by Kita Bell
He leaned into it perhaps more than he should have; but he needed her comfort just then. “This is Eva,” he said quickly, in Old Greek. “She will need someone to set her up in our family’s visitor’s quarters.”
“She’s not staying with you?” Nikandria asked, surprise in her tone. “I can feel what she is to you.”
“God save me from nosy little sisters,” Brand replied with affection, then tweaked her nose before he pulled back to kiss her forehead. He became serious. “She doesn’t know yet, Nikandrie. And tonight – I won’t be good for anything tonight. Much less telling her the truth. She’s been through a lot.”
Nikandria gave him a sharp look from narrowed eyes that clearly said she wasn’t any more fooled by Brand’s excuses than he was himself; sometimes, she looked so much like their mother. But different. There was a warmth to Nikandria that Ashtoreth would never possess.
Nikandria sighed and kissed her index finger before lightly touching it to the middle of Brand’s forehead. “Very well. I’ll introduce myself. But I think I’ll let her get just a little bit more jealous, first. It’s healthy, you know. And perhaps it will make your ‘telling’ her go all that much easier.”
“Don’t torture my mate, Nikandrie.” Brand grinned, shaking his head, then stepped back to glance at Eva. She wasn’t looking at them, instead staring fixedly through the glass partition of the room.
In a corner on the far side of the wall huddled a young Kaspian tigress.
The girl Dmitrei had brought in.
Brand’s good humor disappeared, and Nikandria moved to stand beside him. Her crossed her arms were a mirror to Khael’s posture, and she shook her head with the same fierce gravity their elder brother possessed. Her thick blonde braid trailed down her spine as it had when she was eight years old and, as ever, Brand had to curb his urge to tug it. “I can’t reach her, Brand.”
“You tried?” Brand hated to ask Nikandria that, he hated it. He knew of no one else who would try as hard as Nikandria to help someone in trouble. But what she was asking of him…Brand didn’t want to do.
Even if it was something he had to do.
Every time he did it, he hated himself a little bit more.
But the panting, matted, too-thin adolescent tigress cringing in the corner of the cement holding room clearly needed help. When Brand turned again, Nikandria’s face suddenly looked too thin to him, too tired. Her lips were as unsmiling as Khael’s, her eyes twice as weary.
“I know you have enough nightmares, Brand,” she began, regret filling her voice. “If you want…”
“She tried,” snapped a rough voice in English from the front of the room, and Brand’s gaze settled on Samuel; the healer had turned to glare at them. “She tried so much that I won’t let her try again. I won’t watch her run herself into the ground.”
Nikandria frowned. “If you would just let me…”
“You’ll burn yourself out,” said Samuel, uncustomary gentleness entering his tone. “No matter how much you like to think that little ‘clouding’ trick of yours works, it won’t in this case. Some wounds people don’t recover from, Nikandria. Sometimes a healer needs to take the arm, or leg, for the patient to heal. Even Kaspian patients. You know this.”
“I can recover from being burned out just fine, Samuel,” Nikandria snarled, but the healer’s words were enough for Brand. He would be able to judge for himself, once he started to work. So Brand glanced once at Samuel, intercepted the healer’s nod, and moved into the small, enclosed room behind the window, shutting the door behind himself. It effectively cut off Nikandria’s stubborn argument.
His sister thought she could save the world.
But if Samuel thought Brand’s form of “healing” was necessary, then it was necessary. Samuel didn’t lightly ask Brand to use his ability. The healer was as unwilling to give up on others as Nikandria – although Samuel was more of a realist. And neither of them would willingly see Nikandria exhausted and in pain from overuse of her ability. She would recover eventually, but in the meantime she would be easy prey.
It’s not that she’s forgotten the Sakai of Europe, Brand thought grimly as he crouched before the adolescent tigress. No. She just doesn’t value her own life enough. For Brand, that heedlessness was as infuriating in his sister as it was terrifying in Khael. That same heedlessness had gotten their father killed, and then their brother Iah.
