Pandora's Ring (9 page)

Samantha was silent. He realized too late what he’d said, and glanced down at her in worry. But she was only staring at the ceiling, brow furrowed in thought, cheek jumping in pain occasionally. “Are they still there? Do they remember their lives? Do they regret it?” she finally asked.

“Yes. I have them. Some of them remember, some of them don’t. It’s about a fifty-fifty split, but I let them forget if they want.” He was quiet for a moment. “I try my best to cherry pick the ones who won’t regret it. Most people call me–”

“Scavenger of the Damned,” she finished. Her lip quirked into what might have been a smile. “Cyrene told me. She made it sound like a bad thing.”

“Among my colleagues, it is.”

“S’at why th’ gave you this ’signment?”

The question took him by surprise. The assignment. Damn, he’d forgotten. Oddly, she was smiling, her eyes droopy not in weariness, but as if her face had simply forgotten to prop up her eyebrows. Suddenly he heard her words again, the slurred, drunken pattern. He panicked. “Samantha, do you feel all right?”

“M’ok,” she said dreamily. “Arm’s asleep though.”

He grabbed her hand. “Samantha,” he whispered hurriedly. “Samantha, look at me. Can you see me? What do I look like to you right now?”

She laughed, as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever said. “Same as you have since last night! Big ol’ white as a sheet with black hair and red nails. An’ horns! I dunno how you got past the desk-guy…”

Ah, fuck. He had to hand it to himself. He was sure no one had fucked up an assignment quite this spectacularly in pretty much ever. But she was in the middle of a stroke, and if he didn’t do something fast he was going to lose her.

Trying not to think of the implications of cementing the depth of his emotions, Eli bent and kissed her. Samantha didn’t move, didn’t seem to realize what he was doing, because she promptly began to try to speak. He deepened the kiss, willing her to figure it out and respond–he couldn’t do anything if she didn’t respond, and if she didn’t do it soon the stroke would addle her so badly he would lose her completely. That couldn’t happen. She’d survived two attempts by Cyrene, she’d managed to live for longer than any precedent. He’d lose…a friend.

She squeaked. Her lips moved, and she hummed a question, but her tongue moved against his, and he felt the connection. The barest hint allowing him to manipulate her body just enough to knock loose the clot nestled in her brain tissue and push oxygen to the cut off area. He pulled back as the clot dissolved and the area awoke with no repercussions. Samantha sighed.

“I…what happened?” she stared at him as he lowered her to the pillow.

“You had a stroke,” he said softly.

“And you just decided to up and kiss me in the middle of it?”

He was too relieved by the improvement in her speech to be offended by her tart tone. “It formed a temporary bond,” he said. “Enough so I could undo the stroke.”

“U-undo?” she stammered.

“Undo. I broke up the clot and then oxygenated your brain again.” He looked away. “Usually that kind of bond is used to seal a seduction deal…I just modified it.”

She was struck silent and lay quiet for an additional hour. “I’m tired,” she mumbled.

“You can sleep.”

“No…it’s just…it’s too noisy. Are you sure that’s why Damned don’t sleep?”

He laughed. “Maybe, secretly,” he said, stroking her hair again, watching her with new admiration. “It can get a little noisy, but because everyone’s along a rope, I have a little more control of the situation.”

She nodded,
 
and licked her lips before continuing. “I meant to ask, what did you really look like as a mortal? I mean, were you always the handsome black guy?”

Eli chuckled. “No. I was white as Wonderbread. Complete with freckles.”

“But you walk around like some kind of black Adonis in your free time?”

“Most of us ditch our mortal form once we become Damned. I’ve been lots of races. Latino, White, Irish, Middle-Eastern…but yeah, I kind of like the black guy look.”

“Me too,” Samantha said with a smile. It fell quickly. “Why haven’t you harvested me yet?” she asked abruptly as he stroked her cheek.

Eli frowned. “What do you mean?” Maybe she’d forget.

“The assignment. I’m totally vulnerable right now. You could take my soul before I died.”

Maybe he could divert her. Facing the question to her meant he’d have to answer it to himself. He was becoming more and more worried about the answer. “You’re not going to die.”

“God-damn, Eli. Do you think I’m stupid? I just had a stroke. It’s not getting any better. I can feel it.”

“I’m here,” he said stubbornly. “I can keep you afloat. Somehow.”

“You’re
supposed
to be harvesting me!”

“You’re the only mortal in history to beat down a greater Damned,” Eli muttered, hoping it was enough of an excuse. “Like I’d just harvest something so precious.”

She frowned at him, then turned her gaze to the ceiling again. “Right,
 
Okay.”

They spent several more hours with Samantha swinging from silent and half-asleep to wide awake and writhing. Eli put a silencer on the room so no one would report them and held her fast as she thrashed amidst the covers, screaming and sobbing in agony. Her breath came fast, her body became slick with sweat.

“No, no, no more!” she screeched as he tried to hold her close again, her hands twisting in the sheets. “Stop it, Eli, please, stop the voices!”

“Samantha,” he whispered, shaking his head as he splayed a hand across her chest. He could feel himself trembling as her health rapidly declined. Another three, four hours, there would be nothing he could do. The souls within her wouldn’t let up for a few weeks, and they were on day one still. Her back arched and she shuddered in pain.

“I’m dying,” she whispered. “I’m dying, please, just kill me, Eli–you can have my soul if you want it.”

