Three Days to Dead

Chapter 22

23:25

My patience vanished with the last of the wine. The assortment of fruit, nuts, and raw vegetables had filled the ache in my stomach and refueled my energy, but could do nothing for a different ache. That went deeper, the wound more raw.

So many things had happened in the last two days that Tovin had never factored into his plan. I had woken up in a different body than planned—a fortuitous, if unexplainable, turn of events—so Wyatt and I hadn’t been imprisoned immediately and for the duration of the pact. Being out in the world, I’d managed to gather more evidence of the coming power shift and shown Tovin for the traitor he was. I had hurt people along the way—my heart still ached for Alex—but had it been worth it? All of the pain, both physical and emotional, in order to prevent the Break from being crossed?

I paced the length of the room, hands clasped behind my back. Melodies of harmony and peace, not quite real music, danced in the air. I hadn’t noticed it before, and yet it seemed like the background noise had always been there—part of the lives of the Fair Ones who lived in an underground cave and guarded the gate to Hell.

It sounded absurd, but no more so than the idea of a twenty-two-year-old who served unofficial warrants on vampires, goblins, half-Bloods, and weres for a living. Or a twenty-seven-year-old barista and part-time college student who committed suicide in time for a murdered girl’s soul to possess her body. Why this body? Why Chalice and not the Hunter Tovin chose?

The answer was probably in her past, but that had been erased—except for the hard copies Wyatt had requested. Was it worth getting her history? Did it really matter why Chalice? Not really, not when possessing her had been a stroke of sheer luck. The first wrench in Tovin’s wheel.

On one pass from the bed to the far wall, I spotted a shadow by the door and stopped. Wyatt stood just inside, half his body still covered by the curtain. His color was back to normal. He’d lost the shell shock and seemed almost sheepish, both in his half smile and the slump of his shoulders.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“You’re already halfway in. Might as well come the rest of the way.”

He did, but stayed close to the door. Ten feet of empty air separated us, but it might as well have been ten miles. He shifted from foot to foot as he gazed around the room. My attention kept dropping to his chest—rippling with perfectly toned muscles, glistening with scented oil, the scars of the last few days washed away by gnome magic. Too bad the gnomes didn’t have an oil to heal the internal wounds, too.

“You were right,” he said. “Tovin manipulated all of this, and by sitting and wallowing in self-pity, I’m letting him manipulate me again. I won’t do that anymore, Evy. I may not see a way out of this yet, but if this really is our last day together, I want to spend every second of it with you.”

“Preferably not fighting?”

“Doing anything except fighting.”

“Did you have something else in mind?”

He didn’t reply. Not long ago, he’d said I looked like a goddess. Even with the wine stain and our most recent argument, the sentiment was reflected in his expression. I remembered yesterday’s kiss. The heat of his lips, the spicy taste of him. The way my heart had raced, and how strongly this body wanted him. Then I remembered the moment memory overcame desire, and I’d pulled away. God damn Kelsa for what she’d done.

So many words perched on the tip of my tongue. Reasons why and why not. Words of comfort, and words to shut him down. Standing one day from oblivion, I didn’t know what I wanted, so I chose silence. Words were useless while my mind remained uncertain, muddled by fear and indecision—two weaknesses I despised, both in myself and others.

I sat on the corner of the grand, silk-covered bed. The sheer dress whispered around my ankles. An answering rustle of fabric accompanied Wyatt across the room. He knelt in front of me, eye-level now, warm hands gently grasping my thighs just above the knee. The touch of his skin, both innocent and urgent, loosed those damned butterflies. Heat speared my abdomen, as welcome as it was uninvited.

“You know what I have in mind, Evy,” he said, a husky edge to his voice that made my heart hammer. Onyx eyes seemed to look right through me. I wanted to ask what he saw there, if he could read me better than I could read myself. Could he see the real Evy buried deep inside? The one he loved so much?

I licked my lips, mouth dry. He interpreted it as an invitation. I closed my eyes and allowed the kiss. His lips moved against mine, soft but insistent. No clashing teeth, no inhibiting steel bars. Just us and the tingling heat everywhere we touched. His fingers caressed my throat and wandered back to tangle in my hair. My lips parted, allowing him entrance to my mouth, and for a moment we shared the same breath. His tongue traced along my upper lip, sending delicious tingles through my belly.

I parted my knees, allowing him closer. He shifted forward. The flimsy material of our clothing created a meager barrier. I felt the heat of his arousal straining against my inner thigh. A tremor surged through my chest, down to my legs, but it brought no warmth—only a bracing chill and a weak cry deep in my throat.

