Golden's Rule

by Billi Jean

  Again, she had too many questions. She thought after they’d bonded that the questions would stop, the unknowns about her life fall to the side and eventually not mean as much to her.

  If Death Stalkers could find her, could trace her, they needed to talk, and worse, they needed to leave this place.

  And worse, she’d once again have to wait until her memory returned before she could join in the fight. Who’d want her on their mission if she brought Death Stalkers?

  She stared over at Torque where he stood with his back to her. He was still pissed at her. She’d taken him from a fight. Understandably, he was upset. She could give him a few more minutes. Just a few, then they would have to go. She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her head against her knees. Maybe he was right, maybe she shouldn’t have shifted them, but at the time, his rage had been out of control and her instincts had warned her he’d die trying to defend her in such a tight spot.

  But how did she tell him that? Or tell him she thought the Death Stalkers could somehow trace her. What if she had worked for them? Or worse, been like the mage, partially under their curse? That would explain why she hated them, why she knew so much about Death Stalkers.

  Please, Danu, give me something here, because that can’t be the answer. I can’t be like them.

  Torque blew out an explosive breath and calmed himself down. His anger beat at him like a damn drum, making it hard to think straight. He thought he might have yelled at Beauty even. His rage still filled him but with each second he felt it dying down and he realised more and more what a shithead he’d been to Beauty.

  He glanced around at the deserted football field and turned, finally spotting her sitting with her knees up to her chest, looking too damn small against the wall. His chest hurt.

  He swallowed past a dry throat and tried to reach her through their bond. She blocked him but he caught a hint of sadness and fear.

  He had yelled at her, hadn’t he? Did she fear him? Had he frightened her with his temper?

  She’d used her head when all he could do was think to protect her and kill the Death Stalkers. He couldn’t remember ever being so angry before. Reaching up with a hand, he watched her as he rubbed his chest, feeling the anger still lingering there. It shouldn’t. Not at her, not at Beauty.

  Feeling worse by the second, he walked over to her, seeing her face clearer and clearer as he drew closer. She’d been crying.

  The evidence of it still lingered on her cheeks. He felt like someone hit him in the gut.

  “Beauty, I never meant to yell at you, I—” He broke off and knelt down next to her, wanting to touch her but unable to bridge the distance. “I didn’t mean a thing by it, sweetheart. You have to believe me. Shit, I was…” What was he? Madder than he’d ever been in his life.

  “Angry. You were so angry, Torque.”

  He nodded, feeling miserable. She looked so sad, so damn small, and confused.

  “At me. You were angry at me.”

  He grimaced and reached out, cupping one hand over her warm knee. “I can’t explain it, I mean, shit, I was pissed at being taken from a fight, but I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. Yeah, I have a temper, sure, but I never lose it on people, and I sure the hell shouldn’t on you. I can’t explain it, though. I just…shit, it was like someone dipped me in rage.”

  “Oh, Torque, I’m sorry—”

  “You’re sorry?” He grimaced and pulled her close, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “I’m the one that lost it. There’s no excuse. None.”

  “Torque, there’s more, more I have to tell you.” She struggled to break free from his embrace so he reluctantly let her. She stood, and immediately started pacing. She shook her head and finally stopped in front of him. Something, fear, something threaded to him from their bond but it was gone so fast he couldn’t be certain. She was blocking him.

  “I think the Death Stalkers can find me. I felt them—just like you, and like the witch, but I felt them before you. Before her. It was like…” She looked down and shook her head like she was trying to piece it together. Meeting his eyes steadily, she drew in a breath and said quickly, “Like they knew me. And even now?” She gestured to the deserted football field. “Even now I can feel that they’re on their way. Somehow. And that somehow? That’s freaking me out. What if… What if I’m one of them?”

  If she’d sprouted two heads, he wouldn’t have been as shocked. He stood up, got right in her face, and kissed her. “There’s no chance of that, sweet. No fucking chance. You’re all that’s good in this godforsaken earth. And you’re mine. Mine.”

  “Oh, Torque, how can you be so sure?”

  He pulled up and tightened his arms around her. She’d threaded hers around his waist, holding him tightly. Through their bond, he felt her fear, not at him, at herself and what she didn’t know, and at him trying to hold her back from the fight.

  “Baby, I’m positive. I’m not sure how they sense you, if they do, but maybe it’s your gifts they sense and not you. We don’t know, but I won’t hold you back, shit, I promised, didn’t I? And besides, there’s more to do than go on missions. You saw that—”

  “Torque, I love you so much, but you’re missing the point. If they can sense me, no matter how”—she buried her head in his chest, making him insane with the need to kiss her senseless again—“then I will endanger any mission I’m on.”

  “Baby, we’ll figure it out. I’ll figure it out. Now kiss me and get us the hell out of here.”

  Instead of kissing him, she laughed and looked up at him but just as quickly her amusement died and she grew serious. “We should go. Now, but what of the witch? Should we go back to check on her?”

  His first instinct was an adamant no, but he knew without a doubt Beauty was waiting for him to say just that. “Yes, we should go back. It was hours ago, she may not be there,” he warned, bending to brush a kiss to her cheek.

