Sliver of Silver (Blushing Death) (25 page)

“I’ve never seen her like that,” Jade said behind us.

She sounded terrified. The sorrow and fear in her usually rich alto made me crawl into myself, shrink. I wanted to hide from the world and the pain, not wanting to feel any of it. I cried again and clutched at Dean’s T-shirt like it was the only thing I had left.

“I’ll need to put you down to drive,” he said. I loosened my grip on his shirt and let him go. My fingers, stiff from the white-knuckle grip I’d had on him, ached. He opened the door to his truck and tucked me into the front seat then pulled the seatbelt over me.

I stopped crying.

I sat, strapped in and staring out of the windshield. This was all just a bad dream. It had to be.

I was so exhausted and my eyes stung from the smoke. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. He closed the passenger-side door and circled around the front of his truck, staying in my line of sight.

I closed my eyes, wishing it all to go away but the only thing I saw behind my eyes was the faint glimmer of silver as it traced beautiful white-feathered lines down Amblan’s back. Tears glided down my face, streaking the soot on my cheeks. I shook with each sob as his truck roared to life.

Everything inside me shut down, like a system of locks as that black box I’d stuffed so full of pain, regret, fear, and disappointment exploded. Everything I’d shoved down deep compartmentalized, and didn’t want to face consumed me like the fire that had eaten so much already. The ride to Dean’s house was silent but for my sobbing, which I couldn’t seem to stop, and the sound of the air-conditioning on full blast.

“We’re here,” he said as he turned the engine off.

I wiped my face with the palm of my hand, smudging black soot across my face.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

I would’ve liked nothing more than to crawl into his arms and have him shield me from the pain that was eating me up, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I nodded and got out of the truck.

I stumbled.

He stopped, his eyes focused on me, but he didn’t rush to sweep me up into his arms. I squared my shoulders and followed him into the house without a word. 

It was the same as I remembered, a picture perfect Pottery Barn catalog shot, all dark woods and neutral fabrics. I followed him up the stairs to his bedroom, our footsteps silent on the carpeted stairs. He had a king-size bed centered against the back wall with mounds of white bedding. The fluffy down comforter, what seemed like hundreds of pillows, and the pristine white sheets were tossed about like he’d just gotten out of them.

The dresser and nightstands were a deep mahogany and a plasma television was mounted to the wall. There were no pictures and no decorations. The room was Spartan at best, but comfortable. It smelled like him.

He breezed past me and opened an adjoining door, the master bath and flicked on the light. “Take a shower and get rid of some of . . . today. I’ll find you something to wear.”

I nodded, dazed, and entered his bathroom. His bath was the same dark wood that filled his bedroom. Brushed chrome fixtures with a high-end raised sink accessorized the vanity. The shower was an all-glass steam shower built for two and tucked into the corner like a work of art. Next to the shower was a Jacuzzi tub interrupting the cream-colored wainscoting around the room.

I dropped my clothing onto the floor in a heap of dirt, blood, and sweat and stepped into the shower. The water was hot on my skin, burning as it sluiced over the bruises on my body. I had to scrub my hair a few times to get everything out of it. I couldn’t scrub hard enough to get all the dirt off, though. I had scrubbed my right arm raw, taking the top layer of skin off in a spot or two where it bled. I could only focus on washing. If I thought about anything else, I knew I would fall apart.

I turned the shower off after I broke the skin on my left arm, too. I wrapped the towel around me, clinging to it, clutching it to me. Stepping out of the steam filled bathroom, I found a gray T-shirt, a pair of boxers, and sweat pants lying on the edge of the bed. I dropped the towel and slipped into the T-shirt and boxers, raked my hands through my wet hair and climbed up onto Dean’s bed. I sat cross-legged and stared at the wall, trying not to think. Numb was better.

The door creaked open, allowing a stream of light to funnel into the dark room. Dean poked his head in. When he saw I was dressed, he opened the door wider, then entered with a tray in his hands. A teakettle and a couple of sandwiches were arranged neatly to balance the tray. He set it down on the nightstand beside me and sat down on the edge of the bed. Brushing a strand of wet hair out of my face, he tucked it behind my ear with a gentle caress I didn’t deserve.

