A Fall of Silver (The Redemption Series)

by Amy Corwin

  And he had to go and scare it away.

  She grit her teeth, trying not to feel angry at him as she dumped the tuna onto a small plate. Perhaps its hunger would bring the cat back.

  After quietly opening the window above the kitchen sink, she placed the plate on the sill. A burst of cool, dawn air surprised her, rifling through her hair. She waited a minute and then added a small saucer of water. A quick glance outside didn’t show any sign of the orange cat, but that didn’t mean much. The animal had an uncanny ability to hide whenever it sensed danger.

  Smart animal.

  Maybe someone was still out there, waiting for her; perhaps one of Sutton’s human servants, if he had any. Someone might be watching and waiting for her reaction to the challenge he—or someone—had thrown through her window.

  Who had beheaded that vampire? What did it mean?

  The challenge, or warning, meant nothing to her, except maybe aggravation at having to replace the window. To be brutally honest, she’d also experienced that small spurt of joy when another vampire vanished into a cloud of dust.

  Could it be that someone else was protecting her and trying to let her know that? It was an odd way to show that, if it were true. The message had been delivered in the least reassuring manner possible.

  So what was she going to do? She couldn’t ignore Sutton or Jason, and she wasn’t sure she could rely on Kethan.

  She closed the window and stood at the sink, staring out into the blue mist of early morning. One minute. Two. Three. Her feet ached with the cold seeping through the tiled floor. She rested the left foot over the right, trying to warm up her stiff toes.

  Then a flicker of movement as the cat leapt gracefully from the railing to the wide window sill. It glanced around and sniffed at the plate before crouching to wolf down the fish. A deep rumbling purr shook its thin body. When the animal finished, it lapped up some water with a rough, pink tongue, all the time watching her with gleaming eyes.

  Suddenly, the cat held its head stiffly, cocked at an angle. She held her breath. It stared at a point just past her shoulder as if it knew a stranger slept in the apartment.

  Then it leapt away, disappearing into the mist.

  Feeling discouraged, she released the air caught in her lungs and reached up to bring in the dishes. She’d hoped that tonight it would stay long enough to let her touch the soft fur over its neck.

  She rinsed the dishes off and placed them in the dishwasher with a week’s worth of other such dishes, wishing again that she felt settled enough to have a pet. A dog or the cat, if she could tame it, any living thing that would be happy to see her when she came home. She ached for a connection, for approval, for love.

  Her glance was drawn to the window. Would the cat ever allow her to do more than stare at it through the glass?

  It was a wild thing, used to its freedom. Sometimes, she tried to believe it could sense her desire to care for it, to make a home for it where it could be warm and well-fed.

  With a sigh, she returned to her bed and tucked her chilled feet under the covers. She listened with relief to Kethan’s breathing. The slow, deep breaths were almost, but not quite, snoring. Instead of bothering her, the noise was oddly comforting, another human being at rest nearby. For once, she didn’t seem quite so alone.

  Unfortunately after a few minutes, his presence also made her tense. She drew her legs up and huddled in the center of her mattress. If she could just curl up in his lap instead and feel the heat from his body seep through her muscles, maybe she could relax. She craved the comfort of human warmth pressing against her under the covers.

  His scent filled the room.

  She wanted him.

  The whole thing was impossible. She couldn’t begin to enumerate all the reasons why she needed to avoid him. Kethan was the worst type of human, a vampire lover. He associated with them. He bargained with them. He was a traitor.

  How could she trust him?

  Another spurt of uneasiness, bordering on guilt, burned inside her. He said they should give vampires another chance.

  What kind of chance?

  What chance had they given her? Kill or be killed.

  Chills knotted her muscles. What if he knew about Mexico? What would he think if he knew what she’d done? He’d think she was just another psychotic killer, as bad, or worse, than the vampires she destroyed. Vampires killed for food. She killed for…what? Revenge? Fear?

  She pulled the covers tighter. Hadn’t she saved lives through her actions? Saved others from enduring the pain she knew only too well?

  Fear taunted her, reminding her of the brutal fury hiding in the depths of her soul. Psychological terms were easy to apply, but the clinical labels didn’t help her deal with the rage inside, the horror at what she’d experienced. The fear that she’d been contaminated and was no better than Carol or Carlos.

  She was just another crazed killer in a world full of violence and psychosis. The irony was that, even if she sought professional help, they’d probably institutionalize her and keep her sedated for the rest of her life. Everyone knew that vampires didn’t exist.

  Her gaze rested on Kethan’s slumped form.

  Her heart thumped, thundering in her ears. She wanted—no, needed—him and his acceptance. He had a way of looking at her as if he really saw her, saw who she was, and liked her. Respected her. Understood her.

  At the very least, he was one of the few who knew the undead still walked the earth at night, seeking innocent blood.

  She sighed and rolled over, deliberately slowing her breathing. The exercise didn’t help, and the headache that had played hide-and-seek with her all night returned with a vengeance. The pain twanged along her nerves, running down the back of her head and gripping her shoulders with sharp talons.

  Twisting to ease the agony, she felt tears drip from the corners of her eyes and roll over her cheeks. She squeezed them shut and rubbed her face in the pillow.

