Breaking Normal (Dream Weaver #3) (20 page)

              I scavenged for a piece of paper and drew a picture of the tattoo. “This and a round scar, like a burn from some sort of pipe, are on his left hand. He was thinking of killing the dog.” Molly winced. “I don’t think he will though. Unless he’s totally tweaked—which I guess could be any time of day with some people. Does that help?”

             
Molly nodded and pulled to a stop in a parking lot at the Vet’s Arena. She snapped a picture of the drawing with her cell phone and messaged the image to the Chief to run through their database of known criminal ink. “And now, we wait.”

Chapter
27  Glory & Gore

              Another grueling day of training on the heavy bag. As usual, Sabre sat tinkering with some project or another at his workbench. My abilities were growing by leaps and bounds, and my body was transforming with ropey muscles and definition. Nick and I even practiced ‘quick draw’ with tasers, just for fun—the tasers would scramble every electrical impulse in our bodies if we used them for real. But it really did help with our reflexes and cut the tension that surrounded our lives. I was catching up to Nick’s speed, and even bested him a time or two. He’d stand there feigning a chest wound, and grin at me with pride.               We took our hand-to-hand to a whole new level. Nick stopped treating me like a porcelain doll, and more than a few times, I wished we could return to the easier sessions. He was kicking my butt. But I think he enjoyed the practice for wholly different reasons. Each time he pinned me to the ground, he’d gaze down into my face with a mischievous grin, and his eyes fiery and searching. At the end of a particularly arduous session, he immobilized me against the wall, both of our chests heaving with exertion, his mouth hovering inches from mine. I found myself mesmerized by the fire in his eyes, slowly lured forward with the urge to press my lips to his.

             
“I am going to wretch one of these days!” Sabre grouched from his workbench. But I saw the quirk of a smile playing on his lips. I laughed and ducked away from Nick’s grasp. Sabre was more than happy that Nick and I seemed to be on the mend—he was relieved.

             
“Ya know,” I scolded Sabre, “Nick’s done all of my training. Why don’t you ever come out to play?”

             
“Because I’d kill you,” he replied in all seriousness. My eyes flashed to Nick who gave a curt nod.

             
“Well, maybe you should learn some control,” I suggested.

             
“I don’t need control,” he argued back.

             
“Of course you do. You can’t kill everyone we fight.” Nick smirked at me and shook his head.

             
“Can if I want.”

             
“Well, don’t you sound like a petulant child. Come on Sabre, Nick’s getting boring.” I gave Nick a playful wink. “Come out and play, and teach me something new!”

             
Sabre’s project clattered to bench top and he scowled at Nick. “I hate when your toys get sassy.” Then to me, he said, “Isn’t a big word like ‘petulant’ one of your SAT vocabulary words?” But again I saw the hint of a smile on his sour face.

             
Sabre gathered weapons from around the garage: an iron staff, a pair of sai, nunchucks, and the shiny throwing knives I tried to kill Nick with. He strode out of the garage. Nick and I followed to the target practice area behind the garage. He set the weapons in a neat row on the table beside a compound bow.

             
“Go stand by the target,” he instructed. I turned to follow his orders but Nick grabbed my arm.

             
“Not happening,” he warned with a leer at his mentor. “Quit screwing around and just show her what you can do.”

             
My face flushed with heat for being so gullible. Sabre always knew which buttons to push to make me blush.

             
Without another word, Sabre hoisted the crossbow, and in quick succession drove five bolts into the eye of the target. He whirled in a blur of action and worked his way, one at time, through each of the weapons, finishing with the staff. It spun so fast and furious I thought he’d take flight. I stared in awe. I’d seen this man in action, but I’d never seen him exhibit this much skill and agility. The grin on my face grew wider and wider—until he’d worked his way in front of me and brought the staff to a screeching halt an inch from my face. Nick’s fingers bruised my arms as he clutched me in surprise. Sabre barely broke a sweat, but Nick was seething behind me. Before he could utter a word, I responded to Sabre’s challenge. His grin stretched as he blocked blow after blow. He toyed with me, letting me land an occasional hit, but swatted most of them away with ease. I propelled myself at him with the aim to flip him and pin him to the ground. I should have known better. In a flash, he blocked my assault and turned it against me. In the end, I was the one pinned to the ground with a ferocious Dream Weaver hovering over me.

