Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) (24 page)

He raised a hand to her face, holding her chin firmly between his thumb and forefingers. “What do you want from me, Visola?”

“Nothing,” she murmured sleepily. “I just want to get away from you.”

“And if I free Sionna?” he asked. He observed as her drooping eyelids shot open.

Visola’s heart skipped a beat. Sionna was alive and her freedom was still an option. Before she knew what she was doing, she had placed a hand on his chest, and she was whispering, “Please. Vachlan, please…”

“You must be hallucinating to ask so nicely.”

“I always seem to be hallucinating around you,” she answered softly.

Before he realized exactly what he was doing, he had released her chin from his vise-grip and was gently brushing a few strands of red hair away from her eyes. He quickly made it seem as though he was only feeling her forehead for fever—and indeed, there was a temperature.

“I’ll bring Sionna here so you can have evidence of her safety,” he told her before she could slip away. “Then, like I promised, I will let her go home. You will return with me to the camp in Zimovia, and you will stop trying to kill yourself.”

She smiled. She knew that he would be fair. Now that she was assured that her sister was going to live, the dark spots were fading. The violets were suddenly sincere. Her head pitched forward again, and when it hit his shoulder this time, she did not have the energy to pull it off. “Thank you,” she whispered against his shirt. “Thank you.”

She did not even realize that her whole body had begun falling, and that his hands were holding her up. All her strength was gone, and her voice slurred as she spoke. “I don’t care about anything as long as Sio’s safe.”

“You should lie back down, V. You need to get your rest.”

Even as he said this, she was already half-asleep on her feet. “So when I’m better you won’t feel guilty about torturing me, V?” she mumbled.

“Yes,” he answered truthfully.

“Okay.”

“Mrs. Ramirez? Mrs. Violet Ramirez, can you hear me?”

A bright light was shining into Visola’s eye, causing her to blink angrily, and twist her head away from her attacker.

“Mrs. Ramirez, we have…”

“Ramaris,” Visola said hoarsely.

“Yes, yes, sorry. My Spanish is horrible. I’m Dr. Chen. I have some questions about your insurance. Also, forgive me for asking, but is your husband your next of kin?”

Visola groaned.

“He’s a very nice man. Very concerned about you. There seems to be a small problem with the papers he gave us. The dates are kind of…”

Visola opened one eye to look at the doctor with disdain.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll sort everything out if you recover. I mean, when you recover. Oh, I also need to ask; are you aware that you have four lungs?”

“Fuck off,” Visola mumbled as she returned to sleep.

When Visola woke again, she felt like she had been dead to the world for several days. The first thing she noticed was that her flowers were gone. The second was that there was a head of thick dark hair resting on a pair of folded muscular arms on the bed near to her thighs. The contrast of the tanned skin and black hair against the white sheets was striking. This confused her. He was sitting on a chair by her bedside, keeping watch over her. Did he still care in some weird and twisted way?

The third thing she noticed was his outfit. He wore modern clothes; a dark grey t-shirt and simple jeans. If it were not for the overdeveloped muscles, he might have passed for a normal Alaskan man, and not an infamous undersea vanquisher. The only reminders of the truth were the plentiful tan lines on his wrists and neck from the strings of shark-tooth-armor that the Clan of Zalcan wore.

She sighed, and wished that he was a simple American man. If only he were as sweet and nonviolent as her grandsons… who were, coincidentally, his grandsons too. That was rather mind boggling—not the fact that the men were related, for it was easy to see the physical resemblance, but the fact that she and Vachlan were grandparents. It seemed like just yesterday they had been kids making love in lagoons. Now they were all grown-up and he was trying to extinguish her family and everyone she held dear. Life moved along so quickly.

Then again, it was the fact that he was so dangerous and capable that had attracted her to him in the first place. If he had been harmless, she never would have taken notice. She never would have been intrigued. She knew that she should be hating him, and feeling regret for making the wrong decisions, but she could not manage to do this when he was sleeping on folded arms at her bedside. All she could do was feebly wonder if he still loved the theatre.

She reached out to touch the tan lines on his wrist, and just barely grazed his skin with her pinky and ring finger before her eyes closed. It occurred to her, as she drifted off, that neither of them wore the rings they had exchanged.

“I don’t understand you. Why you would say that to her, knowing how she overreacts? What the hell is wrong with you, Vachlan?”

“Shut your mouth, woman, or I will gag you again.”

“Sure, right here in the hospital, in front of the nurses. Go ahead.”

“I can kill all of these insignificant fools without much effort.”

“Then do it. No one’s stopping you. I’m not stopping you.”

“You couldn’t stop me, Sionna.”

“Maybe not. What are you trying to prove, brother-in-law?”

