Reap & Redeem (7 page)

One by one, Orithidon pulled souls from the frantic bodies of half a dozen late-night revelers, leaving their shells to stumble and clamber into one another in the darkness. Systematically, he reached out with his senses and tore them loose from their moorings, consuming them all.

When the screaming ceased, the fog dissipated. Many of the humans had not survived the premature extraction of their souls. The ones who did wandered—unseeing, unthinking, unknowing—about the room. All that they had been was contained in their soul.

Now, they were the walking dead.

From that day forward, Orithidon didn’t bother waiting for “donors” to die. No chasing ambulances or scouring hospitals and graveyards for him. He took what he wanted and found pleasure doing so.

A sharp gasp snapped him to attention. Temporarily untethered, he tensed and searched the room for danger. His eyes locked on to hers. They were open. She reached for him and without thinking his hand shot forward to take hers.

The room exploded into sharp, vivid colors, threatening to slam his eyes shut with their brightness. Pain lanced through his sockets, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the piercing demands of her arctic stare. Her eyes were the blue-gray of deep-frozen ice. The color of a reaper’s eyes when they carried a soul.

Brilliant blue energy glowed between their palms, leaking around the edges of their hold. Kylen watched as her bright white aura saturated into a sparkling blue, enveloping her in an iridescent halo. Alive and strong, his energy filled her and her pale color began to transform into a radiant healthy glow.

Warmth burst somewhere deep within Kylen, and it felt…good.

Her cheeks pinked and her eyes grew large. As her hand became overly warm in his, he pulled away, releasing himself from her grasp. Her hand fell to the bed, and she raised it to clutch at her thin covering, pulling it snug over her breasts and under her neck for protection.

Kylen swallowed hard. Inappropriate thoughts of peeling that blanket down her body and opening her like a gift threatened to choke him.

“Where am I?” Her trembling hands worked the edge of the blanket in a worried frenzy. “Why am I here?”

Even though he was no longer touching her, Kylen’s color vision lingered this time. Sharp and focused, everything seemed new and shiny. Her hair was such a brilliant white that her blue eyes seemed even brighter in contrast. They radiated an innocence and beauty that staggered him.

To think that the demon had nearly…

Her gaze darted around the room, finally landing on Kylen’s face again.

“You? What happened?” She relaxed slightly, lessening her grip on the top of the blanket.

Kylen cleared his throat in an attempt to reclaim the voice in which he no longer held confidence.

“You’re safe.” He straightened, leaning against the hard back of his chair.

“Safe?” Her eyes blazed, searing into him, and blue energy skittered along his skin, searching for a receptacle. He wanted to touch her again. So much so that he gripped his thighs to stay the ridiculous impulse.

“Yes.” Well, wasn’t he just the master of one-word conversation. He cringed at the memory of his earlier talk with Deacon.

Bit by bit, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Ruth had dressed her in a sleeveless blue satiny gown that had already worked its way off one shoulder. She was so thin and fragile. She wouldn’t have lasted a day as a host. Hell, not even an hour. She was easily twenty pounds lighter than Ruth, who was petite herself.

“Are you ill?” Kylen held his breath, not sure what he wanted her to say. If her weakness and frailty were the result of the attack, he had no idea how to proceed. They hadn’t tried to “rescue” anyone before, and the Reiki energy they exuded was way too powerful to be used at will on humans. If her condition wasn’t a result of the attack, then maybe it was his fault for juicing her… Hell, he was screwed either way.

She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them like she was searching for answers of her own. “Yes. I have cancer.”

His heart paused, skipped a beat and then kicked up again, resuming its treacherous function. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” she answered, meeting his gaze. “It’s end stage.”

His head pounded. Her pale countenance and frailty could be explained away with that one word.
Cancer.
His eyes burned, and he rose unsteadily to his feet. Turning away from her, he tried to control the ridiculous flow of…what?

Emotion? Oh, hell no.

