Icarus; The Kindred (A Paranormal Romance) (24 page)

"Please, your name?" he asks again.

"Lady Jesca of the House of Christianson. Though I would far prefer it if you would address me simply as Jes."

He sweeps this thumb over my knuckles and simply the feel of his skin on mine leaves my knees weak—definitely a new thing for me.

"You prefer," he says, astonished. "So
Jes
, am I to take it that you knew from whom you were running?"

"It appears so." I smirk. "Something you're not accustomed to, I gather?"

"Um … no, being royalty and all."

I reluctantly pull my hand from his and fix where my right boot has slouched at the top. "Well, just so you know, I could have outpaced you."

He scoffs. "Yet here you are."

"I was bored. Not to mention that my horse needed water."

"You let a prince catch you trespassing because you were bored." He playfully lifts one brow. "Are you sure you're right in the head?"

"Depends on who you ask, I suppose. I'd like to think I'm of sounder mind than most. Besides, if there isn't a little risk involved, it isn't nearly as fun. And who doesn't love a good beheading?"

"Gallows humor, quite rare in a woman. And when you're not risking your life for entertainment? What do you busy your time with then?"

"Oh … there are all sorts of ways to get into trouble. Several of which are against the King's decree."

"You aren't going to tell me what they are?"

"I might be reckless, but I'm not wholly bereft of common sense. I mean you are the prince, after all. You could go back and tell someone who might actually do something about it."

He wants to be insulted; I can see it in his eyes. But he can't be, not with the grin I'm giving him. "What makes you think I wouldn't do something about it?" he asks.

"Are you saying that you'd prefer my head in a basket?"

"I'm rather fond of it where it is, actually," he laughs. "Are you always this quick-witted?"

"Of course not. I'm dreadfully boring on Thursdays."

"Why haven't I seen you before?"

I assume he means in these woods, but the door is wide open. "Were you looking for me?"

He runs his free hand through his hair and clears his throat, then meets my eyes again and this time it's my turn to blush. "What would you say if I was?"

"I'm not in the habit of being sought after, so, I can't tell you for certain what I'd say."

"Something tells me that's a lie." A clap of thunder sounds, reminding me why I went riding today in the first place. Jacelynd takes note of the coming storm as well and says, "It's about to rain. Come with me, our keep isn't far from here. You can wait it out there."

I back up a few steps to where Gray is resting. "Maybe another time, Jacelynd. As much as I'm sure I would enjoy your company, my first love is riding in the rain."

"Riding in the rain is extremely dangerous."

"
Not
riding in the rain, not teaching your horse to trust you and to trust himself under those circumstances when you're likely to find yourself in them at some point, is worse. Gray knows I'll never lead her into harm's way, don't you, girl?" I settle into the saddle and pat her neck. "How else do you think I know these woods so well without you having ever seen me?"

"You only ride here in the rain," he says softly, almost to himself.

I give him the biggest smile I can muster before turning Gray in the opposite direction.

"Wait, when will I see you again?"

"Listen for the thunder. I won't be far."

I
wake to watch as the sun comes up over the ocean, highlighting the water with streams of gold. Lucan stirs.

"You didn't sleep, did you?" he asks, stretching.

"I did for a little bit. Long enough."

"Are you okay? You were doing that yesterday too."

"Doing what?"

"Grimacing when you move, like you're hurt or something."

I didn't intend to tell him, but I don't want him to worry about me. "Remember when you said you were sure I was dead?"

He nods mutely.

"I did die and someday I will tell you all about that, but the reason I am grimacing is because my body sort of retained the memory of the wounds I had before. You can't see them, but they're there."

Lucan looks peaked. "All of them?" He lightly touches my cheek.

I try not to flinch, but I can't help it. "Let's get going. I'll be fine. We are running out of time." I stand and look around. By the time we'd made it here the evening before, everything was fairly dark and I couldn't tell where we were. Now, in the daylight, I still don't know where we are.

We walk for a good long ways before Lucan stops me. "When did
you
last have blood?"

"A long time ago, but I think what happened back there started the process over again. I don't feel too malnourished."

"Hmm. That's interesting. Because you look like hell."

I tilt my head, shocked at his coarse vocabulary. "Didn't I tell you not to use that kind of lang … ugh, maybe I do need blood." My equilibrium must be catching up with me. I sway and lean over on my knees to steady myself.

Lucan starts to place his wrist to his mouth, but I stop him.

"I'm not taking blood from a child."

"Would you prefer a sheep? That's your only other option. Me, your son, who really doesn't need another crushing blow to his fragile ego, or a sheep—which is it?"

I laugh despite my previous convictions on the matter. "Well, when you put it like that." I reach for him and place his small wrist at my mouth, and at the first swallow I realize how badly I did need blood. Apparently coming back from the dead doesn't mean anything has changed, sanguinely speaking.

After I close the wound, I give him a quick kiss where I'd bit him. He grins shyly, "Told you. Aren't you glad you didn't pick the sheep?"

"Thanks and yes, I am eternally grateful."

"No prob. Hey, do you have any idea where we are? What if we're going the wrong way?"

