Secret Worlds (464 page)

After several tries, she swallowed down the lump in her esophagus. She told herself her allergy attack caused her sore throat. It wasn’t tight with tears.

The alert from the lock made her jump. She dropped her arms, looking wildly around, but with no bolt hole she had nowhere to run. Reyes swung open the door and entered. He barely spared her a glance before turning to re-secure the locks.

He turned and did a double take. His right hand came up as if to calm her.

Lena swiped at her nose. “I’m not crying,” she lied. “I’m having a reaction to the dust in the pillow.” She lifted her chin with stubborn pride, but she couldn’t keep it from trembling.

Reyes’s gaze swept over her as he evaluated whether or not he believed her. Finally, he nodded and crossed the room to stand in front of her. He chewed the inside of his lower lip as he regarded her. His eyes were deep and so dark his pupils disappeared. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, then nodded and started again.

“You were right,” he said, his voice soft, “back there outside Santo Domingo. They did snatch little Alejandro away from his mom and dad to make him a Ward. And it fucked with his head.” He paused, swallowing, but not taking his steady gaze from hers.

“I was five years old when my parents handed me over to the Council. And the last words my father said to me before they put me on that steam train were, ‘Be strong, little man.’ I thought that meant I couldn’t cry. Every night, all of the other boys cried. All the way to the Ward School, and after we were there, the sound of crying lulled us all to sleep. But not me. I was going to be strong. Except it didn’t make me strong. It made me mean. It made me weak. It wasn’t until someone showed me that crying could help me heal that I learned how to be strong. You have to mourn what’s gone. You think if you nurse that wound, it will feed you. But if you let it heal, the scar will make you stronger than the wound ever could.”

She shook her head back and forth, refusing. She held the grief back.

He lifted his hands to her shoulders. “Yes. It’s okay to cry.”

“It’s not. It’s not, because I don’t deserve it,” she whispered and dropped her face so she wouldn’t have to look into his anymore.

“You don’t deserve to heal?” The soft words were incredulous.

“No!” The trembling was spreading from her chin. The tears were going to come anyway. “Because it’s my fault. They’re dead because of who I am, decisions that I made—”

“No. They died because of the Council, for decisions that Three, and Lucas, and whoever else they’re in bed with made. They died because they loved you, and they wanted you to live. You looked away at the end. You looked away. But I didn’t. Your mother never faltered. She didn’t falter, and she didn’t let go of you. She didn’t give you up, not even at the end. Do you think the woman who valued you more than life would say you don’t deserve it?”

He kept talking, but she couldn’t hear any of it. The tears had come, too loud and ugly for her to be aware of much more than being pulled close to his chest and the rumble of words inside of it. Finally, the rumble stopped, and he just held her.

A little while later, the tears stopped coming, too.

She stood still, even after the hiccupping breaths had eased, allowing herself to be held. It felt good. Not surprising. Under the scowls and barked orders, Reyes was a beautiful man. He was also solid and warm. She sniffled and rubbed her cheek against his chest, moving closer and sliding her arms around his waist. She drew in a deep, relaxing breath and enjoyed the familiar almost-tickle of the Dust moving within her. It pooled in her chest and belly, and all along her inner arms, as if drawn into the embrace as well. It swirled lower, too….

Under her ear, his heart skipped. So did the sound of his breathing.

Her eyes flew open. What was she doing?

Lena yanked her arms from Reyes and stepped away. She crossed her arms, and her mouth worked for a moment. “I—I’m sorry. I mean, thank you. I’m good now. So thank you.” She didn’t want to look up from the spot on his chest that was damp from her tears. She had to.

His lips twitched, but his eyes were still grave and concerned. “You sure?”

“Yep. All better.”

“Lena—”

“Thank you, Reyes. Really, I’m good. Thank you. You went above and beyond. Thanks.”

You can stop thanking him now. It was just a damn hug.
It was. Why was her heart racing?

Reyes searched her face, as if looking for something. Whatever conclusion he reached, he nodded and crossed to the little table.

She moved in the opposite direction to perch on the edge of the cot.

Wincing and favoring his left side, Reyes pulled the straps of a bag he’d been wearing slung across his back over his head.