              Thomas sneers down at Sabre, murder blazes in his eyes. Sabre is held at bay by the machete Thomas holds to his throat. Sabre’s hands raise slowly from his sides in placation—or surrender. His eyes dart to me and their message scares me more than anything the man has ever done. Is he begging for forgiveness? A ghost of finality passes between us, and Thomas thrusts a blood-soaked lance up under Sabre’s ribcage. The vacuous suck of perforating flesh and the throb of pain in his eyes tear a scream from the depths of my soul. “NO!” Bubbles of crimson froth from Sabre’s mouth and spill down his chin and chest.

              “No! No, no, no!” The grief in the words grated like sandpaper in my throat, and the power of my emotions caught Sabre off guard. His hold relaxed and I batted away his hands and flung my arms around his neck. His arm wrapped around my waist and he shifted to hold me in his lap. I squeezed his neck until I was afraid his head would pop off, but even then, I only released him enough to breathe. In one of those rare moments of tenderness, Sabre wrapped his arms around me and held my quaking body.

             
Nick skidded to Sabre’s side. “Em? What’s wrong? Sabre what did you do?”

             
We both ignored him. “Ne pleurez pas pour moi, cheri,” he murmured softly in my ear.
Don’t cry for me, beloved.
But I squeezed his neck tighter again. “Tout va très bien. Je promets,” he whispered and rubbed a slow circle on my back.
Everything will be fine. I promise.

             
Nick sat back on his heels. Worry etched deep fissures in his brow. “Sabre? What happened? Did the fight trigger a flashback?”

             
“No,” he finally responded, but the word was forced from his throat. He hadn’t expected this response, this wave of compassion and affection. He pushed me away, searched deep into my eyes and whispered, “Ce sera notre secret. Oui?” I realized that Sabre was shielding us both from Nick. This vision…or whatever it was, was not something he wanted Nickolas to see. I nodded and forced breaching tears from my eyes. I didn’t understand why he would keep such a secret from his friend, but I would honor his plea for my silence. For now. Nick lifted me to my feet and engulfed me in his arms.

             
“Emi, honey. Are you all right?”

             
“No,” I whimpered and battled the tears that rioted for release. “I need to go lay down for a bit. Could you walk me in?”

             
Please, Emari! He doesn’t need to see that. It will only serve to distract him. It will get him killed.

             
I nodded at Sabre and let Nick guide me to the house. His bed was firm and welcoming. I sat on the edge with my heels propped on the bedrail, my head hung in my hands. In the absence of his arms I shivered. He sat beside me and wrapped me in his heat.

             
“Sweets, what happened? Why was Sabre speaking French to you?”

             
I couldn’t tell him. I’d given Sabre my word. “You don’t speak French?” I asked.

             
“No.” A mischievous grin bowed his mouth. “A wee bit o’ Irish,” he said in a really bad Irish brogue. My pulse throbbed at the memory of his loving words spoken to me a few months ago in my family’s original tongue, Irish.
Is féidir leat teacht ar an tsíocháin i do chuid brionglóidí. It means, ‘May you find peace in your dreams.’
His smile sank to murky depths. “And I wasn’t aware Sabre knew the language either.”

             
I could only offer a reticent sigh. I’d chastised Nick about lies of omission. Now, here I was, about to boldly lie to his face. But Sabre was right. This kind of information would only serve to distract him in a fight. And yes, it could get him killed. I remembered my first encounter with the Rephaim, and thinking,
‘Despite their feral growls, the love between them remained, their friendship a bond, one to the other, heart to heart. That one would die for the other was without doubt.’
And I still had no doubt that Nick would lay down his life for Sabre. But maybe Sabre didn’t value his life above Nick’s. He wanted Nick to go on, to live, no matter what happened to him. Had I just witnessed Sabre’s sacrifice of brotherly love and loyalty? Or was it just another shadow of doubt implanted by Thomas?