“What can I do?” he asked, hoarse.

I shook my head as I crumbled. Tears fell from my eyes, drenching my cheeks as I fell into his arms. He wrapped me in his warmth to soothe the ache and the pain away. It wasn’t working anymore. Nothing worked. I cried against his chest until, finally exhausted, I fell asleep into a numb oblivion.

I was somewhere in between sleep and awake. Voices rumbled softly in the distance like people were somewhere in the house. “I don’t care what it costs, just make sure everything’s taken care of,” Dean finished with exasperation.

“Yes, Gaoh,” Kurt responded.

“Is she all right?” Jade asked with a quiver in her usually steady voice.

“I don’t know,” Dean answered, sounding exhausted. “She finally fell asleep an hour ago. I thought the doorbell would wake her but it didn’t seem to.”

I’d never heard him worried before.

“I talked to Derek,” Kurt said with hesitation. “He said Amblan was already dead when the fire broke out. Her neck had been broken.”

“She doesn’t need to know that,” Jade said harshly. “She’ll think it was her fault.”

“She already thinks it’s her fault. I’d rather she find out now and deal with it,” Dean snapped.

I didn’t want to hear anymore. I let the world go and fell back into that black oblivion of sleep where nothing mattered.

I stood in the middle of my living room as Danny, Jackson, and Amblan circled me. Danny cried, Jackson yelled, and Amblan watched me in silent horror. The room filled with blood. The warm mass seeped through the floorboards, covering my feet. I glanced down once to find the thick, viscous blood had reached my ankles. They stopped circling when the blood got to be knee high. The three of them observed me, waiting for me to do something.

Danny opened his mouth to speak but Amblan held up her hand to stop him.

“Do you even care that our blood is on your hands?” she asked, stricken.

The deep crimson fluid filled my living room. It occurred to me that if I just let it all go, if I just let it all overtake me, I wouldn’t hurt anymore and I smiled. Relief eased the ache in my body, lightening my being, and I fell back, sinking down into the blood. I let it cover my head, fill my nose, and devour me whole.

My eyes fluttered open. I had no idea where the hell I was, and I didn’t really care. The covers were soft, and I was warm. Rolling over, I buried my face in the scent of forest and heavy musk.

I remembered as everything came rushing back. I was in Dean’s bed. The shades were drawn but I knew it was dark. The oppressiveness of night pressed on me like a weight.

I should’ve felt something; safe, hurt, pain, loss, anything. As I thought about Amblan, Danny, and my house, I was empty. There wasn’t anything left of me.

Voices boomed from downstairs. They were clear and angry as the sound of snarling filled my consciousness. I didn’t care. Not about Patrick and Dean downstairs, or the fact I was homeless, not about anything, really. I was either in shock or in serious emotional trouble but I couldn’t seem to care.

Numb was much better. I’d take numb any day of the week.

“What the fuck is she doing in your bed?” Patrick bellowed.

His voice rang out like thunder at midnight. I’d never heard Patrick so angry.

“Where the hell was I supposed to take her?” Dean’s voice was a deep rumble of a growl, resonating in his chest and vibrating with each word. “Your mansion is like a God damned mausoleum. I wasn’t going to leave her there alone, waiting for YOU to wake the FUCK up!” Dean snarled.

“You had no right,” Patrick snapped back. “She is not one of your bitches.”

They were both quiet for a long moment before I heard Dean answer.

“Because you love her and because you’re my friend, I’ll forgive you. But don’t push me,” he said in a strong, solid voice.

Patrick didn’t want to share me. I could hear that much in his voice not to mention the stabbing pain of jealousy sitting heavy in my gut and ripping my insides apart. I kicked his emotions out of me. I wanted to go back to that lovely numb oblivion I’d woken up in.

“You’ll forgive me nothing. I’ve watched you moon over her like a smitten teenager for months. I won’t share her. I finally have her to myself,” Patrick shouted.

“It’s not about you or me, don’t you get it?” Dean roared back. “They almost burned her alive today. Her house is gone,” he said with diminishing anger until he spoke the last so softly I barely heard him, “Amblan’s dead. Dahlia’s whole world is crumbling around her.”

