STEP (The Senses) (5 page)

Anstice dislodged Keir’s arm and walked over to Delara, standing next to her as if she was going to shield her from his wraith.

“Are we done?” Delara asked. “Cause I’m beat and need a shower.”

“Christ, Delara.” Jedrik said, shaking his head and moaning.

“Waleron, maybe this conversation should be done in—” Keir began, but was cut off by Galen.

“The vamp Liam?”

Keir gave him a shut-the-fuck-up-or-I’ll-plow-your-face-to-kingdom-come glare.

Anstice stepped closer to Delara so their shoulders were touching.

Grim moaned and lowered his hairy butt to the floor.

Waleron was so hurt, flabbergasted and pissed off that he couldn’t even find his voice. Edan and now Liam. What was she doing? A vamp? Their enemy. If the Wraiths got hold of . . . okay
, he could deal with this. He had no choice.

“Your blood?” he asked, praying that he wouldn’t have to send her to Rest. That would be the last straw to his existence.

“Of course not,” she replied, and the vise on his heart—if you could call it a heart— eased a minute amount.

He gave a curt nod. How could he stop her from self-destructing? He could see it every time he looked into her eyes, the pain, the hurt. If he could, he’d keep away from her, but that was an impossibility. She was a Senses and needed his protection and guidance.

Then he lied. He had no choice. “Then it is not my concern.” He looked at Anstice. “Let us go.”

Anstice gave Delara’s hand a quick squeeze
, then went and grabbed her bag at the bottom of the stairs. Keir followed her to the front door, and he could see them whispering.

Jedrik said nothing as he got up, brushed past Delara and
went downstairs to the Tomb where his bedroom was located. Galen trailed back upstairs, most likely to his computer in the attic.

Delara remained frozen, watching him with her exotic eyes. Scared? Damn right she was. But not that he’d hurt her, no, he’d already done that, but scared of
what was becoming of herself.

And he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t no matter how much he wanted to because he’d only make it worse. How could he end this for both their sakes?

“I’m . . . sorry,” Delara said and he knew she was sincere by the way her teeth bit her lower lip.

“You have to stop, Delara. Get help. Talk to Zurina.” He knew what she was doing, and it would only make it worse. He had self-destructed eons ago. “I have to go.”

He turned and took two, then three strides before hearing words that sent a sharp jagged spear through the top of his head to his feet, nailing him to the floor for seconds.

“I want him back. The man who fell in love with me. The man I love with all my heart and soul.”

Without turning, he said, “He’s dead, Delara. That man is dead.”

****

“You love her, don’t you?” Anstice said it like a question, but she already knew. She’d witnessed that day when Waleron stood beside Trinity, Delara standing at the front door, wounded and bleeding after the fight with Ryszard, vamp extraordinaire. Delara’s devastation evident in her watchful eyes, the way she gripped the sides of her cargo pants, her fingernails no doubt ripping through the material.

And Waleron, stoic and cold, holding his emotions in check, like always, watching her, eyes ice cold driving into Delara with an intensity that she knew had to be undying love.

Waleron’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “We are not discussing this, Anstice.”

Push and you shall receive one way or another. At least, it worked with Keir. “It needs discussing. Didn’t you listen to her? She slept with Liam? Vampire of the city. She could have taken his blood and she’d be lost to us. To you. Waleron, she’s screaming for help, and you just socked her in the mouth with that last comment.”

“I am not the one to help her, Anstice. And I repeat this is not up for discussion.” Waleron’s voice lowered in warning, but she ignored the flashing warning lights.

“You keep her on a leash. Always needing to know where she is, what she’s doing. You won’t love her— at least not admittingly—yet you keep tabs on her, and it’s not like the rest of us. You protect her. You were crazed when she took off after you decided to sleep with Trinity.”

“I had no choice,” he said, eyes narrowed, but staring straight ahead at the road.

“Baloney, and you know it. You slept with her for her stupid visions. The ever-sacrificial lamb for his Senses. Well, that day you sacrificed Delara’s heart. Put it on a spit and let it rotate for the last two and a half years. No wonder she
’s sleeping with your enemies. She wants you to burn like she is.”

Waleron skidded to the side of the road and jammed the car into park, flicking on the hazards.

Maybe she’d pushed a little too far, but she’d kept her mouth shut for long enough. He needed to hear it.

He kept his eyes forward—thank
God cause they scared the crap out of her—and put his head in his hands. Wow, a show of emotion besides anger.

“Do you love her?” Anstice whispered.

“Yes.” His voice was so soft that she wanted to get him to repeat it, but knew that would push him over the edge.

“Then why, Waleron? Why?”

It was then that she saw his eyes, the coldness gone and in its place a sorrowful blue that read despair. As quickly as it came, it disappeared, and he became the cold Taldeburu they all thought they knew, but really had no clue who he was.

“She deserves more than I am capable of giving. And now this conversation is over. Don’t ever bring it up again.”

She paid attention to his tone of voice this time. She’d pushed him to the limit. Keir said she didn’t know when to stop—yeah, well, she was a bulldog when it came to her friends.

“Then unclip the leash and let
her go,” Anstice said. Because Delara was spiraling out of control, and if she continued down this path, she’d hit the dead end at the highest possible speed.

Kilter jolted awake to a haunting scream. It was the same horrid sound from the rooftop. One he swore he never wanted to hear again
. He leapt off the chair he’d fallen asleep in, knife drawn as he scanned the room. Rayne was frantically trying to wrestle her legs free of twisted sheets. He reached her just as she tumbled to the floor in a mess of limbs.

“Jesus Christ,” he roared.

