“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?
A sinking feeling starts in the pit of my stomach. Even as I pray it isn’t true, I’m reading the writing on the wall. Putting two and two together and coming up with the most terrifying four imaginable. “Did you do it?” I whisper. It feels like everything we are, everything we have depends on this answer. It isn’t true—at least I don’t think it is—but after our conversation yesterday, I need to hear him say it. Need to hear the word no fall from his lips.
He thrusts an impatient hand through his too-long hair. “Did I do what, Xandra? You’re going to have to be more specific. Did I find you when you were in danger? Did I get you back here before you could be arrested for an unspeakable crime? Did I cover up the fact that we were in that damn room to begin with?”
He stops once he gets a good look at my face. From what I’ve seen these last few weeks, Declan’s typical modus operandi is to go on the attack, to make whoever is opposing him feel and look so foolish that they back down rather than pursue their line of questioning. He isn’t going to do that with me. Not now. Not on this.
“Did you kill Councilor Alride?”