“What?” Patrick gasped.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the last fifteen minutes,” Dean said, exasperated. “Amblan was either already in the house or came home while they were there. They broke her neck.”

There was a pain in his voice that shouldn’t be there. I knew he was hurting because of me, Patrick was hurting because of me; Danny, Jackson, and Amblan were all dead because of me. My parents were still shits but they probably deserved the forgiveness I couldn’t give them. And last but not least, there were two groups of people in this city who depended on me and I had nothing left to give them.

“No,” Patrick said in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Dean said in a softer tone. “She cried most of the afternoon until she wore herself out.” They were both silent for a long time. “You want a drink?”

“The strongest thing you’ve got,” Patrick replied.

The clink of glasses was the only sound and I inched the covers up under my chin, snuggling into the warmth of the comforter. I wasn’t ready to face either one of them. If they were happy to ignore me, then I was happy to let them.

“There’s something else we need to talk about.”

“Now’s not appropriate,” Dean said.

“We need to and now is as good a time as any since—”

“Since she’s distracted,” Dean finished.

“Yes,” Patrick said with authority. “I love her.”

“I know that,” Dean said.

“Let me finish,” Patrick said with some agitation. “I love her more than is probably good for me. I had to share her with Danny. I accepted that because I had to. When Danny died, I thought . . . I thought . . .” He trailed off.

“You thought you wouldn’t have to share her anymore.”

“Yes,” Patrick said. That one little word filled with so much pain. “I understand what she is and what’s been created between us, all three of us. I adore her for sharing with us what she is but the thought of her with you . . . It kills me.”

“The thought of her with you kills me, too,” Dean answered. “I haven’t loved another woman since Janey.”

“I am aware,” Patrick said.

“Whether I wanted to admit it or not, she
is
my Eithina. I can feel her in my bones. That’s not the Fertiri, Pat. She’s my mate.”

“I realize that as well. I fear that once she goes to you, she may never come back to me.”

“Patrick, there’s room for both of us. She can love us both. I think she does love us both.”

“I understand theoretically what you say is true but I do not have to like it,” Patrick snarled. He sounded like a petulant child.

“No, you don’t,” Dean said. “But, you need to stop making her feel guilty about it.”

I’d never heard anyone use that tone with Patrick.

“I hadn’t realized,” Patrick said with a sorrowful breath.

“You realize it now. That’s all that matters.”

I closed my eyes and lay in the warmth of the little cocoon I’d made for myself in the bed.

“What about Amblan?” Patrick asked.

“Derek and another detective will be by in the morning. Dahlia will need to stay until after she talks to them.”

“I’ll have Alex bring over some clothing for her,” Patrick offered.

“I told Kurt to take care of Amblan. Whatever they need and no matter the cost.”

“Good,” Patrick said.

“It will have to be closed casket,” Dean added, his voice soft as if it was an afterthought.

“Will you take me up to see her?” Patrick asked, hesitating.

“Of course,” Dean said.

The soft patter of hard-soled shoes on carpet reached my ears as the two predators climbed the stairs, followed by the soft creak of the bedroom door.

Patrick opened the bedroom door and a sliver of light cut across the room. He approached the bed, silent as only the dead can be. Sitting on the edge of the bed next to me, his movements were slow and cautious, as if he thought I was asleep but he knew I wasn’t.

I opened my eyes and peered up at him.

“How are you?” he asked, smoothing my hair from my face. His cold fingers swept across my forehead, leaving my skin tingling after the heat of the fire and Dean’s bed.

“Fine,” I said in a hoarse voice too deep and too distant to be mine. The heat inhalation, the screaming, and the sobbing had made my throat raw.

Patrick’s gaze flickered across my features before meeting my eyes.

“You don’t look so bad,” he said with a half-smile. His dark eyes twinkled in the low light.

“I’ll heal.” I could hear it in my voice, the void of emotion as if I was just going through the motions. He’d heard it, too. His brow furrowed and his fingers trailed down the side of my face to my neck, seeking my pulse. It was calm and steady. Numb was good.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked, his dark eyes became worried, darting frantically back and forth from one eye to the other, searching for some spark of life that I knew wasn’t there.