Betrayal's Shadow (39 page)

Tsu bowed his head, his expression hidden. “Very irreverent, Grimm.”

Ansgar snorted out a laugh and then took a breath. “And Turen?”

Kamau reached to stroke Sera’s shining black fur. “Salvatore won’t stop his vendetta, but to my knowledge Turen’s done nothing. For someone who wanted out so badly, I’m inclined to let him go.”

***

Turen stood inside the back door and listened to the metronomes and clocks, so steady and normal.

He braced himself, his heart finally beating in a normal rhythm, and recovered from whatever drug Grimm had given him. It had taken him four hours to lay false trails, and not once during that time had he heard Mia’s call again.

How long he’d been unconscious since her first call he didn’t know, but minutes after his escape, he’d felt her heartbeat, sure and steady, as if she’d been beside him.

She was alive, and he could feel her in a delicate line tethered to his sanity. He forced himself to slow down and take every precaution in making his way home. He refused to lead Salvatore right to their door because he’d lost control.

The early morning hour and the moonless night blanketed the bedroom in darkness. Not a glimmer of light illuminated the shadows, but Mia’s scent and a newer one, sweet and delicate, lingered in the air.

With soft, quiet strides, he moved to the bathroom, pulled the door almost closed and clicked on the light to watch Mia sleep. A thin column of white spilled across the carpet and the bed just shy of the chair beside it.

He followed the new scent to the small carrier in the big armchair and looked down at his son, wrapped in a small crescent roll of blanket, tiny fists on either side of his head. Leaning over, he pressed his face close to feel the softness of the baby’s face against his cheek. This scent would be an eternal memory. This heartbeat, like Mia’s, he would never forget.

In that instant, he experienced a connection to Xavier’s rage and despair that he had never anticipated. The knowledge that someone would construct a mechanism to inflict harm on a child of his soul fueled an indescribable anger within him. He pulled back to keep the residue of his emotions from waking the peaceful infant and crossed to the opposite side of the bed.

Releasing the breath he held, he let the essence of the two essential beings in the room fill him. He let them melt into every cell in his body, to fill his soul and restore his spirit. The night’s comforting sounds and the clicks of the myriad clocks and mechanisms pulsed in soft white noise, but still these two heartbeats rang through.

Hand on the pillow by her face, Mia slept. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, her body turned toward their son.

Turen crawled with gentle movements onto the bed and curled himself around his mate. He burrowed his face in her hair, snuggled an arm about her body, and tucked his knees in behind hers, prepared to lie here until she awoke. Plans and concerns he forced to the recesses of his mind and drank in the warm feel of her against him.

His head throbbed and his ribs hurt, but he reveled in it. Mia was alive and so was he. Grimm had answered her summons, for he could still sense the healer’s vibration in the room. They were alive and safe. His friends had maneuvered enough distractions for him to escape from Salvatore and the cryo lab. He wasn’t clear on what had transpired, but he’d seen the rigid anger on Salvatore’s face before he
folded
. With any luck, his comrades wouldn’t suffer in his stead.

Salvatore was extreme in his self-confidence. He weighed his decisions on the strength of his singular, isolated plans. He relied on no one, trusted in the same. Ego would lead to Salvatore’s downfall, but the same faults had aided Turen in escape.

He had also confirmed several key things about the strengths of the seasoned Guardian warriors.

He knew now the men he’d fought beside and considered brothers wouldn’t turn on him lightly.

There was also much more going on with his brethren than he understood—hidden agendas. Salvatore and the Sanctum had bred this atmosphere. Not one of his people should have had to embrace this darkness, and yet they did. Necessity bred desperation—and secrets. He would trust his life in his brethren’s hands, but without more insight into what was going on, he wouldn’t test those bonds with Mia and his son’s future.

She moved beneath his arm and he absorbed her surprise as she registered the weight around her, aware the instant she recognized him and softened.

He shifted her closer to him, and she turned, her cry absorbed against his chest. It had never felt so good to hold a weeping woman in his arms. She kissed his face, and he laughed in her stranglehold. Brushing the hair from her face, he pressed his lips to her skin, a sweet, tender touch, giving in to the need that had driven him to desperation over the past long hours. He met her lips, sinking into the flavors of his mate, and savored every corner and fold of her mouth, reinstating his soul in the kiss.

With a groan, she pushed back and stared at him. She ran her fingers over him, checked his body parts, and cataloged every wince and stiff muscle. He grasped her hands and pulled her fingers to his lips as she started to cry in earnest.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here, we’re safe, together.” He tucked her beneath his chin, rubbing her back until the tension eased from her body. “Thank you for our son.”

She hiccupped. “He’s beautiful.”

“I think he would prefer strong. Or strapping,” he said with a smile. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you.”

“He came, as you said he would.”

He ran his hand down her back and waited. She stayed silent, yet he knew it would come.

Guilt pinched her features. “A storm took out one of the trees and moved a security marker. I tried to move it into place and—I couldn’t get back to the house. There was so much blood.” His fingers stroked the lines at the corners of her eyes, continuing to feather away her worry through the story told in halting bits and pieces. He bent his cheek to her hair to hide his expression, to hide his fear for what she’d endured.

Through all the horror, he realized an irony—because Salvatore had restrained him, Grimm had been free to come to Mia. He had delivered the healing she’d needed. Skills Turen wouldn’t have been able to provide.

He pressed his lips to her neck and held her. There were no words to ease the past, no quiet phrases to relay that he’d known her terror, or how he’d raged at hearing her call, all the while unable to come to her aid. He’d been prepared to murder Salvatore in cold blood to get free to help her.

Yes, he understood Xavier all too well.

