The boy with the horse?
No. William.
Ah right, I remember now. The choking must be Draven pushing against the puncture in my throat to stop the bleeding.
“Can you heal yourself?” He's so serious. It's just a little nick. William could fix it right away. Unless...
I reach for the tell-tale wrongness of my injury, letting instincts guide me to where I need healing the most. My concentration's still a bit...fuzzy.
Instead of two tiny holes, there’s a gaping chasm in my neck. Shredded skin dangles in thin strips from the left side of my throat which is...basically hamburger. Heavy blood loss keeps the panic at bay—not a good thing because I need to act fast.
Except the sense of urgency dangles slightly beyond my reach.
Draven's so cute from this angle. How does he not have artists hounding him to pose for their statues and paintings? Screw it. “I’ll paint you.” Except I don’t know how.
It's so sleepy in here. Maybe I'll just rest my eyes for a minute.
“Syxx, you need to focus!” A warm hand lightly slaps my cheek. God, that's annoying.
I weakly latch on to the idea of healing my ruined neck. As veins and tendons slowly knit themselves back together, it gets a bit easier to stay awake. Healing, deep healing, itches like a motherfucker. Discomfort perks me up a bit, cuts through the low blood pressure haze.
Now I'm itchy, dizzy, heavy, and bitchy.
What the hell just happened? With a Herculean effort, I manage to prop myself up on my elbows and turn to face William. I'll give him this: his photo should be beside the word 'stricken' in the dictionary.
Stricken or struck?
Neither of them feel like real words when your head weighs fifty pounds.
Gravity, my old adversary, pulls me back to the floor. Draven slides closer and props my head and shoulders on his thighs, rubs my upper arms with deliciously warm hands. Mmm, his warmth is nice after the cold floor—though at this point, the floor’s warmer than I am.
Blood. I'm missing blood. My body needs to make more. I lie still while my magic works its...magic.
Wow, massive blood loss seriously kicks the IQ down a few notches.
A surge of warmth and light pulses through me as my body replaces the blood that was lost. My head is no longer pounding. Wait a second. The blood wasn’t lost—it was stolen.
I glare at William—who Draven sent flying earlier, if the William-sized dent in the wall is anything to go by. “What the hell? We had a deal and you tried to turn me into a buffet!”
“You owe her nothing! She should be grateful you quit when you did. We could kill her like an insect. She is worthless. Her mate, on the other hand...”
I whirl around and look at Mare. “Care to say that to my face, bitch?”
Her jaw goes slack, and she stares at me in disbelief.
Draven's hand finds my arm when I wobble. “Syxx?”
“She knows what she said, don’t even defend her.”
“Impossible.”
I look at William. “What's impossible?”
William's mouth doesn't move, but I still hear him say, “She’s hearing our thoughts.”
Thus begins another WTF-athon.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Impossible!” Mare says. Or rather, doesn't say.
Now that I know they aren't speaking, I can feel the difference between speech and telepathy. There's a subtle pressure, a whispering in my mind. I wonder if it goes both ways?
“Can you hear me too?” I project at William.
“How is she doing this? Can you hear her thoughts, Mare? Her blood is singing inside me.”
“Mare’s a sloppy bitch!” I try again. Nothing. Maybe I should pretend I can't do it anymore and see what they give up.
William's gaze has an almost physical weight, pinning me beneath his heavy scrutiny.
“Will, how is this even possible? I've never heard of this occurring.”
I force myself to look at Draven. “That was so freaky. I don't know why it happened.”
Past tense to make them think it's stopped. I can’t react to their thoughts or make it look like I'm listening. “I'm still dizzy from blood loss. I need a minute.” I put my head in my hands, the better to eavesdrop without showing any reaction.
Draven pulls me close and rubs soothing circles on my back. “You’re freezing.”
“Did she transfer anything to you?” Mare telepathically asks William.
A pause. “No. It’s delectable, but I received only her blood—no abilities. Curious.”
“She’s only a Fae because of a condition. She’s a mutant, I’m not surprised.” Even her thoughts have a sneer in them. “How was she able to hear our thoughts? Did you transfer to her?”
“I don't know, Mare.” His thoughts have an impatient tone. “But restrain yourself in case she can hear us.”
“She’s useless, there’s no way. William, if she can read our thoughts, then she’d know about—”
Instead of hearing a voice, an image flashes into my mind. A memory, or a vision, I can't tell, all I know is that shit just got weird.
I'm staring at a stone wall, close up from someone else's point of view. Mare’s?
“It's not personal,” I/Mare say. “You're what we call...insurance.”
In the memory, Mare—whose mind I am riding—backs up slightly. A woman's neck and shoulder come into view. She's making tiny mewling noises of fear and is trembling to the point of vibration, and I am pleased that were it not for my hand around her throat, she’d fall to the ground. Her fear is like a drug to me, intoxicating, consuming, heady. I inhale deeply, vision turning red as I smell her blood, inches away from me, just beneath her skin.
