FALL (The Senses) (29 page)

Xamien pushed his chair back and
came to his feet. He knew why it was important, but the question was whether
Waleron was ready to hear his answer. He watched the lines in Waleron’s
forehead deepen and his lips purse with displeasure. “Because the girl deserves
to live.” Xamien paused and then added, “And because Delara would ask it of
me.”

The sound of the curtain ripping
filled the silence. Waleron let the material go and strode to the door. His
hand was on the handle and Xamien could feel the heated fury radiating from
him. Waleron would have to deal with it. Regardless of whether or not Delara
and he slept together any longer, she was his friend and he stood by her.

“I will give Damien one day with
her. I need him back in Toronto to help hunt Tarek. We are down warriors with
Kilter in St. Thomas and Delara here.” Waleron opened the door and started to
walk away. “After Tarek is caught, it will then be decided what will be done
with them both.”

“Good luck with that. My brother
won’t go willingly and I won’t help you. I suspect he will be put in Rest
before he gives Abby up this time. I don’t agree with it, Waleron. Damien
should remain here with her.”

“No. Abby is not ready. We agreed
to this. When she is trustworthy then she can be released and join us. Until then,
she remains here without him.”

Xamien paused, the tension in the
air thick. “I think my brother is going to hate you more than me come
tomorrow.” Xamien shrugged. “If you’re staying, there are five empty rooms on
the second floor. Take any room you please—except Delara’s of course.”

Waleron’s step faltered. He
paused as if debating whether to turn around and slam his fist through his
face. Xamien wondered if he’d tested Waleron’s bounds too far. The man didn’t
deserve Delara after the stunt he just pulled, but Delara wanted him so…yeah, Xamien
would push him. He’d push her too. Because that was what friends did and damn
if he wouldn’t miss her, but she deserved to get her man.

Xamien heard the click of the Pez
dispenser then Waleron Traced.

****

Abby felt the fresh, warm blood
rushing through his veins and it sent her hunger catapulting. It was Damien’s
blood. Sweet, succulent blood she’d tasted on the tip of her tongue once
before. She had swallowed and drank it with such fervor that she had feared she’d
never stop.

Damien’s Scar Simian had been the
only thing that could control her that day. She had been starving. God, that
undeniable appetite had eaten away at all her sanity. There was nothing that
could stop her madness except to feed. She’d cursed, screamed, fought. A wild,
new vamp that was salivating for the taste of blood.

Then Damien came. He’d cut
himself. Offered his blood. The taste of him was still on her tongue from eight
months ago. Nothing would ever expunge that memory.

She was the foolish girl who fell
in love with the women-hating Senses. The man famous for hunting and killing
vamps. And she wanted every part of him. Had from the moment she’d seen him
trying to pick out a peach at the grocery store. God, it seemed like an eternity
had passed since that day.

Now he was here. In her arms. And
there was no chance she could keep herself from touching him. At least for a
while. Let her remember. Grieve. And then she could die once more.

For hours they sat in silence.
Him holding her in his arms, his hand gently caressing over her head, down her
arm, and then back up again. He’d finally carried her to the couch and cradled
her in his arms while she’d cried herself to sleep. Tears of joy and anguish.
Hating that he’d found her. Loving that he did.

“Abb. Why? Why did you leave me?”
He kissed her temple with the familiar, plush lips she dreamt about for the
last eight months.

He put his hands on either side
of her head and forced her to look at him. She closed her eyes, afraid of
falling further into hell than she already was. How could she look at him? Face
the contempt. The betrayal. Yes, and there would be love. She’d seen it. Heard
it in his voice that day he begged her not to go. Begged Waleron to kill him
too.

He kissed her brow, her nose, the
corner of her lips. She sunk further into the guilt of what she’d done.

“Babe, please talk to me.” There
it was…the gentle harmony of his voice that made her weak in the knees. Even
worse now that her senses were stronger. The tingling between her legs overrode
the guilt and despair. Her body knew this man. Wanted him.

His finger wiped under her eyes
for the few tears that were left. “Open your eyes, Abb.”

She closed them tighter.

Her eyes flew open the moment she
felt his lips on hers. Slow and yet hard. A promise, a hint of what was to
come. Damien groaned as his mouth pried her open in more ways than she’d ever
thought possible. His tongue claimed the warmth of her mouth. The magnetic pull
between them refusing they be kept apart as they meshed together into a hunger
that had been famished for months.

The need for his blood was
forgotten as his kiss overrode her natural instinct to bite and feed. Damien’s
kiss. This man who saved her and yet…she never wanted to be saved.

Suddenly he pulled back.

“Damn it, Simion. Fuck off.” His
Scar. Her protector. She guessed he wanted to be released from his tattoo.
Damien’s thumb rubbed over top her swollen lower lip. “Abb, you going to talk
to me?”

Was she? Were there any words?
Painful truths maybe, but couldn’t he just hold her? For a little while
before—before what? She never wanted him to see her like this. She hated who
she was. Hated vamps more than anything in this world for what they did to her
mother. Yet, now she was one.

“I don’t care, Abb. I don’t give
a fuck if you drink blood.” Damien raised her chin and their eyes met. Her
chest constricted with so much pain that she feared it would ignite into flames
then burn into ashes. “Please just talk to me.”

He didn’t deserve this. Her. What
she’d made him suffer. But she’d been blinded by one night in his arms. Drowned
in him, never to surface again. He owned her body. Her soul. She was his and
for that reason she could never be with him.

She shifted back on the couch,
away from him. “I wanted to die. I asked you to kill me and you didn’t.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ Abb. I told
you I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.”

