Blood Kin (7 page)

The geas snapped tight, searing pain, shooting through me as it clasped, snagging me with the sensation of sharp claws shredding my skin and brain. The sensation of something crawling through my brain, leaving a slimy trail, made me want to vomit.

One final agonizing pulse and suddenly the pain vanished, leaving me free to move. I fell to my knees, retching, still feeling as though my insides were coated in slime.

I didn’t actually throw up, much as I would dearly have loved to spatter Cormen’s perfectly shining boots. But I couldn’t find the strength to stand.

My father continued to speak, this time muttering soft Fae words that I couldn’t quite make out. Adding some more nasty tangles to his magic. My stomach heaved, though the pain didn’t return.

When he stopped speaking and I was sure I wouldn’t fall down again if I rose, I forced myself to my feet, hands clenched. He could drag me through the seven depths of hell before I gave him the satisfaction of one more second of reaction than I was forced to.

“Now what?” I asked. “You can’t imagine that he’s unprotected, this sunmage. Am I meant to casually introduce myself into his world? I hardly have the right sort of connections for that.” The DuCaines were part of the upper echelons of human society, an old family that had both money and magic running through its pedigree.

Cormen actually smiled at me. I resisted the urge to spit in his face.

“As to that, I think the easiest way would be for you to go to St. Giles. That’s where he works.”

“But I’m not hurt—” This time my brain wasn’t quite so slow. I got three steps toward the door before Cormen froze me again.

He walked around me so that I could see his face. “As to that,” he said with another brilliant smile, “I have arranged matters.” His smile took on a nasty edge. “It will only hurt for a short time. They will heal you at St. Giles.”

The door to the room swung open suddenly and a different servant stepped through the door. Not the pretty young man. No, this man was older and harder and, unless I was mistaken, Beast Kind.

“Please, don’t,” I said, fighting rising terror. “I’ll think of another way.”

Cormen frowned, smoothing his cuffs as he looked at me. His eyes might as well have been made of the bronze they resembled. They lacked any hint of compassion or remorse. “No. This is faster.” He turned to the other man. “I will loosen the hold a little so you can move her if necessary.”

Blood pounded in my ears and for a moment I thought I would faint as the man started rolling up his shirtsleeves. For one surreal moment I wondered what would have happened if I had fainted while my father had frozen my body. Then the terror drove any thought other than what was about to happen from my head.

“Not the hands. And try not to damage her face
too
much,” Cormen said as he headed toward the door. “She’s a pretty thing for a
hai-salai
. There’s a shield on the room so no one will hear. Do what is necessary.”

As he reached the door, the Beast reached for me with a look half sympathy, half anticipation on his face. He gripped my arm and, as my father left the room, neatly snapped my forearm. I screamed my father’s name before the next blow connected with my face. But I knew no one was listening.

Chapter Four

I
came to as I landed on something hard. Tears blinded me as I lay, half-winded, struggling to breathe and to adjust to the pain consuming me. Tentatively, I flattened my right hand and felt around me. The pain bit even harder and I froze again, gasping. Beneath my damp palm, the surface was smooth, faintly warm and slick.

Marble, perhaps?

Hospital,
something in the far reaches of my brain managed to mutter.

I opened my eyes a crack. That hurt too. But it confirmed that I was indeed lying on marble somewhere out in the open. Sun glared into my eyes, making everything blurred and dazzling through the tears. In the distance I could see more marble—steps leading to a building with a dome rising from the roof.

St. Giles?

My location didn’t really concern me. No, what had my attention was the way everything hurt. I wanted to surrender to the waves of dizziness and let them carry me down into the darkness. But I fought them, unwilling to give in. Not when I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened. I might still be in danger.

Footsteps tapped across the marble toward me. I curled reflexively into a ball. Which only made everything hurt more. In my next life I was going to try being a boring everyday person who didn’t get beaten up. A real live shop girl. Something normal. But even as that thought rose, I remembered my father’s face as he instructed the man to hurt me and everything came flooding back with a vengeance.

The beating. The geas. My task.

Bile rose in my throat and I coughed, trying not to retch.

“Miss?” The voice was male. Carefully soft and nonthreatening. Reassuring. “Miss, can you hear me?”

My throat hurt. But I swallowed and somehow managed to croak, “Yes.”

“You’re at St. Giles,” the voice said. “We’ll take care of you now.”

Good. That was good. More footsteps and then hands lifting me. At which point, the world went black and everything went away again.

When I woke for the second time, I lay on something soft. All right, so that was a small improvement. I still hurt, though, every inch of me aching or throbbing, so maybe I hadn’t been unconscious for very long. Surely they would have healed me if I had been? I opened my eyes carefully.

A man wearing a healer green tunic stood at the foot of my bed watching me. His eyes were a summer-sky sort of blue, warm and comforting.

He smiled at me with a friendly nod. “Good, you’re awake.” His voice was soothing, a warm, low tone that somehow projected reassurance and confidence.

“Doesn’t feel good,” I managed.

“No, I would imagine that it doesn’t,” he replied, smile vanishing, eyes cooling. He ran a hand through darkish gold hair, then fished a notebook out of his pocket. “I’ll do something about that shortly. Who did this to you?”

