CONCEPTION (The Others) (8 page)

“You’re blocking my pain, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You promised to stay out of my mind.”

“To control your pain, I only need to touch the edge. Your
thoughts are deeper in.”

“That’s still invading.”

“It is a compromise.”

“I don’t like it.”

“It cannot be helped.”

“Why?”

Deuce tilted his head back and said with complete
seriousness, “It is unacceptable that you suffer.”

“To whom?”

Bohdan was the one who answered. “To any of the Chosen.”

He was very close now, standing by her side, frowning at her
and then at Deuce. Eden turned back to Deuce so fast her hair swung out,
bouncing into her eyes. She brushed at it impatiently. “Do you feel my pain
when you block it?”

Deuce nudged another stray curl out of her eyes, seemingly
fascinated with the way it wrapped around his finger on the recoil. “It is of
no consequence.”

She took that to mean yes. She opened her hands on his
chest, stretching her fingers as wide as she could, reaching for patience.
“Stop it right now.”

He released the curl. The mattress dipped as he hitched
himself higher, taking her with him. “It is my duty and my pleasure to care for
you.”

He had to be in her mind to be blocking her pain, but she
couldn’t detect anything, which scared the living daylights out of her. One
more person in her head and she’d go insane. “I appreciate the consideration,
but you need to stop it.”

His smile was a slow, satisfied stretch of his lips,
completely masculine in nature. And it called to everything feminine in her,
with a force as scary as his ability to invade her mind. She knew she would
have to fight Deuce to move forward with her plan, knew she’d have to kill her
grandfather to secure her daughter’s safety, but she had never planned on
having to fight herself. She pushed against him. She got nowhere. He kept her
locked to his side with the weight of his arm, as he shrugged. “The decision is
mine.”

He
hadn’t been this autocratic when they were dating. Eden glanced at Bohdan. “Is
he always this unreasonable?”

“Caring for my mate is not unreasonable,” Deuce countered
before Bohdan could answer. He wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her a
little to the right so she half-sat on his lap. The heat from his body felt so
good, she didn’t resist, just rested her cheek against his chest while she
tried to figure out what to do. Both of his arms came around her immediately.
And even though she knew it was a false illusion, for the first time in a year,
she felt safe.

And there was the catch. She needed to take care of herself.
She couldn’t go back to being blindly stupid—letting other people make her
decisions and just trusting that they were right. She had a daughter to
protect. She pushed away from the seductive comfort he offered, and reached the
barrier of his arm before she expected. Her head whipped back then forward. The
room spun to the left. A cold, sick wave of nausea welled from deep within.

“Deuce?”

His “Yes?” came from far away. Her vision blurred, tendrils
of darkness crept in, blocking out the light. Eden dug her nails into his
forearm as she fought the overwhelming weakness, too scared to answer. With a
jarring thrust, he was there in her mind. Incredibly powerful. She tried to
block him as he roved through her thoughts, emotions. To no avail. He was
always one step ahead of her, a gliding alien presence going where he willed
with no thought to her preference.

“Bohdan?”

She wasn’t sure if Deuce said his brother’s name or thought
it.

I am here
. And he was, less intrusively, but there.
She thought her head would explode from the pressure.

Relax
. Bohdan whispered the soft mental command.

Eden grabbed her skull and squeezed, putting everything she
had into expelling them. “Get out of my head.”

A shot of white-hot agony nearly split her brain in two.

Immediately, the pressure faded. In the wake of the debilitating
pain came a crippling weakness. She couldn’t support her own weight. Deuce
caught her, cupping her head in his hand, holding her to him as she battled
unconsciousness. Something hot and moist pooled on her upper lip. Her hand
shook as she wiped it away. She knew what it was before she looked. Blood. She
was bleeding the way she always did when she expended too much mental energy.

“You are very strong.” Bohdan handed her a handkerchief.

She took it and pressed it to her nose. “Not strong enough.”

“To block us?” Bohdan raised his eyebrow at her before
shaking his head. “No.”