“No, Samantha,” he whispered. “I’m not going to do that to you.”

“Please,” she moaned, and buried her hands in her hair, pulled at it desolately, so hard a clump came free. “Please, God, Eli! Kill me. You said I could trust you.
 
Please!”

“No, Samantha,” he said again, mouth going dry. Her heart was fluttering, beating too fast, too shallowly.

“Why?” she moaned plaintively, “why?” She pulled at her hair again, tugging until he took her by the wrist and pressed on the tendon, forcing her to let go. “Please, Eli, talk to me. Why? What death is like? When I can die? Tell me when the voices will stop?” She went limp suddenly, sobbing into her hands.

Eli held her, guiding her face to his shoulder and rocking her gently. “Death isn’t so bad. Being a harvested soul isn’t so bad until you’re turned in to the office. I don’t know when you’ll die, but it’s not going to be today. The voices will calm down in a few weeks.”

“I’m going to die,” she whispered again.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re too precious to let die.”

She shuddered. “Even if you’re right, how?”

He pressed his lips together, gently pushed back on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Can you hear me?” he asked, cupping her cheek. “You can understand me right now?”

She nodded, bleary eyed but clearly cognizant.

He took a breath. If he did this, he’d be screwing up not only the assignment, but the whole damn system. Oh well. “I can help you shoulder the burden. You remember how I kissed you and the bond allowed me to manipulate your physical body long enough to stop the stroke?”

She nodded. Eli took a breath. He didn’t want her to say no. “If you let me in deeper–”

She flinched and gasped, trembling. He could practically see the wave of voices breaking over her mind again, threatening to smother her. “Deeper? I can’t…Eli…what do you mean deeper?”

“Making love, Samantha,” he said, fighting a grimace as she twisted, one hand working at her hair. He took the hand back to keep her from tearing out more hair. “Like this. I can help you, but you have to let me in.”

“You’re Damned,” she whimpered, and shook her head. “You told me yourself, you want my soul!”

“Your soul isn’t on the table right now,” he whispered, aching. “Your sanity is. You can feel yourself crumbling, you told me yourself.”

“I…I can’t think right now,” she whispered, gasping as she gripped a pillow, closing her eyes. “I can’t. Eli, can I even trust you?”

A lump formed in his throat.
 
If she didn’t trust him he would lose her. “Yes. Please, trust me. I can help you.”

“No,” she whispered, but the quiet pleading wasn’t directed at him, and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, sobbing. “I can’t, Eli….”

“I can’t just let you die, Samantha. Trust me!” He snatched her wrists again, pulled her close to look him in the eye. “Please.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why?”

“Because I want to save you,” he stroked her hair.

“But making love… Eli, we can have sex but you can’t fake making love!”

He swallowed. There it was, the only possible answer to all his procrastinating and reluctance, plain as day. This was such a bad idea, but it was too late now. “No. You can’t. It’s a good thing I love you, then.”

4

The voices in her head completely stopped as a different kind of static filled her mind. Shocked, Samantha pulled away and studied his white face and raven hair with an entirely new perspective. The voices started again, a low murmur, but for a moment she could ignore them. So completely floored by his words was she that all else faded away.

“What?”

Eli looked surprised for some reason, but nodded and pulled her back close to him, meeting her wide-eyed stare. “I love you.” He nodded again. “So it’s a little sudden, but so is you suddenly getting powerful enough to kick Cyrene’s ass.”

She blinked. That couldn’t be all. She’d gotten the feeling he didn’t like Cyrene, but really? “Is that it?” she asked.

“No. Of course not.” He threaded their fingers together. “You have to understand, Samantha. I have seven thousand souls within me. I can handle it, but as a mortal, they would have shredded my mind and disintegrated my soul before I had time to breathe. You’ve survived more than twelve hours, now.”

“You’ve got weird standards,” she said, but the way he kept her gaze, kissed her fingers and leaned in to her made her tone light. She was getting light-headed again, with the throbbing cries of the throng pounding on her skull. How wasn’t she bleeding from the ears? How much more could she take?

Eli shook his head. “No, I’ve got high standards. And to be honest, you’ll be getting a lot more than just me.” He smiled, stroking her hair. “If you survive this, your life isn’t going to be quiet–you’re an anomaly after all. But damn, you’ll have your pick among heaven, hell and the in-betweeners.”

“They’d all want me for the power, though,” she closed her eyes against a sharp pain in her eye. She drew a breath, and it shuddered through her, incomplete. She drew another, gasping for air as a pain grew slowly in her chest, like a balloon being inflated. She groaned softly, pressing her hand to the spot.

Eli
 
surged forward and kissed her without waiting for permission. The pressure eased, but he lingered. Without meaning to, she kept him close. He was cool, a welcome relief against her feverish skin. His body was strange, smooth like bleached ivory, velvety to the touch, hairless but for the perfect mane of raven locks coursing down his back. As she touched it, she was shocked to discover it wasn’t oily, merely shiny and smooth.

Finally, Eli pulled back, breathing hard. “Better?”
 

“Yeah,” she replied, her lungs filling more easily but mouth hanging half-open. She stroked his shoulder. “What was that?”

“Heart attack,” His claws shifted on her waist, and Samantha shivered. Where Cyrene induced disgust, Eli’s were touches of warmth and sensation. He cupped her cheek. “If it helps, I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

She smiled. “You sound like a soppy romance novel. I’m not a virgin, you know.”