  Allison.

  Why had she given him her real name after all these years as plain Quicksilver? Allison’s ghost fluttered in the painful black void, desperate face upturned to seek the light.

  Let me out! Let me live.

  No.

  That part of her was dead, locked away. Allison’s naive softness meant pain, vulnerability, danger.

  The thrumming in her head increased. She bit the pillow, wanting to pound her head against the floor to release the pressure. She grabbed one of the packets of powdered aspirin she kept under the corner of her mattress and dumped the astringent contents into her mouth. The chalky powder melted over her tongue, stinging her throat as she choked it down.

  Then she forced herself to relax.

  When the pain eased slightly, she controlled her breathing.

  Everything is under control. Pretending to free-fall through a distant cool sky, she welcomed the dizziness and imagined the sensation of wind rushing through her hair.

  Everything is fine.

  The discipline worked. Slowly, she fell asleep although peace eluded her.

  The nightmare started within minutes, ripping away her relaxed tranquility. She huddled into a tight ball and wrapped her arms around her legs, trying to become as small as possible, a mote of dust in a huge universe. Her head twisted on the rumpled pillow as she sought escape.

  The nightmare expanded, pulling her down. Relentless.

  She cried in her sleep, tears pooling at the corners of her mouth, running down her neck. She cradled her hands as if the bones still throbbed and ached from their punishment. Allison cowered as the horror of the past enveloped her.

  This time, before she found the weapons, before she bound them to her broken hands and icy-hot sprays of vampire blood drenched her in burning streams, she awoke. Her heart pounded in a deafening roar. Sweat saturated her sheet.

  She stiffened, distantly aware of Kethan’s comforting presence. Although he wouldn’t be flattered by the comparison, she immediately thought of a massive guard dog, slumbering but still
watchful, protecting her.

  He breathed rhythmically in the shadows. She listened and matched her breathing to his, her tension slowly ebbed away.

  The past was gone like the wisps of a torn spider web.

  She had to forget and move on. Part of her desperately wanted to trust him, longed to feel close to someone again.

  She wanted to be normal.

  Her hands still shook as she turned her back to him and pulled the blanket over her chin. She knew she was isolating herself and that her actions were unhealthy, bordering on the psychotic, but the thought of reaching out to a man, especially a man who associated with vampires, made her sick.

  It would be so easy for him to betray her, to make her a bargaining chip in his game with Sutton.

  She couldn’t forget the lessons she’d learned in Mexico.

  Anger had given her strength. Fear and uncertainty only led to weakness. The lesson was simple: never trust a vampire, or someone who worked with vampires.

  Her heart felt like a rock in her chest as she lay between damp, twisted sheets, listening to Kethan. He settled himself more comfortably in his chair. Why couldn’t she reach out and touch his hand? Just once. Just to feel the warmth of his skin against her palm.

  Instead, she pulled the blanket tighter. She closed her eyes, forcing her body to relax regardless of what twisted in the darkness of her mind, waiting for release as she slept.

  She had always been alone.

  She would always be alone.

  Forget any alternative.

  * * * * *

  The next morning, Quicksilver got up first and dressed quickly, trying to be as noiseless as possible. When Kethan finally woke up and dressed, she was already waiting in the kitchen. By the time he was ready, she had edged toward the door, eager to escape from the enforced intimacy of her apartment. He followed, but too closely, too near. The scents of soap, tinged with the leathery scent of his rumpled clothing surrounded him. Unable to look him in the face, she plucked her jacket from the hook next to the door, sure her eyes would reveal the flaring desire burning inside her, or worse, that he’d guess she’d lain awake last night, listening to him breathe and wishing she had a larger bed, anything other than a narrow, army cot.

  As she brushed past him in the doorway, a sudden rush of attraction slowed her step into a breathless pause. She could feel him at her back, one foot in her apartment, one foot on the stoop. His scent drifted over her shoulder, and she breathed deeply. Her mind flashed to the image of two bodies sinking into the thick foam of a mattress, leaving their heated impressions in the softness. The slightly salty scent of his skin would saturate the pillow and linger. After he’d gone, her hand might still find the slight, warm indentations left by his heavy shoulders and his scent might linger on her pillow when she buried her face in its depths.

  What she wouldn’t give to have those memories. Her heart ached for it.

  Then her cool, practical side brushed away such foolishness. She’d been smart when she purchased a single bed, barely wide enough for her. There were no blankets, either, nothing that might tempt her to escape her routine and relax, or become soft enough to believe someone’s lies again.

  There was no room for another person in her life.

  Not to mention there was barely enough room for him on her bike.

  His hard thighs pressed against hers after they climbed on, and her hands tightened on the grips. Despite her determination to ignore him, she couldn’t control the excitement pulsing through her lower belly. She started the bike and careened through the alley, convincing herself she’d be glad when she dropped him off.

  He touched her shoulder briefly and gestured toward a side street. She turned the bike and leaned into the curve, feeling him match her position effortlessly. As if psychically linked, she followed his casual hand signals through the streets. Pale, golden sunlight streamed over them, heating the air as they sped through the quiet morning. The oaks lining the road blazed with crimson and gold autumnal color, glowing with the vibrant colors of life. She smiled with the sense of rich excitement just to be alive and sharing the moment with another person on such a glorious morning.

