STEP (The Senses) (23 page)

There was no question they’d either have to let her take blood and have
the Transition occur or . . . he didn’t want to consider the other option. Whatever choice was made, he knew staying here in this situation had to end.

He’d made the call this afternoon and suffice it to say the silence on the other end of the line only meant one thing—pissed. He had no choice. After losing the child . . . after Jed
rik came to take it away . . . God, he couldn’t any longer.

He glanced at Abby and felt the distinct tug on his heart. He punched the wall and cursed several times, hoping that would erase the feeling. It didn’t. They’d have to end her existence
, and it made him sick to his stomach to think that maybe if he hadn’t impregnated her, she could have held on for longer and fought the poison of the vamp blood.

He was so distraught and fucked up thinking about her impending death that he didn’t even hear, see or scent Waleron entering the cottage.

“How long has it been?” Waleron demanded as he strode past him and went directly to the bed.

“I don’t know. Six. Seven months. Eternity. Too fuckin’ long,” Damien said
, taking a step back, wanting to get the hell out of here so bad that his legs were already running in his head.

Waleron didn’t even turn as he said, “Do not even think about it. Explain why I am hearing about this six months after the fact.” He was leaning over the bed, his hand on Abby’s forehead.

“We thought—”

“We?”

“Jedrik, Delara and I. Well, Balen knows about it too and Danielle. Christ, Waleron, I have to go outside and get some air.”

“Not until I get some answers. Explanation. Now.” Waleron still had his hand on her forehead, probably trying to put her in DS—deep sleep. It would allow her peace from the constant thirst and pain—for a few hours anyway. But the thirst would overtake the DS soon enough.

“Abby is a . . . well, a witch from Trinity’s coven.”

Waleron’s eyes went icicle as he turned his attention onto him. “I know who she is,” he said.

“Yeah, of course you would. Well, she . . . umm . . . well . . . she’s carrying my child. Well—was. She lost it.” That sounded so bad. “And she’s in Transition. Drank from Liam.”

Waleron raised both brows and remained silent, although
Damian could almost see the steam coming from his ears. He’d locked horns with him a number of times and could probably kick his ass, but Waleron had never made him feel as uneasy as he did right now.

Damien recapped the situation
, beginning with Abby hunting down Jedrik, asking for help, and then the lowdown on getting her out of the club that night.

Waleron never said a word. Never moved a muscle. Didn’t even blink until he was finished.

“And why has Liam not raised hell looking for her?” Waleron asked.

Damien shrugged. He was not going to be the one to inform Waleron that Delara was soothing Liam by fucking him.

“Seems unlikely he would let her walk away with no recourse, especially if she was important to him. And she must be in order to let her drink his blood and risk retaliation.”

“Don’t know.” Yeah, well Jedrik and Delara—wh
o he suspected would both be getting a surprise visit from Waleron real soon—could explain that one.

Waleron walked away from the bed and approached him, not a glimmer of compassion in his eyes and he stared him down. “D
etox has never been done before.”

“But Balen—”

“Balen is a Senses and he had good reason to fight the pull of the thirst. What does this girl have? Her child is now dead. Her coven will not allow her to return after discovering what she has done. Liam—most likely—will turn on her if she doesn’t Transition. So, tell me, what does she have in order to bring her through this?”

“Damn, I don’t know. I barely know the girl. It was one night. I was drunk—”

“Then figure it out. She needs a reason to fight or it will eat her alive and then kill her.”

Damien shook his head. “I can’t do it anymore. The pain. Hell
, Waleron, she is in so much pain. Maybe we should end . . .” He couldn’t finish because speaking out loud her death was a lot different than it swirling around in his fucked-up head.

Waleron quirked one brow. “You believe it would be easier if you let the Transition occur?”

“Yeah. Shit, yeah.” Either that or kill her.

Waleron scowled. “Easier on you
, perhaps. But she will be enslaved to Liam for the rest of her life—that is, if he lets her live—with the constant thirst for blood. And if she happens to kill a human to curb the aching thirst, then you may be the one to have to hunt her down and end her existence. It is not a life I would wish on anyone. Least of all a girl who made a childish error in judgment. One of which you would like her to pay for with the rest of her life.”

“No. God, I don’t want that.” Jesus have mercy on his soul
, because the next words out of his mouth were going to kill him. “I’ll stay. For as long as it takes. I’ll make certain she lives.”

Waleron gave a curt nod
, then left him alone to the desolation of his mind, which he feared would be irrevocably ruined by the horrors of one slip of a girl who he had no idea how to save.

****

Rayne had never been to a gala or party of any kind, and when she walked in she thought she’d faint. A huge crowd of people mingled, drinking champagne and wine, dressed in suits, tuxedos and the most brilliant gowns.

At least she wasn’t underdressed. The dark green gown glimmered with each step she made, clinging to her hips and falling gracefully to her ankles. The back was low cut in a sweeping half circle
, matching the neckline that she thought revealed far too much of her cleavage—well, what little cleavage she had.

Delara looked stunning wearing the slinky
silver gown. It showed off her curvaceous hips and accentuated her toned body. She wore tight silver bands around her wrists and a matching silver choker on her neck, leaving her auburn skin bare above the strapless neckline. Her hair was tamed in a chic style that said exotic and sexy. Lips painted a bright red and eyes smoky and dark giving her a mysterious aura.

Delara didn’t allow her time to panic, nor stop to think about panicking as she swept her into the fray. She grabbed two glasses of red wine off a passing waiter’s tray
, then began introducing her to people.