  Suddenly she stiffened in his arms. “Torque. It’s them.” He could feel the shivers race up her back.

  “Death Stalkers?”

  She nodded and tightened her arms around him.

  How could she sense them and he couldn’t? “Shift us, but do it several times, then take us to the witch.”

  She softened against him. She’d thought he would demand they go home. She was still blocking him, only allowing a little through, but he sensed her relief that he hadn’t been an ass again.

  “Don’t block me, sweetheart. Do you trust me?”

  He felt her anxiety grow as her block went down. She still feared she was tainted or worse going to get him hurt.

  “Shift us so I can deal with your silly fears, woman.”

  “Woman?”

  “Move it.”

  “All right. Hold on.”

  He did, tightly, probably too tightly. The football field vanished, darkness of the shifting swallowed them, then snow of all things, the crisp cold air billowing in clouds around them before they were back in darkness for only a breath then in a closed-in space, book store?

  “Quick, now a few more stops, here, follow my images.”

  “All right.” She sounded steady, but their bond showed she was still worried.

  He flooded her with a firm image of a beach. She shifted them effortlessly. She had power, magic that simmered between them, none of which was tainted. He shared that thought and felt her tension ease a bit.

  “You’re not a Death Stalker, baby.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am right, now shift us once more.”

  He sent her a place he knew in Japan, then another in LA, then finally near the witches’ shop. “Here, we will go on foot from here. That should put them off. It took them a while before, right? We can only hope this takes longer.”

  “We need to find out how they can follow us,” she whispered.

  She was right. How did the Death Stalkers find them? How could they follow a shift? It seemed impossible. It should be. But he’d seen it with his own
eyes.

  Still not happy, he guided her down the deserted street, careful to remain in the shadows of the dark awnings. When he reached the shop, he tugged her gently to a stop and forced her to face him. “We need to be cautious. The witch could be harmed, or even dead. Are you certain?”

  “That I want to go in? Yes.”

  He nodded. He opened himself to scan the surrounding area, going as far out as several blocks before pulling his vision back to the shop. He could feel the witch’s power, centred in her shop, the odd little magic she sold, but nothing more. “Stay close to me. I won’t take you in there unless you stay close. It’s clear that this was their goal. You were their goal.”

  She paled. “What makes you say that? This could have been retaliation against us for the cell in London.”

  “True, but they wanted you. It might explain my rage, Beauty.” As he said it he realised it might very well be why he’d lost it. Maybe he was more wolf than he’d ever known.

  “Maybe. Maybe,” she offered.

  “Just stay close.”

  “I will, but don’t ask me to leave you.”

  “I won’t.” Threading their fingers together, he kept her right next to him as they turned the corner. By all appearances the store was empty, the glass storefront repaired, only a small amount of glass on the grey dirty sidewalk left as proof of the assault.

  “It looks like nothing happened.”

  “Yes, whoever repaired it could still be here. Let me look around first, then we’ll go in closer.”

  Her small hand tightened on his but he merely tightened his own, engulfing her hand in his bigger one. Inside he sensed movement, a few of the creatures, but then he found the witch. She was hurt, either left when the Death Stalkers gave chase to them, or left behind as punishment for failing to catch them, he couldn’t tell. Glancing down at Beauty, he knew she would. He had none of the empathy gift she had in spades.

  “We go in. Keep your hand in mine. No matter what you see, don’t touch the witch. I want you to sense her though, her intentions. Can you do that and share it with me?”

  She tilted her head, frowning up at him. “You think she is one of them.”

  “There is no way to know, unless you catch them in action, who is who. The dark curse hides them as much as binds them to their vows.” He didn’t hide how much he hated taking her in there. She knew, but held just as firmly to her own beliefs. She was strong, his female. Pride slowly rose up, replacing some of his anger, his panic. “Stay close. Stay very close.”

  She nodded, silent but willing to let him lead. One more scan and he took them around the back of the store where he sensed an easier opening, less revealed, at the least. The back door was partly open, the wood scarred, and aged with dirt. He nudged it with a foot and it swung open silently. Not a good sign. It should be closed. Shouldn’t it? Damn this place.

  “Torque, please, just go in. She could be hurting…”

  “Beauty, always we go in silently, quietly. Never hurry, sweet. Never.”

  She gave him a mental sigh. The ice around his heart melted a little. “Just follow my lead. I will. Just move so you can lead.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  “Torque.”

  “All right, come on, just keep quiet, and keep yourself open so I can sense her.”

  They manoeuvred around the surprisingly neat back room. The mayhem of the front of the store was missing. The back room had a simple couch arrangement, a table, shelves lined with some boxes and little else besides a neat kitchenette and desk. Beyond the beaded curtain, though, the hazardous display of wares lay in ruins.

  Beauty tightened her small fingers on his hand, but stayed silent. Blood clouded the scent of the air with its metallic bite.

  “She’s over there. On the floor. Hurt, Torque.”

  “I see. Open to me. Let me see through your eyes.”

  The room faded to the background, the image of the witch was pure, clean of all taint, only the warm glow of pain clouded her aura.

  “Come then, let us see what we can do.”

