Reunion - Felicity Heaton (best books for 7th graders .txt) 📗

so different to how it had been when she had left.

She could sense Tynan following a few steps behind but didn’t look back at him. His presence was a comfort but at the same time it made her think about her ex-lover and that was the last thing she wanted.

Was he here still?

She prayed to the Devil that he wasn’t. The last thing she needed was to see him again.

Her thoughts remained with the case as they walked, heading up a flight of stairs and through familiar corridors. She didn’t look as they entered the guards’ quarters and passed her old room. It held nothing but bad memories now and she didn’t need to reopen those old wounds. She was here to do a job and she was going to do it and then get the hell out.

Timur stopped outside a room, his fingers grasping the polished brass door handle. Why wasn’t he opening it? Her gaze met his and she found that same look of concern and sadness in his eyes. Either he cared a lot about his high guard or he wasn’t telling her something.

“If you don’t mind?” she said, intimating the door.

He hesitated a moment, enough to make her nerves kick in again, and then opened the door.

The room was darker than Timur’s office. She stepped inside and heard the door close behind her. To her left was a wide bed with a single lamp lit beside it. There was a bowl on the stand with it and several stained rags.

The air smelled of blood as she breathed it in.

She frowned and walked towards the bed, her throat constricting as the man lying in it rolled his head to face her and came into view.

Now everything made perfect sense—the looks people had given her, the sorrow in Timur and Tynan’s eyes, and the reason she had been called.

Marise swallowed, standing on trembling legs and no longer able to control her emotions.

“Jascha?”

Chapter 2

Dull violet eyes greeted her as his heavy lids opened. He blinked languidly and with too much effort for her liking. Blankets covered him but she could see how badly injured his arms, neck and face were. A thick bandage wrapped around his throat, the side of it stained with dark blood, and gashes covered his arms, long lacerations that were edged with angry red and were weeping.

Marise shook her head and fought against the feelings inside her and the tears rising into her eyes.

“Jascha?” she whispered his name again, wishing now that she could hear his voice and have him tell her that Timur was overreacting—he was going to be fine.

He wasn’t going to die.

Before she had time to stop herself, she was kneeling beside the bed, his right hand held firmly in hers and her cheek pressed against it. She closed her eyes and tears escaped them when his fingers closed around hers.

She wanted to ask who had done this to him. He was strong, far stronger than she had been, and yet someone had hurt him. No, this wasn’t hurting. This was butchering. Anger boiled up inside her. Someone had butchered him and left him to die. Death could be as swift for a vampire as it was for a human. Whoever had done this knew what they were doing and they had made sure that Jascha wouldn’t die that night.

This was a message. Someone was telling her species that they were stronger than them.

Her jaw tensed and she growled.

Someone was going to pay.

Jascha’s fingers flexed weakly against hers and he muttered something that made no sense. She raised her head, taking in the extent of the damage done to his face. It was covered in rich bruises and fine cuts. His split lip and swollen eye made her heart ache for him.

His eyes met hers, pupils dilating and contracting as he struggled to focus.

A tiny frown made his eyebrows shift.

“Mari?” he breathed so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

The sound of that name brought back all the pain and she dropped his hand, standing and distancing herself from him as her heart broke all over again. She turned her back on him while she pushed all of her feelings back down inside and tried to lock them away in her heart.

“Mari?” he whispered again.

She turned on a pinpoint and stared at him with cold eyes.

“My name is Marise,” she said and steeled herself against the darkness that entered his eyes. It was what he deserved. She couldn’t remember exactly what had been said during the fight that had parted them but she still felt the pain each day.

She moved to the foot of the bed, buying the time she needed to get back in control of the situation and herself.

He sighed.

It said so much.

She knew she wasn’t the only one who had been hurt that day. They had both said things and done things that were the undoing of what they’d had together. Only she had accepted the position as Law Keeper and ran away, and he had been willing to heal the breach.

She folded her arms across her chest.

“If you’re up to it, I’d like your opinion on what happened the night you were injured.”

He gave her a look that conveyed exactly what he was thinking. He was right. It was cold of her to stand here, distant and uncaring while he suffered, but that was what a Law Keeper did. They didn’t mix business with pleasure. Pleasure was a thing of the past for them. To hold this position meant being impartial about the bloodlines and being emotionless. Emotions got in the way and clouded your judgement.

