Flamebound (12 page)

T
his time when I wake up, I'm in the backseat of a car. At first I think I'm with Lily, but a quick look around tells me I'm in Declan's BMW. He's driving, his shoulders tense and his hands clenched on the wheel. I might feel bad for him if I weren't so annoyed at basically being kidnapped against my will. He always wants to take care of me, but he never gives me the chance to take care of him. It's just one of the many inequalities in our relationship and it is beginning to severely tick me off.

Not to mention that I'm getting damn sick of waking up not knowing where I am—or what the hell happened to knock me out. It's one more thing I plan to talk to Declan about. The way he just takes over when he thinks he knows better, whether I need him to or not.

“How are you feeling?” Declan asks from the front seat.

I haven't moved, haven't made a sound, so I don't know how he's so certain I'm awake. Except he's Declan and I'm beginning to think the man knows everything. Or at least is damn good at faking it.

“Fantastic, considering I've been kidnapped.” I sit up slowly, glare at him in the rearview mirror. Then wish I'd stayed where I was when my stomach pitches and rolls.

“I prefer to think of it as extricating you from an increasingly sticky situation.” He grins at me.

“Of course you do.” I rest my head on the seat in front of me, try to ignore the fact that my head feels like an entire flock of very busy woodpeckers have taken up residence behind my eyes.

He turns serious between one breath and the next. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” No. Everything hurts. My head. My stomach. My muscles. Even my skin feels too tight, like one quick move will split me wide open. It's an unfortunate analogy, considering where we just came from, but it fits nonetheless.

It's the compulsion, my punishment for ignoring it even though I didn't have a choice. And it gets worse with each mile we travel from the murder site.

Declan turns the corner quickly—too quickly—and my uneasy stomach revolts. “Pull over!” I tell him, already reaching for the door handle.

Thank the goddess it's so early and no one is on the normally crowded downtown streets. Declan yanks the car over to the curb within seconds, and before he can even turn the thing off, I'm leaning out the door, getting sick.

Another thing I'm very tired of. And another black mark against Declan on my list. I know he's just trying to help, but sometimes I don't want his help. Don't need it. These are my powers and I have to learn to deal with them on my own. Counting on him to always be there to do it for me is not an option. Not when he can disappear on a whim—for hours or years—and not when he doesn't feel what I feel. See what I see.

Ceding control of my powers over to him is a stupid move, any way I think about it—especially with the darkness that is so much a part of him. I felt a little bit of that darkness when we were down in the ACW headquarters, and while I understand where it comes from, I don't want it inside me, affecting my powers. Not now. Not ever.

Declan opens the other passenger door, crawls in beside me and holds my hair away from my face as I empty my stomach of the last of the water I drank before leaving home tonight. Then I'm back to dry heaves. So. Much. Fun.

“I'm sorry, baby,” he tells me as he tenderly strokes my hair. Then he's murmuring again, and though I can feel a soothing warmth seeping out of his hand and into my head—a warmth that eases the worst edges of my headache—I knock his hand away.

“Stop that!”

“You're sick.”

“Because of your damn magic, so excuse me if I don't want any more of it.”

He stiffens and I know I've struck a direct blow. I feel bad, but not bad enough to try to take the words back.

“Xandra, be reasonable,” he says, still trying to touch me. “Why should you suffer when you don't have to?”

“Because it's my choice! My body! My life!” I stop because I'm heaving again, which pisses me off more—especially considering how it underscores his point.

He grinds his teeth, but he sits back. Let's me finish being sick in peace.

When it's finally over, I close the car door and lean weakly against the seat. Declan hands me a bottle of water, waits patiently while I rinse my mouth a few times and then drink thirstily. I know it's killing him, but he doesn't touch me, doesn't try to heal me or help me or do anything else that might set me off. And in doing so, he manages to calm the anger that's been batting around inside me since I woke up in this goddess-forsaken automobile.

