Falling Blind: The Sentinel Wars (15 page)

Tynan’s pulse slowed. Ronan ordered his body to stop, but his mouth kept moving. He sucked down great gulps of blood until his friend’s heart stuttered, and then finally, inevitably, stopped.

Ronan held Tynan’s corpse in his hands and knew that he’d just killed the last creature on earth that had loved him. He’d just destroyed the last being he could ever love. And now the world was not only devoid of food, it was also empty of friendship and love. Forever. Ronan’s greed had destroyed all that was good, and in doing so, he’d slain hope.

His hunger returned, worse than before. This time, there was no way to appease it. He was going to die of starvation. Alone.

Ronan woke, sweat pouring from his body. He was shivering, his muscles so tight he could barely breathe. The cellar of the Gerai house where he slept seemed to close in around him, suffocating him.

He forced himself to take slow, even breaths while the shivering terror passed.

That nightmare hadn’t been natural. There was a taint of malevolent magic about it—a dark Synestryn stain Ronan recognized only now that he was awake.

A tendril of power hovered nearby, reaching up from the earth.

Furious that some creature dared invade his mind, Ronan grabbed that tendril and shoved his consciousness back through it, following it to its source.

Deep within the earth a Synestryn lay hidden, sending out twisted threads of power. As soon as Ronan felt the fetid confines of the demon’s mind, he reeled back in revulsion. Rotted, stinking decay clung to the creature’s thoughts, each one pulsing with the staccato beat of hatred and revenge. There was little sense to be made of such chaos, but Ronan could feel the power this demon wielded. He was stronger than most—stronger than Ronan could ever hope to be given the dwindling supplies of Athanasian blood lingering on the planet.

The demon sensed him immediately, and tried to snag him, pulling him farther inside the decaying constructs of its mind. Ronan dodged the attempt, but he was clumsy, and the effort left him weak. There was no time to linger and figure out what this demon had planned. Ronan had to escape now, before he no longer could.

With a hard thrust of power, he shoved himself out of the Synestryn’s mind. Searing hot claws raked across the inside of Ronan’s skull, making him cry out in pain. He landed in his own body, panting and shaking. His head throbbed, and blood leaked from his nose.

He was nearly too weak to breathe, much less move and clean the blood from his skin. He didn’t know how strong the wards on this Gerai house were, and whether or not they’d keep the scent of his blood contained. Even though he rested in the darkness of the locked basement, there were no guarantees that he would not be found here as soon as the sun set.

Ronan tried to sit up, but his body refused to obey his commands. Even his pitiful attempts to wipe the blood away had done little more than spread it across his face. He needed help, but all of his brothers were sleeping and suffering through their own daylight weakness.

Ronan felt the demon poking at the edges of his mind, as if seeking a way in. He went still, reserving every bit of strength he had as he concentrated on keeping the creature from invading his thoughts.

It was stronger than he was. It was hungry and violent, battering itself against Ronan’s defenses in an effort to break through.

Instincts warned him that if he let down his guard, his mind would never again be the same. Touching such darkness would leave its mark, permanently.

Ronan began to sweat under the strain of protecting himself. He could no longer feel the diseased touch of the demon, but that didn’t mean it was gone. Some instinct told Ronan that he was no longer alone.

With slow, painful care, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and sent out a call for help. For blood. If someone didn’t come soon he wouldn’t survive the day, but at least they’d know where to find his body.

Chapter 10

R
ory was used to visions, but what she was seeing now was way more than that. There were sounds and smells to accompany the sights she witnessed, as well as a low vibration of emotion coming from those she saw.

Cain had said not to be afraid, and that was the only thing that kept her from freaking out.

She stood in a bedroom she didn’t recognize. It was dark, but somehow, she was still able to see. Cain lay asleep in a big bed, his body sprawled beneath a sheet. There had been lots more leaves on his tattoo then, which meant he must have had some removed.

Something about that conclusion was wrong, but she didn’t waste time questioning it. Not when she saw the huge, furry monster slinking across his carpet.

