Blood rushed back into his body with a powerful thrust that nearly buckled his knees. His heart pumped more than just blood; each beat pumped water into his eyes.
In the Strategist’s memories, he’d seen her breast. Through that filter, it hadn’t seemed all that bad. But here with her standing in front of him, it was appalling.
His vision went sloshy. His chin quivered. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down—hard—to shock away the memories. But it was pointless.
He remembered. Remembered the agony in his chest that had imprisoned him, remembered lying helpless on the floor, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything except watch Honey struggle with Junior. Watch Junior bash the gun into her face. Watch her sag, unconscious. And then watch—fucking watch—Junior bite into her with all the coldness of a great white shark taking a bite out of a whale carcass.
In that moment, something unexplainable had happened. Someone had taken over his controls. Someone or something had moved his body, reanimated him. That something had placed the knife in his hand and rammed the blade into Junior’s neck. And then vanished, leaving him unconscious until he woke on the floor and Honey was gone.
She stepped from the shower, didn’t bother with a towel, water dripping down her skin, over the damage done to her breast. He couldn’t look away. She stopped in front of him, lifted his hand, and placed it over her injury. The ridges and hollows the teeth had made in her flesh burned initially, but then he felt the coolness, the passing of his healing into her. The easing of her pain.
She put her hand on his cheek. Sensation expanded, multiplied, intensified, moved across his shoulder blades, down his arm to his hand on her breast, across her body and back to her hand on his cheek. The room around them blurred. God. It was like they were inside a whirlwind. No, they were the whirlwind, spinning away from every bad thing that happened, every bad feeling, until they landed back on solid ground in his bathroom, to a world wiped clean of pain and agony. A world where the only thing that truly mattered was each other.
Xander’s words came back to him. You have to be touching to be truly safe. When you know that, really understand it, it’s hard not to be touching.
“I’m never going to let you go.” He stared into her midnight-blue eyes and saw the twinkling of gray in their depths.
“Good.”
Chapter 23
The White Place surrounded her. She was no longer afraid. She’d been through the worst life could offer and had come out on the other side—with Lathan. Always with Lathan.
The skin on the back of her neck tightened with the familiar feeling of being in the presence of something evil. But maybe it wasn’t evil. Maybe it was just a reflex, her body’s reaction to being in the presence of something that should not exist, yet did.
She lifted her hands and held them over her ears, prepared for the sonic blast of sound. “I’ll do whatever you want.” The words remained at normal volume. She moved her hands, spread them open, receptive. “I know you helped Lathan save me. Gave him the strength to kill Junior. I know you brought him here to me so I could heal him.” Lathan had told her how after his dream—where she removed the bullet from his chest—he’d finally gotten strong enough to leave the hospital. “I owe you.”
Her brain emptied of all thoughts. The soundless voice spoke directly inside her head. It is the cycle of things. As long as one has light, so too shall the other.
Are you Fearless? Or are you Bear? The thought fluttered up from somewhere in the abyss of her mind.
There are no divisions, no boundaries, no words to name that which you ask.
Why me? Why do I have to do this?
Why not?
I’m not special.
Oh, but you are. Only those who’ve had their power stolen can truly understand the supreme importance of ensuring a balance between good and evil. Sacred are the wounded, for they shall balance the earth.
How are these dreams balancing anything?
Balance is maintained by righting the wrongs. By giving you what you need to ensure justice. Now bear this dream that is being given and know that it is your duty to maintain the balance.
Evanee turned to receive the dream.
Her mother. Her mother just stood there.
Not the version of Mom Evanee had watched die, but the version that inhabited some of Evanee’s first memories, back when Mom was young and playful and pretended to love her.
“Ev.” Her mom held out a hand, expectation lifting her brows and lightening her eyes.
Evanee didn’t move. Couldn’t move toward the pain Mom represented.
“You know. All of it?” Mom asked.
“Lathan told me. Saw it all in your memories. So don’t try to lie to add a shine to the shit.”
Mom’s features crumpled. “I made a mistake and then tried to fix it, but I made another mistake, and when I tried to fix that one…” A beautiful tear, sparkling with prisms of color, slipped down Mom’s cheek. “I trapped myself in my own bad decisions, but you were the one who paid the price. I told myself I had no choice, told myself that I had simply chosen the lesser of two evils for you, but I knew. Deep down, in a place I didn’t want to look at, I knew I should’ve never chosen anything but happiness for you. I could’ve done it all differently, could’ve changed it all. But I didn’t see a way out until it was too late. Too late for you to still love me.”
“It’s been too late since the moment you married Rob.” Her tone held no anger, no hurt. “My past no longer has any power over me.” Power. There was that word again. “And neither do you.” Evanee turned her back on Mom and walked away. “That’s why I can forgive you.” She tossed the words over her shoulder.
*