I lick from her shoulder to her neck, tasting her skin and fear. God, I want her, I want to tear her throat out and suck until I've consumed her and all that's left is a husk. I want to bathe in her blood. In her essence. Instead, I work my tongue harder against her, not breaking the skin, not caring when she cries out, not caring that she'll have another bruise. I like the way her bruises taste when I make them.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Her voice cracks beneath her fear.
“Because she cares about you and would never let anything happen to her best friend.”
I pull back and look at her face.
The real me shrinks in horror. Beneath the bruises and terror is my best friend. Trina.
I pull out of the memory so violently Draven's arms fly out from the force of my anger.
Who should I kill first? Mare because of how she taunted Trina, or William, so Mare can watch him die and see what lies in her future?
“What’s wrong?” Draven comes to my side, and his voice permeates the red fog of fury choking my vision and mind. I pause—he didn’t see what I saw.
“They’ve got Trina. She hurt my Trina.”
Power flows from his hands like a fountain, slamming Mare into the wall. Right here in this moment, I love him more intensely than I ever have. He doesn't even know what's going on, yet he's ready to fight at my side because my best friend is involved. Knowing I’m still recovering, he’s giving me the option to do whatever I need. His powers are mine to control. He turns to me. “What do you want me to do with her?” He lifts her in the air, suspended, unanchored.
“You will put me down immediately,” she shrieks.
Silence.
Her mouth works but no sound comes out.
There is nothing she can say that will make this better. “Hold her for now. William, care to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“I don't know what you're—”
“Save it.” The two syllables rocket from my mouth, slashing the air with my anger. “I heard her. I saw Trina through Mare's memory. You'd better start talking if you want Mare to get through this in one piece.”
“I don’t know anyone named Trina.”
“William, it's taking all I have not to rip her to shreds, burn the remnants, and piss on t
he ashes.” A delusion has been torn from me and it’s agonizing. I pretended I never told her the truth because it was a conversation we couldn’t have on the phone, but it was more than that. She was a lie I told myself. Trina was the slice of Old Syxx I wanted to keep separate from all this, and now I know Trina isn't safe at home like I thought she was.
Sure, my own selfish desires ground against me, wanting my best friend with me at my side for this, wanting someone from my old life to talk to like I was still just Syxx. Normalcy. But I denied myself because knowing Trina wasn't affected by this in the least helped me rest easier. As long as she was away from me then she was safe—and someone remembered me as normal. Human. Someone knew me as the girl I’d been before powers and wars and hard decisions changed me into Syxx version 2.0. All of the friendship with none of the ‘you must save us’ baggage and expectations.
Trina was the safety blanket tucked in a closet if ever there came a day that I couldn’t reconcile who I’d become with who I wanted to be, and I needed a break from it all. Mare's stolen that feeling of security from me.
Yet all of that pales in comparison to the things she’s done to my best friend.
And Mare’s going to fucking pay.
She wouldn't care if I had William against the wall. He's a gentleman. A bastard with no self-control who nearly killed me moments ago, whose chivalry and remorse I’m relying on to rise forth and make him talk.
“I think you'd better talk, William.” Anger making his accent more pronounced, Draven moves to my side, hands cradling power like a heat wave, shimmering in his palms.
William's looking at Mare too intently for there not to be telepathic intent, so I throw a shield over Mare, willing nothing to get in or out. That gets William's attention. He edges closer, hands up, placating.
“Look—”
“No. You look. You have no idea the things I've lost, and seen, and been through these past few weeks. You have no idea the things I’ve done. Or maybe you do. Right now I'm a fraying, overstretched elastic band of anger. Trust me when I say you don't want to fuck with me right now.” Every word has inflamed my raw nerves until the air crackles with static—a build-up of power humming through me, spilling from me. “I saw what they did to the horse, William. The little boy was you. Are you going to do the same thing to my best friend that they did to yours?”
He flinches. “Mare felt we needed more insurance. We didn't know you were coming to prevent a war, and we needed something over you to ensure your cooperation should our goals become incompatible at some point.”
“You bastard.” The flatness of Draven’s tone hides the deadliness beneath it, like the hood framing a cobra's face.
“It was not my idea, yet I went along with it, which makes me culpable as well.”
No shit. “When was this? When did you take Trina?”
“Ten days ago.”
My knees buckle and it takes every ounce of willpower I’ve got to stay upright. Ten days she's been held in a cell, terrorized by Mare. Beaten, bitten, who knows what’s been done to her? Is she...is she one of them now?
“In the memory, she was hurt.” I suppress my voice so as not to pulverize everything in the room beneath the shattering force of my temper, leaving us standing in rubble and ruin.
“Yes.”
“Was she bitten? Did she feed from my friend?” I slam Mare against the wall with my power until her gaze becomes unfocused.
“No one fed from her or even bit her. I give you my word.”
William’s words do not reassure me. “I saw her injuries—”
“Ah. Most of those occurred when she was taken. Not part of the plan, but she fought most admirably. For a human.”
Pride nearly brings a smile to my face. Nearly. “Where is she now?”
He looks down, hesitating.
I tweak my wrist, and Mare flips upside down. “I can change all the candlelight to sunlight, William,” I say softly. “I will burn her, burn you, and burn your legacy to the ground until I find my friend. I don't want to. I didn't want any of this. You crossed a line by involving my human friend. And after what you just did to me, I think you owe me.”
