A cool, wind chime voice pushed through her head. "Again,
Cameron?" Xanthe sighed, the sound brushing disappointed and disapproving.
Murmurs drifted to her in shallow, sluggish spurts and Xanthe's mind floated
away.
Then Damie's voice pealed, replacing Xanthe's coolness with hurried
and worried tones. "Oh, Cam," she gasped, "why couldn't you
listen to Jessa and just stay put?" Quick flashes of yellow and sunlight
streaming briefly through the otherwise silent void.
And Remy, his slow, lazy purr rumbling softly. "Pas encore, ma chère," he added,
like the gentle growl of far-off thunder, listless and disgruntled. And somehow
she knew that Jessa would be the only one to keep silent, saving her censure
for a later time.
They melded, swirling through the empty space, while each silently
gave their support and encouragement, so badly needed and so far away. One
thought slipped unheeded through each of their minds, one they each meant to
catch and hide. We cannot help you now.
She was strapped securely to a cold, metal table.
Something -- ropes, she would guess -- bit harsh and uncaring into
her wrists and tore at her flesh. She moved her hands gingerly, aching at the
pain and yet welcoming that she could again feel them. Her body alternately
burned and chilled, but at least she knew it was there. Right now, that was the
most important thing.
Wincing, she slowly opened her eyes. Light flooded at her in
blinding spikes and she involuntarily sucked in a quick breath. Don't fight it,
focus, let it in… And then suddenly, everything was blazingly clear.
Not a dungeon or some high tech torture chamber like she'd first
imagined. Just a simple, ordinary room, decorated in true seventeenth-century style
and complete with gilt. The stainless steel table was sorely out of place.
Raising her upper body and ignoring the blistering pain scratching
at every limb, she was fortunate to find that not only were her hands bound,
but her feet were, too. Lovely. Giacinta must have something fun and exciting
planned.
She collapsed back against the hard table. Her muscles pulled and
groaned, taking her mind away from the nauseating fear threatening to consume
her. The pain, at least, was good for something.
Now, she guessed, the only thing she could do was wait. Perhaps
only seconds passed. Giacinta wasn't long in coming.
She entered the room laughing and her eyes never left Cameron's
scornful face. In her hand was a glass of winding blue liquid, which she sipped
absently. Her expression was thoughtful, yet anticipatory. "We can make
this easy or we can make this hard," she said suddenly, setting down her
glass.
"Easy?" Cameron gasped in mock horror, brilliant blue
eyes glaring. "I thought you said this would be fun!"
Giacinta only smiled and stepped closer. "Sarcasm doesn't suit
you," she advised calmly. "Perhaps you should try another technique.
Begging, maybe?"
"I'll take Stupid Suggestions for four hundred, Alex."
Her voice was derisive. "I don't beg," she continued flatly, keeping
her body still and relaxed, unwilling to let Giacinta see just how afraid she
was.
A brief widening of that hateful smile. "Oh, you will,"
she promised. That promise glittered in her eyes like slicing diamond blades
and Cameron would have shivered, if she'd been able to move.
Giacinta turned, walking to one of the ornate cabinets and sliding
open an exquisitely carved drawer. A
glint of silver flashed brightly. She turned. "I would gag you," she
said conversationally, "but then I wouldn't be able to hear you
scream."
"Why don't I just scream now and get it over with?"
Cameron suggested brightly. "That way we can skip the pain."
Giacinta shook her head. "Ma
chère, you were the one who wanted this done the hard way. It's too easy if
it doesn't involve blood."
Alarm shot through Cameron like a cannonball, not merely destroying
her hopes, but demolishing them into slivers of unease. "Obviously, I
can't stop you." Her head turned to follow the vampire's slinking
footsteps. "I don't think whatever pain you cause me will influence Kian
in your favor."
The slow pacing stopped. "Who said I wanted Kian's
favor?" she asked softly, her eyes sparkling with the hurt of betrayal.
"I'm long past that."
The pacing resumed and Cameron once again followed her progress
with shadowed eyes. "If you're not doing this to win Kian, then why are
you doing it?"
"Revenge," she answered simply. She glided toward her
gracefully, stopping just at the foot of the table. This time Cameron knew it
was for real. "He hurt me more than anyone has. Payback might be a
bitch," she added, a malicious smile playing on her lips, "but I
taught her all my tricks."
"Lovely," Cameron sighed, exasperated. "Not only do
I pay for being his soulmate, but I also pay for his mistakes."
Giacinta shrugged, idly beginning to twirl a finely honed and
beautifully crafted knife. Cameron guessed the knife was what she'd taken from
the drawer. Her pitiless black eyes met Cameron's squarely. "Il
ne se blesse qu'une seconde."