The young tigress’s pelt was an orange so pale as to almost seem yellow, her stripes stark red markings down her back. She cowered away from Brand into the corner, as no Kaspian should do, and the air stank with the acidic tang of pure terror.
Brand clamped down on his responsive anger before she scented it – he was furious that anyone, that a child especially – should feel such fear.
He was an arm’s length from her. The tigress could dodge and escape if she needed to. She could go for his throat if she wished. She wouldn’t be successful of course – she was young, inexperienced and untrained. But Brand had done this hundreds of times, and knew well enough to leave her space.
“I’m here to help,” he said quietly, then sighed. He felt old, incredibly weary. And he hated what came next. “Girl, I need you to look at me.”
She wouldn’t. Her head was turned to the corner. Brand moved forward, gripped her neck, and gently brought her face around. She could have bitten him, or clawed him, but she didn’t. She was utterly…passive.
Which was just another sign of her damage. Blood tigers should fight. They always fought. Fighting was as natural to Kaspians as breathing, blood or magic.
“Open your eyes,” Brand commanded. When she didn’t, “Do you want to die?” A weary depression rose in him. All of those he “helped” wanted to die. Every single one of them. Even Khael had wanted to die.
His brother still did. But at least Khael was no longer actively trying.
But that was why he helped them. He helped them forget the things they could not live with, so that they could keep on living.
But neither did Brand want those memories for himself.
“If you look at me,” Brand promised gently, “I can help you. But I need you to open your eyes and look at me.”
He smelled her weariness. She was thin, too thin. Her pelt lacked luster and he could count the ribs beneath her fur. Scars abraded her forelegs. Finally, listlessly, she opened her eyes. They were a fine Kaspian gold, glazed and dull with the deep red of agonizing pain.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized softly, looked deep, and sank into her memories.
Fire. It flickered at the edges of vision, sparking outward from a slender female child’s fingertips.
It is beautiful, so beautiful, she thought in wonder. Mom was amazed when she showed her the sparkling heat she could pull from her fingertips, like a sparkler or one of the Gens’s bonfires. And Paul looked at her so she knew he would finally come tonight and kiss her. She was past her Initium, so there was no reason for him not to, now.
Meghan laughed, delicious shivers tripping down her spine and watched her mom nudge the kitchen door open, balancing the cake. Everyone was here to celebrate. It was her fourteenth birthday – she could finally Change – she had a wonderful ability, a wonderful family, a wonderful everything…everything was wonderful. Her mom put down the cake and smiled, then gestured at the unlit candles, “Want to do the honors, Meggie?”
Meghan pulled the flames out of her fingers…they didn’t want to come. But everyone was watching. She forced her ability against the obstruction, dragged the flames forward…they wouldn’t. She gritted her teeth, tried harder. Then a sudden, terrifying draining sense, a sharp red-hot snap of pain through the core of her…
Flames. Everywhere, flames.
Mom screams, Paul yelling, reaching, Mom’s – everyone’s clothes catching fire, her own clothes…Turn it out! She couldn’t. The fire wouldn’t stop – “Stop. Stop, stop stop stop stop! Please…” she screams because she can’t stop, Can’t. Smoke everywhere, pain…she is burni
ng, fire eats her flesh, lungs, she lurches through smoke to the thick metal door…stuck, trapped, hot metal warped. Won’t open, mom screams, sister Tess, Paul snarls, her brothers roar…falling steel beams…the door won’t open, Greg helping…door won’t open…house crumbles, burning…door won’t open…Greg, her, the floor…door won’t open…meat, the smell of meat…door won’t open…
…door won’t open…
She wakes. The Resh looks down. She smells rejection, fear and ash.
You killed them, Meghan. They are dead.
They are dead.
Brand’s throat closed around the black despair that rose through Meghan; that emotion filled him, became his until he felt sick…and then he took that memory, absorbed it into himself, and in doing so pruned it away from her. “Her name is Meghan,” he rasped, his voice harsh and rough with fury and despair, but Samuel and Nikandria needed to know.
He went back to work. Because this was only the beginning of the darkness.
