2. Darkness in the Blood Master copy MS 5 (3 page)

I stared, wondering if he’d sustained a head injury on his jog. “You’ve thought about looking for Asheroth in the middle of the night? Why?”

“Well, not that exactly. I’d like to think I have a little more sense.” I shot him a glare. He flushed the deep red of frustration. “You’re not the only one who feels bad. Do you think I don’t know what Ethan did for me? That I don’t know what I owe him?” I looked at him, my brother flushed from his aborted run, and remembered how this time last year he’d begun to lose his hair. His dark eyes fixed on mine and held them. “If what’s happened to him is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I’m standing here because of what he gave up.”

All my defiance melted as I slumped into the nearest chair. “I feel…” I swallowed hard. “I think I hate myself for it. I think I’m starting to.” I scrubbed at my face with the back of my hand. “I’m terrified that Ethan regrets it. And what’s worse…” I buried my face in my hands. “Asheroth may be a crazy bastard, but he’s right about one thing. Before he changed, Ethan didn’t choose to love me. When his kind fall in love, they capital ‘F’ Fall. As in, they don’t have a choice. So what if this,” I indicated the two of us with a sweep of my hand, “isn’t something he willingly chose? And now that he’s mortal, with free will and all, he regrets it?”

“Just answer me one thing.”

“Ok,” I assented warily.

“Do you get to choose who to love?”

His question confused me. “What do you mean?”

“Could you choose to stop loving him?” he asked patiently. I just stared. “Free will is the wrong way to look at it, I think,” he said at last. “Could you just decide you don’t love Ethan? Like turning off the faucet, or something?”

“People can fall out of love,” I said slowly. If, God forbid, I found out Ethan was a serial killer, or caught him cheating, I’d like to think I wouldn’t be one of those women…

“That’s not what I mean. Is love a choice, Caspia? Was it ever, with him? Because you reacted pretty strongly to him the moment you saw him. I stared at my brother, remembering. The first time I saw Ethan, the way my body felt immediately pulled towards to him, even though my brain tried to fight it. There had never been anything neutral or casual about the way I felt towards Ethan. “Maybe none of us can choose who we love, Cas. None of the lucky ones, anyway. The only choice we have is how we serve that love. And Ethan’s made his choice. What about you? Are you going to reject it, or make the best of what you’ve been given?”

 “He’s human now,” I countered, voicing my deepest fear in a whisper. “Free will and all. What if he rejects me?”

Dimly I felt my brother’s hand wrap around my own and was shocked at the strength of it. “It was the only way he could truly be with you. You can’t ask him to give that up, no matter how hard it is for either of you. To ask that… Cas, it’s like saying you don’t want him.” His hand convulsed around mine, and I hissed. I think he meant the gesture to be a gentle squeeze, but I actually felt the bones of my hand grind together.

“Hey! Watch it!” I yelped. I pulled my hand loose and shook some feeling back into it. Logan looked startled, but he didn’t say anything. “Ethan has to know that’s not true. That could never be true. It’s just that this life is so dangerous for him. Remember the emergency room, thinking he was going to bleed out in my lap, and all because…” It was suddenly hard to talk. Logan had my hand again, gently this time, so there was no way to wipe my eyes. “And I was right there,” I managed in a whisper. “Right beside him. I left the knife in the water. My god, Logan, if I hadn’t been right there…”

“But you were,” he whispered, and his arms were around me, pulling me from my chair into his lap, rocking me. “You were right there, and so was I, and it was fine.”

He knelt on the floor by my chair and I let him take all my weight. I’d missed this, leaning on someone stronger. “Who are you, and what have you done with Logan Chastain?” I asked, only half-teasing.

“I don’t know,” Logan said, his face a hollow echo of mine. He snaked an arm around my waist and deposited me in my chair as if I weighed almost nothing. His casual strength surprised me again. “You just can’t go out like that again, sneaking out in the night. Don’t forget we never caught this demon of yours, or found out who took your drawings. And when were you planning on telling me about that little trick with your hands?”

“What trick?” I asked as sweetly as possible, giving him my best fake smile.

He wasn’t buying it, I could tell. Logan had years of experience detecting my lies and evasions. I pretty much sucked at them anyway. I slumped back against my chair as he waggled his fingers at me. “The creepy black shadows you were wearing like gloves. The ones that knocked me on my ass? That trick.” He dropped into the closest chair and leaned into my space, eyeballing me like an interrogator. “I want to know about that one, Caspia. Why don’t you start there.”

