Angel at Dawn (17 page)

Read Angel at Dawn Online

Authors: Emma Holly

Tags: #Ghost stories, #Vampires, #Horror, #Paranormal, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Motion picture producers and directors, #Occult fiction, #Ghosts, #Occult & Supernatural, #Love stories

“Hey!” he said sharply to Charlie. “Don’t try to stand that bike up until I show you how. You’ve got about six hundred fifty pounds of metal there.”
“I know,” Charlie said. “My cousin has one. I’ve ridden with him a couple times.”
With a grin that was at least half for Grace, Charlie demonstrated the technique for getting his butt underneath the side of the bike and pushing up with his leg muscles.
“All right,” Christian acknowledged, because he’d done it just as he should. “Don’t get cocky. And use the hand brake to roll it down the ramp.”
Following Charlie’s lead, the boys walked the motorcycles with mincing care. They looked trim and athletic in their full riding leathers, more than the average beginners would have. Christian warned himself not to put too much stock in this. Their eyes were sparkling with more excitement than he thought was advisable.
“Prop stands,” he barked. After a bit of searching, his pupils found and engaged them.
One by one, he inspected the big machines.
“You can sit on them,” he pronounced, once he was satisfied they were in order. At Charlie’s whoop, he jabbed his index finger at the freckled boy. “No touching anything. No turning on the ignition. We’re going to go over which parts do what.”
Christian pointed out the throttle and the clutch and the foot gearshift. He told them how and when to use the front and rear brakes, repeating himself until all three boys rolled their eyes. Fortunately, Christian couldn’t have cared less if he was making them impatient.
“Recite it back to me,” he ordered.
He couldn’t deny the actors were quick, but he needed more than memorization from them.
“Again,” he said, “and this time, point out each instrument with your eyes closed.”
When they proved they could identify them backward, he handed each of them a safety helmet and moved on to the somewhat involved procedure for starting the engine.
“Jeesh,” Charlie said, stealing the curse from Grace. “I told you, I already know this stuff.”
“Do I know your cousin?” Christian asked him. “Do I have any reason to believe he’s as experienced and responsible as I am?”
Philip and Matthew laughed as Charlie’s cheeks reddened.
“You give it a try,” Christian said to Matthew.
Matthew stalled the engine on his first two attempts, but within twenty minutes, all the boys were successfully starting, riding, and stopping in a straight line.
“Can we do turns now?” Charlie pleaded. “Before I die of boredom?”
“Slow, wide turns,” Christian conceded. “And no footing.”
“
Footing?
” Matthew asked.
“Don’t put your foot down to keep your balance. It’s not so dangerous when you’re going slowly, but it’s a bad habit. You only need it for conditions like mud or ice. Otherwise, you’ll be more stable if you keep your feet on the pegs or boards.”
“Got it,” Charlie said, revving his bike loudly. “I will now perform a left turn without footing.”
He leaned into the turn perfectly, with the same exaggerated good behavior he’d used to walk the bike down the pickup’s ramp.
“Good,” Christian said, deciding that—for the moment—he’d take Charlie’s compliance any way he could get it.
“Yay, Charlie,” Grace called softly, obviously wanting to encourage him.
“Watch—”
the pressure on the front brake,
Christian began to say, but he was too late. With Grace as his admiring audience, Charlie lost his grip of his impulses. He turned the other way, tighter than he had before, and just fast enough for his instincts to tell him the bike might be getting away from him. Wanting to regain control but forgetting how to go about it, he clamped the front brake, ignored the rear, and unintentionally locked the forward tire.
The six-hundred-plus-pound machine slewed out from under him exactly as Christian had warned it would. He had a heartbeat to decide whether to flash to Charlie and rescue him. Would the bike skid farther than Charlie did? Would it land on him? Given the protection Nim Wei had laid on Grace, could Christian thrall the memory from her if she saw him using his powers? His indecision ate up more milliseconds than he had. The next thing Christian knew, Charlie was pinned beneath the chopper and screaming.
This was probably because one of his shin bones had snapped in two places.
Cursing, Christian ran to him faster than he should have and lifted the bike away. To his relief, Charlie stopped screaming.
“Jesus,” Matthew said, short of breath from rushing over. “Is his leg supposed to look like that?”
True to their purpose in protecting riders from road scrapes, the leather trousers Charlie wore hadn’t torn. That didn’t prevent his right lower leg from looking distorted. Christian shifted his vision to examine Charlie’s aura, in hopes of pinpointing the damage. Energy as red as blood streaked out from jagged breaks in his fibula, the fracture’s edges disturbingly touched with black. Real blood dripped from the bottom of his pants leg onto the asphalt, so the bone must have broken skin. Under other circumstances the blood might have excited him, but for the moment he just felt grim. He wasn’t guarding his face well enough. Charlie took one look at his expression and went even pastier.
“Oh, God,” he said, beginning to weep. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
Christian knelt beside the boy, gently removed his helmet, and took his head in his hands. “Look at me, Charlie. Look at me and be calm.”
Charlie was crying too hard to focus. He pounded the asphalt with his right fist. “I can’t believe I did this. You told me not to be cocky, and I went ahead anyway. Now I’ve blown my first big break. Maybe my only one.”
“Charlie.” Grace’s voice rang with compassion. She dropped to her knees beside Christian, one hand tenderly stroking the injured boy’s sandy hair. In spite of everything, Christian’s fangs gave a little throb as her arm brushed his. She was breathing too quickly, but he could tell she was trying to remain calm. “You’ll be all right. Even if you’re not well enough for the start of shooting, Miss Wei will cast you again, I swear.”
