Nate stared at me from across the suite wearing his Horseman Mask again.
No wonder we hadn’t recognized each other.
As if in replay, he slowly shook his head. Had he experienced the strange reflection as well? Was this real? Or some twisted dream? I’d had strange experiences like this before, but nothing so specific, and never with a person I knew.
Nate tore off his mask again and was suddenly naked other than his white and silver skirt. He somehow pulled it off quite well, and I found my eyes devouring the curves of his upper body. Taking his cue, I reached up to my blindfold and tore it off, letting it flutter to the ground beside me. Nothing changed in my perception of the room, but the air on my cheeks was noticeable, like cold air on wet skin. I reached up, touching the dampness, and when I pulled my fingers away, I saw they were wet with the silver tears.
I also realized that I wore a similar outfit to Nate, except mine was a flowing white, sheer silk skirt, where his was the white and silver strips of leather.
Lucky for him, my chest was also bare, and he took his time acknowledging this facet of the dream – but not any longer than the amount of time I had spent admiring his own bare chest. He didn’t leer, but he devoured me with his eyes, and I relished in it.
Then we were hesitantly walking towards each other, as if both fearing the scene was about to freeze again. I arched my back defiantly, not truly understanding why, and I noticed that his jaw was clenched, his hands fisted at his sides.
Like two warriors approaching from opposite sides of a battle.
I was panting in both anticipation and frustration as we reached each other, fearing the vision was about to shatter like glass again the moment we touched, my despair growing with each step.
And I suddenly realized why we had both approached each other like enemies. Not against each other, but against whatever was trying to keep us apart.
The vision didn’t shatter this time, but we didn’t relax either. We stood inches apart, the only point of contact was the burning skin of his chest barely grazing the tips of my breasts, which felt suddenly electrified as we both panted, the friction quite literally tearing at my soul and body with a shared desperate need.
He shuddered, slowly lifting his hands to my cheeks. He looked so tired. Exhausted. Resolved.
I lifted my hands to his chest, confirming that he was, in fact, real, and not an image.
I left silver handprints on his body, marking my territory as I stared into his green eyes, which roared like fire in this room of only black, white, and silver.
He gripped my face and leaned closer, his breath like a gentle breeze of anise, or absinthe.
Blue fireflies erupted behind his head, bathing him in a cold glow, showering our hesitant embrace with magical light. Then I noticed green fireflies from behind me mingling with the blue as the swarm began to whirl around us in a gentle tornado. I could feel his racing pulse both through my fingers on his chest and his fingers on my cheeks. We held each other tightly, desperately, squeezing just a hair past comfort and gentleness.
A whisper of violence between us?
Or was it territorial?
Were we claiming each other or challenging each other?
The fireflies whirled faster and faster, our hair whipping in the steadily increasing vortex of power caused by their passing.
“What is this?” I whispered, digging my fingers tighter into his chest as my lips trembled.
His fingers were slick with the silvery tears dripping from my eyes, but he continued to cup my cheek bones and neck possessively, holding me in the palms of his hands while I clutched at his heart and soul.
“A tale of two cities…” he whispered back, smiling harshly as he glanced over my shoulder, indicating the world I had seen from the balcony.
Before I could respond, fire suddenly rolled over us, immolating the entire world in green and blue flame.
Silver and gold flame.
White and black flame.
Chapter 32
I woke up with a gasp, eyes wide and my body drenched in sweat. Claire snored softly beside me, curled up on half of the bed, oblivious to my sudden movement. She slept like the dead before she was a shifter, but now was even worse.
I rushed to the bathroom, frantically staring into the mirror. My eyes were fine. No marks on my face from Nate’s grip. No silver tears on my cheeks.
But my body tingled with electric fire, every brush of fabric like sandpaper on my inflamed skin. Especially my lady bits.
I took a very cold shower, sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth as I tried to steady my breathing, to take stock of everything I could remember about the odd dream, not wanting to forget a single moment for multiple reasons.
Was someone messing with me? It had been like a vision. But those had only ever happened to me when I confronted an Angel or Demon, where I would find myself suddenly transported to a different plane of existence.
Had it been a warning of some kind? Was Nate in danger? Was he still off in Fae? I’d call him later, not to tell him about the dream – thank you very much – but to see if anything important had happened to him lately.
With his level of arrogance, I wasn’t about to admit to a dream like that. It would make me look desperate, weak. Like some floozy. He had a big enough head already.
With absolutely no chance of falling back asleep, I threw on some workout clothes, and while Claire continued snoring in my bed, I made a Gateway to a place I wasn’t welcome.
I stepped into the familiar training room where I had spent much of my formative years, learning the art of blades, blood, and magic.
Church.
Where I had trained to become a reluctant Shepherd for the Vatican. It had been the only way Roland would agree to teach me about my magic. Of course, as a child I had thought it the coolest thing ever – learning how to use weapons and self-defense like I was the next Karate Kid. I hadn’t known about the Shepherd thing. I had known about monsters, unfortunately, and that I had magic, but I hadn’t known how to use it.
Or why I had magic in the first place.
