His voice was low and deep, rumbling out of him like stones rolling down a mountain. “Come with me.”
Chapter 2
Her pink hair was ridiculous. That was Cain’s first thought.
Her dark eyes were lined with smudged black makeup that stood out against her pale skin. Multiple silver rings and sparkling crystals decorated her ears, and she wore a tangled trio of chains around her slender throat, along with what looked disturbingly like a spiked dog collar.
His second thought was that she was more than she seemed—more than pink hair and juvenile trappings. That all felt more like a show to him, a disguise.
Her leather jacket was equipped with metal rings, chains and studs, all positioned in a way that looked suspiciously like they’d been put there for the purpose of guarding her against attack, rather than merely being decorative.
She’d kept her cool in the fight, which made him guess this wasn’t the first one she’d been in.
That thought angered him and made his head pound even harder. Not even the physical exertion and rush of combat had helped ease the pain this time. It loomed inside of him, large and demanding. Meditation no longer helped, and now it seemed he was losing the slight benefit that fighting gave him as well. Once that was gone, he had no idea what he’d do to stave off the pain of his dying soul.
Death or imprisonment were his only options, and neither one appealed to him. Then again, nothing appealed to him anymore. His soul was fading, and with it his ability to find joy in the things around him.
His ward, Sibyl, who had been like his own child for centuries, had grown up and left him a few months ago. He hadn’t seen her since then, and each day he ached with loneliness. Her e-mails from Africa were getting shorter and spaced farther apart. Each time they contained fewer details about her life, as if she were weaning him off of having her around. He knew he had to let her go—that she deserved a life of her own and a chance to find her place in the world—but the cost of losing her was much greater than he’d ever imagined. It was killing him.
But not tonight. Tonight there was still some fight left in him.
Cain held out his hand to the woman. “If I don’t get you out of here you’ll die. I heard the howls. More demons are coming.”
“Thanks, but I’ll find my own way home.”
Her gaze met his, and the pounding pressure in his skull quieted. The grinding pain of the ever-growing power he contained within him abated. His luceria—the magical ring and necklace he’d been born wearing—vibrated against his skin.
Cain stepped closer, refusing to believe what he was feeling. His luceria would react only in the presence of a woman who was capable of wielding the power he carried. Women of his kind were rare, and stumbling upon one in the dark made hope and suspicion war within his chest. Part of him yearned to believe she was as she seemed—that she was one of the precious few able to save his decaying soul. But mostly, he doubted that which seemed too good to be true.
If the Synestryn had set out to create an enticing package he could not resist to lure him in, this woman would have been it.
She was lovely beneath the heavy makeup. The tilt of her dark eyes, the smooth curve of her cheek, the sweet shape of her mouth—they all invited his gaze to linger a bit too long. The longer he stared, the more curious he became. She roused a restless, hot ache deep in his gut, even as she eased the tightly clenched muscles riding along his spine.
There was a fierceness about her that intrigued him. In the moments before he’d reached the end of the alley, he’d seen her fight. Her fear was evident in her trembling limbs, and yet she refused to flee as most humans would have done. Perhaps it was her injury that held her in place, but something about her attitude made him question that. If his guess was right, she wasn’t new to dangerous situations. She seemed far too calm for that. There were no questions about what those demons were or why they’d attacked her. She wasn’t in shock. There were no hysterics.
She’d done this before. And survived. Only a true fighter could have done that.
But beneath that fierce exterior, beneath the chains and leather and ridiculous hair, Cain saw something else—something vulnerable and fragile, as if she were protecting some vital, breakable part of herself.
That was what intrigued him most, drawing him in. He wanted to get past all of the trappings and exterior wrapping to the real woman hiding beneath. Only there would he find out if she was the miracle she appeared to be, or some new trick the Synestryn had learned to play.
Cain stepped closer. The wind picked up, dragging a hint of her warm, sweet scent to his nose. Some dormant, crouching part of him woke up, groaning in delight. He breathed in again, desperate for anything powerful enough to distract him from the pain. He didn’t even care how it looked for him to lean close and suck in the air around her as if it were the only source of oxygen he could find.
Heat spread down his chest. He felt the branches of his lifemark sway as if seeking a way to get closer to her.
It had to be a trick—some sinister weapon devised by the Synestryn to keep him still so that she could attack.
But she made no move to do so. She simply stood there, staring at him with dark, intoxicating eyes meant to lure him in and render him stupid.
Keeping his voice quiet so he wouldn’t scare her away, he asked, “What’s your name?”
Her gaze slid to the ground, her posture tightening defensively at his question.
The pain within him swelled again, cutting off his air for a moment. Lights danced in his vision. His hand gripped his sword harder as he fought through the returning pain, shoving it down where he could better control it.