And Cameron suddenly knew she would be merciless and she would be
cruel.
I will not scream, she thought wildly. I will not give her the
pleasure of seeing my pain. Her eyes slid shut and she braced herself for the
fire-hot agony she knew would come.
"Seulement
pour une seconde," she repeated and her black eyes snapped
merrily. The knife sliced down, smooth and clean, as though it cut through
butter and not bone. Despite what she had promised herself, the stabbing pain
curled and rose in the pit of her stomach. Shouldn't her arm or her wrist or
her hand hurt? Shouldn't the pain
radiate from the wound and not from the very core of her being?
And when the pain shot through her veins, racing like a molten
river from her stomach to the very tips of her fingers, jumping from nerve to
nerve in blinding, tear-inducing flashes, she could only welcome the kiss of
cold steel. The scream ripped through her throat without warning.
It only hurts for a second, but that second can seem long.
***
Her screams rang in Jessa's ears like gunshots, short and bursting.
She wanted to muffle the sound, to stop its slithering slide through her head,
but it echoed like a plea reverberating through an empty canyon. It was a sound
more desperate than any she'd heard and one she would never forget.
Only the most cruel can forget death.
Winding through the streets, she ran, ignoring the rough slam of
cement against her feet and the startled gasp of human bystanders. She stopped
for nothing and for no one. Their astonishment rolled over her slowly, barely
clinging before dropping swiftly away. She ran.
Faster, run, find your charge and save her… She could still hear
the tepid, sluggish beat of her heart and her screams, those awful, high wails
of pain. But just because she could hear them didn't mean she was alive. The
gentle tug wrestling Jessa away from the street did.
She veered to the left, down a moss-covered, slimy alley. Puddles lay
murkily, deep and unrepentant, and she ran through them with little thought.
She would not fail this time and the Gucci shoes meant little to her mission.
One fat, homeless man was brave enough to get in her way.
"Lady, can I--?"
She ran past him without even hearing and he resumed his slumped
position against the hard and filthy brick wall. He watched her go, wondering
what could possibly be so important that she couldn't spare some change.
Only a few more blocks now. She burst out of the alley, shoving her
way through throngs of humans who glared and pushed her back. She ignored them.
The tug was stronger now, wrenching through her chest in heated flashes. Only a
few more blocks.
Then, abruptly, the feeling dissipated, vanishing from her mind as quickly
and as coldly as mist. She stopped and horror flooded over her delicate
features.
The bond was gone.
Someone had broken the spell.
And if Jessa didn't find her soon, Cameron may very well be doomed.
****
So close. Perhaps only one hundred feet away, but still she could
not find her. Tears of frustration welled in Jessa's eyes. Again, she was
running, but this time away from the place where Cameron writhed in agony. She
wound through street after street and down dirty alleys.
Finally, she stopped.
The apartments were old and dingy, the paint chipped as though it
had seen thousands of lives pass before it, with an air of sullen neglect. She
didn't see the sagging white pillars or the cracking cement as she passed them.
The battered door squealed when she opened it and slammed behind her on its
volition. She took the steps quickly.
When she reached apartment 4C, she didn't bother to knock. She
simply kicked the door in.
A rather rumpled Kian looked up from his place on the couch, shock bringing
his red-rimmed eyes and sulky mouth to life. He stood, alarmed, and raked a
strong hand through his tousled burgundy hair. "What do you want?"
"Giacinta has Cameron," she said flatly, waiting for his
eyes to light with anger. They remained
curiously empty.
He stared at her and then he shrugged. Sadly, he answered,
"She and Kieran already won. Are you really that surprised? They always
win." He turned away to resume his slumped position on the sagging couch.
Jessa blinked, torn between the desire to comfort him and the
desire to slap him across the face. She did neither. "Your esteemed
brother has nothing to do with this," she informed him coolly. "I
doubt he even knows."
He lowered his head, dropping it into his hands. He looked… broken.
As if someone had tried to put him back together and erred horribly, leaving on
this grotesque and misshapen parody of a boy. One who could walk and talk, but
could no longer feel. "Don't let him fool you," he advised. "No
matter what he says, he's right in the middle of this."
"I didn't ask him," Jessa answered, her eyes swirling
with amber flecks of anger. "Regardless of whether he's involved or not, I
need your help. I can't find her without you."
He shook his head, fingers twisting through his burgundy locks as
though he was trying to rip it out.
"She doesn't need me," he sighed.
"She doesn't need you?" she asked, repeating his
statement softly and lethally. He didn't answer her, didn't even flinch at the
tone of her voice.