His tongue darted into my mouth, stroked across my teeth, misinterpreting that cry. I tried to meet his tongue with mine, but no longer felt his heat. I felt only cold and a new, terrible ache deep in my gut. He trailed cool fingertips along my back. I raked my fingers down his bare chest and earned a soft moan. His hand stopped to caress the sensitive small of my back.

No longer so sensitive. Phantom agony speared my stomach, from belly button to spine. I felt cold skin all over me, and putrid breath in my face. Misery and death moving in and out of me with brutal strokes. Memories of torture awoken so innocently by the love of a man who had risked his life and bargained away his free will, and all for me.

I shuddered. He broke the kiss. Warm hands cupped my cheeks. Thumbs brushed away tears I hadn’t felt fall. I grabbed his wrists and squeezed. My chest was tight. My legs trembled. I didn’t open my eyes.

“Evy?”

I concentrated on breathing, on keeping those memories at bay, lest I break into unfixable pieces. I couldn’t acknowledge them, not while Wyatt held me in his arms. If I did, I would never see him, only the goblin. I wouldn’t feel Wyatt’s skin or taste his mouth or know his touch without remembering.

“Please, Evy, look at me.”

The anguish in his voice, so like what I’d heard as I lay dying, drew me out. I opened my eyes and blinked away a film of tears. His cheeks were flushed, twin roses of color that highlighted the tumultuous emotions warring in his eyes. His entire body seemed to vibrate.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He blanched and, for the briefest moment, I thought he would burst into tears. “You’re sorry? Evy, no.”

“I want to, Wyatt.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Truth, in so many ways, and yet the simple platitude did something entirely unexpected. Instead of tamping down my emotions, I exploded into a rage. It bubbled up from a place I never knew existed, as scorching and destructive as magma. My face heated, and I pushed Wyatt away with shaking hands. He tumbled backward, unprepared, and fell on his ass with a surprised cry. I stood and stalked to the other side of the room, bare feet making unsatisfying slaps on the stone floor. I balled my fists, but could not stop them shaking.

“Evy—”

“Don’t tell me it’s not my fault, Wyatt,” I said, rounding to face him. “It is my fault, because I’m fucking stronger than this!”

He didn’t move from the floor, frozen there by the fury of my outburst. I couldn’t read his expression, nor did I care to try. Fuck what he was feeling; it wasn’t about him. It wasn’t even about me. It was about the goddamned goblin and getting the goddamned thing out of my head.

“Do you remember the Halfies we took out last summer?” I asked, words streaming from my mouth. “Remember how one of them held me down and systematically broke every finger of my left hand? I healed; I moved on. Or the were-cat who stabbed me two years ago, or all the broken bones when I was pushed off a three-story building three Christmases ago?

“It’s what I do, Wyatt, I heal. I bounce back, and I go on with my life. Hell, this time I didn’t even have to heal. Fate just gave me a new body and said, ‘Have fun again, girlfriend.’ She was even cruel enough to give me one that insists on knowing how we fit together naked, and I can’t even kiss you without remembering that fucking goblin. Goddamnit!”

He slowly stood up, but smartly kept his distance. My fists ached to slam into something soft, and he was the only available target. I clenched and unclenched my hands, nails digging into my palms. The room tilted. I clung to my fury, the only lifeline keeping me from shattering.

“Why did I have to remember it?” I whispered—a plea to whatever gods existed to give me some answers. To help me understand why I’d traded oblivion for purgatory, and forgetfulness for the memories of a living Hell.

“I wish I could take it back,” Wyatt said. “All of it. Erase everything that happened in that closet, but I can’t.”

I snarled. “Why, so you can kiss me without triggering a flashback?”

“No, Evy. Because I couldn’t save you from it the first time, and because now I’m making you relive it. You don’t deserve this.”

“Maybe I do.”

His jaw dropped.

I didn’t give him a chance. “I’m a killer, Wyatt. I’ve done horrible things to living creatures, deserving of it or not. I shot an innocent man yesterday. I got Alex killed. I got the Owlkins wiped out. So many have died because of me, and I keep bouncing back. The unkillable Evy Stone. Why the hell do I get nine lives?”

“Don’t do this.” Wyatt crossed the room with long, purposeful strides. I retreated until my back hit the wall, hands up, ready to strike. He kept coming, stopping with only a foot’s distance between us, never touching me. I flinched, nowhere left to go.

“What Kelsa did to you?” he said. “You didn’t deserve it then, and you sure as hell don’t deserve it now. You’re a good person. You’ve saved lives, a hundred times as many as you’ve ever taken.”