She scuttled back on her palms until her back hit the nightstand. Kilter ignored her reaction and hovered over her. She shrank back and his eyes narrowed with displeasure.

“Damn it
, woman, I just saved your fuckin’ life. You think I’d kill you?” The morning sun’s rays flashed on the steel blade of his knife. He bent down and placed it back in the strap attached to his boot.

She scrambled to her feet, grabbing the sheet and pulling it up in front of her like a shield.
Like that would stop him.

He decided a formal introduction might be in order. Maybe knowing his name might help put her at ease. “I’m Kilter.” He gestured to the tray sitting on the nightstand. “
I made soup earlier. It’ll be cold by now. Eat the fruit.”

She watched him, her fingers on her throat as if waiting for him to finish what her husband started. He couldn’t blame her mistrust
. Shit, her husband had obviously abused her, how bad he had no idea, but by the look in her eyes it was . . . God, he wanted to rip the pompous-ass into a thousand measly pieces.

“Shower is over there,” he said
, nodding to the door on the left side of the bed. She remained immobile, her eyes watching his every move. “I hate smelly crap, so you’ll have to make do with what I’ve got.”

“Is he really dead?”

At the sound of her voice, his heart did a double beat and then settled back down to a steady rhythm. He nodded, eyes remaining fixated on hers. He felt the relief pour from her body, so intense that it made his own body take it in and feel the exact same response. It was the weirdest experience, feeling someone else’s emotion as if it were his own. A Reflection was able to take in others’ emotions. Handy ability, but it could drive you insane if you didn’t know how to block them. Her emotion had to be really strong for it to leak into him.

“Take a shower. You’re filthy,” Kilter said, deciding the butterfly needed a few moments of privacy away from the wasp.

****

Rayne turned on the shower then quickly undressed, leaving her clothes in a puddle on the floor. She avoided looking in the large oval mirror, knowing it would only magnify her self-awareness, something she could do without right now.

She stepped under the hot spray, closing her eyes at the sweet luxury. Every bone felt ready to snap, tendons and muscles strained to their capacity, and every inch of her skin felt soiled.

Picking up the stone that was meant for the bottom of the feet, she squirted layers of soap on it then scrubbed her flesh, wincing as the harshness brushed against the bruises. It felt good and painful at the same time. Washing Anton off her skin was the most gratifying feeling she’d had in years. It was like scraping his hands off her skin, erasing his memory, his voice. She scrubbed harder and harder, gritting her teeth as the stone scratched and rubbed her skin raw. Her mind screamed
“Get him out of me”—but no matter how hard she tried, he was still there. She couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he was waiting for her on the other side of the shower door.

Her mind shouted and yelled and fought against the hold he had on her as she scrubbed harder, faster, gritting her teeth at the pain. A wrenching scream of frustration tore from her lungs, and then she threw the stone against the tiles.

She leaned against the back of the shower wall and slowly slid to the floor. She dragged her knees up to her chest, put her head in her hands, and for the first time in years she cried.

****

“Rayne?” He tried the bathroom door handle. Locked.

He knocked. No answer.

“Rayne?” She’d been in there too long. “Damn it, open the door.”

He tried to unlock the door with his mind—normally it woul
d take him two seconds—but with his lack of sleep over the last four weeks, his abilities were shutting down.

He slammed his good shoulder into the door and it groaned under the force. He drew back and did it again, this time it gave and wood
splintered as it flung open.

He stormed in and quickly came to a dead halt. Rayne sat on the floor of the shower stall, knees bent, face covered by her hands leaning against her thighs. The water sprayed over top of her head as she huddled in the corner, body trembling. God, she looked like a pathetic lost kitten caught in the rain.

He walked through the fog of steam, grabbing a towel on his way, and opened the shower door. Heedless of the water instantly soaking his jeans and T-shirt, he crouched in front of her and put a towel over her raw, naked body.

Without raising her head, she gripped the edge of the cloth and clutched it to her neck.

He reached forward, put his finger under her chin and raised her head to meet his eyes. He almost fell back on his ass the moment he saw her expression.

Tears mixed with droplets of water streamed down her cheeks. What he saw was fear, pain, and haunting desperation within the depths of her eyes. Lost. She looked so fuckin’ lost. She obviously was so driven inside herself that she was afraid to say anything. His jaw clenched and every muscle contracted. If he had the chance, he’d spin back time, draw and quarter her husband, and then he’d sick his Scar on him.

He was so not good at this nicety shit, but this chick sure needed some. “You’re safe here. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.” Shit, she looked even skinnier wet. He could see her collarbone protruding and every vein in her arm. She had several puncture marks in the crook, and his eyes narrowed as his gut wrenched with wrath. He grabbed her arm and pulled it towards him. “What drugs?”

She drew back and he let her. She covered the marks with her other hand.

“Silent treatments don’t work for me, so spill it,” he ground out.

She avoided his eyes. “Valium. Ketamine. Both. It
depended on how much I fought.”

Kilter made a grunt-growl in the back of his throat, trying to keep it contained, but his body half refusing to. The water pounded on his back
. His jeans were soaked and heavy, white T-shirt now see-through from the water. He stayed silent and still, waiting until his rage calmed so he could speak again with frightening the shit out of her. He detested any sort of drugs, whether it was nicotine or cocaine; they were for the weak and feeble. Occasionally, he had the odd alcoholic beverage, but never did he overindulge. He couldn't afford to lose control and let the past come back into his life.

He noticed his razor on the tile floor beside her and picked it up, sho
ving it into his back pocket.

“I’m not going to kill myself if that’s what you think,” she said as water droplets slipped from strands of her hair to fall to her shoulders. “Remember, couldn’t do it.”