Betrayal's Shadow (14 page)

He brushed her arm with his palm. “No need. It was another lifetime.” He dropped his hand away and seconds later settled the backpack to her lap. With his heavy sigh, his arms folded around her again. “Close your eyes, Mia. I will guard you while you sleep.”

“Who will guard you?” she whispered.

CHAPTER 9

Sun streamed through the kitchen window, reflecting off the contents of Mia’s backpack on the counter. The warmth and light should have been enough proof of the real world to shake the images of the cell. It should have been enough to wipe away the sound of Turen’s voice and the strength of his arms.

Fortunately, it didn’t. She still carried him with her.

The plastic bowl and cutlery lay in a tumble with empty water bottles and her fork on top.

Mia gave a quick swipe across the inside of the pack as she glanced out the window. The leaves were fluttering on the trees that bordered the garage—beautiful, but a sign that a storm would head in later. Her fingers skimmed over a cylindrical surface, a small lump tucked in the pack’s inner pocket. She stared at a vial of dark burgundy liquid she’d extracted.

Blood?

With a chill, she made the connection. Turen had stored this without mention. Did he assume she would find it and keep his blood—Xavier’s or someone’s—for him?

She closed her eyes and shook her head. Of course he did. She had offered to help. He was counting on her. Dropping the pack on the counter, she headed out the back door to the garage. A dinosaur of a fridge connected to a backup generator occupied a rear corner of the building.

Blood from Xavier’s prison was getting a higher priority than her groceries. She stifled a laugh. The vial glistened in the sunlight. How had he stolen Xavier’s blood? The thought of all that madness contained in the little vial sobered her mood.

Vial secured, she returned to the house. She disregarded her commissioned work and reached for the journal laptop, driven by a need for more answers instead of the swell of questions.

After a few minutes of typing key thoughts and names, she waited on the bright alien screen. It shimmered in the corner of the kitchen, heedless to the presence of daylight.

Mia sifted through her previous notes from Rheanna’s entries, and then raised her fingers to the ancient text. She tapped at words and swirled her wrist to force a response from the text so she could dig deeper for information on the virus and Turen’s people. No success. Finesse with sorting through the interface was possible, but detailed content on her specific questions hit dead ends.

She reversed her searches for more of Rheanna’s entries and touched her name on the screen in the air. Two more notations appeared.

This is my final account of the children saved, though my memory is undependable now. May He forgive my omissions and grant any not listed here shelter in His embrace:

From the Guardian clans of the East: Saladin, Kaaz, Genoveva, Nazar, Lika, Nikko, Maksim

From the Guardian clans of the South: Udo, Amara, Jafa, Oni, Viticus

From the Guardian clans of the Valley: Leonis, Salvatore, Xavier, Sagari, Turen, Ansgar, Briet, Isabella, Drogan, Grimm, Grace, Quan, Tsu, Kamau

There are more. They linger in the fringes of my mind, yet I can no longer grasp their names or see their faces.

Mia ignored the tears on her cheek and tapped on to the second entry.

By the grace of my mother, for each of you, I say our prayer. I hear her words as she spoke to my father, the blessing of her love to each of us, mate to mate, parent to child.

Should my mate exist in this time, please know that from my heart I would have sought you. I would not leave you to suffer, and I perish with my prayer to you on my lips.

May our Maker grant certainty in your soul that you are loved, though my eyes have never seen your face.

May the blessing find you, keep you, and protect you even though I cannot.

In our Maker’s grace, we will cleave to each other, heart to heart and soul to soul, bending before the will of both for the prosperity of the generations, for the protection and hope that will be the gift to us all.

May His love hold you safe.

May mine.

~ Rheanna

Swiping her face with her hands, Mia let the shimmer fade.

How could she possibly help solve Turen’s or these
Guardians
’ problems? She had no power, no clout, no great insight.

She sat back in her chair and covered her mouth with shaky fingers.
Okay, so what can I do
?

***

The tickle on her face didn’t stop. Mia shrugged and rolled away to reach for sleep, but the pestering followed.

“Mia.” The deep voice at her ear vibrated along her skin. She blinked. Turen’s face hovered inches from hers, a wrinkle between his brows and her fingers clasped in his hand as he crouched beside her.

“You had me worried. I was afraid you weren’t going to wake up.” He moved beside her. “You need more sleep.”

With a stretch, she sat up. Lethargy still blanketed her mind, leaving her feeling thick and out of touch.

“Maybe if I wasn’t moonlighting, I could work on sleep. At least I’m giving this my all. What have you been doing lately?” She tried to infuse some sarcasm in her words. His laugh let her know she’d succeeded.

He pressed a kiss to her palm and released her. “You’re correct. We need to attack this all or nothing. But I’m bound here, beautiful. While I appreciate your vigor, please don’t risk your health or sanity for me.”

Over the nights she’d appeared here, he’d opened more to her and teased her with light terms of affection. They’d settled into a comfortable, though strange, companionship in this cell. Sometimes his injuries precluded more than just quiet talk. Other nights he would work her through defensive maneuvers and strategies.

She curled her fingers around his. “I’ll do my damnedest not to get killed. How’s that?”

His wince was almost too faint to notice. The clench from his fingers wasn’t. “I want more quality for your life than
not getting
killed
. You aren’t expendable.”

“I’m not an adrenaline junkie, so don’t treat me like one. No one’s caught me here—yet. How about we move on from the worrying?” From her perspective, she was better off now than when she’d first encountered him, no longer adrift in her own self-doubt. Turen’s unusual problems provided her with focus. He needed her, such a foreign experience for her and rather compelling.

