybe she was projecting her own fears onto her memory of the wraith, but she didn’t think so. Beneath the wraith’s freezing cold—in addition to it, or maybe causing it—was a vast and terrible loneliness.
Had it brought the bodies of those it killed near its own, trying to find some company in death?
THIRTY-FOUR
THE woods were so different in the day. Sun streamed through green, spotting the ground with freckles of light. Lily walked along a route she’d walked before, in the dark.
So far, so good. No deadly ice creeping in. “It’s all so innocent now. You wouldn’t think there were bodies here, would you?”
Rule glanced at her. “You see innocence. I see a pleasant hunting ground.”
“Feeling wolfish today, aren’t you?” Or focusing too much on their differences. The loss of the mate bond had to affect him, she told herself. That didn’t mean he wanted to leave her. “Should we have brought Cullen to help? Or another lupus—Alex, maybe? Cullen’s probably best left to do what he’s doing.”
“If I can’t find the scent, none of the others could.”
That calm voice was getting on her nerves. “Both wolfish and arrogant.”
“The others,” he said imperturbably, “do not have mantles to help them.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to use them.”
“I used them last night.”
“Them?” She stopped and looked at him.
He grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes. I had the Nokolai mantle tucked away, but when I used the words of invocation”—he gestured widely—“it decided to join the party, too.”
“So are David and Jeffrey Nokolai or Leidolf?”
“Yes.”
Oh, shit. “That’s going to cause all kinds of trouble.”
“I’m aware of that. It’s tomorrow’s problem, however. Today we have other things to deal with. We need to talk, Lily.”
Oh, God, she was so not having that kind of conversation. Not now. She resumed walking. “Not a good time for it. I need to stay focused.”
“I can talk and walk at the same time.” He proved that by striding along beside her. “Lily—”
“Look, let’s just see if I’m going to survive first, okay?”
He stopped—and grabbed her arms, forcing her to stop, too. “You will live.” All that horrible calm was gone. His voice was low and fierce, and the dark slashes of his brows were drawn in a scowl over darkly burning eyes. “That is not in question. If there is any damage, Nettie will heal it. The mate bond will help.”
“Ah . . . the mate bond.”
“It must be restored, of course.”
“Your Lady hasn’t been in a rush to do that.”
“She’s leaving it up to us, as she usually does. We will catch the wraith and force it to give back what it took.”
“Give it back?” She stared, unable to believe what he was saying. He had to know better. The bond was dissolved by death, not stored on some shelf inside the wraith. “Even if we could, what’s this about it healing me?”
“Have you had a cold since we met? A stomach bug?”
She frowned. “I must have.”
“You haven’t. Nor any cavities, I think. None of the usual small ills.”
“I don’t heal the way you do. I’d have noticed.” She’d had enough assorted knocks and burns and cuts since they met to be sure of that.
“You don’t get sick, though. The mate bond increases your resistance to illness. It will help your body heal, if healing is needed.”
“Maybe, but . . .” She shook her head. If Rule needed to believe they could regain
the mate bond and it would make everything all better, why argue? Reality would make itself known without her help. Personally, she was pinning her hopes on the fact that the wraith hadn’t been in her nearly as long as it had been in Meacham or Hodge. “Could be. I guess we’ll find out.”
“You’re humoring me.”
“Pretty much, yeah. But that means you get to say a big, fat ‘I told you so’ if you turn out to be right.” She knew why he wanted so badly to believe the mate bond could be restored. And couldn’t bear to think about it—so she wouldn’t. She started walking again. “We must be nearly there by now.”
He fell into step beside her. “The Lady tightened the bond earlier. She wanted us to remain close—and not so that an abomination could destroy it.”
“Could be.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t believe in violence toward women,” he said, falling back into that übercalm voice, “or I’d give in to the urge to shake you.”
She managed to grin, just as if everything were all right between them.
“If I’m wrong, and we can’t restore the mate bond—”
“Isn’t that the spot up ahead?”
“Dammit, Lily!” He grabbed her again and spun her around, his fingers digging into her shoulders. “We will talk about this!”
She jerked back. He didn’t let go. “You want me to tell you it’s all right if you go back to catting around? Well, it isn’t! Without the bond you’re able to go plant your seed in as many wombs as possible, and I will not—”
He smashed his mouth down on hers.
She shoved on his chest, turning her face away. Panting. “You can’t kiss me into agreeing. I won’t share you. I don’t care what your people believe.”
“Bugger my people.”
That shocked her into holding still. Rule had told her once that his people considered “fuck” a lovely word describing a lovely activity, and he refused to use it for cursing. “Bugger” was about as vicious a curse as he ever used.
His mouth turned soft, pressing kisses along her cheek, her jaw. Gentle, courting kisses. He spoke softly against her flesh. “Lily. We are idiots.”
Her body was kindling, her brain going fuzzy. She wanted to cry. She wanted to grab him and kiss him back. “We are?”