Falling Blind: The Sentinel Wars (5 page)

“This isn’t working,” he said. “I will carry you.”

Part of her jumped up and down, clapping its hands at the thought of being in this man’s arms, but the rest of her was smarter than that. “We’re not far. I can make it.”

“Before the demons catch up?”

As points went, he had a good one. Normally she would have protested, but she was worn down by the pain and not at all ready for round two with a demon horde.

Her pride died a little as she accepted the only reasonable option. “Okay, but if you try to cop a feel, I’ll punch you in the eye.”

One side of his mouth twitched with a hidden grin. “I’ll consider myself warned.”

He shifted his weight, and a second later, she was airborne. It was a long way up, and the motion spun her head and gave her a brief moment of vertigo.

Her fingers slid higher on his shoulder and brushed the bare skin of his neck.

Rory’s world went dark.

All the flashes, all the visions—they disappeared as if someone had flipped a switch. Peace settled over her, clearing her mind of the confusing, jumbled haze and leaving her thoughts blissfully clear.

He moaned, making a deep, purring sound, and said something she didn’t catch. She was too busy basking in the visual silence, in the quiet dark of the alley where the only thing she saw was coming from her own two eyes.

Rory’s eyelids fluttered shut in pleasure, and she saw nothing. Clear, perfect nothing. It was so peaceful, so beautiful. She didn’t dare move. She barely even breathed.

Her throat tightened with gratitude that she couldn’t utter. She tried to tell him not to move, that if he did she might lose this gift, but he’d already stopped dead in his tracks. She felt the heat of his body against her left side, felt his arms pull her tighter to his chest. The vibrations she’d felt before were stronger now—strong enough she could tell that it wasn’t the trembling of hands causing it. There was something more to it, a kind of living energy pulsing between them.

She felt his body clench. Heard his breath come out in a shocked rush.

She opened her eyes and saw him staring down at her. Even in the darkness she could see longing and hunger in his eyes, as if he’d been starved all his life and had only now found his first meal. And she was it.

The fact that such a crazy notion didn’t scare the shit out of her proved just how big a fool she was. Not even the lesson that what’s-his-name had taught her seemed to do any good.

Rory started to pull her hand away from his hot skin, but his grip tightened and a look of fear widened his moss green eyes.

“Don’t stop touching me,” he said, more a plea than an order. “Not yet. Not until I get you to safety.”

They were only a couple of blocks away from the shelter, and the truth was it didn’t matter if she touched him or not. If he intended to do her harm, she was screwed.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said as if sensing her worry.

She lifted her chin, giving him a hard stare. “I wouldn’t let you hurt me.”

“Of that I’m sure. Come on. Let’s get you inside and out of those clothes.”

Chapter 3

“E
xcuse me?” Rory nearly shouted.

“That’s not what I mean,” he said, a hint of embarrassment in his deep voice. “The blood on your clothes will draw the demons. I’m sure Hope will have something else you can wear.”

Oh. Well. That was different from what she’d first thought—that he had other, less noble intentions. Though with waves of delicious heat sinking into her wherever he touched, and those tingling vibrations dancing between them, maybe less noble intentions would be fun.

No. Bad Rory. Remember Matt?

Yes. She did. She also remembered those endless hours of fighting for her life, not knowing if she’d ever be free, or if she’d die as a snack for some monster lurking in that filthy water. Matt had caused that torture, and even though he was dead, Rory would not forget that lesson.

“You know Hope?” she asked, hoping to distract herself from hellish memories.

“Yes. How do you know her?”

She could feel the low rumble of his voice all along her left side. He had the faintest hint of an accent—one that came out only with certain words, like he’d been raised somewhere else. She found it intriguing and sexy as hell. If circumstances were different, she would be happy to simply close her eyes and listen to him for hours. It wouldn’t even matter what he said. Let him recite his recipe for stewed Rory brains for all she cared—she’d bask in his voice all the same.