He tried to grab her, but she did
what she knew would make him keep his distance—she hissed at him, knowing the
action would make her eyes swirl with red and her fangs elongat. His hands
dropped and he took a deep breath. Frustration. She didn’t know whether it was
from the sudden reminder that she was a vamp or that she refused to be held any
longer. “Waleron was supposed to. Instead, he brought me here to live locked
away like a wild animal.”

He reached for her again. “Abb
let me—” She glared. His hands dropped.

She made certain her voice held
nothing except a crass lilt of anger. Nothing to remind him of what they had.
She’d done enough damage by falling into his arms. “I hate. Not just myself,
but everything. I hate this place. I hate Waleron. Xamien. I hate every single
thing that lives in this world. Even you, Damien. I hate you for loving me.”

The muscles in his cheek twitched
and the sorrow she saw in his eyes was replaced with wrath. That is what she
wanted. To make him hate her. “Abb, don’t do this.”

But she had no choice. He had to
hate her enough to kill her or… Or there was the other option. To trick him
into releasing her from this cage so she could get someone else to do it.

One way or another, she was
leaving here today.

****

Max finished straightening the
sheets on her bed and walked into the adjoining bathroom to shower. She peered
at the bandage on her neck, her finger trailing across the gauze Glunk had
applied. The skin was tender, but not as bad as the bruises on her side when
Abby took her to the ground in one swoop.

She rubbed her arms as the memory
shifted across her mind. It happened so fast, so unexpected, but it wasn’t fear
that raced through her. Max wasn’t scared of pain any longer. She was numb to
the horrors in this world, but the memories—yes, the memories that woke her in
the night still came. Often she’d wake up screaming and have to check all her
limbs to make certain the chains weren’t still there.

She avoided looking in the mirror
as she pulled her flannel pajamas off, tied her mouse-brown hair up in a knot
and fastened it with a clip, then leaned over and turned on the taps. She
stepped under the spray, avoiding her neck, as she quickly scrubbed her body
down with closed eyes. Her fingers slipped over the scars and she cringed,
trying to get the task done as efficiently and quickly as she could.

Showering was one of her least
favorite tasks of the day. There were too many reminders. Teeth marks, burns,
scars from the shackles. Her Scar sat on the top of her left foot, a tattoo of
a black widow spider. It was disfigured, a jagged, white scar running through
the center of it.

Max turned off the taps and
climbed out of the tub. As she reached for her towel, the door burst open.

She gasped as she made a dive for
her towel and wrapped it around herself. A man stood in the open doorway
appearing rather unperturbed by his discovery. He merely stared at her for
several seconds, shadowy eyes unwavering as his tall, lithe form blocked the
doorway.

She felt the clip in her hair
slip and fall to the floor making a clang as it hit the ceramic tile. Her hair
fell to her shoulders then down her back. He never moved a muscle.
And he
was definitely all muscle.

But it was his eyes that gave her
goosebumps and caused her stomach to bottom out. They were darker than wet
glistening roads in the night with no moon. Mesmerizing. He was watching her as
if he could see right through the towel. Hiding her scars was paramount. She
wrapped her arms around her chest and stepped back.

It happened fast. The backs of
her knees hit the toilet seat at the same time she reached out for the towel
rack, which slipped out of the holder when she put the slightest amount of
pressure on it. She lost her balance. The metal rod clanged as it hit the
floor. She grabbed for the lifted toilet seat cover to steady herself. It came
crashing down on the rim with a bang. Falling to the side, Max dropped the
towel and landed naked on the ground next to the toilet.

The burning in her face was
indescribable as she scrambled to her feet while taking the towel and pulling
it up in front of her. Had he seen her disfigurement? Was he mortified by all
the scars? She was surprised to look up and see him still standing there. Her
nakedness hadn’t sent him running.

“Impressive.” His voice was like
velvet playing on an acoustic guitar. 

What do you say to that? The
polite response would be a shy, embarrassed smile; her response was—are you
going to back the hell off? But of course, that was only in her head.

He crossed his arms and leaned up
against the doorframe. Is he kidding? Seriously? Hot bad-ass was going to stand
in her bathroom to carry on a one-sided conversation?

“Assumed this room was vacant.
Going to be staying the night. Or two.”

You assumed wrong buddy. But the
only belongings she kept in view were her vase of weekly-picked flowers that
sat on her bedside table. She wished Xamien had warned her he was having more company
than Delara. A locked door would’ve prevented this incident.

He continued while leering,
“Jasper.”

So, this was Xamien’s friend
from…everywhere. He’d stayed here briefly a few times, but she’d never met him.
She avoided conversations and meeting others.

She hated speaking in the best of
times. It was pointless anyway, people rarely actually listened and if they
did, they didn’t care. It was all pretense. Learning to remain quiet as a child
had been her savior, the vamps forgot about her more often than not.

She looked down at her legs to
make certain the towel was long enough to hide her burns.

She noticed he watched every move
she made, yet his expression rarely changed except for the mild tension in his
muscles. He was more muscular than Xamien. His dark brown hair had that sweet
bed head look, short, but still long enough to curl in a fist. Tattoos ran up
both his arms, disappearing under his T-shirt only to reappear on his neck. She
suspected he had them all over his back and chest. He gave her the impression
that he was a hard ass, although he could be wearing a pink tutu and she’d
still guess he was a hard ass just by his expression.

Controlling, she decided. This
man was always in control and would never relinquish it. Her body quivered.
This was a new emotion, one that had no business in her life.

“Got a name, babe?”

And, she still hadn’t said a
single word. “Max.”

He nodded to the bandage on her
neck. “Ah, Xamien’s pet. Didn’t recognize you from the girl on the floor with
vamp drool all over her.”