by Sylvia Day
“Trevor . . .” Something twisted painfully in her chest. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I owe you my life. It’s yours to do whatever you want with.”
Siobhán turned away in a rush, feeling a need for privacy. She used the guise of getting a pen and paper to hide how he . . . flustered her. How he made her feel exposed and vulnerable. As far back as she could recall, nothing had ever been capable of affecting her that way.
“Let’s take care of getting you something to eat,” she said with feigned ease. “Then I’ll explain a bit about why I’m looking at this disease.”
When she returned to him with some graph paper and a pencil, she’d pulled herself together. Tilting her head back, she looked up at him . . . and got lost in his eyes. They were stormy with emotions she’d never know, never feel. It was like looking into a Caribbean whirlpool, the pristine blue drawing her in and sweeping her away until he was all she saw.
He caught her wrist when she started to move away. “Siobhán,” he said hoarsely. “Can I touch you? Would you let me?”
“I . . .” She frowned. “Why?”
Trevor’s hands lifted slowly toward her face. “I have to touch you to make sure you’re real. You’re a dream to me, Siobhán. You’re a mythical creature, like a unicorn or a fairy.”
“Your fingers are trembling,” she murmured, worried. “You need to eat.”
“That’s not why I’m shaky.” He inhaled sharply. “You’re so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you are.”
The odd twisting in her chest struck again, parting her lips on quick exhalations. “Okay.”
His lips curved slightly, tightening the ache into a sharp discomfort. Even emaciated, he was a handsome man. “Okay?”
“Okay, you can touch me.”
She stood motionless as his fingertips traced over the curve of her eyebrows. He brushed aside her bangs, then stroked down the strands of the chin-length pieces with the backs of his fingers. He cupped her jaw in both hands, tilting her head up just a little bit further. Siobhán’s skin heated wherever he touched her. She started to quiver. His fingers were on her throat, a caress that was somehow unbearably intimate. Tingles raced across her flesh.
Trevor stared long and hard at her mouth, then ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. A rippling, unfamiliar clenching between her legs made her ache for his fingers to stroke her there as well.
Frightened by the confusing deluge of sensation and need, she wrenched away, breathing hard. She couldn’t think . . . didn’t understand . . . “What are you doing to me?” she gasped.
He watched her with those intense, turbulent eyes. “Worshipping you.”
“What? . . . You shouldn’t. You can’t.”
“I can’t help it.”
Shaking her head, she backed away. “Please, just write down what you’re hungry for.”
“I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean to.” He sighed when she backed up another step. “Can you give me some ideas for food? What are you hungry for?”
“I don’t eat like you do.”
“Of course you don’t. That was a stupid question.” Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his neck. “You healed me, didn’t you? How?”
She studied him almost helplessly, fascinated by his resilience. Yes, she’d healed his body, but it was his own strength of will and spirit that enabled him to stand in front of her now. A wounded and partially broken man, but not a feral beast. “I gave you some of my blood.”
“Gave me blood? How?”
“Transfusion. It’s the quickest, most efficient way.”
“I have your blood in my veins, Siobhán?” Something fierce swept over his features.
The door opened behind them and Aurelia came in. The other Sentinel eyed Trevor with blatant curiosity.
“Hello, Siobhán and friend,” she greeted, in her sweet sing-song voice. Aurelia could truly sing like only an angel can. Her hair flowed to her waist, the thick curls a unique color named “strawberry blond” by some mortals. She studied Trevor with the universally blue eyes of all Sentinel angels. “I’m Aurelia. And you are?”
He gave a brief nod and introduced himself
“Lovely to meet you, Trevor. You appear to be healing well.”
Siobhán knew the others would be watching Trevor carefully. Adrian wouldn’t be happy with her for bringing a mortal to her lab, and none of the other Sentinels wanted his disapproval to spill over onto them.
“Thanks to Siobhán,” he said, shooting her a quick look of such heated gratitude it made her hands curl into loose fists. “Are you human, Aurelia? Or an angel, like Siobhán?”
In answer, Aurelia released her wings, exposing the colors that had always reminded Siobhán of a tropical sunset—a melding of oranges, yellows, and reds.
“Very pretty,” Trevor said, taking the revealing of another “mythical creature” with laudable aplomb.
Still, Siobhán felt a twinge at his admiration of the other Sentinel, one she couldn’t identify because she’d never felt it before. “Aurelia, can you make a food run for Trevor?”
“Yes, of course. I could use a bit of time out of the infirmary.”
“What would you like?” she prodded him again.
His face scrunched a little as he thought about it, which she found endearing. “How about a big bucket of fried chicken, coleslaw, corn on the cob, cornbread muffins, and the biggest soda they’ve got. Plus dessert. Whatever they have. I have a sweet tooth.”
Aurelia’s brows lifted. “Hungry much?”
“It’s been a year since I ate. I have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Okay.” She headed toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Siobhán met Trevor’s gaze when he turned to look at her. “Do you want me to explain what I’m working on while she’s gone?”
“Absolutely.” He followed close behind her as she moved over to the infirmary monitors on the far wall. “By the way, your wings are way prettier than hers.”