“Oh, yeah,” she mumbled, mostly to herself. “Broken ribs.”

He glanced over, shrugging his right shoulder in acknowledgment of his injury.

She’d forgotten to offer to help him back at Ace’s. She hadn’t offered when he got here, either. He had broken ribs because of her. He’d spent the last day and night in serious pain. And he was the one comforting her.

“Come here,” she said hoarsely, beckoning him over.

Reyes made one startled sweep of her and the cot. His brows rose. “Enticing as you are, Lena,” he drawled, “That’s really not what you need right now. I’m going to have to pass.”

Her mouth fell open. She snapped it shut. The heat of a redhead’s flush flooded up her skin, from chest to face. “I’m not offering to screw you, Reyes. I’m going to fix your ribs. Or do you like being in pain and short of breath?”

“Fix my ribs?” He stopped working at the knot securing a rectangular flap over the bag’s opening. She had his full attention now. “You can do that?”

She shrugged. Then, unable to help it, she smirked. “I’m multi-talented. I can smash a room over you and break your ribs. And then I can fix them.”

His guffaw almost sounded like a cough of pain. He settled the bag and crossed to her.

Lena gestured. “Take off your shirt.”

He hissed out a breath as he pulled it over his head.

Her gaze rose with it, flowing over the skin revealed by the rising shirt, then made a slower return trip back down over his chest and abdomen. Yes, he was a finely built man. She couldn’t resist needling him a little to remind him of how he’d come into her life and turned it upside down.

“I don’t blame you for thinking I was propositioning you, considering you’ve talked to my sister. I know what she thinks of me. I am a little surprised you turned me down so fast.” She tilted her head back so she could look him in the face as he pulled the shirt away. She cocked a brow, making her voice a pointed purr. “Especially since you did promise to be good to me when we met. Remember?”

Reyes rolled his eyes.

Lena laughed. Still chuckling, she inspected the offending ribs. Livid bruises spread across his side and curved around to his back. She made a spinning motion with her fingers.

He dutifully turned. “This isn’t going to hurt, is it?”

She met his suspicious gaze, struggling to hold back another laugh. “No, Reyes. It isn’t going to hurt.”

“I’m fine with pain,” he growled, “I just like a little warning.”

She lifted her hands and placed them on his warm skin. She didn’t have to be in physical contact in order to make the Dust heal another. It was all mental. But the contact made her feel more connected.

She traced the contours of his ribs around her hands. Where his skin curved over the muscle and bones of his chest and abdomen, his olive tone paled. She focused in, past his skin, her vision blurring as she called to the Dust living within him. They woke and swarmed to the site of Reyes’s injured ribs. She told them how to pulse, and they sent currents of energy into his bones and the bruised flesh surrounding them to stimulate his cells. She could feel his skin warm under her hands and instructed a slight adjustment. She wasn’t sure if it the warmth or the contact or maybe even the connection of moments ago spurred her, but the urge to turn the touch into a caress nearly overwhelmed her. Just a little more and then—

“Stop.” Reyes’s voice, tinged with alarm, intruded on her thoughts. “Lena! Stop!”

His rough hands pulled her own away from his skin. He held her arms between them and gave them a small shake to get her attention. His eyes were wide and alarmed. He searched her face.

She blinked. She gave a final instruction and sighed, pulling away from the Dust. “What?”

“You’re glowing.” He swallowed. He didn’t release her arms, as if he thought he might have to hold her up.

“Yeah? Sparks do that. I’m overdue for grounding because of…because of what happened.”

“No. Lena. You’re….” His words trailed off. He shook his head. “It’s not the Spark latent bloom. Only we can see that. This is different. You’re actually….” He shook his head and released her to hold one hand up between them and the wall. The stark dark outline of his hand appeared on it, a shadow cast by her. “You’re actually lighting the room. I’ve never seen anything like this. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Except she couldn’t look away from the shadows she cast on the wall.

He dropped his arm to get her attention. “How’s your head?”

From the way he looked at her, he clearly expected her to fall to the ground writhing in pain at any moment. She should be on the floor, incapacitated by pain and the need to ground, but she wasn’t.