Because I had been adopted. Left on the steps of Abundant Angel Catholic Church. The same church that Roland would coincidentally choose to make his home more than ten years later. Shepherds were typically vagabonds, traveling the world from one crisis to another, hunting down those who hunted down the innocent. They didn’t put down roots in places, but my presence had convinced him to stay.
Of course, Roland had been put in an impossible situation recently. In order to save two women he called friends, he had been forced to become a vampire. And since Shepherds hunted vampires, shifters, and other monsters, Roland had also been forced to relinquish his duty as a Shepherd.
He was still coming to terms with that decision, but it had forced us both out of our old home. Here. This training room beneath the church.
Glancing around, I realized I hadn’t let myself acknowledge how much I missed the place.
A whisper of fabric behind me…
I dropped into a crouch, snatching up a blade concealed in my boot, and threw.
Someone gasped, dropping to the floor.
I called up a ball of white light – a roiling orb of glowing vapor – and approached the assassin, knowing I hadn’t killed him.
Only because I hadn’t intended to.
He lay on the ground, staring up at me warily, hands open at his sides to let me know he was no threat. I blinked down at the familiar face, clinically assessing the blade sticking out of his upper right chest. It had been a short blade, not intended to be lethal unless thrown at a specific target on the body.
I frowned at him.
“Morning, Callie,” Arthur said through gritted teeth. “Guess I asked for that.”
Arthur was a homeless man I had shown kindness to months ago, cleaning him up and giving him a place to work here at the church. But upstairs as a janitor and security guard, not in the super-secret Shepherd’s bunker below.
“What are you doing down here, Arthur? And how did you get down here?”
He looked cautious, as if not sure how to answer, or if knowing his answer might just make things worse. I had trusted this man. Given him a home, of sorts. And he was… robbing the church?
“Roland gave me a code,” he said in a rush. “Back before you left for Italy.”
I… blinked at him. “He… gave you a code.” Arthur nodded eagerly. “For the secret military training rooms underneath the church. The ones that almost no one knows about…”
He nodded again, meeting my eyes. Roland had never told me about that. Was Arthur lying? But… in a way, it sounded like something Roland might have done. Right before we left for Rome, Roland had known he might not ever come back – that he might not be welcome back.
So… choosing a guardian for the place was smart. And Roland had trusted Arthur to visit us after we returned, while we prepared and packed for our final departure with the church. So, this place wasn’t a surprise to him. Maybe Roland had forgotten to tell me the full truth. We’d had more pressing matters to be concerned about at the time.
And even if Arthur was lying, he wouldn’t have been able to get down here without a code. I could always check the security logs. Maybe he had stolen one of our codes. But that didn’t seem likely. I wasn’t even sure if our codes worked anymore. Which was why I had made a Gateway here. The Vatican technically owned the place, and for the most part, Roland and I had pretty much severed ties with them after our trip to Rome.
Which meant it was more than likely that Arthur was telling the truth.
“Who knows about this?” I asked him.
“Fabrizio agreed to it this week. Said I would need some training, though,” he admitted, eyes flicking to the knife in his chest.
What the hell? The Shepherds had recruited my homeless man? But… he was mine!
Chapter 33
I blinked at him. “Wait, agreed to what? You… you’re going to be a Shepherd?” I asked incredulously, eyeing the knife sticking out of his shoulder to pointedly acknowledge Fabrizio’s assessment. Arthur would need training. A lot of training. But even then… he wasn’t exactly a spry chicken. And he didn’t have any magic. Not that magic was required, but when going up against monsters, it was always good to have more tools at your disposal rather than less.
“You might need more training than you think,” I said, not unkindly, as I helped him to his feet. “Follow me,” I said, releasing him and heading deeper into the compound. “If you’re anything like me, you’ll soon find this is one of your regular hangout spots,” I said, finally stepping into the small medical wing, complete with first-aid kits and minor surgical gear.
I’d spent a lot of time here in my training, wrapping myself back up.
He studied the area with familiarity. “I know how to dress a wound,” he said softly.
I shot him a thoughtful look. “How about stitching up your own wounds?” I asked with a sarcastic smile.
He didn’t miss a beat. “A handful of times.”
I assessed him thoughtfully. “Right. Well, you probably did a crap job of it. It’s not like putting on a bandage—”
“Looks like this is my first test, then,” he interrupted me. “Well, second test, since I failed the first one,” he admitted, briefly touching the handle of the blade sticking out of his chest. Now that I watched him, it was surprising how calm he was. Obviously in pain, but not debilitating. “What kind of thread do you have? And needles?” he asked, studying the cabinets in a quick sweep. “Never mind. I’ll just have a look myself.”
I had no idea. There were different kinds of needle and thread? I usually just found something sharp, and used the thread Roland had shown me to sew up a wound. Doing your own wounds was hard, but Roland had forced me to learn it.
Arthur began digging through the cabinets, grunting when his motion shifted the blade still stuck in his chest. I watched the slow dripping of blood on the counter as he reached up for a small box. He glanced inside, muttered, and set it to the side, reaching back up into the cabinet for another box.