Rayne
found herself relaxing as she recognized customers from the gallery. It took an hour to release the tension in her shoulders and stop worrying about what she was going to say to these people. Gradually, she forgot about her anxiety and slipped into an easy calm that had her smiling and enjoying herself.

Jedrik made an appearance in a black tuxedo with his wayward curls tamed into place. He was on the arm of a gorgeous French model
who spoke little English, and Rayne suspected that was how he liked it.

Danielle and Balen were linked together
, looking like a couple out of a wedding magazine. Anyone who saw them would instantly know they were in love big time. The knowing looks they gave one another, their subtle caresses or handholding. Just the way Balen smoothed back a strand of her hair with such gentleness was enough to make a woman sigh.

She saw no sign of Delara’s jam—aka Waleron—and she wondered if the leader would show up at all. He didn’t appear like the type to socialize, more like watch from the corner of the room with a steady dark gaze. In a way, she hoped he’d make an appearance for Delara’s sake. He’d never be able to take his eyes off her tonight, like many of the men
who were vying for her attention.

It felt good to mingle among normal sane people
who knew nothing about Senses or whatever else that walked in the shadows of the human world. It was refreshing to speak her mind and relax in the company of others, although next time she hoped it wouldn’t take her so long to unwind. She had to admit; picking out a fancy dress had been exhilarating, although the shoes were another matter entirely. Her heels were the epitome of tightrope walking.

Rayne excused herself from speaking with a client of Danielle’s, a posh
forty-something woman who’d purchased three painting in the past two months and was urging Danielle to paint more of the burnt orange and azure abstracts.

She weaved
through hordes of people that browsed the paintings, while they drank and talked, making her way to the washroom for a few minutes to sit and relieve her aching feet.

“Rayne,” a familiar
soft voice called from behind her.

Her grip on the wineglass faltered and his hand reached to wrap around her own before she let it slip from her grasp. His breath whispered across the back of her bare neck as he leaned close to her body. Her shoulders tensed and her breath caught in her throat.

Why? Why now? She slowly turned and stared into his deep haunted umber eyes. “Roarke,” she breathed.

His mouth curved upwards in a gentle smile and his eyes softened with tenderness, a look she’d seen a few times in the compound, usually when he was consoling her
for whatever abuse her husband inflicted. Often, when she’d watched him unaware, there’d been a sadness mixed with determination and strength in those depths. She’d always wondered where it came from. He was never a prisoner at the compound.

“What are you doing here?” She looked over her shoulder for any of the Senses.
Please, don’t ruin things for me, Roarke.

Handling Roarke would be like juggling a boiling egg. He could change
moods in a millisecond, so she had to guard her words. Creating a scene and ruining Danielle’s evening was the last thing she wanted to do.

“You look stunning, Rayne.” His eyes traveled the length of her. “Absolutely stunning.” His hand reached forward to rest on her hip. “I’m proud of you Rayne.”

She hadn’t expected those words leaving his mouth. It was as if he knew how hard it had been to open herself up to Rebecca and face her fears. She realized that Roarke had known she’d been anorexic. She didn’t know when he’d discovered her eating disorder, or if he’d sensed it somehow. He was a GQ, after all.

But she still didn’t like his hand on her waist, no matter what flattery he proclaimed. She stepped back and his hand dropped, as did his smile. “You can’t be here.” She glanced over her shoulder again; the corridor remained empty.

“Rayne, will you give me a few minutes? There are things you need to know.”

She was already shaking her head before he finished his question. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Roarke.”

“She will come for you, Rayne. The woman from the compound.” Roarke grabbed her hand and began to walk towards the foyer. When she tried to pull back, he gave a sharp scowl and tugged. “I need you to listen to me, but outside. They’re too near. That Tracker friend of yours will soon be picking up my scent.”

Delara would soon have all the Senses coming after Roarke and
, despite hating what he reminded her of, Rayne owed him for all the times he’d helped her.

As soon as they were outside she stopped and he relented.

Before he could open his mouth, she blurted, “Why, Roarke? Why? Years. Years you watched my husband abuse me. Years? And you did nothing. Why the urge to protect me now? Why didn’t you get me out of that place? Did you like knowing I couldn’t escape? Or did you enjoy watching me suffer?”

“No. God
, Rayne, please,” Roarke said. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I couldn’t. I tried to . . . I stayed to protect you. If I left, he would’ve destroyed you. They would’ve. It was the only way I could make certain you were safe.”

“Who’s they?”

“The woman. She is dangerous. More so than any other I have known.” He squeezed her hand. “Rayne, I didn’t know who you were until that Senses got you out of there and she told me.”

“What do you mean by
who?
”

“I can’t explain all this right now.
The Senses will know I’m here. Come with me,” he urged again. There was desperation in his tone and his eyes were constantly watching for the Senses.

“I don’t want anything to do with that part of my life, Roarke. I can’t.” She hesitated
, watching him carefully. Immediately upon recognizing the pain in his eyes, she tossed the egg into the other hand. “I’m sorry, you did defend me in there, but I . . . Roarke, you have to leave.”

“No. I can protect you from her. I have a place we can go,” he said. “Come with me, Rayne.” Perfect
, meticulous Roarke didn’t like being turned away.

She lowered her voice even more. “You’re dangerous, Roarke. What you need to survive . . . Roarke
, you kill people.” Didn’t he get it? His mere breath stole innocent lives; he killed and had willingly recruited CWOs for her husband. What else he did, she didn’t even want to consider.

“What I am has nothing to do
with who I am,” Roarke replied with an expression of disappointment.

He was right. She judged him for his capability
, exactly what she never wanted others to do to her. “I’m sorry, Roarke.”