Heart and Soul (16 page)

A heartbeat.

And as consciousness gradually returned, so did memory.

Waking from some nasty dream that stank of magick and spells, seeing Agnes lying by the bed. Feeling that life fade away.

Morgan, laughing as Leandra screamed at her. Full of power, almost drunk on it.
Stolen
power. Power she had taken from Agnes.

Leandra had felt it as Agnes’s heart beat its last beat.

And she’d snapped; anger had ripped through her, and she’d fisted her hand around Morgan’s throat, the awful, inhuman strength flooding her as she tore through Morgan’s skin, severing the fat blood vessels there.

Blood had flowed around her—and for a moment, before she’d retreated into the darkness, she’d reveled in it. Reveled in the pain she knew she had caused.

There was something hot and wet on her face.

Was it blood? She could still smell it, so thick and heavy in the air. Was it still on her? She could hear her own voice, high-pitched, babbling, screaming about the blood.

“Shhhh . . . it’s okay, baby. There’s no blood on you. Wake up, kitten. Look at me. Come on, look at me . . .”

Forcing her lashes open, she found him staring at her, his gray eyes anguished. He looked older, harsh lines fanning out from his mouth and eyes. “Lee . . .” he whispered, closing his eyes and lowering his head, pressing his brow to hers.

So damned weak—it took everything she had to lift her hand and cup the back of his head. “Mike.”

“You’re back. Thank God.”

She felt the soft caress of his lips against her brow, and tears stung her eyes. Lowering her lashes, she turned her head aside.

His hands cupped her face and he said softly, “Look at me, Leandra. Don’t close your eyes—don’t leave again.”

Her voice was hoarse, her throat dry and tight as she replied, “I’m not going anywhere, Mike.”

The misty, fog-filled reality was gone.

But part of Leandra almost preferred that she had stayed there.

Her skin still burned from the blood she had spilled, blood she had wanted spilled.

And her heart, her soul, ached inside.

She’d run, and left the Hunter alone.

 

 

IT WAS LIKE LOOKING AT A SHADOW.

Mike brooded as he stood in the doorway, staring at Leandra.

She sat in the window seat, staring out into the blackness of night with bleak, empty eyes.

She’d been crying as she came out of the coma. The sound of her heartbroken sobs haunted him at night. Crying, lost, afraid. He’d thought she’d just been fighting to break free from wherever she had gone. But now—now he didn’t know.

There was a grief in her eyes that chilled him to the very bone.

Nobody could speak with her. They’d all tried, and it was like talking to a stone wall. Except a stone wall didn’t leave you feeling like you wanted to cry as you finally gave up.

“You need to feed.”

Leandra looked at him with blank eyes. Finally, she shrugged and looked back outside. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice hollow.

“You’re still weak.” He closed the distance between them, offering his wrist, but she just stared at him as though he’d offered her an empty glass. No interest, no hunger. Nothing.

“It’s been nearly a week, Leandra. You won’t let them hook you back to up to the blood, and you won’t feed. Are you trying to starve yourself to death?” he demanded, his voice rough and angry.

She shrugged. “No. I’m just not hungry, Mike.” Her voice was totally flat, totally empty.

“You’re trying to kill yourself. What happened to Agnes isn’t your fault.”

Finally, a reaction. Her lashes flickered and for one second, he saw a screaming pain in her eyes. Then it was gone. But it had been there.

“Agnes was strong enough; she could have done away with Morgan without even blinking if she wanted to,” Mike said, making his voice as hard and angry as he could. Damn it, he was going to knock down the walls she’d erected around herself. No matter what it took.

“Agnes wasn’t well,” Leandra said hollowly. “She shouldn’t have had to fight anything when she felt like she did.”

“Agnes was fine. She was just
tired
.” He dropped to his knees beside the window seat and reached out, cupping her cheek. Forcing her to look at him, Mike said, “She was
tired,
Leandra. Tired and lonely and ready to end it. So she did.”

Leandra shook her head. “No. No.”

“Yes. You saw what I saw. A tired, lonely old woman. She was ready to let go.”