“You press your luck.” He stroked her cheek, and that easily, she forgot restraint. The warmth of his touch, the stir of his breath across her hair, drove common sense from her brain. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. His fingers froze at her advance but didn’t retreat. Then his lips pressed back.

He cupped her head and tilted it for his tongue to brush along her lips. The caress savored her and stoked the fire inside her, awakening a slumbering desire as his tongue teased along her lips.

Too quickly, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “You could try to tackle this problem from home for a change. Use your skills.” His whispered words brushed across her cheek. “Maybe then I won’t have nightmares about you trapped somewhere, here with me or worse.”

“Then you wouldn’t have the benefit of my company to exorcise your demons.” She pulled away with reluctance and avoided his gaze, reluctant to see an absence of the emotion she needed in his eyes. He wasn’t intended for her.

She dug through her backpack until she located a small toolkit, then placed it between them, and snapped it open.

Turen scrutinized the tools with a frown.

“If we can get the cuffs off, you can leave to work on your issues yourself.” Not really what she wanted, at least not the part where he left her alone to resolve his problems. But his safety was at risk in this prison. That was her nightmare.

“I don’t think those tools will get through this metal.” He glanced at her.

She sat back with a defeated sigh.

Then he nudged her and braced his arm over his raised knee, offering the manacled wrist for her closer inspection. “Try it anyway. Perhaps it will be useful. If not, maybe you have other tools that would work.”

His palm lay open and she moved her face close to the thick, black metal. The surface absorbed the little bit of light in the cell, no glint or sheen, just a dull matte finish. Her fingers traced along the curves. Nothing indicated a lock or seal. Fortunately he was free of the chains today. The manacles would be enough to deal with.

She puzzled over the connection. Her fingers again worked along both edges of the metal from the start of his wrist to three inches up his forearm. The seal had to be here. Even Turen admitted it wasn’t magic—which left engineering.

She worked one direction and then back, progressing in a methodical circuit. A slow tingle preceded cold, followed by a numbness that permeated the pads of her fingers and the palm of her hand. Frowning at the sensation, she gasped as the cold exploded into pain and seared along the surface of her skin. Her hands fingers sizzled and she lurched back, shaking them to stop the sensation.

Turen grabbed her hands and brought them toward the light before she could move from his reach. The neon green in the room provided little visibility to assess the damage, but the black smear of blood on her palms stood out, as if the top layer of skin had been scraped off.

“Damn it.”

She agreed. While his grip was gentle, she struggled against it anyway. The need to do
something for the pain overrode logic. She tried to pull back from Turen’s hold, but he didn’t let go. “It hurts.”

“Mia, stop.”

“No. I need water. Just let me—”

“You don’t have a choice. Stop fighting me and listen.”

“Yep, hurts.” She blew out a strong breath and tried not to whimper.

“Lay your hand here.” He lowered her palm to the bloodied lash mark on his abdomen.

Not hygienic.
“No.”

“We have to cover your scent. My blood won’t call them.” He held her tight and angled his head to listen.

Shit, not those creatures, too.

He squeezed her hands, forcing her attention away from the thought. “My saliva healed your cut. My blood may help these lesions.”

She pulled against his grip. He was far too strong and relentless. Even with her struggles, he managed to force her palm back to one of his bleeding wounds.

He hissed but held her in place for a full minute, maybe two. Then he let her go. The suddenness of his release snapped her backward. Her butt landed gracelessly on the floor.

“Check your fingers,” he said through his teeth as he bent to check his abdomen.

She shook her head and cradled her hand to her chest. He really was crazy. That explained Xavier’s problem. They were all insane, masochistic cretins.

The initial injury had caused her hand to go rigid, quelling her movements. Oddly, now her fingers bent with no sensation. She lifted her hand and clenched her jaw, preparing the worst swear words she could remember, and shot a quick look at her hand.

Her skin, previously lacerated and raw, now sported tender new flesh—no scab, no bleeding.

“If you breathe, you live longer.”

With a scowl, she forced an exaggerated breath in through her nose.

“Come here. It will also heal faster if you just trust me.”

She glanced at her fingers and back at him, then contemplated his intense expression and outstretched hand. Being needed was one thing. Trust was a whole other issue. Still, she closed the fingers of her healed hand slowly, considering he might be right, and sidled next to his hip. His hand cupped her more wounded hand and moved it back to his stomach with a gentleness that had been absent the first time he’d grabbed her.

“I suspected my skin would have been enough, but your wounds were too severe.” His muscles tensed under her hand, the only indication she had of any reaction from him. Pain, most likely. He applied her healed hand to his flesh as well.

For minutes, they waited in silence, her hand on him, his fingers covering hers. The procedure aligned her close to him, her forehead inches from his chest, her elbows settled lax against his side. The pain faded within seconds of his touch. Euphoria replaced the searing heat.

Turen lifted one hand to check it and cursed.

She didn’t know the cause. She didn’t care.

Her eyes remained closed as her cheek sank to rest against his chest. The euphoria dissipated as lightness and buoyancy blossomed. If he released her, she would surely float to the ceiling and bob like a helium balloon.

Turen curled Mia’s hand and pressed it to a healthy section of his chest with a strangled sense of desperation. Damn it all, this wasn’t supposed to happen. “Mia?”

He counted beats for her pulse until he convinced himself she’d only passed out. With a quick glance at his own body, he inspected the healed flesh that had moments ago been a ragged open wound. Until Mia’s hands had covered him. His people healed more quickly than humans did, but it should have taken days for a wound of such size to heal with his manacles on. He was trying to heal her, not the other way around.