He couldn’t see it, but Siobhán smiled.
Chapter 5
Trevor bent closer to the color monitors and rapped his knuckle against the frame of the LCD screen. “Is that some vampire thing that they show up in black and white? Like being invisible in front of mirrors?” It was weird looking at bright crimson intravenous lines plugged into grayscale bodies. “And why are you wasting good blood on them?”
“First off, they’re really that color—totally gray from head to toe. Not all vampires look like that. Most of them pass for mortals. These guys, and two gals, are infected with a disease.”
He glanced over to where Siobhán sat perched on a metal barstool with her hands on her knees, looking adorably serious and crazily sexy. Crazy because she was an angel, for chrissakes. Angels weren’t meant to be sex objects. He was pretty damn certain that even putting “angel” and “sex” in the same sentence was a major sin on his part.
“Second,” she went on, “I’m not trying to save their asses. I’m trying to save mine and those of my fellow Sentinel angels. My blood healed you, because it heals mortals. It also, unfortunately, heals these guys. They haven’t figured it out yet, but they will. When they do, we need to have a viable cure in hand to hold them off. We’re severely outnumbered. If they started hunting us, it’d be bad news. Not just for us, but for everyone on the planet. We keep the vampires in check.”
“In check?” His arms crossed. “Do you mean culling?”
“We hunt the rogues, yes. The ones that pose the biggest danger to mortals.” She shook her head, sending the sleek black ends of her bob sliding along her jaw. “I know you’re thinking we should just let them all die from the illness. But they’d wipe out the mortal population before they ran out of food.”
“Why not just kill them all, like you did the other night?”
“Well . . .” She told him a story about two hundred Watcher angels falling into trouble and turning into vampires. “We can’t take out t
he Fallen, but we—”
“Why not?” he interjected.
“Their punishment is to live with what they’ve become.”
He snorted. “It’s not much of a punishment when they’re having a damn good time!”
“The vampires who kept you captive weren’t the Fallen. They were minions, Trevor, humans who were turned into vampires by the Fallen. We can take the minions down, and we do, but since the source of vampirism is the Fallen, it’s very much like addressing the symptoms but not the disease.”
“So everything that happened to me . . . all started because some angels fucked up somehow? I’m just collateral damage?”
Her gaze lowered. “I’m sorry, Trevor.”
“Don’t ever apologize to me,” he said gently, going to her. He caught her hands and squeezed, marveling at how delicate they were when he knew she could kick some serious ass.
“Siobhán.” The emotions that swamped him when he touched her . . . gratitude and guilt, affection and awe, reverence and raw need. But through all of that, one thing remained vitally clear—it felt right to touch her. As if he’d been waiting his whole life to do so.
And she felt some of it, he was sure. It was there in the soft catch of her breath, the parting of her lips, the confusion that filled her beautiful eyes.
“Trevor, you’ve been through a terrible ordeal,” she said in a low, hesitant voice. “It’s natural to feel somewhat confused about me—”
“That doesn’t explain what you’re feeling in return.”
“I don’t experience emotions like you do. We weren’t created that way.”
He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. “You feel something for me, Siobhán. You know it. I know it.”
The door opened behind him and she yanked away guiltily.
“Okay, so here’s—” Aurelia’s voice tapered off. “Is everything all right, Siobhán?”
He turned away and headed toward Aurelia, giving Siobhán a chance to pull herself together. “That smells awesome,” he said, making sure he kept Aurelia’s attention on him. “Let’s hope I remember how to eat.”
“I’m sure it’ll come back to you,” she said drily. “Mortals do seem to love eating.”
“It’s one of the simple pleasures of life.”
She pulled up a barstool beside him as he began unpacking the large plastic bag filled with food. “What are some of the others?”
“Well, that’s different for everyone. Gender plays a role, too.” He pulled the lid off the bucket of chicken and pulled out a drumstick, swallowing as his mouth watered. “For men, I’d say food, competitive sports, and sex rank at the top of the list.”
Shaking her head, she said, “Simple is right.”
He ripped off a piece of greasy chicken with his teeth and moaned as the flavor exploded in his mouth. His salivary glands kicked in and he was pretty sure his eyes rolled back in his head. “I can’t believe you guys are here on earth and you can’t enjoy the cuisine.”
“I thought cuisine referred to food of exceptional quality?”
Trevor laughed at the skeptical look she shot at his bucket of fried poultry parts. “I was actually thinking of my mother’s fried chicken recipe.”
Siobhán came over and lightly touched his biceps. “I’m going to make the rounds. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Want me to go with you?” he asked, grabbing a napkin.
“No. You need to eat.” Her touch managed to hold off the anxiety that starting building at the thought of her leaving him, even for a few minutes. “Aurelia will sit with you while I’m gone.”
“You won’t be long?” He was more than willing to forgo food if they were going to be apart for an appreciable length of time.
“A half hour, maybe.”
He glanced at the clock on the wall, briefly mulling the thought of angels living by mortal time. “Okay.”
“You timing me?” she asked, with the faintest gleam of amusement in her eyes.
“I am, yes.” He smiled. If she could be amused, she could feel other things, too.