Tears gleamed in Leandra’s eyes. “Not like that. Not to somebody like Morgan. Damn it, Morgan
hurt
her.”

She tried to turn away from him, but Mike caught her arms, pulling her to her feet. “Agnes was a
warrior
, Lee. A Hunter. Is that how you want to go out? Do
you
just want to fade away? I sure as hell don’t.”

“You want to die suffering? Die in pain?”

“I want to die fighting, just like I’ve lived my life. I want to go out knowing I made a difference.” His voice softened a little, and he slid one hand up her arm, curving it over her neck. Mike stroked his thumb gently back and forth over her slow, steady pulse. “We’re Hunters, Leandra. This is what we are. Agnes was old, but she was still a Hunter. You didn’t cause this, kitten. Agnes chose her path. She did what she wanted to do.”

Tears flooded her eyes, and her face crumpled. As she collapsed against him, Mike wrapped her in his arms. “It’s not your fault,” he murmured.

“Then why does it hurt so much?” she hiccupped.

Mike felt his heart break a little. “Because you love her, Leandra. Losing somebody you love hurts like hell.”

Her sobs only got worse, and Mike scooped her up in his arms, carrying them over to the bed and sinking down on it. Propping his back against the headboard, he simply held her as she cried.

 

 

LEANDRA FELT HOLLOW INSIDE. WRUNG OUT. SHE’D fallen asleep in Mike’s arms and at some point, he’d tucked her under the blankets and left.

That had been hours ago. Sunrise was drawing near; she could feel it like a weight on her shoulders. Sleeping was impossible. After spending damned near a month asleep, and so much time in bed the past few days, she was tired of being horizontal.

Tired of being alone with her thoughts.

Voices circled around in her head: Mike’s, Lori’s, the Hunter from her dreams.

Was it really that simple?

Leandra didn’t know, didn’t see how it could be. Everything felt too incomplete, too unfinished. It was like there was something left that she needed to figure out. Something else left to do.

But she was too damned tired, and trying to think gave her a headache.

Just stop thinking for a while
, she told herself as she roamed through Eli’s house.

“Maybe just for a little while,” she muttered, catching her braids in a loose tail at the nape of her neck. Brooding obviously wasn’t accomplishing anything.

Leandra headed for the library. Maybe a book . . . but after thirty minutes of staring at the shelves without comprehending what she was looking at, Leandra decided that was a waste of time.

She ended up just walking. First pacing the upper levels and as the sun rose, she headed for the lower floors.

“You look lost.”

Leandra stilled as Malachi stepped out from a shadowed hall. A cold chill raced down her spine, and she looked away. There was something down there. She swallowed, rubbing her hands down her chilled arms. “Hello, Malachi.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” he asked softly.

“I’ve rested enough.” She glanced back at him, over his shoulder, staring down that long, dark hallway. “What . . .” her voice trailed away, and she licked her lips. “What is . . .”

Malachi followed her gaze, glancing over his shoulder. When he looked back at her, his dark eyes were glinting with anger, and his entire face was tight. But he didn’t tell her what was down there. Reaching out, he cupped a hand around her elbow and said, “Come. We’ll go talk a bit.”

But even as he led her away, Leandra found herself glancing down the hall once more.

 

 

MIKE SCRUBBED HIS HANDS OVER HIS FACE, WISHING like hell he hadn’t joined this meeting. Eli had already told him he was relieved from patrol for a few more weeks—no real reason for him to be here.

It was just that he’d wanted to talk with Lori for a few minutes, and she was here. Finally, the meeting broke up, and he cornered Lori for a minute. “I don’t know if I can help much right now, Mike. I don’t know if Leandra is ready to talk.”

“She can’t just keep
not
talking,” Mike muttered. Despite the tears she’d finally shed, Mike knew Leandra was a long way from accepting what had happened.

“But I can’t force her to talk about it until she’s ready,” Lori said gently.

“Can’t you?” He studied her with narrowed eyes.

Lori huffed and rolled her eyes. “Well, if it was almost anybody but Leandra—my talents don’t work as well on a fellow witch, Mike. She’s not an Empath, but she understands the gift a little too well for me to use it effectively on her. She’d know what I was up to in a heartbeat.”