             
I finally understood Nick’s dilemma in hiding the truth from me. I could tell him the truth—and he could die because of it. Or I could withhold that same truth for now—and eventually tell him the truth. After the battle. After we won and Sabre was okay and Thomas was finally, finally dead. Could I just let him believe the mock combat triggered a PTSD episode? Did he really need to know I might’ve just had a prescient image of his mentor’s death? Even I wasn’t confident in my burgeoning abilities. I squeezed my temples between my palms. I wanted to tell him ‘it was nothing.’ But that would be a bigger lie, and he’d never believe it.

             
“It’s okay, honey. You don’t have to tell me.” He pressed my head to his chest and hushed me, but the thunder of his heart echoed in my ears. “What do you need me to do?”

             
“I need to lay down.” I felt like such a pansy, but those few seconds of—whatever it was, exhausted me more than a week of training. Nick stood, lifted the covers for me and I lowered myself to the mattress. Just like my daddy used to do, he tucked the covers around me, and I wondered if he ever watched my dad tuck me in at night. A shiver skittered down my body from head to toe. “Lay beside me?” He lowered himself beside me and enveloped me in his arms. The heavy numbness of shock settled on my chest like a soggy woolen blanket. My eyes stared at the wall but saw nothing. I didn’t want to see the images that burned inside my eyelids, so I fought the weariness that flooded my body. “Take me somewhere? Maybe, Nat Park. Like you told me before.”

             
“Sure.” His voice was soft as silk, caressing the ache in my heart. “Close your eyes and relax.”

             
Adrenalin slashed through my core, and my breaths heaved as the fear of those images assailed me. “I can’t.”

             
“Honey? I need you to trust me—I know sometimes that’s asking a lot. But I swear, I’ll take you there the moment your mind is receptive to the weave. You just need to relax a little.” As usual, his magic washed through me and cast its spell.

              The Spokane River glistens in the sun, its rumbling journey lulls my aching heart. The air is thick with the smell of pine trees, cotton candy, candied apples, Pups and summer.

             
“‘Pups’ is what they called corndogs back in the day,” Nick murmurs in my ear.

             
“What is this place?” The awe of the park spread out around us thins my voice to a whisper.

             
“This—is Nat Park,” he says as he sweeps his arm at the bustling park filled with women in long dresses, men in nice suits and children in their Sunday best. Screams splay across the sky as the thunder of a giant wooden roller coaster rumbles by. “They called the coaster ‘The Jack Rabbit.’ It was the largest, fastest, wood structure roller coaster of its time. Now, that title belongs to Goliath at Six Flags,” he tells me. “Would you like to ride?”

             
“Uh. Yeah-no. I don’t do coasters so well. But, there was a zoo, right? With trained sea lions and monkeys and stuff?”

             
Nick merely nods and steers me to a wire mesh enclosure. We watch the African Fallow Deer nibble on summer grasses, peacocks and roosters strut and scratch, and a capuchin monkey swing from limb to limb in her habitat.

             
“The monkey’s house used to be a service station that they converted into her enclosure. Later on, it became the cotton candy shack.”

             
“Huh. That’s kinda gross.” I hug his arm to me and rest my head on his shoulder. All of the lights and sounds and smells are a good distraction for my mind but the ache in my heart remains. Nick’s breath is warm in my hair, his lips soft and tender on my temple. I can’t help but smile as we stroll the paths through the park and absorb the exhilaration of the children that race by. Parents from miles around ride the trolley from downtown, and across the river with their families to spend a day at the Pacific Northwest’s largest park of its day. “This is the Plunge.” He gestures to an Olympic-size swimming tank with heated water, buzzing with people all suited up for a dunk in the pool.

             
I giggle. “Even the boys wore swimsuits?” There are no bikinis at this pool. Only modest, one-piece suits that cover from mid-thigh to neck.

             
“Yep, even the boys.” His hand never leaves the small of my back, as he guides me through the park. Such a gallant and charming gesture.