Brand sorted through Meghan’s memories, pulling them into himself, and in doing so cut them away from her mind.
He took her memories.
Because that was his primary ability. Taking memories. Sometimes you need to amputate a limb, Samuel had said…yes, that was exactly what Brand did.
Amputations. Amputations of the memory.
When it came to those, Brand was the fucking butcher.
The results weren’t always worth it. But they worked better when the injured were young. Like Meghan. The young were more adaptable. More…healable.
But for Brand, taking memories was never worth it.
Because after he took those memories, he had to keep those memories. For fucking forever.
For Brand, eternity was built of guilt, uncertainty and darkness.
Brand could push those stolen memories back, lock them away. But until he got a good hold on them he would be waking to the nightmare smell of Meghan’s mother’s body, cooking like so much meat. He would hear the screams of siblings he had never known. He would feel those final, crushing words from his Resh: You. You did this.
You.
It was never worth it.
Eva worried as Brand crouched beside the yellow tigress in the inner room. He had seemed tired, unhappy. Like he was going into a fight he knew he couldn’t win.
“Hi,” the woman with pale blonde hair said, coming to stand beside her. “You must be Eva.” Eva frowned, watching Brand – jealous of the way he had smiled for this stunningly exotic woman, of the intimacy they had between them.
Why should I care? Eva had no claim on Brand.
She barely knew him. They had only almost hooked up once, on a train.
That was all.
Eva slanted the woman a cold look, then turned her focus back to Brand. She couldn’t see his face, but there was tension in the strong arch of his shoulders. He looks like he’s in pain.
“What is he doing?” Eva demanded even as the woman said, “I’m Nikandria. Brand’s sister.”
Relief. Eva turned to stare. “Nikandria,” she repeated, an incredible – and odd – amount of near-gratefulness welling through her. Not Brand’s girlfriend, not his lover. Not his sometimes more-than-friends fool-around buddy. His sister. Eva exhaled and found that she was smiling wildly. “He mentioned you.”
Nikandria looked like she was trying not to laugh. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself earlier.”
“You were busy,” Eva turned back to Brand, her urgency rising. “What is he doing? What’s wrong with him?” She needed to know.
Nikandria’s smile faded. Despite her exotic looks, Brand’s sister seemed tired, worn. As if she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in over a month.
“Brand didn’t tell you?” Nikandria frowned.
“Tell me what?”
“His ability.”
“He heals.” Eva turned back to the window, studied the tableu, then pointed to the tall man who stood in the corner of the room watching. “But I think he said that that man – Samuel – could do it better.” So why is he needed in this room?
Nikandria nibbled her lip uneasily. “Healing is Brand’s secondary ability, Eva. He’s using his main ability right now. I would explain it, but I think he can tell you best.” She slanted a glance at the clock on the wall, as if timing something. “I think we have enough time to set you up in a room before he’s finished.”
“I can wait.” Eva didn’t want to leave Brand. His sister seemed nice, but…something was wrong. Brand was hurt. Eva didn’t know how she knew this, she just did. She shifted her stance. “Shouldn’t you be in there with him?” Stopping him?
“Brand can handle himself, Eva,” Nikandria said gently, taking her arm in a steely grip to steer her toward the outer door. “Trust me. He’s done this plenty of times before. It’s hard on him, but he knows what he’s doing.”
“I don’t…”
“Really – I insist. I think it would be best for all of us, if I get you tucked away.”
Eva didn’t really know how Nikandria won, but somehow she ended up outside that room. Was there such a thing too much politeness?
She was too tired make note of the turns they took, but one thing she did notice was that what Nikandria called the “Operations Building” looked like a bizarre cross between a three-story museum and an old southern plantation house styled from Gone With the Wind. Oddly enough, as they entered, the building felt comfortable, lived in.
“The family wings are in the back, the operations area in the upper floors and the front. Here, this way – we have to cut through the basement.” Nikandria led down a set of dark carpeted stairs, through an open, well-lit kitchen, out through a dark alcove, before going up again.
“It’s like a maze,” Eva muttered, her head spinning. “A horrible, terrible maze.”