I turned my head, fixing on a spot by the curtained tub. I didn’t want his placating words. I wanted to stew in my own rage, to give in to the despair in my heart. To mourn everything I’d lost.

He touched my cheek. I punched him in the mouth. My fist ached, and he was on the ground before I realized what I’d done. He stared up at me, a thin line of blood beading on his split lip. I watched the blood rise until it trickled down his chin. I couldn’t look away from what I’d done. Hurting someone I cared about out of anger. Blind rage, if I was honest with myself. I closed my eyes. Twin tears scorched down my cheeks. When I opened them again, he was starting to stand. At a safer distance.

“I think I deserved that,” he said.

I snorted. “I think I should have broken your nose.”

“Evy, you can break every bone in my body if it helps you forgive me, just please, don’t do this to yourself. What happened to you … it’s not like the other times. You were hurt, and then you died. You never got the chance to heal. It’s not something anyone, even you, bounces back from in a day. It takes time. You need time.”

My throat closed. “What if we don’t have any more time?”

“Then we take what we do have and live it. No more regretting what we can’t change.”

I finally met his eyes and looked into such depths of sincerity and affection that my knees buckled. Wyatt caught me around the waist. My rage was gone, stripped away by understanding, leaving exhaustion in its place. Strong arms looped beneath my legs and lifted me up, cradling me against his chest. I closed my eyes and pressed my face into his neck.

We were moving. Silk sheets fluttered around me, against my skin. The mattress sank. In my mind, his warmth turned to cold; dry and human skin to slick and oily skin. No! I inhaled, could smell the apples and soap and heady scent of male. I clung to it. And to Wyatt.

He turned me onto my side, my back to him, then stretched out behind me. His left arm snaked beneath my head, a warm pillow. The other lay lightly across my right hip. I threaded my right hand through his left and held tight. His breath tickled my ear. We lay together for a while, not moving, not talking. Everything had been said. All that was left was this—tender moments in an underground paradise.

My tears dried. The soothing scents of the room relaxed my tension, and soon my breaths matched his.

We dozed a while, and I woke still in his arms. An innocent embrace that made me feel perfectly protected. I could have stayed like that for the rest of my afterlife … only I had to pee. He muttered in his sleep as I slipped out of the warm bed.

Our clothes were neatly stacked on the vanity stool, freshly laundered and dry. I was a bit unnerved by the idea of a sprite or gnome or whatever wandering in and leaving things. Still, I hadn’t expected to see those goo-drenched jeans again, and getting back into civilian clothes would make me feel more like a functioning Hunter, and less like a princess. They reminded me of what remained to be done aboveground.

I couldn’t sit down here and wait to die.

A quick search of the room made one thing abundantly clear about our hosts—the Fey don’t have toilets. The empty tub, however, had a drain. It wasn’t elegant, or even moderately sanitary, but I did my best, and then fetched my clothes.

I started tugging my jeans back on. One leg in, I realized I was being watched.

“You’re getting dressed?” Wyatt asked. Sleep made his voice thick, husky.

“As much as my inner goddess appreciates the compliments, I feel more comfortable in my own clothes. You?”

“I’m comfortable.”

“Suit yourself. Just get a move on.”

He sat up and scrubbed one hand through his tousled hair. “What for?”

“So we can talk to Amalie.”

A frown creased his forehead. “Talk to Amalie? For what?”

I stopped with the purple sash mostly unspooled, gauzy dress material hanging loose around my shoulders, and gaped. “What do you mean? I do care for you, Wyatt, but I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life, short though it may be, in this room talking about our feelings. There’s still something left to be done. We just have to find out what.”

His jaw twitched. I finished dressing and finger-combed my tangled hair to the tune of Wyatt’s pants zipping up. Moments later, we left the comfort of my room for the activity of the outer cavern.

Activity that continued much as it had before, with the Fair Ones flittering to and fro. They paid us no mind, as though human visitors were a normal occurrence, and parted to allow us to pass. A small pack (school? swarm?) of creatures buzzed by, no larger than dolls, their batlike wings beating the air. They flew up toward the source of the waterfall and disappeared into the shadows. An exit, perhaps.

No one stopped us on our journey to Amalie’s chambers, and we arrived quickly. Jaron stood outside and pulled back the curtain. I ducked inside, with Wyatt close behind.

Amalie still sat at the head of the food-laden table. At the other end, an elderly gnome sat on a cushioned chair. His white hair was tufted around the edges of a bald head and nearly connected with his bushy eyebrows, creating a comical mask. Tiny eyes peeked out from below those eyebrows. Gnarled hands gripped the edges of a spiraled wood cane.