Instead of answering, she lifted her hand. She was glowing, the Dust beneath her skin incandescent. It wasn’t subtle, either.

“My head is fine.” There wasn’t even a twinge of over-stimulation migraine. Nothing. She looked from her arm to his face.

Reyes stared at her, fascination and a kind of fear at war in him.

“What about you?” she asked him.

He frowned. “Me?”

“How are your ribs?”

“Oh!” He moved gingerly, then a little more vigorously. He raised his brows and tried an experimental twist to the side. He seemed to have close to full range of motion. “It’s really good. So, you know, when you’re giving lessons, that’ll be a good one to know.” He nodded before he added blandly, “Unless I’ll start glowing.”

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him, still admiring the light cast from her arm as she made her way back to the little table. She hooked a stool with her toes and dropped down. “Hmmm.” She held her hand up again. “I guess this could make my escape a little difficult?”

Reyes pulled his shirt back on and walked over to join her, his movements smooth and cat-like again. “Nope. I’ve got you covered. Unless you’re planning on escaping me?”

Lena raised her brows. “Do I need to?”

He laughed and started working the knot on the bag again as he shook his head. He didn’t actually answer her, though, which made her nervous. The non-answer that was an answer, perhaps? What had the poem said?
“A Truth that’s told with bad intent/Beats all the Lies you can invent”
? Her alarm grew into anxiety. She decided to push the issue.

“Reyes, do I need to?”

He looked up. The knot parted. He spread the cord apart without looking down. “No. You do not need to escape me. You don’t need to fear me. And you don’t need to be afraid of the people I represent, either. I am here to serve and protect,” he smiled as the old words rolled off his tongue. The smile dropped, and he pointed to her with both index fingers. “You. Part of my job has always been to search for you.”

“Search for me?” Her voice was sharp. “But Dad worked so hard to keep me hidden!” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. If you knew about me—”

“No, no, no. Nothing concrete.” He shrugged and raised one hand to make a back and forth motion. “We knew about the possibility of you. Or we believed it, you could say. We actually expected you to be a child. That’s what we expected to find. And if you happened, when you happened, we’d need to be ready to bring you in. Not to imprison you or use you or kill you, but to protect you from those who would do all of those things.”

She digested that in silence.

He reached into the bag and pulled out flatbread, a small, paper-wrapped package of crumbly white cheese, several apples, and a skin of water. He pushed it all to the center of the table and indicated she should help herself.

She reached out hungrily, broke off a piece of the cheese, and dropped the crumbles into a torn piece of flatbread. She’d eaten the last of the food she’d brought early that morning.

“Protect me, huh?” she said after she’d swallowed her first two bites. “What if I don’t want your protection?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Reyes produced a small folding knife and sliced an apple. He layered the thin wedges on the flatbread and then added cheese. “You need it.”

She stared at the sandwich, mouth watering, even after he caught her. He grinned and offered it to her. When she unabashedly took it, he made another.

“I need it? Reyes, I don’t need protection. All I need is for you to get me to the right place at the right time. Or have you forgotten that I pulled a building down on top of you?” The apple and cheese together was tangy, crunchy heaven.

“Yeah? Could you do it again if you needed to? On demand?”

She said nothing. She didn’t have to. They both knew the first time had been a stress response of some kind. And the second had been a Reyes response. But he’d moved on to his next point anyway.

“And have you forgotten that I got the drop on you? If I can, so can they.” He took a bite. “Might take a little longer…” He grimaced, perhaps at their chances, and chewed. “But they could. You’re not omnipotent.” He snorted. “Not yet.”

She stopped chewing. An image flashed into her mind. A smell came with the memory. Perfume. Dust.
The dress
. She swallowed the dry wad of food in her mouth. “I know I’m not omnipotent. Believe me, I know. I never have been. If I was—” Grief closed her throat, and she choked on her words.

Reyes shook his head. When he spoke, his face and his voice were heavy with regret. “No, that was on us.” He stopped for a moment, staring off as he gathered his thoughts. “She was sick. It was an accident. Not even Lucas, bastard that he is, intended to kill her. I promise.
I promise.
And I
never
would have stood back and watched if I had known she was that weak.”