Deuce lowered her to the bed. The mattress, softer than his
hard body, didn’t provide the same comfort. He squatted beside the bed,
stroking his fingers over her skull while his gaze searched her face. Pain
faded until even the memory was gone. She was so tired that she couldn’t muster
the strength to complain. If he wanted to feel like a Mack truck had just
driven into his brain, that was his problem. Her hand fell to her side, the
handkerchief forgotten.

“She will not survive that again,” Bohdan pointed out as if
he were talking about nothing more serious than the weather.

“I know.” Deuce took the handkerchief from where it had
fallen and folded it before pressing it against her nose.

“We will need her cooperation,” Bohdan said over her head.

Eden grabbed for the handkerchief. “I can wipe my own nose.”
Barely. She was so damn weak. “What do you need my cooperation for?”

“Without help you are going to die.”

She suspected she was going to die anyway. “That is not a
newsflash. Any clue what’s taking me out?”

Bohdan handed her a clean handkerchief. “You do not have
enough red blood cells to supply your organs.”

A flicker of hope she’d thought long abandoned snuck past
her defenses. She took an extra moment to wipe her upper lip. “You’re saying
all I need is a transfusion?”

“If it were that simple it would already have been done.”
Deuce took the handkerchief from her, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder
as he wiped carefully at her face. Anger simmered around him in an invisible
field.

She took the opportunity to put a little space between them.
She got as far as the length of his fingers. “Then what are you saying?”

“Your body chemistry has been systemically altered.” The
smooth linen tickled her lips before Deuce pulled it away.

“To heal you I need to know how,” Bohdan added with his
soothing calm.

“So you want to draw blood?” She stuck her arm out. “Run
amok.”

Bohdan was shaking his head before she finished. “Although I
have my suspicions, I need to know how it was done.”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if I could tell you if I
remembered.” There had been too many experiments over the months. Too many
mysterious liquids injected to sort it all out.

“You do not need to remember.” Deuce touched her temple.
Even that slight touch had her weakened body wanting to lean into him, to let
him take over for just a little while. “The memories are in here.”

“I need your permission to view them.” Bohdan explained very
gently. Too gently.

“View them? As in sticking your mind into mine again?”
Revulsion tore through her weakness, giving her the strength to resist. She
shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Strands of hair bounced into her eyes. Deuce’s hand met
hers, his fingers entwining with hers, catching the frustration in her gesture,
softening anger to affection, his fingertips lingering on her face after hers
fell to her side.

“You will.”

She snatched the handkerchief out of his grip and crushed it
between her fingers “No. I won’t.” Nothing could make her go through that
again.

Deuce tilted her face to his with the side of his hand, his
thumb resting against her lips. “You will.”

She jerked her chin. He didn’t let her go, just held her
there, her gaze lifted to his will. As if that was going to convince her of
anything. She could match him for stubborn any day of the week.

Instead of reacting, Deuce merely lifted a brow at her.
“What choice do you have?”

She couldn’t, however, fight the truth. She closed her eyes
and drew in a breath. None. She had no choice. Again. More than she hated
knowing that, she hated Deuce knowing it. But hating looking like a total
failure before the man she’d once thought to impress didn’t change her options.
It just made them harder to swallow. But, swallow them she would. She needed to
live to save the baby. Period. Nothing else mattered. Not her ego. Not Deuce’s
preferences. Not her grandfather’s obsession with immortality. The only thing
that mattered was that she survive long enough to kill Clay Lavery and give her
baby a chance at life. Which meant she had to let Bohdan try.

Inside, the alien “Voice” that had guided her from her
prison, and saved her from the Coalition, stirred in protest. She squashed it.
Her chances for survival were caught somewhere between slim and none. Even the
most insubstantial of opportunities needed to be explored. She met Bohdan’s
patient gaze over Deuce’s shoulder with an assurance she didn’t feel. “Do you
really think you can fix me?”

“With enough time and information, I am positive I can.”