“In other words, she’s already tried.”

Mike looked up as Jonathan joined them. The shape-shifter ran a hand down his wife’s back and played with the ends of her hair as he smiled at Mike. “Leandra shut her out in less than a heartbeat. She’s just not ready to talk.”

Well, Mike hadn’t really expected much different, he thought sourly as he stalked out of the room. Weariness weighed down on him.

“You’re not going to fix her overnight,” he muttered to himself as he headed for his room. One of the witches had light-proofed his rooms and for the past week, Leandra had rarely stepped foot outside them. He’d lay down on the bed with her and for now, just take comfort in that.

She was nestled deep in the bed, but she wasn’t asleep. As he moved through the door, her eyes met his, and she smiled faintly. “I am tired of resting, but Malachi told me if I didn’t lie down, he’d knock me down.”

Mike closed the distance between them and settled on the edge of the bed, brushing a finger down her cheek. Her color was off. “You need rest. You need to feed.”

Thick black lashes lowered, shielding her eyes. As she sighed, her breasts rose and fell. “I know,” she murmured. “Malachi also told me that if I didn’t feed today, he’d beat you bloody.”

Arching a brow at her, he reminded her, “I’ve been trying to get you to feed for the past week. You won’t listen. It’s not my fault you’re so stubborn.”

Mike stood up and tugged his shirt off, tossing it in the direction of the door before he sat back down and hauled her out from under the covers and into his lap. Cupping the back of her head, he drew her mouth to his neck. “You need it, Leandra. Feed.”

He felt a whisper of breath caress his skin as she shifted, moving so that she had one knee planted on each side of his hips. Mike swallowed a groan as it brought his cock against the cleft between her thighs, separated only by a few layers of cloth. “Lee . . .”

She pressed her lips to his neck, but instead of striking, she settled her weight back on his thighs and lifted her hands to his chest. Mike closed his eyes as she scraped her nails over the flat circles of his nipples. As her hands started to move lower, she rose back up onto her knees, lowering her head so that her braids fell around them both. “I need more than just that, Mike,” she whispered, catching his hands and bringing them up.

Leandra guided his hands to her breasts, arching into his touch. Her nipples were diamond hard, stabbing into his hands. “You sure?” he asked hoarsely.

“Please . . .” the word ending on a weak moan as he leaned forward and closed his lips around one peaked nipple. He sucked it deep, wrapping his arms tight around her before he stood. He lowered her weight to the ground long enough to strip away the skinny strapped shirt she wore. Her breasts swung free, and Mike felt his mouth start to water just looking at her.

He made short work of her loose pajama pants and boosted her up, guiding her thighs around his waist as he caught her nipple in his mouth once more. He curled his tongue around it, drew it deep, released it, then transferred his attention to the other nipple. When both of them were wet and gleaming from his mouth, he moved to the bed, laying her down so he could strip out of his clothes.

As he covered her body with his, Leandra arched up, her thighs spreading to cradle his hips, her hands reaching for him. “You’re so damned pretty,” he whispered hoarsely. He kissed her, rough and deep, and pressed his cock against her sex. She was already wet, completely ready for him. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

Her lashes lifted, a small smile curling her lips. “As much as I missed you?” she asked softly. “You kept talking to me—I could hear you.”

Stilling, Mike stared down into her face. “You heard?”

“You said you’d make love to me, all day, and all night.” Her knees came up, squeezing his hips, and she murmured, “Show me.”

Mike slid a hand down her torso, over her hip, as he started to push inside. The soft, slick flesh yielded around his cock, and Mike shuddered at the sweet, wet caress. Cupping the curve of one buttock in his hand, he pushed completely inside.

She cried out, and the sound of it was a siren song in his ears. “Say my name,” he whispered, squeezing the firm flesh of her ass, trailing his fingers down the crevice between her cheeks. “Say it, Lee.”

Strong, slender arms looped around his neck, and she arched up, her breasts flattening against his chest. She tugged him closer. His skin burned as she pressed a kiss to his neck, and then she murmured into his ear, “Mike . . . love me. Please.”