I smile. "Any direction that takes us away from Iris is the right way for now."
And I don't know where the gate is.

"So, you don't know where we are?"

"Not a clue." We've traveled mainly along the shoreline, but the beach is narrowing and before long we'll have to tread on higher ground. Which, after a couple hours of walking, is unavoidable.

We are climbing up an embankment when Lucan asks, far too excitedly, "Hey, wait, do you hear that?"

I am really having issues breathing and climbing at the same time—which is likely due to my chest pain. I shake my head to indicate that I don't and that I couldn't talk even if I did.

"No, listen." He stops us and we remain still for a full minute before I hear it. Voices. We are close to civilization. Which would be a good thing, but like I've already said, we aren't exactly in appropriate attire.

I reach up to grab the waistline of his pants. "Don't. We—" Wow, I seriously need a break, "need to—"

"I'm really getting worried about you. And those are kind of lame superpowers—you can break steel, but can't make it up the side of a hill?"

"We can't—"

"Down there! It's a little boy and a woman!" a woman's voice suddenly shouts from somewhere above us. "Hey, hold on! We're getting help!"

I groan and watch in horror as several men start to make their way down to us.

"This isn't good, is it?" Lucan asks.

I know they mean well. Humans usually do.
But we are short on time and I don't have an explanation as to how Lucan and I wound up this way that would satisfy the local authorities, whom I am told are en route. We are in a hospital in Wexford and hooked up to IVs, which does absolutely nothing for a vampire but make us weaker. Lucan is sleeping and I am waiting for the pain to wane enough for us to make a break for it. Problem is, the more diluted my blood becomes, the more I feel the pain. Two physicians have already taken a stab at me, neither of them could find anything wrong with me or lower my heart rate and blood pressure (I bet you thought I didn't have a pulse).

"Let's have a look at you," a tall female physician says as she steps beyond the curtain, "and see what all this fuss is about, eh? My name is Abigail O'Dea, but you can call me Abby if you like. I'm a psychiatrist and from what my colleagues tell me, the two of you have been through something pretty traumatic, but neither of you is willing to say anything. Do I have that about right?"

Dr. O'Dea—I don't like the idea of addressing anyone by their first name who has the power to commit me—reaches up and inspects the bag for my IV. "We've given you a fairly strong sedative, what with your fighting your rescuers and all, so you see why we're all a little concerned with your being wide awake and fully alert. Your heart rate is dangerously high. Now, any idea as to why the drugs wouldn't be working on you, but seem to have worked just fine on the little one?"

I assume at this point that they're waiting on the drug panel to come back and want me to admit to being on something prior to that occurring. Problem is, they'll have a whole new set of questions when that panel comes back and I doubt it will involve what drugs I've been given.

What is wrong with these people? If I haven't answered the last legion of ridiculous questions asked by her magnanimous predecessors, why would I start spilling my guts now? I shrug, noting that little man is indeed completely out on the bed next to mine. I should never have let us come that close to the shore, or anywhere near a human hospital. I look at her and am about to finally grant them the gift of hearing me speak when she makes the mistake of touching my shoulder at the exact location of a rather deep wound.

I can't help but to respond verbally and physically to this, which likely strengthens their theories of my mental instability. In the process of jerking away from Dr. O'Dea, I rip the IV out of my hand and stumble to my feet.

I hear the curtain pulled back farther and expect men in white coats to come rushing to my side, straightjackets in hand. Instead, I see a medium-height man with sandy blond hair. Yet another physician.

"Abby let me handle this one." He isn't Irish, but I can't quite nail the accent. Englishgermadutch, maybe.

"Is this the virus, you think?"

"No. I'll let you know what's going on. I promise."

She nods, clearly rattled. "I'll be in the lounge. Come get me when you're done." She smiles weakly at him and I catch the slight movement out of the corner of my eye as he squeezes her hand.

Once she's gone, he pulls the curtain, closing any outside view of the three of us. "Your blood panel came back," he says this with weight … enough weight to give me the distinct impression that he knows why something is wrong with the results.

I want to say something, really I do, but the floor is steadily feeling less and less solid and it isn't but a couple more seconds before I am on my hands and knees.

"You're Kindred. Whose side you're on is what's in question. Either way, I took an oath to do no harm. So forgive me, but I have no choice." I feel a sharp sting on my arm and before I can tell him human drugs have no effect on me, my vision grows dim. His voice grows faint, but just before I lose consciousness, I am aware enough to comprehend a name slipping off his tongue in the middle of indiscernible words.

" … Iris … "

Words
are said in rushed hateful tones in the distance, somewhere beyond the room I'm in now. I open my eyes to darkness. When I try to speak, I find that nothing escapes but a pitiful wheezy mewl.

I feel along the floor. Nothing.

Where is Lucan?

Whatever the hell they've given me still lingers and it's all I can do to bristle when the door swings open. A figure steps in, obscured by the shadows. Why won't they turn on the lights?

The figure walks near me and I'm simply too drained and drugged to fight. I'm in too much pain. So I remain still.

"Why? What did she ever do to you? What could she possibly have done to you to cause such rage and resentment? She loved you dearly … would have given her life to protect you, and you repay that devotion by taking that life without reason?"