He nods. “I can't tell you where she is. But”—he holds up a hand to my snarl—“I swear to you she will be given safe passage to your safe house. Headquarters.”
“When?”
“She will be released immediately. It will take a few days for her to get there. She’s not here.”
His oddly specific wording annoys me. “You will take her to the safehouse where Draven and I stay, not release Trina like a hound with no idea where she is.”
William’s face tightens. “Very well.”
“What assurances do we have?” Draven asks. “You've already burned us. Twice.”
“Exactly. The scales are tipped in your favor. If you've read up on me, you'll know that I crave balance above all else.”
Recon confirms this. Still. I'm not inclined to trust someone who just tore my throat out and was complicit in the kidnapping and abuse of my best friend. “I need something, William. You're going to have to give me something more than that.”
William gazes at Mare, who can’t shake her head, but her eyes blaze with screams she can’t release. Whatever he’s about to give us, she doesn’t want us to have it.
William closes his eyes and meets my gaze again. “Jecka. Nakayla. Coren. Grayle.” The four names fill the room like a hammer falling on coffin nails—weighty and final.
A jolt singes through my veins at the mention of the three names of the High Fae Council members I know. The fourth is unfamiliar.
“Grayle?” My heart kicks the inside of my ribcage.
“Water Elemental. Older brother to the one you knew as Graire.”
That evil son of a bitch.
“You're certain of this?” Draven demands.
“Yes.”
One look at Mare's livid face confirms William's given us information she didn't want us to have. We now know the identity of all four of the High Fae Council members—our true enemies. William's given us something huge. If it's true, it's almost incomprehensibly useful.
I flip Mare around, gently set her down and release my power. “No hard feelings.” It’s a statement, a borderline dare for her to start some shit. I’m itching to turn her to dust. If she knew how close I am to losing it, she’d be scared.
Her eyes suggest otherwise. Whatever. Get in line behind the rest of the people who hate me.
I glance at Draven and nod for the door. “Thank you, William.”
“I am sorry about losing control, Syxx. It’s just that you taste so—”
“If the name you gave us is true, then no hard feelings,” Draven growls.
“It is.” Mare's rude voice drags sullenly across the room.
I pause. “If Trina doesn't show up alive and well—”
“You have my assurance,” William says sadly.
I know how he feels. If none of this had happened, I could have seen us being strong allies and maybe friends with him. Maybe not with Mare.
Definitely not with Mare.
Mare can go fuck her own face.
Now everything is impossibly tense, our future cooperation uncertain.
I follow Draven out of the cold room and into the night, sad about the potential that’s been crushed beneath circumstance.
NEITHER OF US SPEAK the hour-and-a-half drive to the hotel, but Draven grips my hand tightly in his the whole way.
We need to catch a few hours of sleep before going back.
He hangs the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the hotel room door. “We'll make sure she's safe. We'll work from that, Syxx. When she's safe, we'll decide what retaliation is necessary. I promise.”
“Death is too good for them. If the name they gave is real...”
Draven moves behind me and rubs my shoulders. His closeness more than his massage helps the tension drain from me. “It's almost too much to hope for, isn't it?”
�
�I can't even focus on that. All I can think about is Trina. If they hurt her any more—”
“They wouldn't dare.”
“No. I suppose they wouldn't.” Not after my little display. Shit. I shouldn't have lost my temper.
“I almost murdered William myself when I saw what he'd done to you. I knew when he started going too far, and I blasted him off of you. Too late. By then...”
Stark thickness in his voice makes me face him. He's not looking at me—eyes open, held captive by the memory of what he saw. His eye twitches, and his mouth is tense.
“Draven, I'm fine. I'm here.”
He pulls me to his chest and holds me in his arms like I'm made of ash and he's afraid I'll crumble into dust if he holds me too tightly. Breathing him in makes me feel better; his scent is like my personal aromatherapy. I snake my arms around his waist and nestle tighter against him.
“I just never want to let you go again. That was such a terrible idea, agreeing to let him feed from you.”
“We can't change the past.”
“He nearly killed you!”
“He didn't.” I squeeze him.
“If anything had happened to you...if I ever lost you, I don't know how I'd go on.”
My heart clenches with the memory of the time I thought I'd lost him. My pain had made me start a revolution, fighting the Fae Council. It was a pain so white-hot and intense, it was almost cleansing—in the sense that it would have incinerated me until nothing else but vengeance was left.
I don't know what to say to him to make it better.
So, I kiss his neck and stroke his back with my hands, moving lower until they dip below his t-shirt to the smooth, hot skin of his lower back.
He shudders and his lips meet mine with a need so deep it's primal and consuming. His hot mouth burns away all fears, all other thoughts.
I pull back and claw at his shirt, straining to pull it off of him. He removes it and sweeps me up in his arms, setting me gently on the bed. He runs his hands up my sides, pulling my shirt up, kissing gently, following it up my body. He slides the shirt over my head in one fluid motion and looks at me, glowing blue-green eyes searing into my heart, making it skip a beat.
The Reaping (The Moondreamer Chronicles Book 2) Page 10