His voice was edged with anger. Not directed at me and for that I was grateful. He was tall, this healer. Not quite as broad-shouldered as the Templar but still strong. For a moment I saw the Beast lifting his hand to strike me and had to close my eyes and swallow hard. I was safe now.

“Who did this?” the healer repeated, his tone gentled somewhat.

I felt the geas tighten my throat with greasy claws. Apparently Cormen had indeed included some extra commands in those last Fae mutterings. I couldn’t make my mouth work to tell the truth. I ransacked my brain for a plausible story, and the pressure eased when I decided on one. “N-no one. F-fell,” I said shakily. “Stairs.”

The healer’s mouth went flat. “You can tell me the truth. St. Giles is a Haven. If someone’s hurting you, we’ll keep you safe.”

“Stairs,” I repeated.

He shook his head at me. “If you insist.” He paused and watched me silently, giving me time to change my story. I stayed quiet.

“Do you know your name?”

“Holly.” Apparently I was allowed to keep that much. “Holly Ev-Everton.” I couldn’t get my real surname out. Seemed Cormen had thought of everything. No chance of anyone tying Evendale—the bastardized human form of his name—back to him.

“I’m Master Healer DuCaine. Simon.”

Lords of hell. I managed not to react. Just.

Damn. Why did it have to be him?

As much as I wanted to complete my task and free myself from the geas, I hated the thought of giving my father the satisfaction. A pain shot down my arm as I shifted slightly on the pillows, and I bit my lip, trying not to moan.

“All right,” Simon said. “Enough questions. I’m going to examine you now.”

I eased my head down to the pillow as Simon did various healer things . . . touching my arms and face gently and making rumbly disapproving noises to accompany the frowning disapproval on his face. When the door suddenly opened, we both turned our heads. The motion made me groan. And the groan deepened as I recognized the man who stepped into the room. The damned Templar. What was
he
doing here?

“Simon, I have—” He stopped suddenly and stared at me. “What’s
she
doing here?”

One of Simon’s eyebrows lifted. “Do you know her?”

The knight nodded, a curt up and down. “We had an . . . encounter last night.”

He stared down at me with a look of disapproval far more personal than Simon’s. As he did so, I was suddenly struck by the resemblance between them. Both tall, strong. Both blue-eyed and blond though the Templar’s eyes were paler and his hair much lighter. Far more like winter sun than summer.

But they had the same square jaw and strong, square hands. The Templar was maybe an inch shorter than Simon but made up for it with muscle. His face, a darker shade of gold than Simon’s, had stronger angles that, combined with the scar, made him look far more ruthless than the healer. But the resemblance was unmistakably there. Which meant my mystery knight was most likely Guy DuCaine.

Simon’s brother.

A Templar almost as legendary for his unrelenting stance against the Night World as Simon was for his unstinting generosity as a healer.

A man whose dedication to his faith and calling was etched into the very skin of his body.

I stared at the blazing red crosses tattooed on his hands, cursing the Lady and anybody else who came to mind. I’d fallen into the arms of not just any knight but one of the most ruthless of them all. Brother to the man my father had sent me to betray. As Fen would’ve put it, it seemed the Lady was spitting in my eye today.

I let my eyes flutter closed, trying to look innocent.

“You know her?” Simon said, sounding surprised. “It wasn’t the Templars—”

“We don’t beat up women, little brother, you know that.” The Templar sounded disgusted. His words confirmed my guess at his identity. “She was perfectly well when I left her.”

Heavy footsteps approached the bed. “What happened?” he went on.

I wasn’t sure if Guy—for it was his deep rumble doing the questioning—was addressing his question to Simon or me. Better to stay silent, I decided. Less chance of messing up while I was muzzy-headed from pain and shock.

“She was dumped outside about half an hour ago,” Simon said. I heard him come closer to the bed. If I was following things correctly, the brothers were standing side by side, probably staring down at me. Wonderful. I did my best impression of properly swooned young lady.

“Is she going to be all right?”

“I’m still assessing her. But she’s got broken bones. She’s going to be here a little while.”

Yet another reason for my father to be pleased. I tried not to frown, focusing on keeping up my pretense of insensibility.

“She give a name?”

Guy’s accent had shifted a little, become longer and drawn out. Not a City accent. I wondered where he’d picked it up. Simon’s voice was standard wealthy educated human without the slang and slurs of the poor.

“Hers? Holly Everton.”

“No. Whoever did this to her.”

“She says she fell down some stairs.”

Guy snorted at this. “I can see you’re not asleep,” he said, and this time there was no mistaking whom he was addressing. “Might as well open your eyes.”

I did so grudgingly. Pale blue eyes bored into mine. I fought the urge to burrow under the covers.

“Another fall?” he said. “What happened? The stairs in your building rusted too?”

“Yes,” I said shortly, lifting my chin. Then I winced because moving my head sent fiery spikes down the right side of my face from temple to jaw. What the hell had Cormen’s pet Beast done to me? I didn’t remember all the details. I hoped I wouldn’t remember all the details. I remembered the anger, though. Underneath the pain, that still burned hot and bright.