  To her surprise, Kethan lived less than a mile away in an area undergoing renewal at the fringe of the business district. A block of small, neat townhouses occupied the left side of the street, directly across from a Catholic church.

  Kethan squeezed her shoulder as they neared the middle of the block. Driven by something she didn’t understand, she gunned the motorcycle. The tires squealed as they shot past, her heart racing as she desperately sought to prolong the moment. They spun around the block while the wind whipped beneath her jacket and through her thin shirt, and his thighs and hard hands gripped her waist.

  The feeling was exhilarating.

  Abruptly they were in front of the church again, and there was no excuse to swoop around the block another time, breathing in the cold air and crisp, organic scent of fallen leaves and tinge of hot exhaust. She slowed and reluctantly came to a stop at the curb.

  The townhouse on their right was built from mellow, reddish bricks, set off with white window frames and glossy black shutters. The bright red door had a brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head that glowed like beaten gold in the autumn sunshine.

  He eased off the bike and waited for her. For one moment, she wondered if she should pour on the gas and leave him there staring after her. The mere thought left her cold, empty, as if the sun had passed behind a thunderhead. She pulled off the helmet and hung it over the handlebars by the chin strap, a sense of defiance stiffening her shoulders.

  Why did she think he would invite her in or wanted to prolong this moment?

  “Come on in,” he said.

  “Why?” A sudden perversity made her turn sideways, one hand on her cycle.

  “I want to get a few things before we go back to your place.”

  Go back to her place? Why? Surely he didn’t miss his monk’s cell that much that he felt at home in her utilitarian apartment. “No.”

  “Would you prefer to stay here?” His brows rose in surprise. Then he smiled. “Maybe it would be more comfortable. Unlike you, I do have a guest room. Even a spare toothbrush.”

  “Why have supplies if you don’t want guests?” She shrugged. “If you want ‘em, that’s your problem.”

  “I enjoy company.” He gripped her elbow, holding her arm on the pretext of supporting her while she stepped up on the curb to his sidewalk. “I know the situation is difficult, but I can’t allow you to be unprotected until the negotiations reconvene and conclude.”

  “And afterwards?”

  “Afterwards, you and I will sit down to hammer out an agreement that’ll keep us both alive and the children at the orphanage safe.”

  “How? How’re you going to do that?”

  He gave her a slow, dimpled grin that made her dizzy with longing. “Come on. We don’t need to discuss this here on the sidewalk, do we? Come inside.”

  Feeling chastised and small, she hesitated in front of his home. Curiosity itched like a mosquito bite. What would his house be like? What would it reveal about his character?

  Why did she care?

  “No.” She glanced up at the sky. Although it was just past noon, the sun already seemed to edge toward the horizon with a reddish tinge like the sweet flesh of a ruby grapefruit that reminded her that autumn days were short. Her stomach growled, and she pressed a hand against her middle. She should have at least offered him breakfast before they left.

  At least a can of tuna, which was pretty much all she had at home.

  No wonder she had grapefruit on the mind. She felt as if she were starving.

  “I’ll fix something to eat.” He held out his hand to her, palm up and so large she could have placed both her hands on it side-by-side and barely covered his palm. Her hands fluttered until she thrust them into her pockets. His simple gesture made her ache to touch him. His skin looked calloused, slightly roughed by…what? What
did Jesuits do but talk, argue, and apparently negotiate with the damned?

  Nonetheless, she couldn’t resist that outstretched hand for long.

  “Lunch. Then I’ve got to go. There’s only so much togetherness I can take.” She climbed the steps ahead of him and waited on the small stoop while he unlocked the door. “You can’t guard me, you know. Not forever. At some point, you’re going to have to let nature take its course.”

  She caught his glance. The skin around his eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter, and her words echoed back to her, “nature take its course.” A flush heated her face as she realized he thought she’d meant something entirely different than vampire extermination.

  He threw open the door. “In good time.” A dark brow rose, tempting her to lean closer and see about that nature thing. As she walked past, she caught the intense gleam of his blue eyes, brilliant as silk. “After you’ve had a chance to see reason.”

  “I see reason. You’re the one suffering from delusions.” She felt sure he could hear her heart pounding in her chest as he followed her inside.

  “That remains to be seen.” Flipping on the lights in the hallway, he paused by an arch that led into a sitting room on their right as if unsure about her reaction to his home.

  She stopped, overwhelmed and feeling as if she had taken a step backward in time to a period when craftsmen built houses by hand, taking their time on luxurious details.

  Wood gleamed all around. The floors, walls, and elegantly curving stairway were all crafted from rich, honey-toned oak. Sinuous, circular carvings ornamented the arches and crown moldings, reminding her of the natural lines and grace of Art Deco. The ceiling lamp was stained glass, shaped like an upside down rose done in delicate panes of pale pink and deep rose with touches of green. A lovely soft green and blue landscape painting hung on her left above a small, pale oak table.