I glanced at all the exits. Logan was too close. He’d catch me if I tried to run. “It’s the Shadows,” I said softly, addressing my muffin instead of my brother’s merciless eyes. “You know how I’m supposed to be able to use them as weapons if I have to?” He didn’t say anything. I took a deep breath. “Well, lately, they’ve been sort of coming out on their own.”

He just stared at me, his dark brown eyes developing an intensity that was as new and alien as his startling strength. Red, I realized. His brown eyes were darkening almost into blackness, and it looked as if they had lines of red radiating out from the iris.

“…how bad?” he demanded, and I realized he’d been talking to me. “Just how bad is it, Caspia? What’s happening to you?”

What’s happening to you, I wanted to ask, but didn’t. “I don’t know,” I admitted in a hoarse whisper. My eyes had changed once, too. From steel gray to bright silver. I made an effort to focus on Logan, who appeared to be panicking right in front of me. “It’s only been getting out of control over the last few weeks, and even then only when I feel upset or threatened. It goes away if I can calm myself down, or…” I risked another glance. Logan was breathing hard, an unmistakable ring of dark crimson encircling his irises. Oh, hell. Oh holy hells. What was happening to my brother?

“Or what?” he demanded.

“Or if I fight them out,” I finished in a whisper.

“Fight them out,” he echoed. “Fight what, Caspia?” He buried his face in his hands. When he raised his head his eyes were wild again, dark as burnt charcoal fissured with lines of fire.

I just looked at him, sick to my stomach for too many reasons to count. Logan had never shown a hint of any kind of gift our entire lives. Surely it couldn’t be happening now. 

An orange blur bolted into Logan’s lap and yowled madly for his attention. Ethan’s strong hands settled on my shoulders a few seconds later, using me for balance and easing the knots of tension he found there at the same time. “You’re upset,” he observed. “I usually prefer to say good morning before you get upset.”

I leaned back, grateful he was there to catch me. “Good morning,” I murmured into his soft t-shirt. I rubbed my cheek against his stomach. Even though I’d given him the same juniper and cedar aftershave as Logan, on him it smelled icy somehow. “Mmm. Ethan. Hello.” I tried to smile, but I didn’t have the heart for it. I could hear how tired I was. I tried to remember the last time I had slept. I couldn’t. “Logan and I were just chatting about deadly and uncontrollable gifts. Have a muffin.”

Chapter Three:

Close to Home

Logan threw the paper he’d been reading earlier on the table like he was declaring checkmate. “Ethan. Good. My hard-headed sister seems addicted to monumentally stupid risk-taking.” I shot him my evilest glare.

Ethan brushed against me as he slid into a chair. I inhaled the scent of flannel and cotton warmed by his skin; crushed juniper and soap; towels fresh from the dryer. I didn’t want to hear any more bad news. I wanted to lean against the arms I knew were waiting for me and go back to sleep. Ethan. Home. I didn’t even realize I was leaning towards him until I opened my eyes to his amused blue-green ones. “Have you had your third cup of coffee yet?” he asked, brushing my hair back from my forehead and tucking it behind one ear.

“Just the one.” I looked mournfully at my now almost cold cup of coffee. “Logan’s being big brotherly at me.”

“Sounds painful.” He smiled as if he hadn’t been writhing in pain for most of the night. He started for the coffee pot before I realized what he meant to do. “We’d better fix that immediately. Caspia without her coffee isn’t…”

“
No!”
Logan and I shouted simultaneously before he had a chance to pick up the coffee pot from its burner.  I half-rose from my chair, ready to lunge if needed. Logan was faster; he’d actually taken two steps towards the kitchen, dumping an indignant Abigail on her tail. Ethan froze at the sound of our shouts, the muscles of his shoulders tensing. He stood perfectly still. Only the tightly controlled way he held himself let me know just how much our reactions upset him.

“It’s fine,” he said after a long moment. Abigail prowled between us, unsure which human most deserved her queenly scorn. Ethan, the muscles of his back practically vibrating with tension, wrapped his hands in two dishtowels. “Please sit down.” He held the coffee pot, the last remaining breakable item in our kitchen, with careful determination. I sat, my eyes on him the whole time. Logan followed more slowly, flushed with embarrassment. I refused to be embarrassed. I’d seen him get hurt too many times to care. His mortal body possessed remarkable strength. But he was still learning muscular control and hand-eye coordination. Routine tasks were fraught with danger. As Ethan gingerly set the glass pot full of scalding hot liquid down between us, I reached for his hand.