Exhausted despite my magically induced nap, I lean against Declan. I sigh as his heat finally manages to permeate the cold that has enveloped me so long I've begun to think of it as a permanent fixture.

Declan relaxes slowly, inch by inch. I cuddle closer, and—with a sigh—he wraps his arm around my shoulder. Pulls me against his chest. Drops soft kisses over my hair and forehead.

“You scared the hell out of me tonight.”

I snort. “And you weren't even around for the main attraction.”

“So Lily told me.” His grip tightens. “I'm sorry I wasn't there.”

“That's okay. I'm not sure I'd want you to see me seizing in the middle of the kitchen floor anyway.”

“Fuck. Is that what happened?”

“Kind of.” I tell him as much as I can remember—some of it is blurry because of the convulsions, but Declan definitely gets the gist of it. I can tell by the way he grows more and more grim.

When I'm finally done telling my story, he drops his head until his forehead rests against my temple. “I don't know if I can take it if your empathic magic gets any stronger.”

“I don't understand. You think my magic turned against me?”

I really hope that's not the case, because if it is, experiences like that will only get worse as my power gets stronger. And I'm smart enough to know that if Declan had been there, if he had seen what had happened to me, he wouldn't handle it well. Though I'm terrified of the darkness I feel inside me, darkness that can only come from him, that doesn't mean I want to lose him. After all, he left me once for my own good, and though he's promised never to do it again, I'm not sure I believe him. The man who would take on the ACW to keep me safe, who would risk being accused of a Councilor's murder rather than leave me alone, is more than capable of walking away if he thought it would keep me safe. Especially if being near him is what grows my magic, which in turn ends up hurting me the most.

But the thought of going back to my old life—latent, free of coven politics, without Declan—doesn't appeal to me. No matter how much my life sucks at present—and let's be honest, it sucks a lot—it's still better than living without him in my life. He broke my heart the first time he left and all he'd done was kiss me, hold me, talk to me. Now that we've made love, now that he's let me see the man behind the mystery, I can't imagine waking up every day to a life without him in it.

“I think your magic gives you the ability to tap into the power all around you. Those seizures, the fire . . . You know that Alride was a fire element, too, don't you?”

I didn't. I ponder his words for a moment, try to figure out what he isn't saying. When it finally hits me, I break out in a cold sweat. “You think what I felt was Viktor dying?”

“Alride had a great deal of magic at his disposal. When he died violently, struggling, that magic shot out into the universe and glommed on to the first magical empathy it could find.”

“Me.”

“You.” He nods solemnly.

My stomach clenches all over again. I didn't like Alride when he was alive, and the thought of his magic latching onto me, tearing through me, makes my skin crawl. I don't think he should have died the way he did—no one should go through that—but that doesn't mean I want any part of him inside me.

My expression must reflect my revulsion, because Declan pulls back. “Are you all right? Are you going to be sick again?”

“I'm fine,” I tell him. “Everything's going to be fine.” I refuse to think of it any other way.

“I know.” More kisses, this time on my brow and along the line of my jaw. “I just wish you didn't feel so fragile against me.”

“There's nothing about me that's fragile.” I'm a little insulted that he thinks there is.

“Baby,
everything
about you is fragile.” He runs a deliberate hand over my wrist, which is small and—admittedly—one of the most delicate things about me. “It's why I'm so astounded by the strength you show over and over and over again.”

“You don't really mean that.” How can he when he's constantly swooping to my rescue?

“I've never meant anything more. You're amazing. I thank the goddess every night that you're mine. Maybe I'm too harsh, maybe I don't show it enough, but, Xandra, every day you find a way to astonish me. To thrill me.”

I melt. There's no other word for it. The last of my anger at his high-handedness dissolves and I press myself against him. Hold him tight.

He holds me just as securely.