Thankfully, in the face of disaster, his mate had shown her usual courage and strength, and Grimm had come.

She held her hand to her mouth, the quiver in her fingers visible. “He said I didn’t cause it, but—”

He pulled her against him. “Shh. He wouldn’t have said that if it weren’t true. Grimm’s a pushover with women, but he doesn’t lie.”

She hiccupped trying to laugh. “I wouldn’t describe him as a pushover.”

He kissed her forehead.

“I’ve never been so scared.”

“The only true measure of courage is perseverance under pressure.” He brushed back the hair from her face and whispered against her lips, “I love you. I will owe Grimm forever for ensuring you both survived.”

“I love you too.” A small smile flickered around her mouth. “He seemed to know what he was doing. Not a big talker though. How did you get the lump on your head?”

“Definitely not a big talker.” He pulled her close. “The lump is part of what took me so long.”

“Who did that to you?” She frowned, inspecting him closer.

“Salvatore.”

She snuggled closer. “Would you like me to get you something for it?”

He closed his eyes and held her. “No. I’ll keep this one for a while. What I need to heal is to hold you until our son awakens.” He nuzzled closer. “Then I’ll bring him to you and hold you both.”

“It won’t be very long.”

“Good.” He let out a relaxed sigh. For who knew what tomorrow would bring.

CHAPTER 21

Briet waited in a leather wing chair by the window. Long blades of lemon-lime grass beyond the Sanctum’s gardens shimmered like sheets of watered silk in the wild breezes channeled by the towering mountains. It had been too long since she’d been home. Was it too much to hope she would be able to come and go soon without fear?

Unfettered access to her brother, overbearing as he was, she missed desperately. He loved her, listened to her, actually heard what she said and accepted her. Not that he was pleased about her current plan of action.

Ansgar spared no words in telling her. He trusted her, but since Turen’s capture and escape, his worry over her exposure to detection had escalated. He lurked here now, in the Sanctum halls he’d come to revile, and waited in case she needed a rescue or a diversion or both. Not wanting her to pursue this course of action hadn’t stopped him from support of her choices or ensuring her protection.

A door opened and closed. Briet tensed, listening for the brush of boots on the soft handmade rugs. Tucked out of sight, she experienced a moment of doubt, her last minute indecision making her skin itch. Could she explain her decisions, her actions? In those five seconds of silence, she reconsidered the wisdom of her plan.

“Briet.”

Well, that took care of that. She pushed out of the chair and stood to meet Grimm’s amused expression. “How did you know?”

“How could I not?”

She frowned and crossed her arms. “No. Really.”

He laughed, the sound startling her. She’d become so used to a reserved Grimm that, for a second, she stood stunned by the youthful face, wide smile and crinkles around his vibrant green eyes.

“Herbs, lemon balm, mint, rosemary. There’s a whole bouquet about you. Do you stuff it in your mattress?”

Of course, her habits had given her away. Her connection with natural compounds grounded her for the work she immersed herself in, the study of human diseases. A trait they shared. Grimm had taught and tested her on most of the compounds and herbs she now used without thought. He enveloped her in a hug that brought tears to her eyes. She’d missed this. The closeness and comfort of her friends, the people she’d grown up with and trusted. The simple contact and touch.

He drew back with a puzzled look as she tried to blink away tears. “To what do I owe this…unsanctioned and irreverent visit?”

Linking her fingers to hide her nervous need to speak with him, she launched ahead. “I need your feedback on the battle with Xavier, the one in the park several months ago, as well as Turen’s capture. And I have a request.”

“Rather heavy topics.” He frowned and stepped back. Turning away from her, he waved for her to sit again in the chair opposite his. Then elbows rested on the arms of his chair, he templed his fingers suddenly more serious. “To what end?”

“Ansgar told me that Xavier requested the woman, the one who claimed revenge on Turen, to run you through?”

He shrugged.

“With Xavier’s sword?”

A flash of something flickered in his eyes, but he turned to gaze out the window. “And?”

“Did she harm you?” She waved away her remark as he glanced back, a deeper furrow between his brows. “Never mind, I don’t really need the answer. You making light of the attack and her altercations with you, Turen, and Xavier only reinforce my theories. I’ll be honest, I think you covered for this woman.” Briet stared at the ceiling. The conclusions seemed a little more farfetched spoken aloud. “I have several paths of thought.”

Grimm shifted, tapped his fingers against his thigh. He narrowed his eyes but said nothing, no offer of help to bridge the awkward gap from questions to conversation.

Fine, she’d used the direct approach. “I’ve discovered some things, and I have information. It’s critical you know what I’ve found. Then I want your help.”

He tilted his head for her to proceed. No reciprocation followed.

Her fingers tightened in their clench. “I’ve analyzed samples from Maitea and Isabella.”

In the blink of an eye, his posture went from relaxed to rigid, and he leaned forward in his chair, alert. “That was dangerous, Briet.”

“Only if what killed them was contagious. It’s not.” She held up her hands to ward off the lecture. “A series of compounds attacked their DNA, targeting progressive deterioration. I’m not talking about just the genetic structure unique to our people, but ones tailored for Maitea and Isabella’s specific genetic compositions. Maitea’s was far more advanced and complex. The progression and dosage were much weaker in Isabella. I doubt she would have noticed any changes, but the alteration is there if you know what to look for.”

Grimm’s fingers had stopped moving—not a good sign. Stillness in him was never a good sign. Evidence of worry, no doubt. However, he digested her information without wasting time to question her competence. The biology of what she knew, she’d acquired through his tutelage. The chemical dissection of compounds, the familiarity with a structure’s natural sequence, was her inherent gift. Her knowledge and precision were talents so specific no one could challenge her.