“Please, join us,” Amalie said.

I stepped farther in, but didn’t sit. “I apologize if we’re interrupting.”

“Not at all. Horzt was discussing an unusual message he received through the emergency communiqué channels.”

“Message?” I had no idea what an emergency communiqué channel entailed for her people, or for the gnomes. “From whom?”

Amalie looked past me. “He’s one of yours, I believe,” she said to Wyatt. “His name is Rufus St. James.”

Wyatt stepped forward, lips parted, fists clenched. He had a bead on Horzt, and I could practically see the bull’s-eye on the elderly gnome’s chest. I put up a hand to keep Wyatt still.

“He was wounded when the Halfies took me,” Wyatt said. “How do we know he wasn’t taken and turned? It could be a trick.”

Horzt grunted. It sounded more like a gurgle, given his stature. He wrinkled his button nose. “We can smell humans no matter their disguise, and vampires are even more disgusting. Trust me, human, he was not turned, or my cousin would have known it.”

“Your communiqué channel is your cousin?” I asked. It was definitely less impressive without the mystique.

“The Apothi see and hear things others do not,” Amalie said.

“Apothi?”

“Those you call gnomes. I trust their judgment, and you would do well to do the same. This man, Rufus St. James, requests your presence in order to share information. He says that he wishes to help.”

“He said that once before.”

“When?” Wyatt asked.

“Right before you were arrested. He said he believed us. He helped me escape, and I believe he was going to help like he said, only the Halfies attacked.”

Wyatt was not convinced. “Two-thirds of his team is dead, Evy. He was shot less than a day ago. How’s he going to help?”

“I don’t know, but Nadia is still out there, and you can be damned sure she wants revenge on the people who killed her Triad mates and wounded her Handler. We should go see him.”

“Returning to the city,” Amalie said, “is both dangerous and foolhardy. You will be captured again.”

“Don’t count on it.” I looked around the room. Something else the Fair Ones lacked was a clock. “Amalie, what time is it?”

“It is quarter until eight in the morning,” she said without looking at anything for confirmation.

“I have twenty hours, then.”

She nodded. Wyatt winced.

I turned to Horzt. “Can your cousin get a message back to Rufus for us?” At his nod, I continued. “We need him to get Nadia to meet us. She could be helpful.”

“The decision is unwise,” Amalie said.

“Well, then, call me stupid and get it over with,” I said, hands on hips. “I thank you for what you’ve done for us, Amalie, and for giving us a safe place to rest. I just can’t give up on this, not when I know there’s a piece to the puzzle I’m not seeing.”

Her face darkened to cobalt. Not good. “And if you are captured again, despite your confidence? What if Tovin claims his prizes? Will you take the chance of him summoning a Tainted from the other side of the Break?”

“Yes,” Wyatt said. He slipped his hand into mine. “Isn’t there a saying? You can’t win at chess without risking your pieces first.”

I squeezed his hand. “I always thought it was that you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.”

“You risk more than eggs,” Amalie said. “You risk all of our lives and the safety of this city.”

“I thought you said you were here to protect the Break. Even if, by some miracle, Tovin gets us again, he still has to get by you. Right?”

Amalie’s skin lightened to a pale, ice blue. She looked down the length of the table to Horzt, who seemed interested in his wine goblet. They neither refuted nor acknowledged my statement. The small sprite leader seemed almost … embarrassed.

“Don’t tell me,” Wyatt said. “Your kind are pacifists?”

“I said only that we guard First Break,” Amalie admitted. “I did not say we could defend it with physical violence. We will do everything in our power to prevent it from escalating to that, and the Earth Guardians keep us well protected, but they are fallible. Their access to the outside world is being slowly cut off, and our contact with the other races is limited.”

“Maybe you should get out more,” I said. “Look, I understand where you’re coming from, I do, but I can’t do what you want. I appreciate the soft bed and good food and opportunity to live out my last day in peace, but this is just a layover, and now it’s time to get back to work. We need to figure out how to get to and kill Tovin.”

“Elves are difficult to kill, even if you get close enough,” Horzt said. “They’re wily buggers and fast healers.”

“I remarked earlier that I may require another favor of you, Evangeline,” Amalie said.

I held up my free hand. “Sorry, but I’m not going to hide underground just to keep Tovin off my scent.”