Visola’s eyelids fluttered open and she sighed. “Shush! You two are giving me a headache. I feel like part of an Italian mafia family.”

“Viso,” Sionna said, leaving her argument and rushing to her sister’s side. “You have an infection. You’ve been running a high fever, and you’re on an antibiotic drip. I’m going to need you to…”

“Relax,” Visola said, smiling at her sister. “This is not your hospital. Sio, I am going to need
you
to go home immediately. I need you to…” Visola could not speak in front of Vachlan. What she really wanted to say was Namaka’s name, but she could not do this—her personal vendetta was not the most important thing she needed to communicate. Vachlan knew English, sign language, and possibly Russian. She chose the obscure Aleut language, and tried to remember the words she needed.
“
Instruct them to prepare
ayxaasix
…”

“Not another word. No military talk,” Vachlan warned. “Keep it brief—if you try to send any messages home, or speak another word I do not understand, Sionna will not leave this room alive.”

“That wasn’t military talk, it was strictly family business,” Sionna lied. “Frankly, I feel uncomfortable going home until I know Viso is better.”

“I’ll be fine. He brought me flowers,” Visola told her.

“Good Sedna, she’s delirious,” Sionna murmured, feeling her sister’s forehead.

“No, I really did bring her flowers,” Vachlan said. “I left nasty messages in every single bouquet.”

“How charming,” Sionna remarked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sio,” Visola croaked. “Tell me one thing before you go; did you reveal anything to the Clan?”

“No, of course not.”

“Not a thing?” Visola asked, frowning. “Didn’t they torture you?”

“They intended to, but I was aware that I was a bargaining chip. I told them that if they touched me, I would just swallow my cyanide pill.”

Visola laughed. The movement hurt her insides, but she did not indicate this. “You are just like me! We’re the suicide sisters. Did you really have a cyanide pill?”

“Of course not,” Sionna said. Upon receiving an angry glare from Vachlan, she decided to explain. “My pill contains a much faster-acting chemical weapon called saxitoxin. It’s a thousand times more potent than cyanide. I harvest it myself from butter clams.”

“But what if you accidentally swallowed it?” Visola asked with worry.

“I have to crush it between my teeth first,” Sionna explained. “The pill is made of thick rubber. You weren’t the only one who Papa trained, you know. We just had different types of training.”

“You’re so much smarter than I am,” Visola said with a groan. “I sliced myself open and tried to play cat’s cradle with my intestines, and it still didn’t kill me.”

“You are far too impulsive to carry saxitoxin,” Sionna said. “Imagine if you did have one of my capsules? You would have swallowed it, and it would have been final. I’m so overjoyed that you’re only extremely injured.”

“Aww,” Visola crooned, struggling to extend her arms as she made the sentimental sound. “C’mere, Sio.”

Sionna wrapped her arms around the injured woman. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with emotion. “Besides, love. A quiet poison-death would not suit you. You deserve to go out with flamboyant fireworks in the biggest, loudest blaze that ever burned on the earth.”

Visola squeezed her twin with all of her strength—which was no longer very much. She was already feeling tired again. “I love you, big sis,” Visola said softly. “Now, please, get the hell away from here.” Visola usually insisted vehemently that Sionna’s one minute of seniority was negligible, and Sionna knew that her sister must be expecting to die if she was acknowledging this marginal youth. Sionna squeezed the injured woman’s hand, and gave her a knowing look.

“If something happens to you, I will feel it. Be patient.” She leaned forward and pressed a light kiss on her sister’s lips before withdrawing from the bed.

“Well, the years have certainly changed you gals,” Vachlan remarked with a drawl. “I remember you ripping each other apart so much that I never felt comfortable enough to suggest a ménage à trois.”

“You’re not my type, Vachlan,” Sionna said as she sauntered by him. “I prefer men who improve the surface of the planet.”

Vachlan glared after her retreating form as she walked down the hallway.

Visola smiled, readjusting herself on the flat, generic pillows. “She just seems innocent. Really, she’s more of a badass than I am! I’m lucky to have her.”

“You’re lucky I let her live, you mean,” Vachlan said as he leaned on the doorframe.

“Yes. Thank you,” Visola said sleepily. “She’s worth twenty of me. She’s so serene and thoughtful.”

“Ain’t too hard on the eyes either.”

Visola knew this was his offhand way of giving her a compliment. She turned away from Vachlan, and pulled the thin blanket around her shoulders. Now that Sionna was safe, there would be no more bargaining or threatening. Now, the unpleasant part would begin, and she would find out why the Clan of Zalcan wanted her. It did not really matter what happened to her from this point on. She was just happy that her actions had resulted in Sionna’s freedom. Her tongue toyed with the new item in her mouth, trying to find a comfortable place for it to be stored.  

Her sister had given her the saxitoxin capsule.