Guy’s expression didn’t change. “You should find other accommodations. That place seems . . . unhealthy.”

“I’ll take it into consideration,” I said. He loomed over the bed, making me feel small. He’d left his mail at home today, clad in just a loose white shirt over gray trousers and long, well-worn black boots. Off duty, it seemed. He wore a sword—not the massive one I’d noticed slung between his shoulders last night, thank goodness—at his hip. The sword belt also housed a pistol and some sort of dagger in a sheath. Only three weapons. That probably counted as off duty for a Templar.

But the lack of armor did reduce the sheer physical impact of him. I tried to lever myself up on one elbow, so as not to feel quite so intimidated. Mistake. Everything went swimmy and black again.

“. . . off the fucking roof,” Guy was saying as I came back to consciousness. This fainting business was growing tiresome. I’d only ever fainted once in my life before. They were going to think I was some sort of weak and stupid female.

Then again, that was what I wanted them to think. People underestimated weak and stupid females. And didn’t pay them much attention. Useful if you’re a spy.

“That explains the odd bruises on her back,” Simon said. “Did she say what she was doing up there?”

“Some nonsense about a weather vane creaking.”

“What was she actually doing?”

“I don’t know but if she was fixing a weather vane, then I’m a Nightseeker.”

I thought it might be wise to interrupt this conversation before Guy could speculate any further. I let out a soft moan.

Simon—well, I assumed it was Simon—laid a hand on my forehead. “Back with us, are you? Good. I’m going to fix some things now and then I’ll work more on your arm later, when you’ve had a chance to rest. You’re in shock.”

That much I could have figured out myself. I nodded slowly and carefully. Simon’s hands moved to either side of my head, and a cool sensation flowed through my skull. The throbbing in my face eased.

“Ohhh,” I said in relief. “I like you.”

Guy snorted. But it was an amused snort. “He’s taken.”

I lifted an eyelid. I’m not sure what possessed me. Shock or some deeper instinct that told me there was one way to unnerve the big, strong knight. “That’s unfortunate,” I said. “Does he have a brother?” Let him think I had really been asleep and hadn’t heard what he’d called Simon.

This time it was Simon who laughed. “Yes, I do. Though he isn’t a healer.” He nodded at Guy. “We had to throw him to the Templars to find a use for him.” His tone was affectionate. Guy rolled his eyes, as though this was a very old joke.

“Really?” I murmured. “Well, he does look as though he might be good with his hands.”

Guy’s face went stiff, blue eyes widening.

“That,” Simon said, now sounding highly amused, “is something you’ll have to find out for yourself. My fiancée’s cat likes him, if that’s any help.”

The cool sensation flowed farther down my body, and pain receded as it rolled over me. I could get used to this, I decided. I’d never had need of a healer. Another gift of my Fae heritage was an immunity to most of the human diseases that plagued the border boroughs, and I hadn’t ever injured myself beyond what some of my half-breed friends could heal before.

I opened the other eye and pursed my lips as I studied Guy. “Good with animals. That’s always a promising sign.”

Guy’s expression went, if anything, even stiffer. “I have to go,” he said abruptly. “Let me know if she changes her mind about telling you who did this.” He took a step toward the door.

Simon caught his arm. “Wait, didn’t you come here for something?”

“One of the novices broke his arm at practice. I’ll ask Bryony to take care of it.” He made a stiff half bow. “Miss Everton.”

The door swung shut behind him as he beat a swift retreat.

Dimples flashed in Simon’s cheeks as he grinned after his brother. “Exactly what happened on that roof?” he asked.

“Nothing. I fell, he caught me.”

“I see.”

“Any more DuCaine brothers likely to come visit me?” I asked, wanting to steer the conversation into safer waters.

“No. He’s the only one.”

I bit down the instinctive “Thank the Lady,” and thought for a moment, trying to come up with what a polite young lady would say in this circumstance. Might as well keep up the charade, even if my ground was looking shaky. “Your mama must be proud of the two of you.”

“She’d prefer one of us did what we were supposed to and took over the family business,” Simon said with another laugh. He really was a very attractive man. But somehow, it was the other DuCaine who had me intrigued and on edge.

“Ah,” I said. “I know that story.” Not exactly, but Cormen would definitely prefer it if I did what he wanted me to all the time and toed the line. I wondered what Mama DuCaine really thought of her two sons. Simon’s tone was light, so whatever maternal pressure she might be bringing to bear, it didn’t seem as though the relationship was strained.

A pang of envy struck. What was it like to have normal parents? A family? Brothers and sisters? I had Fen and Reggie, but it wasn’t quite the same thing.

Reggie. Damn. I’d forgotten about her. I needed to send her a note. Maybe I could ask one of the orderlies to arrange it. She’d worry. I didn’t want to ask Simon. The fewer clues the DuCaines had about me, the better. The question was whether an orderly could be trusted not to tell anyone else.

I would think about it later, I decided.

Simon worked a little more of his healer magic, then helped me sit straighter, propped on some pillows. He wrote in his notebook for a minute or two, then tucked it away and pulled a chair up beside the bed.