She lost her temper. Without realizing what she was doing, she
stalked over to the couch, leaning over to until her face was level with his.
"Kian," she said calmly. He simply shook his head in denial. She straightened, rising from her bent
position, and contemplated his broken posture. Then she slapped him. Her palm
cracked across his face with a resounding smack.
He blinked, startled.
"We don’t have time to for you to sit around and feel sorry
for yourself." A cool wind blew in her voice. "Even if you don't want to save her, I do, and if I have to
hurt you to get your help, I will."
His sharp cheeks slowly flushed a savage crimson. "I can't
help you," he said quietly and turned away.
She knocked him to the floor with a swift roundhouse kick. He fell
to his knees, his hands breaking the fall and keeping his proud face from
smashing through the glass table next to the couch. "Wrong answer,"
she replied. Her accompanying smile was sweet.
Pushing himself carefully off the floor, those heady violet eyes
snapped with fury. "Maybe you don't understand. I can't help you."
A bit of snooping in the jade green recesses of her mind told her
he believed that. She calmed down just a little, letting her blood cool and her
pulse settle to a more sedate pace. "Why not?" she asked, hoping he
would explain, because she certainly didn't understand.
His eyes were hot. "Because I can't feel her. Only Kieran and
I together will ever be able to figure out where she is." His burning gaze
dropped, tracing the carpet's oriental pattern.
"Then we find Kieran," she stated. She started for the
broken door, expecting him to follow. If he didn't, she'd just drag him. She
had the feeling he knew that. "And then we find Cameron. Where is
he?"
Just like a faithful puppy, he trailed behind her. "At the
airport." No concern and no emotion -- nothing
-- filtered into his voice. He was resigned, and clearly sure that Cameron
was as good as dead. "My car's out front."
"Why would he be at the airport?" she wondered, while
Kian tried half-heartedly to make the door stay shut.
With a disgusted sigh, he gave up. "I would assume because
he's leaving," he answered with an unconcerned shrug. He led the way down
the broken stairs, car keys materializing into his hand.
"Where would he go?" she probed. If she had to chase him
to Africa, he would pay dearly, and not just in cash. If they were lucky,
they'd make it to the airport before his plane left. She could only hope.
He held the door open for her, genteel even after she'd threatened
to harm him, and waited for her to exit the building before he answered.
"He has an apartment in Las Vegas he goes to sometimes. Maybe to visit our
cousin Jihn, if he can find her. She has a habit of disappearing."
She almost stopped in shock. "Jihn Redfern is your
cousin?"
Stepping down from the soon to be condemned porch, he sent her a
wry look. "Jihn is a cousin, yes. I can see how that would surprise
you."
Oh, it surprised her all right. Like her, Jihn was a Guardian,
newly appointed and quite disgruntled about it. The last time Jessa had seen
her, she'd been muttering something about how Antarctica had more people than
the place she was being sent.
But her reason for being surprised would mean nothing to Kian. Few
people knew about Guardians or what they did.
He walked to a sporty black car, kicking trash and broken bottles
out of his way as he went. Inserting
the key into the lock quickly, he gallantly opened the door, then waited
patiently until she settled into the plush gray seat. He closed the door behind
her with a quick jerk of his wrist.
"I would never have guessed," she admitted, shrugging, as
he climbed in the other side. "Although I suppose the last name should
have been a good tip."
He shook his tousled head. "There are so many Redferns running
around that even if you were to trace back their genealogy, you probably
wouldn't find the link."
Silently, she agreed, but out loud she said, "Which
airport?"
"Logan International." He glanced at her, frowning, that
gorgeous mouth curving in concern. "Seatbelt, please." He started the
car. "You know he's not going to come willingly."
"Neither were you," she pointed out, raising an eyebrow
and fastening her seatbelt, "and yet now you're driving to the airport to
kidnap your brother."
He sighed, pulling the car easily out of the cramped parking space.
His eyes were trained on the road, but she wasn't sure he even noticed what was
around them. He'd put himself on autopilot, she knew. "Yes, but when
Kieran gets angry, people die. He's not--" he searched hopelessly for a
word to describe him, but none came. "He's dangerous."
Jessa's eyes glinted. "So am I."
Kian glanced at her, turning the car down a deserted street, and
smiled. "He's had more practice and he's never dealt well with opposition.
Just a warning."
"I've never been good with those," Jessa admitted. She
reached to flip on the radio. Music flooded into the car, straining chords
rising around them in a melodious dance. "Do you mind?"
"A little late to ask, isn't it?" he questioned, but he
shook his head. "It's fine. It's pointless to argue about something so
small when the fight we're about to get into is far worse."
She had a sudden, sinking feeling he was right.
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