Rory screamed at him in warning, but he didn’t so much as twitch. The monster came closer, moving as silent as a thought. She tried to pick up a book and throw it, but her hand passed through, reminding her that this was all a vision, albeit a fucked-up one.

The monster pushed itself upright, standing at least eight feet tall. It pounced on the bed, digging its claws into Cain’s chest.

He woke on a bellow of pain and rage. His fist slammed into the monster’s jaw, but it did little good.

“Sibyl!” he shouted. “Run!”

The word was barely out of his mouth when the demon picked him up and slammed him headfirst into a wall. He bounced off, hit the floor and didn’t move again.

But the demon didn’t stop. It dug its claws into Cain’s unconscious body and flung him across the room. Blood sprayed over the bedding. A lamp toppled and shattered.

Over and over, the demon tossed him about, slowing only to slide its blistered tongue over Cain’s bloody body before each vicious attack. Then suddenly, the monster’s muzzle lifted as if it had heard something. It dashed off through the door, leaving Cain in a puddle of blood and broken glass.

The whole thing had taken only seconds, and in that time, Rory had grown cold and nauseated. She’d been helpless to stop the demon, forced to witness the brutal display of violence and power.

People rushed into the room and went to work healing his injuries. She wanted to stay and make sure that he was safe, but the vision shoved her out of the room into a different one. This one was filled with frills and pastel pink. A child-sized bed sat under a canopy near the shattered window. The covers were streaming through the ragged opening as if someone had ripped the child from her bed.

A porcelain doll sat on the floor, its glassy eyes staring at the ceiling. There were no signs of a struggle here. No blood. No toppled furniture. Only the broken window and empty bed.

Rory felt like there was something here she was supposed to see, but she had no idea what it was. Her fear for Cain was still pounding through her, making it hard to concentrate. She knew he was alive and well—he’d told her not to be afraid, but that was easier said than done.

She forced herself to take a step, and then another, scanning the room for whatever it was she needed to see so that this blasted vision would end. The tiny table and chairs, set with a china tea service held no interest. The looming bookshelves were stuffed full of textbooks and stories way too adult for this room’s occupant. Sitting on one of the lower shelves, lovingly framed in silver, was a single photo.

Rory bent down to look at it. Cain was there, smiling so big his fatherly pride shone through all the way to his eyes. On his lap sat a little blond girl with the cutest ringlet curls Rory had ever seen. Her cheeks were round and pink, and her blue eyes were the same color as a cloudless summer sky. She wore no smile on her face, only a lonely, haunted look, as if some vital person was missing from the photo.

Once again the vision shifted and Cain stood in the same bedroom alone. The air in here was different now. Heavier, darker. Grief and guilt hung on him, bowing his shoulders with their weight. Tears hovered in his eyes, but did not fall. He made a slow circle around the room, touching things here and there, as if each one held some importance or precious memory. As he came across the photo, he picked it up, his hands shaking visibly. He cradled the image with a kind of reverence reserved for priceless, irreplaceable things.

His obvious pain and grief burrowed into Rory, filling her with the need to make it stop. He’d lost his little girl, but Rory could think of no way to bring back the dead. She’d lost Nana, but this was different. Nana had been ready to go. It had been her time. The girl in that photo could not have been more than eight or nine. There was nothing natural about her death.

Rory stepped forward to wrap her arms around him, only to find herself standing in her own living room once again. The sun had begun to set, leaving a golden glow over her familiar surroundings.

Cain stood in front of her, filling her line of sight. There were no hints of weakness about him now—only the solid, unyielding strength she’d come to recognize. But now she saw something she hadn’t seen before, or maybe she simply hadn’t recognized it. Sadness hovered over him, shadowing his eyes. Once again, the urge to rid him of his pain crashed into her, sending her into a tailspin.

Rory wasn’t used to feeling such things. She hadn’t been around people enough to even know how to see what made them tick, much less patch up whatever damage had been done to them.