“I’m sorry.” He let my hand linger for a second or two, but he wouldn’t look at me. The muscles in his jaw were as tight as his back had been. “It just hasn’t been that long since the hospital.” I sighed. “How are your stitches?”

Without a word he flipped his arm wrist-up and yanked off the bandage. I winced. I felt queasy every single time I looked at it. Seventeen stitches from mid-wrist to just below the crook of his elbow.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated automatically as he slid back into the seat next to me.

“Don’t.” He touched my forearm, drummed against it lightly with his fingers. “It’s not your fault.” His smile was more bitter than graceful, but it was there. “I’m getting a little better. There’s hope I’ll figure this human thing out eventually.” But the closeness we’d shared, the thoughtless, automatic joy at sharing a morning together, was gone. 

“Well.” Logan swirled a spoonful of honey into his green tea. “I, for one, was only trying to save you from drinking any more of that awful crap. Coffee is bad for you.” He grinned, trying to lighten the mood, saluting us with his mug. “Green tea is full of anti-oxidants. The body is a temple.” He leaned back in his chair, radiating smugness. “Especially mine.”

“Weeds, Logan,” I shot back as I drained almost a third of the pot into my huge blue plastic mug. As part of his recovery regime, Logan’s health kick was understandable, but there were some lines I just would not cross. “You’re drinking weeds.”

“Healthy weeds.”

“Whatever.” I smiled around my mouthful of muffin. I’d missed picking on him mercilessly. I’d held back the worst of my attacks when he’d been so sick. “That’s why you have to drown the taste with enough honey to send a normal person into sugar shock. And that’s got to be so healthy. Right, Ethan?” I choked down my half-chewed muffin, eager to include Ethan in my attack. “Logan can be the healthiest diabetic in Whit…”

But Ethan wasn’t listening, and judging from his face, he hadn’t been for a while. The newspaper Logan had been so absorbed in earlier drooped between his fingers like wet laundry. His was bone-white and had the most lost expression I had ever seen on his human face. I scrambled to read over his shoulder.

“Jesus, Cas! Watch it!” Logan yelled, snatching his precious tea out of my path. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Not me,” I insisted. “Ethan? What’s wrong?”

He had Logan’s full attention too, now. “Look,” he said, indicating the paper. He placed it on the table between us. “Did either of you read this earlier?” Carefully, with shaking hands, he smoothed the front page completely flat. “Did either of you pay attention?”

“That’s not even a Whitfield paper,” I said defensively, “so no. Plus I’ve been lectured at since my feet hit the floor this morning. I’ve had no time.”

“I picked it up because there’s a music festival in Birmingham next weekend. I just wanted to see who was playing.” Logan came to stand over my shoulder and leaned in close.

Ethan pointed to a headline on the front page, his finger white with pressure as if he could drill down through the surface of the table itself. Heiress Abducted, the headline screamed in gigantic black letters. I leaned in so close to Ethan our shoulders touched. “Twelve year old Caroline Bedford was taken from the family estate in Vestavia last night, despite some of the best private security in the country,” I read aloud. “Bedford is the only daughter of shipping magnate Nathan Bedford. Police have no suspects and no ransom has been demanded. Mr. Bedford has issued a one million dollar reward for Caroline’s safe return.” I frowned; it was terrible news, but I didn’t understand why Ethan was so upset he literally shook against me. He slammed his fist down against a black and white security camera photo. I leaned in closer. I could feel Logan’s hot breath against my ear.

A girl in a white nightgown and slippers. Long blond hair. A terrified blur of a face, the picture too grainy to make out distinct features beyond the usual trademarks of terror: wide mouth and eyes, head thrown back, arms flailing. Taken in what looked like a hallway with busy wallpaper, two dark figures held her. One gripped her around the waist, and the other seemed to be acting as lookout. Dressed all in black, they looked like army commandos or mercenaries of some kind. They wore form-fitting black clothing, bulky jackets, and huge dark blurry backpacks.

“I noticed those backpacks right away,” Logan said quietly. Something darkly chilling slid its way down the back of my neck at his tone. “Ethan? Do you see it?”