The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2) (20 page)

I think of how devastated he was when he remembered his deceased wife and child. Those are things he once desired—things he once had. A desire like that doesn’t just fade after time, and I don’t blame him for wanting them. He has every right to wish for that sort of life, whereas I don’t. I could never be his wife, and, without the Elite’s permission, I could never give him a child. All I have to offer is myself, and I’m not so arrogant to think that’s enough. Of course I would only be his mistress, so he could choose to still marry. Could I stay, knowing one day I might have to share him with another woman?

When he still fails to respond, I ask him the question that’s been on my mind recently. “Don’t you want that?”

The silence continues to fill between us, spoken and unspoken words enhancing the tension that hangs in the air. I scowl and turn to face him, my irritation resurfacing, but the moment I see his face, my annoyance evaporates. Splotches of red have blossomed on his cleanly shaven face and his lips are pressed into a firm line. His eyes, though, are what render me frozen. They’re absolutely livid, pinning me unrepentantly in one spot. His control slips momentarily, and I stumble back from the wave of anger radiating from him. With my past experience with men, I would expect him to lash out at me physically. But he won’t.

He inhales deeply, struggling to contain his fury. “What exactly are you trying to say, Moira?”

I swallow, trying to regain my composure. “I–”

“Sir,” says Rick, appearing behind the detective. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but that was the Chief on the phone. He’s asking for you and Moira to go to the police station immediately.”

“Thank you, Jamieson.” Even though he addresses Rick, his eyes remain on me with an unrelenting hardness. He then adds in a quieter voice, “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Fine by me,” I mutter, quickly looking away.

Before we leave, I extend my apologies to Christine and assure her we’ll see each other again soon. Then I follow the detective to the motor vehicle, my heart pulsing with the nervousness I desperately try to hide. Yet, true to his word, he doesn’t mention our discussion on our drive to the police station. In fact, he doesn’t speak at all, but it’s not necessary. His hostility speaks volumes, as it wraps around me in a suffocating embrace, and I begin to restlessly bounce my foot.

When we reach the police station, I’m surprised to find the rioters are nowhere in sight. The constables and the Chief must have successfully reminded them of who is in control. I follow the detective into the station, wondering if a blocker has finally managed to enter Jonathan’s mind. When we step into the Chief’s office, the burly man closes the door behind us.

He sits behind his desk and releases a heavy sigh. “Well, I don’t have good news.”

My excitement immediately deflates at the sound of those words, dread quickly filling its place. Either there’s been another murder or the blockers have been unsuccessful with Jonathan. Both would be unwelcome, but at least the latter one has the potential to close the case once and for all.

“We’ve had several blockers try to read Jonathan’s mind, but none of them have succeeded.”

“I was expecting that,” says the detective, drumming his fingers along the side of his chair.

I glance back at the Chief, annoyed. “But doesn’t that just prove his guilt. Why would he refuse to cooperate unless he has something to hide?”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Moira,” says the detective.

My previous cynicism returns at the idea that all my efforts have been wasted. “So, what? You’re just going to set him free?”

“Of course not.” The Chief leans back into his chair and fidgets with his mustache. “He did use illegal persuasion on you. It just means he won’t be persecuted for anything regarding the Phoenix case.”

I clench my fists and try to remain calm. “I know he’s the Phoenix.”

The Chief lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug, and I can see he wishes the case to be over just as much as I do. “We’ll keep trying, of course. We still have yet to bring the Chief Blocker in.”

As much as I hate what I’m about to say next, I have to at least try. “What if I went into his mind?” Both men look at me, but before either one of them can speak, I quickly continue. “I’m serious. I could give it a try.”

“Moira–”

“I don’t see why she can’t,” interjects the Chief.

Keenan opens his mouth to respond, but a knock on the door interrupts him. The Chief orders the constable to enter, and I try to ignore the detective’s gaze as Constable Smith appears behind the door. His eyes flicker to the detective and then to me, and his uneasiness only adds to the tension in the room. He quickly looks away, his fingers fidgeting with an envelope as he speaks.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but a letter has arrived from Mr. Harrison.” He offers the Chief the medium sized envelope. “The courier said it was urgent.”

“Thank you, Smith.”

The Constable nods and quietly exits the office, closing the door behind him.

The Chief begins to open the envelope, but then pauses and glances up at us. “You two go on ahead. I’ll be out shortly.”

“Of course,” says the detective, rising from his seat.

I stand as well and head toward the door, and it’s only then I’m struck with the full realization of what I’m about to do. The last time I saw Jonathan was four days ago when we arrested him, and I admit our encounter didn’t exactly play out the way I wanted. He was in chains, yet he still possessed some sort of power over me. I can feel Keenan close behind me, and his agitation scratches against my spine, insistent in its attempt to gain my attention. My hand is on the doorknob when he finally voices what’s on his mind.