  They moved silently to where the witch lay sprawled, her purple costume covered in bits of debris from the short battle. She was unconscious and most likely that was a blessing. Blood had dried on her face from a head wound. She looked pale, smaller somehow.

  “Let me closer, Torque.”

  Once again, he had to fight the need to hold her back. He allowed them closer, crouching down near enough to touch the female’s ashen features. “She lives. The crash of magic was hard. Let’s take her to the back. She’ll have a headache, a few sore spots, but she is simply sleeping now,” he said.

  Grey eyes met his, worry clouded the green. “Torque.”

  “You can see what you can do in the back.” Releasing her hand, he bent to scoop the surprisingly light female in his arms.

  “Careful of her.”

  “Beauty, I won’t harm her. Her shop is more dangerous than I am at the moment.”

  “Torque.”

  “Come on, open those damn beads. We need to go.”

  Beauty parted the purple beads for him so they didn’t make a sound when he walked through.

  “They will find our home, won’t they?” she asked anxiously.

  “No, and if they did? There is no chance of them entering,” he answered, without looking up. Beauty kept herself open enough that he could sense her unease. He settled the female on the small couch, and stepped aside so Beauty could move in closer. “Just be quick, we need to go.”

  She brushed one of her braids back over her shoulder and nodded, again silent. Things were not back to normal, not yet. He felt that through the bond. A chill from her.

  He watched her sit down next to the witch and gently touch the other woman’s forehead. He had to restrain the urge to hurry her again as she took the time to check the other woman’s wound thoroughly. He had no idea Beauty could do this, but sensed she was using some instinct, as dangerous as that was, to find a way to heal the woman.

  He was about to halt her when she sighed and straightened.

  “She will be fine. I mended a few deep bruises and slowed the swelling on her brain, but she is well.”

  Before he could say anything, she stood quietly and met his eyes. He wanted to wince at the soft censure there. She had known, or sensed from him his need to stop her from healing.

  “You said we should go.”

  “Yes, we should.” Holding out his hand, he hid his wince when she hesitated before taking it.

  The pain he felt from her wasn’t going away with a few words. He’d hurt her deeply, more deeply than she was showing him.

  She was his. But somehow, his words made her doubt that. His hand tightened on hers, drawing her into his embrace so he could breathe her in.

  She was his. He wasn’t letting her go.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Beauty couldn’t sleep. She’d tried. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, but her worries, once Torque had drifted into sleep, had surfaced all over again.

  Their bedroom showed up in greys and blacks from the low glow of moonlight coming in from the windows by the bed, but Beauty still had enough to watch Torque sleeping.

  He sprawled comfortably, taking up more than half of blankets and all the spare room. There wasn’t an inch of him she’d not felt beneath her hands, her lips and body, and yet she still could become mesmerised by his sculpted form.

  She loved him so deeply.

  Yesterday had been hard. Not just his anger and harsh words, but the idea she might be drawing evil to them. To him. He’d said something yesterday that wouldn’t stop tossing around in her mind like a missing puzzle piece.

  It was like someone had dipped him in rage. Like it wasn’t him but something outside of him.

  Was that because, even though he denied it, he feared her leaving? More, he feared something taking her from him. Why? Why did he feel this anxiousness? This dread that she was going to disappear from him?

  She cou
ld help him. She knew it. The bed barely dipped as she moved nearer to his warmth. She let her mind drift out from herself and down the bond they shared. Her breathing slowed as she went deeper. She was his bonded. She could see him, the witch had told her. She could see his wound, but reading from the text last evening, she had discovered more. She was an empath. They both knew that. But she could heal as well. Hunter had proved that. She’d not stopped and questioned how she’d known she could heal Hunter, she’d just done it. Now she took a breath and searched within herself, not her memories—those were gone—but inside at her own gifts. At first she sensed nothing, heard only the soft sound of Torque breathing and the low crackle of the fire in their hearth. Then, slowly, bit by bit she began to sense a glow, a light blue, clean and pure gift—magic, but not just her magic, healing magic.

  Relief surged through her along with a huge dose of happiness. She could do something. Maybe not go out on missions, but she could heal, and not only heal, but she could sense wrongs within a person’s magic—like Hunter, but more, she could sense a disturbance, a marring of their being.

  Now she sent her sight out, slowing her breathing so she could find that level called the healing trance. Slowly Torque’s body began to shimmer in her sight. He appeared golden and so strong she felt tears clog her throat. Golden with honour, integrity, and love. But beneath that—no, she thought—not beneath it, but marring it in places, was a darkness like ink, staining his aura.

  Where did it begin and why was it there?

  Torque sucked in a breath, snapping her concentration in two. She felt him tighten his hand on her knee, not painfully, but firmly.

  “Beauty?” His deep voice was hoarse and husky from sleep reminding her of long, hot hours of sex.

  She lost the connection and grumbled at him but shifted to her knees, taking his hand in hers.

  “Torque…”

  Where to start? How to tell him she was trying to aid him because she sensed he was tainted?

  “What were you doing, Beauty?” He rolled over and pulled her hand to hold it tightly on his chest, dark brows drawn down in concern.