It didn’t take a genius to interpret the glance Deuce shot
his brother.

“But you’re not sure about how much time I have, are you?”

Bohdan didn’t answer. Deuce’s finger slid down her jaw until
he supported her chin in his palm as he stood. “I will ensure he has as much
time as he needs.” His eyes were dark, bottomless pools of temptation, drawing
her in. Random red lights flickered in the depths, the pattern almost, but not
quite coalescing into something she could recognize—understand.

“Thank you.”

Inside the “Voice” clawed free of her hold, sending its
conflicting message into the mix.
Resist.

She closed her eyes as its power swept through her, seducing
her will. Deuce’s grip on her chin tightened. Did he hear it, too? It took all
her strength to lift her lids.

Before
her Deuce stood, shoulders squared, legs braced apart, head tipped back in that
arrogant challenge that was so much a part of him, reeking of more confidence
than she could scrounge on her best day, asking for her trust with the
steadiness of his gaze and the surety of his grip. Not by a bat of an eyelash
did he indicate anything was amiss. Inside her, the “Voice” fought harder,
yelled louder, equally determined to be obeyed. Was the “Voice” that powerful,
that she could evade detection, or merely crafty?

Eden
licked her lips, tasting the remnants of Deuce’s touch, the echo of their past
flowing through her, full of the subtle nuances that had made their time
together magic. The laughter, the love. Oh, how she’d loved him. She wrapped
her fingers around his wrist, digging into the muscle and bone, needing
tangible proof of his strength. She could either trust an amorphous voice in
her head or the strength of the emotion she’d once felt for this man. “Do you
really think you can do this?”

“I will not fail.” He was so unbelievably, blessedly,
recognizably sure.

“Thank you.”

“What bothers you, Edie?” His finger stroked along her
jawline sending tingles down her spine, weakening her muscles until it was
almost impossible to sit upright, dragging the confession past her will.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You will not be alone.”

She caught the promise and held it tightly as another wave
of weariness threatened to drag her under. No. He would never leave her alone.
The knowledge wove through the cold, empty hollows of her heart, brightening
the dark corners, warming the embers of emotions she’d thought dead.

“They
might not leave you a choice.” Her hand fell from his wrist and her lids grew
impossibly heavy. She didn’t want to make decisions. She just wanted to lie
down and sleep for the next fifty years. She blinked quickly and tried to widen
her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Deuce’s frown before her lids closed again
and stayed that way. The comforter rustled as he sat beside her. Instead of an
argument, Deuce gave her his support, one hand moving behind her back while the
other slid around to the back of her head, completely taking over the
responsibility of her weight.

“You
tire.”

“I’m sorry.”

He stood, taking her with him. The cool air in the room
struck her naked flesh as he shifted position, and then he was sitting back on
the bed, his chest and thighs offering welcome support for her torso.

The floorboards creaked, and through slitted lids she saw
Bohdan lift the comforter from the bottom of the bed and drape it over her. It
felt as heavy as lead, too heavy. It slid to the left and her body wanted to go
with it, just flow down the path of least resistance.

“Just a little more, Edie,” Deuce coaxed.

She didn’t have it to give him. She was so tired her body
ached with the effort to sit upright. His fingers curled around her shoulder,
stroking gently on the tops of her breasts. “Relax. Let Bohdan in.”

She cracked her eye. Bohdan stood by the head of the bed.
His dark eyes shimmered in the gloom. Energy reached out from him in a
seductive pulse. She should be terrified but there was something enticing about
that energy field, something good.

Deuce bent his head to hers. His breath stirred her hair
above her ear, tickling her nerves. “You will let him in, my mate. I will not
allow your stubbornness in this matter.”

“It’s really not your call.”

“Everything about you is my call. You are—”

She cut him off. “I know.” She sighed, dropping her head
back against his shoulder. “I’m your mate. That’s getting old, Deuce.”

“Nonetheless, you will do what I say.”

“Because you say so?”

“Because it is your only hope.”