“I don’t like this at all,” he mutters.

“You don’t have to like it, but I’m going to try anyway.”

“Moira.” He grabs hold of my arm as I yank the door open, and with that one touch I can also sense his fear. “What happens if he gets inside your mind and uses persuasion?”

I pause, having not thought of that possibility. He’s done it before, so there’s a chance he could do it again. Yet this time I won’t be alone. The detective and the Chief could stop me from doing anything that might endanger one of us, but it’s not the only thing I’m worried about. I would do anything to avoid having Jonathan inside my head again, and I involuntarily shudder at the idea. Hopefully, Scott had trained me well enough that I’m capable of fighting off any trap Jonathan could possibly throw at me. But my physical response has only given Keenan leverage, and he’s convinced I’m prepared to acquiesce.

I turn to face him, primed to offer him assurance, but the sight of the Chief pointing a revolver in our direction catches my eye. The man’s expression is blank, but his eyes are on Keenan with determination. My heart thuds once in my chest—the sound deafening to my ears—and my body reacts instinctively before my mind has managed to process the scene.

“No!” I cry, my voice a mixture of anguish and a snarl.

I propel my body sideways, forcing all of my strength into pushing Keenan aside. His eyes widen in surprise as he stumbles sideways into the wall, and I have a moment to feel satisfied that I could catch him off guard. Otherwise, he would have only merely taken a step back to catch his balance. But my relief is cut short when the sound of a revolver going off resounds in the small space and something sharp pierces my shoulder, the pain spreading down my arm with an agonizing clarity.

I
’m
no stranger to pain, but I’d be lying if I said I was immune to it. Rather than embedding into my shoulder, the bullet has merely grazed my arm. It stings, reminding me of the lacerations that once split the skin on my back open, and I can feel the warmth of my blood oozing down my arm. I ignore it all, and focus on the man behind the desk.

The Chief doesn’t even blink as he turns slightly to adjust his aim back on the detective, and I know without a doubt he’s under an empath’s persuasion. My gaze flickers to the abandoned letter on his desk, knowing the Phoenix is responsible. Without a moment’s hesitation, I storm into the Chief’s mind, shattering his weak defences. There are shouts behind me, and somewhere to my left I can hear the detective calling out my name. I quickly block the sounds out and plant a seed of persuasion in the Chief’s mind.

“
Lower the revolver
.”

His face shows signs of confusion, a clear hesitation, but he doesn’t obey. I take a shuddering breath, grateful he’s at least not shooting anymore, which means I might have a chance of overriding the Phoenix’s persuasion. His mind is curiously dark and empty, except for a door, and carved into the wood is the Phoenix’s insignia, bright red flames licking along the outline.

I carefully approach the door, the pain in my arm numbing to a faint annoyance in the distance. My mind runs through various ideas, but none are useful. It isn’t until I recall how Kathryn, the memory blocker, had opened Jonathan’s door that my hope is rekindled. I inhale deeply, gathering all of my determination into the palm of my hands before I place them onto the door. My skin burns the moment I make contact, and I cry out in agony as the smell of burnt flesh filters through my nose and makes me gag.

“Moira–”

“I can do this!”

Keenan’s voice was laden with fear, but I can’t have him breaking my concentration again. If my control were to accidentally slip, then the Chief wouldn’t hesitate in shooting the detective. And I can’t have that happen. I
won’t
.

It’s all in my head, it’s all in my head…

The mantra helps keep me sane and focused, despite the pain and smell of burnt flesh. It would be impossible for me to erase the Phoenix’s mark as Kathryn had, because, unlike Jonathan’s, this mark is impenetrable. Whoever created it wasn’t sloppy or in a hurry, and they most certainly aren’t a novice at memory blocking. No, they knew exactly what they were doing when they erected this door. But even though I can’t obliterate the mark, I can plant a seed of my own—one that will counteract the Phoenix’s commands. I press harder, forcing my will onto the Chief’s mind.

“
Lower. The. Revolver.
”

Sweat breaks across the Chief’s forehead, and his face twitches with the contradicting commands controlling his mind. I growl against the pain and shove all of my will into a single word.

“
Now!
”

My will wraps around the Chief’s mind, firm and unrelenting, overpowering any other commands. His arm immediately lowers, and I sigh in relief. “
Place the revolver on the desk and move back five feet.
”

He obeys, and I’m faintly aware of the detective grabbing hold of the revolver before he moves back out of my field of vision. The Chief remains standing several feet away from his desk, awaiting my next command. It takes me a moment before I finally think of a persuasion that will overrule the Phoenix’s. I just hope it works.