“That is not the favor I was going to request.” Her nostrils flared, and her skin returned to its normal dusky blue shade. The gems in her skin seemed to have lost their glitter. “You can end this, Evangeline, before it has a chance to begin. There is no need to risk any other lives, save your own.”

“We are so not back to this conversation.” Anger flared in my cheeks and surged in my belly. “I am not going to slit my wrists in a preemptive strike against Tovin’s plan. If we’re captured again, sure, maybe then, but not right now. Not when we’ve got time and a chance to end this a different way.”

I glanced at Wyatt, whose silent fury was focused on the floor. Whether his rage was directed at my wrist-slitting comment or at Amalie’s continued suggestion of suicide, I didn’t know. Probably both.

“You humans do foolish things for love,” Amalie said, somewhat sadly. “I once envied your pure emotions and your ability to love, but no more. It makes you lose sight of that which is most important.”

“From my perspective,” Wyatt growled, “there isn’t anything more important.”

“Not even duty? Your duty to your people, Wyatt Truman, to ensuring their continued survival? Above other humans, you have been blessed with a Gift. Use it to do what is required.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

Cobalt eyes burned, first at him, then at me. The air snapped and crackled. Amalie had power of her own, and it simmered around us like an impending lightning strike. “Protect the Break,” she said. “Do not let Tovin succeed, no matter the cost. A life without love will be paradise compared to a world ravaged by a loosed Tainted One.”

“We have to kill Tovin,” I said.

“Evy—” Wyatt tried.

“Stop it,” I said, ripping my hand away from his. I stepped sideways, several feet from him. “Look at this objectively, for Christ’s sake, Wyatt. Killing you might stop his plan for now, but what’s to stop him from trying again? Once a power mad dictator, always a power mad dictator, right? You don’t stop a weed by chopping it off at ground level. It just comes back. You have to attack the root.”

“Attacking the root sometimes kills the flowers around it,” he said quietly.

“But doing nothing allows it to spread and choke out everything.”

He held my stare for several long moments. A train wreck of emotions raced across his face. Neither one of us liked to give up; it wasn’t in our nature. We fought until the very last breath. And sometimes you had to give that final breath (again) in order to achieve something worthwhile.

“Wyatt, it doesn’t matter if you brought me back for selfish reasons or noble ones. What matters is that I’m here and I’m part of this fight, and I know I was always meant to be here. We are playing the parts chosen for us. In the end, all will be as it should be.”

He closed his eyes and pursed his lips. Seconds ticked by, and then he opened them. “One step at a time,” he said. “First we contact Rufus, see what he knows, and go from there. No second-guessing, no noble gestures of suicide.”

I smiled; he didn’t. “Agreed.” Another thought struck me. “Amalie, did you have any luck with ways to capture an unhosted Tainted? In case it comes to that?” I doubted the use of such information, because using it hinged not only on Wyatt’s possession, but also on his death while hosting the Tainted. Twin scenarios I’d do anything to prevent.

“None still live who witnessed the first defeat of the Tainted, so long ago,” she replied, “nor do those who witnessed their reign.”

“Not my question.”

Her skin momentarily darkened with annoyance. “Human mages of that age had a spell they believed protected them from possession.”

“Please tell me….”

She plucked a small, drawstring pouch off the table. It was hidden behind a pitcher of wine, and I hadn’t noticed it until now.

I caught it easily—the brown leather soft as silk and smelling vaguely of mustard—suddenly angry. “If you had magic that could protect us—?”

“You misunderstand,” she said. “Their magic was flawed. A strong enough Tainted can possess anything it desires, under the correct conditions.”

“So what the hell’s this do?”

“How do I explain the intricacies of magic to such a young mind? The spell inside will act as a temporary binding agent, holding that which is the Tainted in a solid pattern for roughly six hours.”

I eyed the pouch, said, “Cool,” and meant it.

“If we even get the chance to use it,” Wyatt said.

He was right. It required a sequence of events that would probably never take place, but I’d done this long enough to know the value of a Plan B. I tucked the pouch into my back pocket for safekeeping, doubtful I’d ever need to use it. “Thank you,” I said.

Amalie smiled. “Of course.”

“We’ll need passage back to the surface.”

“Very well. However, once you leave our cavern, you are no longer protected by our magic. You are wanted by many, with few friends left to assist you. My blessings to you both.”

“Thank you.”

Wyatt grunted something. I wasn’t entirely convinced he would abide by our agreement and not do anything rash. Conversely, I wasn’t convinced that I wouldn’t do something rash to save him. He hated the idea of giving me up as much as I hated the idea of losing him, but save a miracle, nothing could change the fact that one of us would be dead in twenty hours.