After a moment of collecting the few scraps that were left of her wits, she cleared her throat. “I went to the old shelter where she worked sometimes. Before it burned down. Back when Sister Olive—” Rory couldn’t finish. Her throat tightened with grief, cutting off her air. She swallowed, trying to work through her feelings of loss and anger at the nun’s murder, but she wasn’t that strong. It was too soon. Only a few months had passed, but every minute had been lonely and isolated. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about what had happened in that abandoned building those demons had converted into home, sweet home.

Words could not make the pain of memories like those go away. Nothing could. She’d carry that grief and terror around with her for the rest of her likely short life.

His thumb slid over her side, clearly an offer of comfort. “Hope told me about her. Her death was a true loss.”

Rory nodded, but that was all she could manage. She still hadn’t been able to shove away the memories of that night and all its lingering horror.

And monsters had found her the moment she came out of isolation. Story of her freakin’ life.

They reached the back of the shelter. The door was locked. Cain tapped it with his boot and a few seconds later, it opened to reveal Logan, Hope’s husband, who was way too pretty to have been born a dude. He had silky, dark hair, and silvery eyes that lit with recognition. The angles of his face were too perfect to be real, and he was much less gaunt than the last time Rory had seen him—back on the night Sister Olive had died.

“Rory?” A frown wrinkled his brow for a second, then his eyes zeroed in on the blood staining her jeans. “Get her inside.”

Cain carried her into the big kitchen, but instead of letting go of her like she expected, he pulled her a bit closer against his body, shifting her away from Logan and his intense gaze.

“I left some corpses a couple of blocks over,” said Cain. “Police are on the way. I need to go clean up the mess and scrub the cops’ minds if they see anything they shouldn’t.”

“I’m far better at such things than you are. I’ll take care of it,” said Logan. “Get Rory to the safe room.” He waved an elegant hand toward one of the doors leading out of the kitchen.

“Patch her up. She’s bleeding.”

“I’m keenly aware of that fact, and of just how heavily blooded she is.”

“Then take her. Make the bleeding stop.”

“Uh, guys. I’m right here. I know the demons can smell my blood. Just put me down and I’ll dump some superglue on the wound and plug the hole.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Logan.

“We can’t have you risking infection,” said Cain.

“It’s nothing I haven’t done before. I’ll be fine. Just get me some clean pants or some scissors to cut away the blood, and I’ll be on my way.”

Logan looked over her head at Cain, clearly dismissing her. “Lexi warded the room when she came to visit. That should cut off the scent trail of her blood, at least for a time. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Logan—”

“We’re wasting time, Cain. Do as I ask.”

Cain’s body tightened. Positioned in his arms like she was, she could feel power tremble through him. Until now, she hadn’t realized just how gentle with her he’d been—how light his hold on her was. And now that she knew, she wasn’t sure if she was grateful for his restraint or feeling deprived that he hadn’t held her closer, tighter.

Even more proof of how stupid this man rendered her.

Cain’s voice rumbled out in a hard warning. “The two demons I killed aren’t alone.”

“They won’t even see me,” said Logan, and then he was gone.

Cain didn’t say a word as he hurried through the kitchen, but she could tell by the muscles bulging in his jaw that he was pissed.

“Was Logan born a girl?” she asked, hoping to distract Cain from the tension running through his body.

He stopped, midstride, and looked down at her. The faintest hint of a grin creased the corners of his eyes. “I think you should ask him that yourself. Preferably when I can watch.”

Then he moved on through the kitchen, but at least now he didn’t look like he was going to chip some molars in frustration.

Rory hadn’t been in the new shelter before, but it was much nicer than the old one had been. Of course, the fact that it wasn’t a pile of cinders and rubble made it no contest.

This building—previously the run-down Tyler building—had been gutted last spring and was now nearly rebuilt. The modern, industrial kitchen was gleaming and bright, with new appliances and lots of stainless steel. Past the door a hallway led to several offices and a small conference room that were vacant at this time of night.

“In here,” said Cain, nodding to a solid wood door with no window. He didn’t have a free hand to open it, so she did the job herself and flipped the light switch.

