Tanda ignored all of them, her eyes never leaving their enemy. “You took everything from me. From her.” She jerked her head sideways. Sam didn’t know if she meant Marley or Quinn.
Riley moved closer to Sam, her eyes on Anson. “Look at him. He’s dying.”
Outwardly, Anson looked no better than when he arrived. He tried to stand straight, but his body shook with the effort. His face was paler than the moon, and his eyes were no longer the color of faded denim, but the pale blue of an early-morning sky. The yellow that tinged the edges wasn’t sunshine, but sickness. Anson’s own ambition turning on him.
“Really look,” Riley whispered, and Sam looked deeper. Anson still had the residue of stolen power, but now it was black and oily. All Marley’s, poisoned by the damage Anson had done years ago, by its lost connection to its original vessel. It ate at Anson’s soul. He was going to die, and it wouldn’t be the merciful death of Tanda’s bullet.
“Let him go,” Sam said. “Riley’s right. It’s more punishment to turn him loose than hold him.”
Tanda’s hands tightened on her pistol, her finger sliding to the trigger for a second. Then the click of the safety echoed in the tense silence, and she dropped her arms.
Anson turned and left, closing the door gently behind him.
Quinn cried out, her body bowing, her hand twisting out of Sam’s. He cursed and bent over her, begging. Nick added his pleas, and Sam was shocked to see tears on the man’s face.
“I promise you,” Sam murmured in Quinn’s ear, bent low so no one else could hear. “I’ll be okay. You don’t have to carry this burden anymore. Let it go, Quinn. Don’t be selfish.”
The hint of humor on the tail of sincerity did the trick. She relaxed and turned her head to meet his eyes. “You have to swear to one more thing.” She waited for his nod, then amended, “Two more, actually.”
Sam chuckled and gripped her hand more tightly. “Now who’s the greedy one?”
“Promise you won’t lie about what it does to you. We’ll find a way to fix whatever happens, but you have to be honest. Don’t try to carry it alone.”
Since he’d seen what carrying the burden had done to Quinn, he nodded without hesitation. He wouldn’t ever transfer it to someone else, but he’d let others help him deal with it, if they could. Unless it killed him right off the bat. But if that happened, she couldn’t hold him to his promise, anyway.
The possibility gave him pause. “I promise. But give me a minute. There’s something I need to do.”
She nodded. Sam rose, throwing his fear aside, the weight of all of their watchful gazes on him while he took Riley’s arm and moved her away.
“There’s no time for a long speech,” he said softly. “I don’t know what this is going to do to me.”
She nodded and sniffed, lifting her chin as if to belie the moment of weakness. “I know.”
“I don’t know what to say to you.” His throat tightened and he swallowed, frowning. “Except I’m sorry. I l—” He couldn’t say it. He wanted it to be a promise, a comfort, but it might just be pain. “There’s so much between us…and the transfers, what they do to me, have confused everything. I don’t know what I’ll have to off—”
She smiled and pressed her fingers to his mouth. “You don’t owe me anything. You’ve given me so much already. My promise holds, Sam. I’m here for you, no matter what.” Her eyes crinkled, the smile going deeper, tempered by sadness and worry. “We’ll deal with the rest later.”
“I don’t deserve you.” He had so much more to say, and there might not be a later. There definitely wasn’t time now. He slid his hand under her hair, along the side of her neck, and bent to kiss her. She tasted unbearably sweet and soft. Their mouths clung. Hers trembled, and her hand fisted in his shirt. Sam pulled her closer and deepened the kiss but pulled back before the emotion swelling in him could take over. He rested his forehead on hers for a few long seconds and then abruptly backed away, leaving her alone at the side of the room. Pain sliced into his chest, but he forced himself back to Quinn and took her hand.
“I’m ready.” Then he remembered. “Oh, what was the other promise?”
Quinn laughed up at him, looking almost happy despite the way her body contorted in pain. “Never mind.”
He grinned and shook his head. “Still trying to run my life.”
“You seem to be doing okay on your own.” She sobered and tightened her hand around his. “Are you sure about this?”
Sam braced himself and nodded once.
“Get ready.”
But there was no way he could have gotten ready for this. Pure pain, pure hell, invaded his body. His vision went dark, not like unconsciousness or lack of light, but churning, boiling clouds of black. The acidic burning that touched him during the transfer to Tanda filled every cell in his body. Sam thought he screamed, felt the rawness in his throat, but could hear nothing but a roar. How the hell had Quinn endured this? How had the natural ability Marley inherited turned to such awful contamination?
As more and more poured into him, Sam lost the ability to think. He couldn’t feel Quinn’s hand anymore, had no idea where he was. Who he was. His only existence was pain.
And then everything stopped.
Chapter Twenty-One
The idea that when two people are meant to be together, nothing can tear them apart is a fallacy. What we must recognize is that some obstacles are impossible to overcome. This does not devalue feelings but enhances them.
Riley stood in the doorway to Tanda’s guest bedroom, unable to leave Sam and wondering if anything would ever feel okay again.
Her life had changed twice in an unbelievably short time. A week ago, she’d been alone and frightened, certain she was crazy or a freak. Then she’d found a community that denied both possibilities. Somewhere she belonged, could have a life. There’d been hope—despite the bitter truth of her family’s history—and a hot guy who liked her. Then it all fell apart. But in trying to hold it together, she’d found something much deeper and more meaningful than belonging and attraction.
Nothing anyone had said in the last few hours could convince her she wasn’t about to lose it all again. Sam’s screams still echoed in her skull, the most horrible sound she’d ever heard. Helplessness had held her immobile, held them all immobile, during the few seconds, the eternity that Sam had been in more obvious pain than any person could endure. Then it all just…stopped. Sam had gone limp and unresponsive, and still was.
“How is he?” Nick handed her a mug of coffee. Riley took it gratefully, but in the few seconds she tore her eyes from Sam, she saw how haggard Nick looked. Maybe even worse than her.
“No change. Quinn?”
Nick drew in a long breath. “She’s okay. I mean, we keep saying that, but I think she’s finally telling the truth. Except being physically okay won’t matter if this doesn’t get better.” He motioned to Sam with his own mug, then took a long swallow.
“It’s not her fault.” Riley meant it, but her voice rasped as if her throat didn’t want to give up the words. “What about Tanda?”
“Fine. Just like Jennifer and Chloe. No ill effects. They’re pretty much back to normal.” Bitterness sharpened his tone, but Riley couldn’t blame him.
“What if he doesn’t wake up?” she whispered.
Nick didn’t answer. He watched Sam lying there unmoving for another moment, then turned and walked away.
Riley went into the bedroom and set her mug on the nightstand. Sam’s forehead was a normal temperature, dry and smooth. His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, and when she pressed her fingers to the inside of his wrist, his pulse tapped steadily beneath them. Quinn had said she needed time to acclimate to her new state, especially with the moon waning to nothing, but she’d coached Riley through checking Sam for injuries. Everything had seemed fine. There was no physical reason for him to be in this…coma.