She flinched like a frightened animal at his sudden movement. He froze, and then eased himself back into the chair, extending his palms in a calming gesture.

No more sudden movements.

Couldn’t blame her. After what she’d experienced, it was no wonder she was jumpy.

“What were you doing in that alley?” he asked, unable to keep the chastisement from his voice.

“I volunteer at the shelter next door. I cook for the homeless. I was on my way in for the breakfast shift when I saw a kid dragging someone behind the Dumpster.”

He heaved in a breath and closed his eyes, hoping for patience he wasn’t capable of manifesting.

“And you thought you could do what?” he asked, amazed and disgusted by her lack of self-preservation.

“Help?” she whispered.

“That worked out great. You could have been killed, too. Did that not occur to you?”

She looked down at her hands again, twisting them together, working her thumb in a circle inside her palm. “I’m already dying. What did I have to lose?”

What the holy hell?
His brain erupted in an explosion of expletives in a variety of languages.

Chapter Nine

Kylen’s gut twisted into a knot of anger as the blue energy zinged through him, threatening to immolate him.

He needed to get out of her room.

He should not be caring for anyone; he should not be trusted with this woman. A woman whose name he realized that he still did not know.

His head twitched her way again. “What is your name?”

She pulled her knees up against her chest beneath the covers, curling herself into an upright fetal position. Tilting her head to the side, she rested her cheek on her knees, her gaze lasering through him.

“Olivia.”

He pushed abruptly against the chair with the back of his legs as he stood, scraping it across the wooden floor like fingernails on a chalkboard.

“I’ll be back.”

Air, he needed some damned air.
Now.

Stumbling from the bedroom like a drunk, he staggered to the back door, desperate for the sweet relief of the late September afternoon…and his trailer.

* * *

Olivia realized she was not afraid. Perplexed? Concerned? Confused? Yes, but not afraid.

Her hero was intense, but there was something reassuring about him nonetheless, betraying his harsh exterior. She was more concerned with finding out who had undressed her and where her things were.

It was so quiet here…wherever here was. And why was she in a hospital bed hooked up to machinery when this clearly wasn’t a hospital or hospice center? It was all so disconcerting. This wasn’t the way she’d envisioned her last day at the homeless shelter.

One by one, she’d been ticking off the items on her bucket list. She was down to the last fourteen. Of course, they were the most frightening ones, which was exactly why they were last. Cooking at a homeless shelter was nothing compared to #53 and #58:
get drunk
and
have a one-night stand.

She shuddered.

The idea of a bucket list had seemed so wonderful at first. Essential even. As she’d ticked her way through the list, she was surprised by how easy most of them were to achieve. Of course, her wishes weren’t too exotic. No running with the bulls in Pamplona, swimming with sharks in South Africa, or other such craziness. And she had no intention of leaving a trail of unpaid debt behind despite her former coworker’s suggestion that she charge everything to a credit card, Visa be damned. Her parents would have been so disappointed with her if she’d even considered such a thing. In preparing for her death, she’d proceeded as cautiously as she always had in life, with the notable exception of # 53 and #58.

She’d never been drunk. Ever. Not even one drink. She’d always felt the need to be the responsible one. And so she had. But it looked like so much fun! As for the other thing, well, sex was fun, but there were always complications.

She was proud that she’d managed to accomplish so many tasks in such a short time. Her focus had crystallized after the initial diagnosis, even though it hadn’t come as a surprise. Both of her parents had already passed—her mother from the same rare genetic form of cancer, her father from heart disease. Her fate had been all but sealed years ago. Twenty-six years ago, to be exact.

Expecting her life to be short from the beginning had instilled her with a maturity and intensity that had set her apart from most of her peers. Then again, she didn’t consider anyone her age to be a real peer. She’d always gravitated toward older mentors and acquaintances. None were close friends, but that was okay. In fact, it rather pleased her that she wouldn’t be leaving a trail of broken hearts in her wake. Having never experienced true love was her one regret, but her current situation wasn’t in any way conducive to that. Her life was a done deal. Well, almost. There were still a few loose ends to tie up.