Oh bloody hell, this isn't Iris. This is Jacelynd. And he thinks the vampire found with Lucan is Iris—not me. Lucan must still be unconscious.

I open my mouth to try and speak again, but absolutely nothing comes out.

Damn it, just turn on the light! Why is he being so incredibly stupid? Because he thinks I'm dead …

"I was nothing but kind to you, loved you like a sister, took care of you." His voice shakes now, but it isn't with tearful remembrance; it's with rage and if I don't do something,
rightdamnnow
, he's going to kill me. Or at least try. And aren't immortal wounds enough to contend with while trying to save the world?

I do my best to sprint past his right side, hoping to get to the light switch that I'm assuming is near the door. I fail miserably and I catch an unforgiving knee in the chest.

And where the hell are those powers when I need them?

I hit the floor hard and while I can't speak, I can apparently moan in pain.

"And what of Damian? He was loyal to the point of accusing Jessica of betrayal and you mercilessly left him for dead. Tell me why I should have any more consideration for your life than you had for even one person who stood by you?"

Jacelynd picks me up by the collar of my ripped shirt like I'm a rag doll and brings me close to his face. He's seething. "You will answer me!"

I try again, mostly for good measure this time, and find of course that nothing has changed. This does not keep him from throwing me against the far wall. I hit it with bone-breaking force.

"Jacelynd stop!" Quinn's voice sounds from somewhere down the hall but it doesn't even register with Jace. He picks me back up again.

"Jace stop! That's not … "

I think I hear him say Iris' name in the next few words, but my ears are ringing from the blow to my head. He obviously didn't hear it clearly, either.

"Answer me!" Jace yells.

I tear at his fingers, trying to loosen his grip, but it's no use. He's about to make good on that unspoken promise of an untimely end and I brace myself as I feel it coming, when he suddenly drops me.

Quinn has grabbed him by the shoulders and they scuffle for a moment; Quinn is too winded from running and restraining Jace to say anything right away, but finally he grounds out, "That's not Iris!"

All movement halts and I can hear both of them fighting to get a deep breath.

"Lucan woke up. He hasn't been able to say a whole hell of a lot, but he said enough to indicate that he wasn't with Iris." Quinn groans. "Shit man, that was my arm."

My vision has adjusted enough to vaguely see Jacelynd try his legs a few feet away. After a second, he regains his balance and moves toward the door. He has his back to me when he flicks the light switch. "Then who the hell … "

I don't expect the light to be as fluorescent as it is and I fight to keep my eyes open, a hand over my face to shield as much of it as I can.

"Jacelynd if you were anybody else, I'd kill you myself," Quinn breathes.

Jacelynd kneels, unable to show both disbelief and remorse at the same time, his features torn between the two. When he touches my face, I jerk away in reflex because he touches an immortal wound. This elicits a fanged hiss from me and a broken laugh from Quinn.

Quinn wipes his eyes on his sleeve. "I'd pissed too. What the hell were you thinking?"

Jacelynd says, hushed, "The Tithe with Tristan is broken."

He's looking for whatever wounds would cause a break, but he isn't going to find them. At least, this is what I think until I see his eyes shift to that unearthly jade color. He lowers his head into the hand that isn't braced against the wall hand.

He knows. He's seen the wounds.

"She probably won't draw from me. Be careful with … " Jacelynd turns to Quinn and starts to move aside when I manage to grab his arm and muster a feeble shake of my head.

"I'll go tell the others," Quinn says as he rises to his feet. More tears choke him as he starts to say my name. He laughs and wipes his hand roughly across his mouth. After another moment he nods at us and leaves the room.

Jacelynd sweeps my chin with shaky fingers. "I wasn't the only who thought you were dead." He flexes his jaw, visibly fighting the anger he so aptly demonstrated on my ribs with his knee. "I spoke with Tristan yesterday. And even had he not confirmed it, I felt you draw your last breath. It wasn't like it was ten years ago. There was no question this time."

If he's waiting on some heart-wrenching moment of forgiveness for kicking the shit out of me before he gives me blood, we're going to have issues. I reach for his shoulder, best I can. Luckily he reads the gesture and leans down for me to draw from his neck.

"God, I caught you in the chest … " his voice tapers off as he reaches to pull aside the fabric of what's left of my shirt. He sucks in a breath in sympathy. "There aren't words for the kind of regret I'm feeling."

That's a funny coincidence because there are words for how idiotic it was to leave the lights off.

My senses are returning little by little and once I am well enough, I reach up and warmly touch his cheek. He might be an idiot, but he's
my
idiot. It's far from the hug he's probably looking for, but it will have to do for now, at least until I'm finished replenishing what the IV depleted.

He gathers my hair into a low ponytail at the nape of my neck, ties it off with something—can't tell what. "Immortal wounds." He swallows hard. "You're on borrowed time." This almost comes out as a question, but it's hard to know without looking at him.

I seal the wound and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as I sit back against the wall. It takes me a second to speak audibly and when I manage to, it's fatigued. "Lucan's soul … Iris promised his soul to the guardians. He has a mark on … his wrist. We're all on borrowed time."