All she knew was that the man standing before her now was the same one she’d met last night, but she could no longer see him in the same light. He wasn’t simply some crazy stranger who turned her on and made her visions go away. He was . . . real. He hurt, he grieved, he bled. Cain was such a formidable-looking man that it had been easy for her to assume he had no weakness.

And yet she’d seen exactly how grief-stricken and devastated he could be.

“You had a daughter.”

Cain’s face crumpled for a moment before he regained his composure. Sadness poured out of him, chafing against her skin. His voice was a low, quiet rumble, like distant thunder. “She was my ward, but she’d been with me for a long, long time.”

“But she was only a child.”

His words came out slow and unsteady, as if each one had been ripped from a place down deep, leaving a ragged bleeding hole in his chest. “Sibyl was more than a child, and while she was not mine by birth, she was my greatest joy.” His lips pressed together as if he was trying to hold back words he didn’t want to say. “She was cursed to appear as a child even though her mind was anything but. Her small size and weakness made her vulnerable. She needed me.” He said those last words as if Sibyl had given him some kind of gift—as if her need for Cain was something precious to him, rather than a burden, and now that need was gone.

Rory remembered the way he cradled the photo, anguish twisting his features. There had been guilt there, too. Based on what she’d seen—the demon attack, the broken window and empty, child-sized bed, Cain’s torment and guilt—she knew how the story ended. “I’m so sorry you lost her.”

“It was my fault. Had I been more careful, she never would have walked away. But I failed her, and now she rarely calls or writes.”

“She’s alive? I saw the broken window, saw that she was gone.”

Cain nodded as he pushed out a rough sigh. “So that’s what the luceria chose to show you, is it? My failure?”

“Failure? Hardly. I saw a monster attack you in your sleep.” Even now the memory of that vision had the power to make her fingers and toes go cold with fear.

His mouth tightened in frustration. “The night Sibyl was taken, I didn’t even hear the Synestryn coming for her. My only job was to ensure her safety, and I failed. It’s no wonder she left.”

“I’m sure she’ll come back.”

He sounded doubtful. “She left me for a reason. She grew up and needed to become the woman she was born to be. Sibyl was always smarter than I was. She knew that if she stayed with me I would stifle her. After centuries of being trapped inside that small, vulnerable body, unable to take care of herself, when she finally grew up, she needed to spread her wings and fly—go somewhere where no one treated her as a child.”

“Where did she go?”

“Africa. We have a stronghold there that was attacked a few months ago, and she went to help them rebuild. And maybe to find a man who can give her the kind of power she needs to prove to herself that she’s no longer weak.”

“You don’t sound too happy about the idea.”

“I don’t like the thought of men pawing at her, especially when I’m not there to force their good behavior.”

“Is that what they’ll do? Paw at her?”

Cain’s shoulder twitched in a slight shrug. “It’s unfair of me to think such things, but I can’t seem to help it. All I can do is try not to think about it.”

Rory wasn’t exactly helping him on that front. Time for a change of subject—anything to rid him of that guilt that robbed his eyes of their usual brightness. She hated seeing his pain, and the idea of distracting him from it was a compelling temptation.

He hadn’t looked at her since she’d come out on the other side of those visions. His gaze went past her, focusing on the wall behind her, or the floor, as if he was ashamed. It struck her that she missed the way he looked at her, seeing beyond the superficial. Part of her reveled in it, but the rest of her was freaked out that he’d completely ignored her armor. His scrutiny was usually too intense, but now that it was gone, she missed his directness.

Rory stepped away from him, putting some distance between them. A flash of someone browning hamburger in a pan shoved its way in her head, shocking her. Her neighbors were too far away for her to pick up on what they saw, and yet the image of Mrs. Wittle’s gnarled hands was unmistakable.

She swayed in shock, gripping the back of a dining chair to steady herself.

“Are you okay?” asked Cain.

He took a step toward her, but she held up her hand to hold him off. “Fine. Just not used to all of this magic junk.”

He stayed where he stood, but she could feel him looking at her again,
seeing
her. She tried not to squirm, but there wasn’t a thing she could do about the blast of tingling heat that cascaded down her body in a slow, lingering caress.