He also set this one aside.
He glanced over his shoulder, face set in stone. “Would be mighty kind of you to lend a hand. I can’t reach the top shelf.”
I jumped to help and pulled down the items he indicated, surprised to find myself obeying so easily. But I didn’t question it. If this was a test, my job was to observe him, study not only his skill at the task, but his mindset, reactions, and inner psyche as he performed the task.
But I’ll admit I was more than a little impressed already.
He read a few boxes before finding one that was apparently suitable. He found some latex gloves, snapped them on without even looking, and sat down on the counter. He watched me, meeting my eyes as he expertly weaved the thread through the eye of the needle, tying off a knot from obvious experience.
He jerked a chin over my shoulder. “Any good whiskey over there?” he asked, biting down on a wooden stick he had found in one of the drawers. He was like an entirely different person than the kind, pleasant, harmless man I had first met.
I was already halfway to the sitting room with the liquor decanters he had indicated before I consciously realized it. Instead of making a fuss about it, I picked one up and walked back over to him. He was sitting on a chair, eyes closed, breathing steadily.
I held it out and his eyes opened, even though I hadn’t made a sound. He accepted the decanter with a nod of thanks. “Probably not that sanitary,” I said, “and I know we have iodine in that dr—”
I realized he had already taken off his shirt and splashed the iodine around the wound. “This is for me,” he replied, and took a big swig of the liquor. “The knife, if you please.”
“I’d rather you continue the show, Arthur,” I said with a faint smile.
He shook his head. “Your knife, your fault. I’m paying the price of being caught off guard, so you’ll pay the price of inflicting harm upon a friend, and putting your knife in the wrong… sheathe. Pull it out on my signal,” he said, settling the glass decanter down beside him.
I carefully wrapped my fingers around the hilt in a loose grip, ready to withdraw it on his command. He gave me a nod and I pulled out the knife as quickly as it had broken his skin. Blood instantly pooled, but he shoved a wad of gauze over it, pressing down tightly.
I was quite surprised I hadn’t seen a flicker of pain on his face. Not even a hint of it.
He took a few more swigs from the decanter, then leaned back into his chair, breathing steadily for a solid minute. Then he set the decanter down and put a wooden stick in his mouth.
He bit down, testing it, before removing the gauze and beginning the stitching. The location wasn’t as awkward as I had thought it might be. Now, I had been ready to swoop in if he looked to be making a mess of it, but… he might have done a better job on his own than I could have. He spat out the wood after he crossed his last stitch, then looped the needle through the thread.
I opened my mouth, realizing the wound wasn’t closed very tightly and it appeared that he was about finished. Then I stopped as he placed the needle in his mouth, biting down on it. Instead of cutting the thread, he leaned back with his neck, tugging the threads neatly closed.
“Finger,” he said in a muffled tone, still gritting the needle in his teeth.
I leaned closer, holding the sutures tight, and he plucked the needle from his teeth to weave a final knot. I cut the thread for him, rolling my eyes at his stubborn grunt. I offered him one of Roland’s shirts, even though it was too big, but he filled it out better than I had thought, and for the first time I realized he was much stronger than I had assumed. Hunger and living on the streets had eliminated any excess fat, and he was slim, but covered in tough, corded muscle that had been too stubborn to be starved away. Like a wolf.
I studied him thoughtfully. He studied me back.
“Fine. You did well,” I admitted, folding my
arms. “But I’m taping you up.”
He snorted as I pulled out fresh gauze and began taping it over his stitches. “It just means I have practice stitching myself up. Not a good habit for a would-be-fighter.”
I nodded thoughtfully. He had known Fabrizio’s name, which kind of verified his claim, because I was sure Roland wouldn’t have told him that. “How exactly was this supposed to work? Are you heading off to Rome?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “Fabrizio was considering whether it was wise to send someone here,” he said with an amused smirk my way. The indication that Roland and I might not find that particularly reassuring, and rather than doing it anyway, they were sitting on their hands. Probably waiting for Roland to return so they could discuss it with him, first.
Which… was pretty courteous of them.
I shrugged. “Not sure how the majority would feel about it, but maybe I could help here and there with training. Or Roland.”
Arthur nodded appreciatively. “I would like that, but I’m not in the decision-making circle. I could offer the option. Might help bridge the gap between you and them. A little.”
The silence grew as I thought about it all. “What were you doing down here in the first place?”
He shrugged, eyes scanning the room. “Getting familiar. Maybe work out a little bit. I lived on the streets for a while, as you well know. I can scrap with what’s available, but I’m far from a warrior.”
I remembered him telling me his life story after we first met. He had made me promise never to share or ask about it unless he expressly gave me permission. As in, him initiating that I could ask about it. I couldn’t even pester him. Until then, it hung between us. But it suddenly gave me a lot of questions, especially with his possible recruitment into the Shepherds.
He had left a lot of blanks in his story, but had spoken vaguely enough that I got the feeling Arthur might just be one of the humblest sons of bitches I had ever met. Always polite, kind, commenting about how he didn’t know much of this or that.
Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 2 Page 16