“This was
my
role,” Charlie insisted, his passion astounding Christian, considering the pain he was in. “There’s no way I wasn’t going to shine in it. Christ, every time something good happens for me, I always trip myself up.”
He started to fling his forearm over his eyes, but Christian caught it before he could cover them.
“Enough,” he said in his firmest tone. “You’re going to look at me now.”
Charlie looked, allowing Christian to trap his gaze. As his thrall took hold, the mortal boy’s pupils swelled. “You’re calming now. You’re relaxing. The pain is sliding away, breath by breath. You’re going to let me help you. You have perfect faith in me.”
“Are you hypnotizing him?” Philip asked.
“Shh,” Christian said. He scooted down to lay his hands on Charlie’s misshapen lower leg. Healing humans wasn’t something he often did. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he should do it now. Charlie had been warned, and his injury wasn’t life threatening. As much as he looked like Christian’s lost friend Charles, the spirit inside him was a stranger’s. Christian knew that as surely as he’d known Wade Matthews was Matthaus. Christian owed Charlie nothing . . . except maybe sympathy.
Every time something good happens for me, I always trip myself up.
Christian didn’t glance up at Grace. He didn’t want her to see the redness in the whites of his eyes. He wasn’t doing this for her anyway. This time, it was Charlie who’d brought out the idiot in him.
G
race had been convinced Christian had the boys well in hand. Despite being around the same age as them, and despite her doubts concerning certain aspects of his character, Christian radiated an authority the other males responded to. It hadn’t crossed her mind that anything bad was going to happen.
Seeing Charlie go down had been a breath-stealing shock.
I distracted him,
she thought.
I should have kept my mouth shut.
As long as she lived, she wouldn’t forget his screams.
“Can you help him?” she asked Christian as he laid his hands atop Charlie’s leg. He’d certainly calmed Charlie quickly—as good as a mesmerist.
“I’ll try,” Christian said.
Instead of looking up, he closed his eyes. Grace couldn’t tear her gaze from him. He was so serene, so still, like a Buddha with a Western face. The night seemed to quiet in response to him, the buzz of insects falling silent, the air oddly soft and heavy where it touched her skin. Something flickered at the edge of her vision, drawing her attention down to his hands. Her breath caught. His fingers were glowing as if a fire burned within his bones.
“Jesus,” Philip said, evidently seeing it, too.
“What’s he doing?” Matthew asked.
“Whatever it is, shut up and let him,” Philip urged in a hoarse whisper.
Their instructor didn’t seem to be listening. Christian’s head fell back, and the glow grew brighter, until his hands were swallowed by golden white balls of light.
“My leg feels warm,” Charlie mumbled like he’d been drugged.
Grace’s heartbeat tripped in her throat as if a little hammer were tapping there. She realized she was clutching the sleeve of Charlie’s leather jacket harder than she should. From the place she touched,
something
was flowing up her forearm. The sensation tickled, like currents in a bath when you were immersed. Memory pushed for recognition from the underside of her mind.
“Close your eyes,” Christian said.
She thought he might be speaking to her.
Would it be better not to see, or should she stay vigilant? Before she could decide, Christian placed one hand on Charlie’s knee and the other on his ankle. Gripping each spot firmly, he pushed the holds apart.
Everyone except him winced at the wet cracking sound.
“What the hell?” Matthew gasped.
But whatever Christian had done wasn’t painful. Charlie gave out a sigh and relaxed. Though he was still pale enough for his freckles to stand out, his pallor wasn’t tinged with green anymore.
With a grace a dancer would have envied, Christian rose to his feet and faced Matthew. His gaze drilled into the other man’s. “It was only a strain. Charlie’s ankle twisted and popped out of its socket. We’ll ice it, and he’ll be fine.”
Matthew’s mouth fell open. To Grace’s surprise, he blinked and then nodded.
Philip was more than surprised. “That was no strain,” he accused, his cheeks flushing dark with anger. Arms stubbornly crossed, he jerked his head toward the spot where Charlie lay. “Charlie’s got a pool of blood underneath his foot. His leg was bent in two places. You’re some kind of faith healer.”
Christian turned his eyes to him, his head swiveling strangely. As easily as that, Philip also fell quiet. “I promise you I’m not lying. The accident wasn’t as bad as you thought.” When Philip’s arms uncrossed and dropped to his sides, Christian shifted focus to Charlie. “You’re extremely lucky. I’m sure you’ll be up and walking after a good night’s rest.”
“I’m sure, too,” Charlie agreed, sounding sleepy already. “I’m very lucky I wasn’t hurt too bad.”
They were acting like zombies, like Christian had put them under a spell. Panic built inside Grace’s chest. She felt as if a protective veil were about to be ripped from her, leaving her naked and vulnerable. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to keep up her guard.
“Grace,” Christian said.
She didn’t want to look at him, but she couldn’t help it—like he was a car crash on the side of the road. His eyes glowed gold, his thick black lashes casting perfect spiky shadows along his cheeks. His face could have been sculpted from Carrara marble. Each exquisite feature was buffed and polished, each proportion harmonious. The mouth she’d always thought too thin was the color of young roses, delicate and mobile. She literally ached as she gazed at it, as she remembered him kissing her. The veil she’d feared losing had been torn from him.
This was who Christian was. This was the threat to her heart.

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