Nikandria’s smile was sad. “So was the mind of the man who built it.”
When they reached a small set of doors on the second floor, Nikandria gestured inside. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry?”
“No.” Eva shook her head, trying to orient herself. “I don’t think so. I just need sleep.” And Brand. I definitely need Brand.
Brand’s sister nodded. “Good then.” She hesitated, as if about to leave, then touched the back of Eva’s wrist. “If you need anything, my suite is just down the hall,” she gestured, “and Brand’s are right after the turn. I’ll be busy tonight, but if you want, we can talk tomorrow. I promise to give you a better tour.”
Nikandria turned to leave, but Eva had to ask. “About Brand,” she began, and Nikandria glanced back, her pale gold braid sliding over her shoulder like sunlight, or water.
“We’ll take care of Brand, Eva, I swear. Taking care of each other…that’s what families do.”
“Come back Meghan,” Brand ordered the thin tigress sprawled bonelessly on the floor, his voice a hoarse growl. “You need to Change.”
She gave him a confused, wary glance: she didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know who he was…but like any good Gens member, she obeyed the authority in Brand’s tone, the dominance in his scent. She Changed.
Brand caught only a glimpse of half-healed burn scars before Nikandria was beside them, draping the girl in a blanket. “Here Meghan, use this.” Nikandria’s voice with thick with her own memories of burns and fire.
“Where am I?” the girl rasped. The smoke had damaged her vocal chords, and – hearing her own words – she cringed. “What…where…” she covered her mouth with both hands, gave a terrified rasping sound, and pushed back into the corner. Her desperate gaze instinctively latched on Nikandria.
“You’re safe,” Nikandria responded. She sounded so determined that Brand couldn’t help but believe her. “I’m Nikandria, this is Brand. You’ve been sick. I swear, I’ll explain everything in a moment.”
“But…”
“Meghan, I promise I will explain,” Nikandria said, touching the girl’s wrist, and Brand felt her reach out with her abi
lity to sooth the girl. “All I want you to do right now is relax. You’re safe, and everything is being taken care of.”
Even as Meghan settled warily back into the folds of her blanket, Brand watched that familiar shadow pass over her eyes…the shadow of someone who had lost their memories, but who – on their deepest, most instinctive level – would always know. Meghan would never recover the memories Brand had taken, but she would always have a sense of what she had lived through.
Nikandria touched his shoulder, and Brand felt his sister drain the deepest edge from his despair, the vicious bite from his anger. It was like a boulder had been moved off his shoulders, but still not enough.
Because that was how using his ability always left him: fucked up, furious.
A bit dangerous.
“I set Eva up in a room on our family’s wing. She’ll be fine. Khael and Seth are waiting for you in the training room,” his sister told him. “Go work it off, Brand.”
He nodded and rose, half-dazed and seething in a welter of emotion.
Too many emotions. More than he was used to, after this.
Everything in Brand hungered for Eva. He needed to know that she was okay. To see her silver eyes, to hear that smooth voice. To wrap her to his chest and inhale that beautiful clean scent. But if Brand went to Eva like this, he’d kiss her, he’d take her and he would do his damnedest to loose himself inside of her.
That wasn’t a good idea. No. Because when he kissed Eva next, he was going to take his time on her sweet pink lips. He would taste her throat. And once he got his teeth on those full ripe breasts…Brand snarled, pure carnal lust raking through him.
Lust and the need to Marque. To bond.
Nikandria’s gaze flashed up; she treated him to a furious look. “Brand. If she had any idea she was your amati, I’d say go for it. But since she doesn’t, I suggest you find Seth and Khael before you do something really idiotic.” Then, the hot flush rising in her cheeks, she muttered, “If nothing else, take your stupid lust away from me. It’s annoying and gross.”
Brand nodded, barely holding himself steady – barely keeping himself from Changing into tiger form and ripping down the stairs, as memories of fire tore at him – and went to find his brothers. He needed to fight. He needed to take the edge off. To ground himself in his own action, his own body, his own life.