Inside was an organized array of freeze-dried food, big boxes labeled as drinking water, and medical supplies stacked neatly on open metal shelving. A gurney covered in pristine white sheets was tucked against the far wall, near a giant stainless steel sink. A row of oxygen tanks sat in a corner, along with a bunch of medical equipment she couldn’t name. On the opposite side of the room was what she swore had to be a kind of oven they used to cremate bodies.

Despite the fact that they called this the safe room, it made her feel anything but. “Looks like they’re preparing for the zombie apocalypse.”

“Something like that,” said Cain as he kicked the door shut behind him.

He set her on the gurney and pulled away.

The moment her hand left his neck, the visions came back, blasting her with a barrage of lights and colors so ferocious her stomach gave a dangerous heave. Pressure built behind her eyes, as if all the sights she’d missed out on for the last few minutes were there, waiting to flood in and torture her.

A shrill sound of pain filled her ears, and it took her a moment to realize that she was the one making that horrible sound.

She clamped her lips shut, and breathed through the assault, letting it wash over her. Slowly, her breathing evened out and she opened her eyes.

Cain was on the floor, his big body shaking. She blinked to clear her vision, wondering if what she was seeing was real.

A flash of an advertisement in a gun magazine superimposed on top of someone washing his hands captured her attention for a second before she could regain a moment of control.

She wasn’t seeing things. Cain was sprawled on the white tile, making a horrible choking sound.

Panic darted through her bones, freezing her in place for a long second. Once her heart started beating again, she gathered her senses and glanced around for signs of an attack. No one was here, but she couldn’t imagine what could have been strong enough to knock the giant on his ass like that.

Rory knelt down beside him. Pain spiked through her knee as if someone had taken a hammer to it. She felt blood seep faster from the wound, but ignored all of that.

She grabbed Cain’s head to keep it from slamming into the metal shelving, and he went still in her grip. Fast, hard breaths rose from his lips.

Once again, Cain was the only thing she saw. No lights, no visions, just his face.

So strange, and yet so very, very welcome.

Concern lined his forehead and sweat dotted his brow. A vein in his temple throbbed and his breathing was labored. “You okay?” he asked, his voice rough and strained.

He was asking about her? “You’re the one on the floor. You were thrashing around like you were choking.”

His hands covered hers, vibrated against them, and she swore she could feel his ring buzzing near her skin.

“Sorry. I knew it would be bad for me, but I didn’t think it would hurt you, too.”

He sat up. His face was close to hers now, and for the first time, the lighting was good enough for her to actually see him. He was older than she’d first thought. With a heavy build like his and those gliding reflexes, she’d guessed him to be in his twenties, but now that she got a closer look, she knew that was wrong. He looked like he was in his thirties, but that didn’t seem to fit, either. He
seemed
older, though he had no heavy creases or lines, no gray in his hair. There was a kind of depth in his moss green eyes, a kind of awareness or wisdom she’d seen only in people like Nana who’d lived a long, long time.

Several small scars marked his hands and face, supporting her theory. His dark brown hair was mussed from the wind, falling over his forehead in places. A few strands clung to his damp skin. She realized she’d been staring for a long time. Too long.

Rory cleared her throat and looked away. “You didn’t think what would hurt me?”

“Breaking contact. I saw your face before I . . . collapsed. I heard you. You were in pain.”

She wasn’t about to talk to him about her visions. No way. All she needed was to get patched up and back out there to hunt for the person who could make the visions stop.

The way he did.

Maybe he was the person she’d been looking for. Maybe he was the one who’d stopped her visions before.

“Do you live nearby?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

“Were you ever at Sister Olive’s shelter before it burned down?”

He shook his head, frowning at her. “Not that I remember.”

“Near it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Why does it matter?”

“I’m looking for someone.” She felt obligated to tell him at least that much. He had, after all, saved her life tonight.

His gaze roamed her face, so palpable it was almost a caress. “Who?”

Oh baby. She could get lost in a man like this. It wouldn’t even be hard. She was so used to being invisible—to people merely glancing at the surface—his complete focus was nearly too intense to stand. If he’d tried to make a move, she would have freaked, but he hadn’t.