Gabriel (16 page)

Alas, the—

It stopped. The image froze. Gabriel's voice reached me, but it wasn't his voice back then; it was his voice now—hard and blunt.

“Lailah. Lailah.”

I was with Gabriel. I didn't know where, and I didn't know how, but I could feel his breath skimming my neck. I couldn't open my eyes; it was as though they had been welded shut.

I started to slip back. The image was there but still held on pause, and I tried to think away the frozen seal, melt it somehow with my will so I could continue to watch, but there were voices again—swirling around, distracting me.

“She's not ready to wake. It makes no difference, anyway. You should say your good-byes.”

I let the sounds fade out; I wanted to be here, in this image. I drifted back into my dream.

The frame unstuck and continued to play. I watched as I giggled nervously, happily, as he sang to me:

 … lark's gay morning measure,

As ill would suit the swan's decline.

“Please, Gabriel. It's been two days. Please wake her up; it's nearly too late.” Brooke's urgent and jagged words scratched the record, causing it to bounce and stop once again.

“I told you yesterday, she's not helping him.”

“Please!” she wailed.

This time I tried to figure out what they were talking about. What was so important that they would interrupt me in this magical moment?

As I strained to remember, the image of Gabriel and me riding Uri appeared—now just a still image, as though it was only a glossy photo floating in midair against a black sheet. The bottom edge seemed to catch fire. The more I tried to recall what was going on out there, in here, the photograph slowly but surely became devoured by the flames that lapped up its side.

As his name shaped in my consciousness, the entire picture melted and then dripped away. The image of me and Gabriel was now replaced with his name, emblazoned across the black space, flaming with embers of amber.

JONAH

 

THIRTEEN

I
SQUEEZED MY SWOLLEN
eyes and forced them open. Everything was blurred, as though I were staring down a camera lens that was out of focus.

“Lailah. It's okay; you're safe. Can you sit up?” Gabriel's anxious voice reached me and then I found him through the cloud.

“Yes, I think so,” I murmured, my voice cracking. I coughed, clearing my throat.

“Get up—you need to come with me!” Brooke barked from somewhere in the room.

“Leave us,” Gabriel demanded.

“No, she has to come right now,” she insisted.

“Just give us a minute, please,” I asked weakly.

I found the strength in my back to sit up and was met with the dwindling hue of a setting winter sun outside an open sash window next to me. A freezing breeze hit my skin, and a chill ran the length of my bare arms and legs. I looked down through the haze and realized that I had been dressed in tiny pajama shorts and a T-shirt. I was momentarily thankful that there was so little material touching my skin. Though my eyes were open, I had to concentrate to keep my left lid from shutting—I could feel the ridges seared across it.

“You're not fully healed yet,” Gabriel said. “Some of the netting caught your lashes and burned through. But it's okay; it will be all right.”

I was on a bed, and Gabriel sat beside me. “Silver,” I choked out.

“Silver,” Gabriel confirmed.

“How long … how many days?” I whispered.

“A couple. Not long. The same it would take any Vam—Brooke or Ruadhan to recover from something like that.”

Still he found it difficult to use the V word in reference to me.

“How did I get back here?” I began.

“Me. I saved your ass, now get the hell up!” Brooke wailed.

“You need to rest. Another day and you'll be good as new.” Gabriel ignored Brooke. He stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers, and I followed them as he rested his palm across my chest.

I took a sharp intake of breath. “Gabriel, your hand!” I grabbed it too quickly and became dizzy, but I rolled his sweater's sleeve up to his elbow. His skin was dotted with blemishes—like moles or dark freckles—and where his veins sat below his skin, they were darker—almost gray.

He snatched his hand from mine and pulled down his sleeve, not meeting my eyes.

“How has your skin changed?” I said. “What happened while I was gone?”

“Only what had to happen,” he replied somberly.

The mattress sprung as Gabriel's weight left it. He turned away from me and made his way to the door in the far corner of the room. He took Brooke by the shoulders and began hustling her out. He forced her through the door, and when she tried to knock him out of the way she screamed my name. Gabriel fought her, and she yelped at his grip, which was clearly too tight.