Like hers were right now.

Marise turned her back again and paced across the room. She didn’t need the distance it brought—she needed the darkness. It robbed her sight of its sharpness and meant she couldn’t see his injuries so clearly.

“A simple nod or shake of your head will suffice. That is, if you can manage it?”

Jascha gave her a tiny nod and grimaced, his hand coming up to touch his throat. His eyes closed and she could see the pain in his face and feel it in her blood. She had forgotten the wound there. A part of her said to give him time to recover before questioning him, but the rest overruled it and said to get it over with and get out before the feelings stirring inside her became dangerous.

He was a soldier. She was sure he understood. She needed answers for her investigation and so she could judge whether this case required a Law Keeper or not. This couldn’t get personal. She couldn’t go there again.

“Do you think there’s a reason you were left alive?” Marise held the tremble from her voice so he wouldn’t know how much the sight of him so injured was affecting her.

He nodded.

“I think so too. Timur hasn’t a clue what happened. You do though, don’t you?”

He nodded again and swallowed with a grimace.

She moved a step closer so he could see her better through his one good eye, but kept far enough away that she couldn’t clearly see his wounds.

“Who did this to you? A vampire?”

A shake of his head, tiny and almost imperceptible.

“I didn’t think so. Were they human?”

He hesitated. There was uncertainty in his eyes.

“Niet,” he said, voice strained but the accent that had always melted her was still there.

It was just like him to fall back on his native tongue. She hoped he would keep his answers simple. She never had grasped the language.

“Did they look human?”

“Da,” he croaked and rubbed his throat again.

Marise stepped closer and had to look away when fresh blood seeped into the bandages around his neck. Her stomach roiled at the thought that she was hurting him by making him speak. She wanted to ask him to stick to nodding or shaking his head, but she couldn’t let him see how much it was all affecting her.

“Do you think they were demon or were they wholly human?”

“Ya ne pani’mayu.” His voice sounded tight and he pushed himself up as he coughed.

Blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth.

“Damn it, Jascha! I told you to shake or nod.” She stormed across the room and sat down on the bed beside him. Her hand was against his cheek, holding him and forcing him to look at her. Everything she was ready to say slipped away and instead she wiped the blood off his chin with her thumb.

She took her hand away from him, gathering herself while she wiped her thumb on the dirty cloth beside the bed.

There was a canister of blood and a stained glass pushed to the back of the small table. They were feeding him old blood? How was he supposed to heal? Anger stirred inside her and she shot a black look at the door. She could sense Timur outside with the guards. Was Tynan there too? Surely he wouldn’t let Jascha suffer like this?

Marise undid the buttons on her jacket sleeve and pushed it up her arm before setting to work on the buttons of her shirt cuff. She rolled it up and tugged it out of the way.

Thinking about what she was doing, she justified it by telling herself that a dead witness was of no use to her. This was about the case. This wasn’t personal.

She extended her claws and pressed one into her wrist.

Blood beaded against her skin.

This wasn’t personal.

She looked at Jascha. He was lying back on the bed again, eyes closed and his jet-black hair falling loose from his ponytail. Rogue strands of it criss-crossed his face. She ignored her temptation to clear them away and extended her arm to him.

His nostrils flared.

His eyes rolled as he opened them and gave her an incredulous look.

She moved her arm closer, frowning at him, but silently pleading him to drink. Without fresh blood, he would never heal. Her blood would suffice until she could get Tynan to hunt for her. Was there any way she could have words with Timur about the canister of blood without it looking as though she was bringing her feelings into this?

Her eyes widened when Jascha’s mouth latched onto her wrist and she gasped when he bit her. It was the last thing she had been expecting. She half closed her eyes when he began to drink, stirring all too familiar feelings inside of her. He was the last person to do this to her. She looked at his face, studying him and taking everything in.

Was it really fifty years since she had seen his face?

No. She saw it each day in her dreams. He was always with her. She was just too stubborn to admit it.

His drinking slowed and before she knew it, it was over and he was licking the wound on her arm. She held it there for a moment when he stopped, the smallest part of her heart hoping he would continue. He didn’t. He lay back on the bed, his eyes still closed.

“Jascha?” she said and he looked at her. It seemed to take a lot of effort. Her blood was probably making him drowsy as it worked its way into his body. It wouldn’t quicken his healing as fresh human blood would, but it