“I’d better get moving then.”
Trevor watched her walk out, taking a deep breath when the door closed behind her and the first tingles of panic raised the hairs on his nape.
“Are you all right?” Aurelia asked, reaching out to set a hand on his arm.
He pulled away quickly, feeling his skin crawl. “Please don’t touch me.”
She frowned and he felt bad, but his breath was coming too quickly to explain right away. He took a moment to pull himself together, to push the remembered feel of greedy, vicious hands and mouths out of his mind. “I’m sorry, Aurelia. I just . . . touching . . . I’m not ready yet.”
Her frown deepened. “But you let Siobhán touch you.”
“I think she’s the only one who can. It’s not personal against you, I swear. I think I’m going to have trouble with anyone but Siobhán touching me. At least for a while.”
“But if you let me touch you, I can heal you so that you are ready.”
Trevor stared at her, realizing her cluelessness was for real. She really didn’t understand. But then, maybe she couldn’t. If she’d never felt emotion, how could she possibly empathize with what he was going through?
And yet Siobhán could. She had at least a small spark of humanity in her. “Siobhán already healed me,” he said. “I wouldn’t be able to eat this if she hadn’t.”
“She healed your body,” Aurelia qualified. “She hasn’t yet healed your mind.”
He paused with a forkful of coleslaw lifted partway to his mouth. “How would she do that?”
She studied him with wide, curious eyes. “By touching you. We can go into your mind and wipe all memories of your ordeal away. No ordeal, no residual trauma.”
“Wipe away,” he repeated.
“Yes. Not repressed. Gone completely.”
“Well.” Chewing, he thought about it. “I’m sure that comes in handy.”
And he wasn’t opposed. How could he be, if it took away the fear that even now vibrated through the very center of him? A fear that struck him the moment Siobhán left the room, both now and earlier when he’d dressed. And the shame. Not just at what had been done to him, but for the times when he’d been left alone in the pit for so long that he’d yearned for the vampires to come back. The times when he’d longed for their agonizing bites and the horror of their greedy demands on his ravaged body just so he wouldn’t be alone anymore. But what would that oblivion cost him? Surely there was a price.
He’d ask Siobhán about that as soon as they were alone again. He glanced at the clock. In twenty interminable minutes.
* * *
“Siobhán.”
She straightened abruptly from where she’d been leaning against the closed lab door, trying to regain her bearings. “Yes, Malachai?”
He approached her with a frown, looking formidable in his black jeans and T-shirt. “You’re treading dangerous ground, aren’t you?”
“Thin ice, perhaps,” she admitted. She would have left it at that, but the look on his face told her it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him. “Don’t worry, Mal. He won’t be here long enough for me to fall through.”
“I don’t understand what you’re waiting for. He’s fit now, and his mind is whole.” His brows rose. “Isn’t it . . . ?”
“Yes, yes. His mind is fine. He’s traumatized, but that’s to be expected. He just needs to regain some weight before I cut him loose.”
“I’m not sure it’s worth the risk to you to wait.”
“It’s worth it to me. Once I wipe his memories of the last year, his recollection of his appearance won’t match what he sees in the mirror. I could embellish, but that opens him up to errors in continuity, which would only cause more stress.” She affected a shrug. “I gave him a pint of my blood. He’ll fill back out in just a few days and I’ll make arrangements for him to work for Raguel.”
The archangel who o
versaw North America would certainly have a use for a man with Trevor’s medical training and warrior’s heart. In fact, she could use him herself. There weren’t many Sentinels with her depth of interest in human anatomy.
Malachai reached out to her. She sidestepped nimbly, knowing he wanted to get a read on her state of mind. While she had nothing to hide, the confusion she felt toward Trevor seemed too personal to share.
“I’m okay,” she said more firmly.
“Is he the reason you feel so tormented? Or were you developing feelings prior to this?”
She looked up into her dear friend’s handsome face, seeing the puzzlement and fear in his seraph blue eyes. Fear for her.
It was one of the reasons she hadn’t been more specific in her talk with Trevor—she hadn’t told him it was the mating between angels and mortals that led to the Watchers’ fall. She didn’t want Trevor to fear the connection between them when she was presently the only person he trusted.
She’d read him when she squeezed his shoulder and knew he grew restless at the thought of being separated from her for too long. He was tolerating Aurelia just to avoid being alone. It was only his strength of will that bought Siobhán thirty minutes to pull herself together. She, a being who had never been anything less than totally composed.
“Walk with me,” she said.
They moved down the hallway.
“Have you ever wondered if mortals are right about soul mates?” she asked. “If there is, perhaps, another soul out there destined to touch yours in ways no other can?”
“Is that what you think he is to you?” He shot her an alarmed look.
“No.” She was startled at the unease she felt, as if her negation was a lie. “I just wonder if his story—what he went through and how I found him—was ideally suited to get to me and shake me up a little. Certainly it’s reminded me of what’s at stake, and that reminder came when I most needed it. Can that be a coincidence? Can it be wrong, when I’ll definitely be more diligent and circumspect moving forward?”
“You think he’s . . . what? Some kind of message for you? A nudge in the right direction from the Creator?”