Reunion, Felicity Heaton [ebook e reader .TXT] 📗

had thought about her all these years too. It wasn’t a ridiculous idea in the slightest. He had been the one willing to reconcile after all.

“Nothing else?” she said, regaining her focus and pushing away from the dark, sharp thoughts trying to creep in at the corners of her mind. She didn’t want to remember that night. She didn’t want to remember how painful it had been and how it had felt to leave him.

“Nothing.”

Marise stared at him, hating how much he looked like his brother. It brought images of Jascha back, lying in that bed, covered in cuts and blood. Stinking like death.

Turning her back on Tynan, she straightened her cuffs and lightly ran her fingers over the marks on her wrist. He had been so gentle with her, even in his dire state. She had expected him to be rough if anything, greedy with hunger, but he had taken barely a sip. It spoke volumes to her, pages about how he didn’t want to hurt her. In a way, it had felt like an apology. She wished she could accept it.

“I have to call this in.” She went to leave but stopped herself and looked at Tynan again. “Jascha needs fresh, strong blood. Hunt for your brother.”

She was about to turn around again when he spoke.

“Did you find out anything from him?” His voice trembled the tiniest amount and his eyes showed her that he wasn’t just worried about his brother—he was worried about her too.

It had felt horrible to see Jascha like that. It still felt horrible. She couldn’t erase the sight of him from her mind and couldn’t imagine how Tynan had felt on seeing him beaten and broken. It must have been worse for him than the night Jascha had been turned and killed, reborn into his world.

She shook her head and gave him an apologetic look, wishing she could bring herself to shrug off the restraints of her position and comfort him.

“He was in too much pain,” she said and then smiled. “He’s speaking Russian at me. The boy still hasn’t learned that I don’t speak the language.”

Tynan smiled but she could see the sadness in it.

“Be careful tonight, Tynan. Whoever did this is still out there.”

Leaving him, she walked along the corridor and up the stairs to the ground floor of the expansive mansion. She tried to gather all the evidence in her head and thought about what she was going to tell the others. She couldn’t leave here without finding out more about this vampire hunter.

She couldn’t leave until she knew Jascha was well again.

Chapter 3

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