“
You will not harm or kill yourself, Keenan Edwards, or myself.
”

Though I’m certain the persuasion was to kill Keenan, I include the Chief and myself just in case one or both of us was included. After the persuasion has settled in his mind, I remove my hands. I immediately glance down at them and am surprised to find the skin is intact. Even though I knew the pain was all mental rather than physical, it’s still difficult to remember that when you’re experiencing the sharp sting of fire. My body may have escaped the damage, but my mind didn’t. My head feels hazy as if I’ve just woken from a deep slumber, and my eyes threaten to close.

When I glance up at the door, I’m even more shocked to see I’ve left a fiery imprint of my hands. The Phoenix’s insignia is still imprinted on the door, buried slightly beneath my handprints, but it’s no longer on fire. The knowledge of what I’ve done has me grinning with euphoria, and a fit of giggles threatens to bubble out of me. But then I quickly sober when I remember the Phoenix intended to kill Keenan, and my elation vanishes in the heat of my rage. Jonathan must have known the detective and I were close to catching him, so he took measures to eliminate Keenan.

My eyes widen as I’m struck with another thought. It’s possible the first bullet was intended for me.

The Chief’s voice pierces through the silence and brings me back into the present. “What happened?”

I ease out of his mind and assess him. He still stands exactly where I placed him, but his eyes are furtively absorbing his surroundings. He doesn’t understand what has happened, and the sight of Keenan and I standing near the entrance confuses him. When his eyes fall on me, they widen in dawning realization, noticing the blood trickling down my arm and onto the floor.

“Did I—” He breaks off, his voice cracking at the last word.

“No,” says the detective, and I startle at the sound of his voice. “Moira was able to stop you in time and override the Phoenix’s persuasion.”

He appears before me and grabs my face gently between his hands. He observes my face intently, flickering from one eye to the other, and his anxiety rushes into me. He’s simultaneously angry and grateful I interfered and placed my own life in danger to save him. When his gaze lowers to my lips, his desire to kiss me pervades his thoughts. I try to lift myself up on my toes to receive his kiss, but my body doesn’t obey my command.

Instead of pressing his lips against mine, he instead looks concerned. “Are you alright?”

I blink, the movement excruciatingly slow. “I think so.”

It dawns on me then that I was shot, and I quickly look down at my arm. There’s a piece of cloth wrapped around the wound to staunch the flow of blood, and I wonder who tended to it and when. I certainly don’t recall feeling anyone touch me, and my face twists in bewilderment.

“Who–”

“I did,” says Keenan, his voice soft. “You’re lucky the bullet didn’t go through.”

I’m not sure I’d consider myself lucky, but the look on his face stops me from responding sarcastically. It’s one of the few times where his barriers are lowered, permitting me full access to his emotions. If he wasn’t already holding me in place, I would have stumbled from the whirlwind. I can see the anger in his face and the concern in the set of his mouth, and the two emotions battle with one another. But there’s something else lingering behind his eyes—something he’s not telling me.

I open my mouth to ask, but my vision blurs and my limbs become a heavy burden. Keenan’s brows pinch closer together, and he forces me to look up at him.

“Can you walk? You need to go to the hospital.”

I shake my head, but it only makes the darkness swim closer, blacking out everything but Keenan’s face. “No hospital.”

“Moira, you’re wounded. You need a doctor to stitch it up.”

I’m about to protest again, but the darkness creeps up and wraps itself firmly around my mind. My body sways, and I hear Keenan calling out my name again. But all I can think about is the fact I’m about to faint. No, please—anything but that. I try to resist, but my attempts are futile. The last thing I hear before the darkness consumes me is the sound of my own voice, brittle and helpless.

“Don’t let me fall.”

A
soft knock
sounds on my door, and my heart races. I open the door and smile invitingly at the man leaning against the frame. His lips curve upwards in greeting before he slips into the room and closes the door behind him. The lantern on my nightstand illuminates my room and casts a golden shade to Devin’s features. It’s past the Madame’s curfew, and we’re breaking the rules by sneaking into each other’s rooms at night. But neither one of us has been caught yet.

I sit on the bed and cross my legs, the end of my chemise riding up. “Why, sir, you’re late.”

Devin starts stripping out of the black tunic and pants, his voice muffled by his movements. “I was almost seen. I’m starting to wonder if you’re worth the trouble.”

“And what have you concluded?”

He grins, standing before me with just his undergarment on. “Nothing yet.” He walks to the other side of the bed and lies down, his mouth opening in a wide yawn. “Now close the light. I’m exhausted.”