“Gabriel, stop!” I swung my legs over the bed and balanced myself precariously. Straightening up, I stood and took a step forward, but my legs buckled beneath me.

Gabriel charged over and caught me, helping me to my feet. As he supported my weight, I whispered into his ear, “Tell me what happened to you, please.”

Propping me upright, he finally met my eyes. His jaw locked and his stare was resolute. “I told you before. You have your scars; these belong to me.”

“Lailah, please, Jonah needs you!” Brooke raced back over to my side, taking my hand in hers. This time Gabriel allowed her to pull me away, and she marched me to the door.

“Even if Lailah wanted to help him, Jonah won't allow it,” Gabriel said.

“Why?” Brooke said. “He helped her enough. She's here—in part, at least—because of him.”

Gabriel wore a blank expression. His blond hair was tucked behind his ears, and I noticed then that his face looked a little gaunt. It was probably my fault—the worry I must have caused him while I had been gone, only to return injured. Although I still felt a little like I was not completely compos mentis yet, Brooke's reason for seeking me out suddenly sparked in my memory.

“It's okay, Gabriel,” I said. “If you stand by, it will be safe. If Jonah doesn't let go, you can intervene. But Brooke, I can't make any promises.”

“I know.” She squeezed my hand, as though I were an old friend.

I nodded in agreement, gulping hard and hoping for her sake and his that I could save him. As we marched down the landing, I stopped dead in my tracks.

“What?” Brooke asked.

I spun and nearly fell over my own legs, making my way back to Gabriel. He was lingering at the end of the bed, staring out the window with his back to me.

“You really don't want him to drink my blood, do you?” I asked, the reason behind it creeping around me like a ghost.

“No, I don't,” Gabriel said, “and there's not a chance in hell I would allow it. But it doesn't matter, as I said; he won't do it anyway.” His words were empty, as though none of this mattered and Jonah's end was now a foregone conclusion.

I searched my mind, my eyes rolling up toward the ceiling and down the sides of the white walls, trying to place Jonah, but the memory of him refused to come. But then something dawned on me; I knew at least one reason why Gabriel wouldn't agree to it. “Because if Jonah drinks my blood, his Pureblood Master will become aware of me. Because they are connected and they always will be.” I stifled a gasp. “They will know I'm alive.”

I glanced to Brooke, who looked downward.

Silence drifted through the bare room. Gabriel bowed his head, convinced that there was nothing that could be done for Jonah. And even though it went against every fiber of my being, I couldn't help but wonder for a moment if Gabriel even cared.

I wasn't ready to face my adversaries—I wasn't nearly prepared—but then there was no way I would just let Jonah roll over and die. I might not remember how, but he was in some way part of this family, and since when did we give up on one another so easily? And if I couldn't even save him, here in safe confines, what chance did I stand of saving myself out there?

No. I wouldn't let my fear of them stop me from trying.

“Take me to him,” I told Brooke in a firm voice.

“Lai, wait.” Gabriel was suddenly in front of me, blocking us from finding the stairway. He rubbed the tops of my arms, and a strained and sorrowful smile stretched across his lips, pitying me. “You don't remember him, but I need for you to say good-bye
properly
—”

“What do you mean
properly
? What are you talking about?”

“Look, just listen to me. I don't know why he doesn't exist in your memories anymore, but for your sake, just in case one day you do remember … you might regret not having said good-bye, the right way.” His lips twitched as he finished.

I had no idea what Gabriel meant. What right way? I pushed past him, gesturing for Brooke to take me to Jonah.

I realized we were no longer in a B&B; instead, we were in yet another house. Brooke rushed down the stairs and along the long stretch of hallway to a study at the very back.

Outside the door, I gripped the handle, but Brooke placed her palm on top. “He doesn't look very well. I don't think he'd like it if you seemed surprised or upset. And Lailah, he's a little confused.”