Long minutes pass where neither of us moves. Finally, as the first hypnotic colors of dawn start creeping across the sky, I pull away. The ache inside me—the one that pushed and shoved at me in an effort to force me back to the ACW headquarters—has dissipated some. Viktor's been found. Thank the goddess.

And while I would sooner roast over an open pit than admit this to Declan, it's nice to know that I can survive if I turn my back on the compulsion. It isn't pleasant, and I'll definitely need help—no way can I do it on my own—but it can be done. That has to count for something.

“Do you think you'll be okay if I start driving again?” he asks cautiously.

I nod. “Lily is probably worried about us anyway.”

Long seconds pass as he continues to hold me. Finally, reluctantly, he moves away. Climbs out of the backseat and into the front.

After putting on my seat belt, I lean forward, rest a hand on his shoulder. For a brief moment his hand comes up and covers mine. Then he's starting the car and pulling back onto the street.

We get to my house about ten minutes later. Lily is in the family room waiting for us. Every light in the house is on. Poor baby. Tonight traumatized me. I can only imagine what it did to her.

Once she makes sure Declan and I are home safely, she drops a kiss on my cheek, warns me never to put her through anything like this again, then makes a beeline for her room. I'm right behind her, so tired and grubby and miserable that all I want is a shower and a bed. Usually, I'm just getting up at this time, preparing to head into work to get started on the baking.

But right now, all I can think of is sleep. I don't need much. Just a couple of hours to recharge my batteries and get the horrors of tonight out of my head. Then I'll worry about work. Travis will be there to open in the morning, along with two other longtime employees. Together, they're more than capable of holding the fort.

Though my body craves sleep like a junkie needs a fix, I walk straight past my bed and into the bathroom and turn on the shower. With all the sweat, puke, blood and tears I've been through tonight, it's all I can do to wait for the water to warm up. I'm desperate to feel clean. To
be
clean.

And the first order of business is brushing my teeth. I reach for my toothbrush and toothpaste, start to scrub vigorously.

Declan follows me. He begins stripping off before he even hits the bathroom. I glance at him in the mirror—because I'm tired, not dead—then freeze as I get my first good look at him since he tucked me into bed hours ago.

His back has a long scratch down it—from left shoulder to right hip—and his chest and stomach are splattered with . . . blood?

“What happened to you?” I demand, rinsing out my mouth before walking closer so I can get a better look at the damage. I'm tired enough that it's entirely possible I might be delusional.

But the way he reacts—stiffening and turning away from me like he has something to hide—sets off a whole cacophony of warning bells in my head.

“Declan? Answer me. Whose blood is that? How did you get injured?”

“Don't make a big deal of it, Xandra.”

“Don't make a big deal? I get a little bump on my head and you act like it's the end of the world. You're scratched up and covered in blood and I'm not supposed to be concerned? That's bullshit.”

I'm close enough to touch now, and I run my fingers over a particularly wicked-looking portion of the scratch. He flinches away. “You need to take care of that,” I tell him, “Or it will get infected.”

“It's fine.”

“It's not fine.” I bend down, look at his pants. And I realize, with horror, that they, too, are splattered with blood. “Whose blood is this?”

He shrugs. “It must be Alride's. Or those guards'.”

“No way. You already know that Alride's scene was almost completely bloodless. And you didn't go near the guards. You certainly weren't near enough to get this kind of spatter off two dead men.”

He sighs, runs a hand over his eyes. “Look, Xandra, can we not do this now? We're both exhausted, both have had one hell of a night. We'll talk about it tomorrow.”

Part of me thinks he's right, that we should just shower and go to bed. Daylight and a good night's sleep make everything look better. And yet, I can't just let it go. How can I when the man I love, a man who has made no bones of his dislike for and determination to break up the ACW, is covered in blood—on the same night that one of their most important Councilors is dead?

I think of Alride. Think of the missing blood and the hideous way he died and that more is to come—there has to be more to come. Otherwise, why the blood? Why Shelby? Why any of this?