Fourteen of them.

Olivia pulled herself back to the present.

He hadn’t answered any of her questions. And where had he run off to?

Scrutinizing the room, she tried to imagine its inhabitants and the reason for the odd setup and unusual furnishings. She could form no reasonable explanation except that someone with a severe handicap or in need of long-term care must have resided here at some point. How odd that she’d ended up here. She was grateful for the rescue—that young man had been attacking her, hadn’t he?—but it was all so bizarre.

Her own hospice plan had been established long ago, but she wasn’t ready for it yet.
Especially right now!

She stretched her arms above her head and leaned back, luxuriating in the complete lack of pain. Ever since her doctor had muttered the words “metastatic Ewing’s sarcoma in your bone marrow,” she’d known nothing but pain and nausea.

She knew the drill. Her mother had suffered through the disease, dying a slow and painful death. Olivia had refused treatment with the understanding that she’d be lucky to see the beginning of fall. Well, she was a few short days away from September 22, the equinox and the first day of fall, and at the moment, she felt wonderful. Who knew why? She just wanted to take a few moments to enjoy it.

At first, she’d planned to shoot for a top-one-hundred bucket list, but ultimately she’d settled for sixty. Sixty gave her one task to complete every other day. A few she’d even stretched out for a bit longer, like her work at the homeless shelter. Cooking there was so rewarding—her favorite thing in the world if she had to pick.

She doubted she could actually complete the list now; she was nearly out of money and almost certainly out of time.

She smoothed her hand across the satin covering her hips, feeling the sharp, protruding bones there. She looked anorexic. No matter how much she ate, she continued to waste away. At this rate, her metabolism would kill her before the cancer did. She needed to get out of this place—wherever it was—and try to make a final effort to finish her list.

The list!

Where was it? Panic bloomed behind her ribs and burned its way up her throat. Her heart thundered against her chest as she scanned for her clothes. The list was in her jeans pocket.

Flipping back the covers, she let her legs dangle over the edge of the bed, her feet still hovering several inches above the floor. With care, she let herself slide from the bed until her soles landed flat on the cool wooden floor. She gingerly tested her balance, and then began to shuffle around the edge of the bed, the IV pulling at her hand. She reached up to turn off the drip before peeling back the tape and removing the needle. She frowned; she was determined it would be the last time she was hooked up to anything.

Free at last, she extended her arms, trying to regain her balance as she shambled her way to the bathroom to search for her clothes.

She needed to find that list.

Tears stung her eyes at the unfairness of losing it so close to her goal. The last fourteen tasks were burned into her memory, but the list itself was still a tangible talisman.

Her lifeline.

She knew—
knew
—she wouldn’t die until she’d marked off the last item. Without it, she felt herself losing control of her destiny. Illogical, perhaps, but who said a dying person needed to make sense?

An eternity later, she made it to the bathroom that was attached to the bedroom.

No clothes. Where could they be?

She caught her reflection in the mirror and gasped.

Her formerly auburn hair was pure white. Still soft and straight but shockingly white. She ran her hands through it, not comprehending the sudden, severe change.

Did he dye my hair?

A trickle of fear passed through her but dissipated just as quick. If he’d meant her harm, he wouldn’t have rescued her and cared for her. Right?

Unless he plans to keep you as a pet,
a voice inside chided.

She shook her head, not willing to consider it. Somehow, she managed to relieve herself without passing out, which was a small miracle considering the pounding of her heart.

Where did he go?

She needed help, dammit. If she didn’t find her clothes, her list, and a ride home in the next ten minutes, there was a very high probability her sudden healthy glow was going to be wasted on a full-scale meltdown.

She peeked around the frame of the bedroom door. She searched for him, taking in all the details of the small living room. Catching movement to her left, she realized that the back door was swinging gently in the breeze. She crossed through the kitchen area, passed through a small mudroom and stepped through the open door.