“You know that’s my side.”

He opens his eyes and lifts a brow. “Of course, how silly of me.”

Before I can move, he grabs my arm and pulls me toward him. I crash into his chest, and he wraps an arm around my waist. With his other hand, he tickles my side. The torture is unbearable. I squeal and uncontrollable laughter bubbles out of my mouth. Through the haze of excitement I’m aware of how loud I am, and fear mixes with my pleasure.

“Stop! Someone will hear us.”

He finally listens, but doesn’t move away. Instead, he adjusts so that he hugs me from behind, pulling my back close to the warmth of his chest. It’s a position I’ve grown accustomed to when sleeping with him. His fingers brush through my long dark strands, and I close my eyes as a pleasurable chill possesses me.

“I’ve decided you’re worth the trouble,” he says quietly.

I grin and turn around to face him, propping my head up on my elbow. “Oh really?”

His eyes are closed, but his lips twitch with mirth. My gaze skims over his messy dark curls and the smooth lines of his face. When my gaze lands on his mouth, I wonder what it would feel like to have them pressed against my own. We’ve kissed each other before, but it was always small gestures of affection and never on the lips. It’s not the first time I’ve imagined our relationship moving onto something more intimate.

When his eyes remain closed, I gather up my courage and kiss him. His lips are surprisingly soft, and at first he doesn’t respond. But then his mouth parts, and soon our tongues meet. His kiss is slow and probing, and with it comes his emotions. His desire trickles into me, but trailing along is hesitation, which I promptly ignore. My hand slides down his chest, creeping lower to explore the rest of his body. I’m faintly aware that his hand rests on my hip, unmoving. When my fingers skim below his waist, he grabs my hand and entwines his fingers with mine.

He breaks our kiss, and his voice sounds regretful. “We should get some sleep.”

I give him a seductive smile and lean forward to whisper into his ear. “But I’m not tired.” I pull on his earlobe with my lips and teeth before continuing. “And I don’t think you are either.”

“Moira.”

The tone of his voice startles me, and I pull away. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze flickers between my different coloured eyes. “I like you a lot. You know that. And I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Then don’t. I can sense your desire, Devin. I know you want me.”

I lean forward to kiss him again, but he stops me. “I can’t.”

My face hardens. “You mean you won’t.”

He pulls away and sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. His rejection breaks something inside me, and my face heats up with shame. I sit up abruptly and pull the blanket close to my chest, wishing I could take everything back. The muscles in his shoulders tense as my fury fills the silence between us, and I’m struck with the urge to throw my pillow at him. Why does he just sit there?

Finally, he speaks. “Maybe I should leave.”

“Yes, please do.”

I cringe at the hostility in my voice, and I can’t recall a time when I’ve ever spoken to him in such a way. He glances back at me, and the pain reflected in his eyes makes me choke on my anger. There’s so much sadness and regret with that one look. I want to apologize, but it’s too late. Instead of speaking, he rises from the bed and quietly exits the room, leaving me alone. Always alone. My eyes sting, but I bite down on my lip, hoping the pain will distract me. It doesn’t. The tears stroll down my face, heightening the pain that has taken hold of my chest.

“Come back.”

But my whisper falls on an empty room.

I wake up with a horrible pain blossoming in my chest and blink away the tears. For a moment, I simply lie there, recalling the look in Devin’s eyes. I wish I could take back that night, because it had been the last time I saw him. The next day, Scott had purchased me. But there’s nothing I can do to repair our relationship, and as soon as that fact settles in, I discover I’m lying in an unfamiliar bed, wearing nothing but my chemise beneath the blanket.

When I scan my surroundings, I realize I’m in Braxton’s hospital. The room is bland and has an unusual scent lingering in the air and in the sheets covering my lower half. I wonder briefly who undressed me. I try to sit up, and then wince when a sharp pain spreads down my arm. The wound has already been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged. For a moment there, I had forgotten about the wound and the reason I was in the hospital.

Everything comes tumbling to the forefront of my mind, reminding me why my head is throbbing as well. It took a lot of mental energy to override the Phoenix’s persuasion in the Chief’s mind, so it’s no wonder I fainted afterwards. I just honestly wish I hadn’t, because it was embarrassing. I was weak and vulnerable, and the detective most likely carried me out of the police station where all of the constables could witness my helplessness. When I return to the police station, I’ll have to face their judgement. It’s something I’m definitely not looking forward to after everything that has happened.

A nurse enters the room and smiles. “Ah, good. You’re awake.” She approaches and hands me a glass of water. “Here, drink this. I’ll let everyone know you’re awake.”