“Confused how?” I asked.

“He doesn't seem to know who I am anymore. He keeps reminding me of conversations we've never had, and for the last two days he's been calling me Sleeping Beauty.”

Oh no. Unbeknownst to Brooke, Jonah had given me that nickname; he had told me as much before I returned to the motor home. He had mistaken her for me. This was becoming an all-too-regular misunderstanding.

I gave her a quick reassuring smile and noticed that, for once, Brooke had no makeup on. Her stupidly thick hair was pinned back, away from her face—messy and unkempt—her sunglasses on top of her head. And she was wearing a black tracksuit, as though she was already in mourning. It occurred to me then that she clearly hadn't wanted to waste a second away from him. Despite her hope placed in me, she thought it was the end, too.

“I need you to stay out here and guard this door,” I told her. “No one comes in. If anyone tries—Gabriel or Ruadhan—then bang hard and fast, understand?” I said, pushing the handle down.

Jonah sat in a large leather chair; his feet were resting on a matching ottoman and a blanket was draped over his legs. He was positioned so that he could look out a large window onto the gardens of the property, and he was clutching a sheath that housed a deadly knife. All the lights were off, except for a lamp that stood a few feet behind him, so I could only just make him out as night spilled into the study.

I cautiously made my way over, passing the wall-to-ceiling bookshelves as I went, trying to keep my legs steady. I didn't want him to see that I was hurt.

He didn't acknowledge me as I pulled up a stool next to him. I joined him quietly in the shadows.

“Jonah.”

“Busy,” he said.

“Doing what?” I asked.

He pointed at the window, keeping his focus. “I'm on watch … making myself useful,” he said, though his words were fatigued.

“Jonah, I need to talk to you.” I placed my hand on his.

He caught me off guard, the blanket falling to the floor as he spun his body around so that he was facing me. He grabbed my hand, clenching his fist around the top of mine, and grazed the sheath against my knuckles as he contemplated me.

I gasped. His skin was pinched and ashen. His floppy, disheveled hair was drenched with sweat, which dripped down his forehead. His hand was bony, as though his skin were wearing away.

“Jonah, it's me. It's Lailah.”

He released his grasp and ran his hand down my long hair, then broke into a smile. “Sorry, beautiful. My sight”—he took a second to catch his breath—“my senses are, well, they seem to have left me. Pass me the vodka, would you?”

I searched the room.

“Down there.” He nudged his head in the direction of his feet.

I shifted my stool back, scratching the hardwood with a squeak. I lifted the bottle—together with the tumbler that sat next to it—and poured a neat drink.

“I'm on death row here. Fill her up.” He winked at me, and oddly I felt my heart falter.

I did as I was told, and he dropped the blade to the floor before taking the glass from me. His hand wobbled as he struggled to raise it to his lips, and I thought for a moment he might drop it. He only just managed to tip the clear substance to the back of his throat.

Brooke was right; he had no time, no time at all.

He needed to take my blood. I had to make him, right now. “Jonah, I'm going to sit on your lap now, okay?”

A surprised look overcame his face. “While you're always most welcome, beautiful, I should probably ask why?”

“Because I need you to take my wrist, and I need you to drink from me. I can make all this go away.” I got up and positioned my legs on either side of his waist. I wedged my knees into the worn crevices of the chair and gripped the leather arms.

He responded slowly, straightening his back and sitting up higher in the chair. He reached for my hands, but he missed.

“Seeing double?” I asked.

“Yup. Two of you, ordinarily, would be quite the treat. But both of you are a blur.” He found my hips instead and placed his head to my navel, his skin meeting mine. His cheek was stone cold. He used me to stop himself from swaying, but then, after a heavy breath, he pushed me away. “I know you are going to argue with me. But I'd rather not waste our last meeting like that.” He cleared his throat and struggled on. “I'm not going to drink from you. If I do, they will know, and you won't stand a chance.” He raised his palm across my bare midriff, and it took all my will not to moan as he grazed a laceration from the net that was not quite healed.