Gabriel (26 page)

He scanned the area, and then moved his solid arm across my back roughly and pulled me into his body. “Tell me,” he whispered, “how'd you get the scar on your shoulder?”

I didn't answer, yelping instead as the silver of his blade met my torso and simmered against my skin. At the same moment, Phelan seemed to dive backward.

Jonah was behind him, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and growling with his fangs on full display. Jonah placed a hand around Phelan's throat. I thought he'd been out feeding; perhaps that's why I expected his fingers to be coated in blood. But instead they were dusted in charcoal.

Fergal sprang off the ground, reached for a revolver, and darted over, pointing it at Jonah's back. “Let him go, demon.”

Cameron remained where he stood, but Riley was already pulling a blade and a gun from his waistband and circling us.

Ruadhan zoomed over to Fergal. “Put the gun down, lad.”

I found my footing and rubbed my skin, trying to cool the scalding sensation, but it was already fading. I didn't know if Gabriel had heard the commotion or had felt my pain; either way, he appeared next to me.

He skimmed over my body with worried eyes and placed his hands across my tummy.

Are you okay?

I didn't answer him. Instead, I held up my hands to assure Fergal that I meant no harm. “Jonah,” I said assertively.

He didn't divert his attention away from Phelan, whom he held captive by pressing his elbow to Phelan's chest. “You shouldn't have touched her—” Jonah spat angrily, his eyes lighting up ruby red.

“There's no harm done. Let him go,” I said.

When he still didn't release Phelan, I stepped in. Standing on tiptoes, I cupped Jonah's cheek and nudged his face toward mine. But my action caused him to snatch my wrist with his free hand, and he pushed me away. A simple action, but one that caused me great pain.

I moved back in, and without thinking, I wedged my arm underneath Jonah's, creating a gap between his forearm and Phelan's neck. Exerting as much strength as I could, I pried him away from Phelan, who managed to slip out from Jonah's grasp, sucking in air as he did. I knew Jonah had let me free Phelan, because right now, Jonah was far stronger than me.

Fergal stood next to his cousin, and Brooke rushed over to Fergal's side, glaring at Jonah.

Jonah's body was rigid, but the fire behind him roared, as though what was going on underneath his skin was reflected in the crackling flames. Everyone was gawking at us.

“We need a minute, please,” I said.

No one moved. Then Iona's bracelets jingled through the still silence as she trod cautiously across the grass to see what was going on.

“Please,” I insisted.

The group dispersed. Ruadhan squeezed my shoulder to remind me that he would not be far away, and Phelan shot me a “this isn't over” glare before finally leaving with Fergal and Brooke.

You too
, I spoke to Gabriel.

Lailah—

You too
, I repeated.

Hesitantly, Gabriel departed, back in the direction of the motor home—back toward where Iona now stood.

I placed my hands on Jonah's chest, but still he did not look at me. He stared out at the stretch of land ahead, unwilling to give in to my unspoken request.

Back on tiptoes, I rose higher and placed my thumb and index finger to his chin, forcing him to meet my eye. “Phelan touching me—any guy touching me—shouldn't matter to you.
Does
it matter to you, Jonah?” I had to know. He had told me with conviction that I meant nothing to him, yet here he was, appearing from nowhere, ready to do terrible things to a person who had come too close. Why?

His lips pulled into a thin line. “No,” he said.

His reaction was precisely that: a reaction. He was bonded to me through blood, nothing more.

I sighed. “Everything you said about me was right, and I don't doubt you meant every word. I know what I am; who I am right now is a mess. I'm not going to stand here and argue otherwise.”

Jonah placed his hands to my elbows. Though his lip rose, it seemed he managed to hold back what I assumed would only be more unpleasant character assassinations.

So I said, “And I am sorry that you are bound to me by my blood, but don't risk yourself on account of that. If I were to die, you would be free again, so let the chips fall where they may.”

Jonah's grip tightened and a resentful flash of red ignited his irises. The butterfly girl's words came to me, and I repeated them to reiterate my point. “
El efecto mariposa
, Jonah—the butterfly effect. Stay away from the typhoon—stay away from me—or it will sweep you away as well.”

Jonah's eyes cooled, and I swept my hands over his, skimming his soft skin before turning away. But within a blink, he was blocking my path. “What made you say that?” he barked.

Never would he let me have the last word. “Say what exactly?”

“El efecto mariposa.”
He dragged his hand through his messy hair.

“Forget it. I'm not going to give you more ammunition to degrade me further.” I didn't want him adding “insane” to his long list of my defective qualities.

“I'm not messing around. Tell me what made you say that—” Jonah's heartbeat had suddenly become loud and quick. It felt like the fire had erupted, melting the entire world around us, and the drum of his heart was being beaten by a lone soldier marching through the darkened wasteland, crying out.

“I had a dream. I dunno, a hallucination probably. It's not important.”

Jonah looked as though I had slapped him in the face, and his heart skipped a beat, as though the soldier had found someone in the nothingness.

“It is important. Those words mean something to me. Tell me about this dream,” he demanded.

I crinkled my brow. I thought that perhaps the words spoken by the girl—my subconscious—were reminding me to stay true to my cause; that one way or another, Gabriel would save me, and I him. It was a little odd that they meant something to Jonah.

“Jonah,” Gabriel interrupted, returning to my side, unwilling to stay away any longer.

“I'll leave you to it,” I grumbled. I took my opportunity; I had no inclination to delve into the peculiarities of what might well have been simply a delusion.

I wandered back toward the house, but as I found myself inside the kitchen, I stopped. They may have been forty feet away from me and now arguing in hushed voices, but the mention of my name caught my attention and so I zoned in, straining to pick up what was being said.

“… I was wrong.” Jonah's words flared.

“No, you were exactly right. She's safest with me. Look what you did to her—” Gabriel retaliated. The conversation dipped in and out, and I peered over my shoulder, trying to find them again and attempting to squash the other sounds so that all that existed was their voices.

“… you were so busy making eyes at that girl that you left her alone with him. You put her in danger. Your attention isn't where it should be.”

Jonah was talking about Iona. The problem with tuning in to private conversations was that there was no filter. Using my ability hurt, and not just physically. What Jonah was implying of Gabriel literally caused what little color I had left to drain from my cheeks.

 

TWENTY-THREE

B
Y LATE AFTERNOON THE
following day, the sun was hiding behind thick clouds. The sky stretched in a murky-colored fog. I was glad. I feared absorbing any more of the sun would only do me damage, and I wouldn't have been able to explain to Gabriel why I didn't want to meet it.

Fergal had agreed to Iona escorting Gabriel to the soiree that evening but only if he could join. And Gabriel, short of any other choice, had conceded.

I was upstairs with Ruadhan, putting off meeting with Iona, who had asked for Brooke and me to help her get ready for the occasion. I was already half an hour late, but still, I didn't rush. After what I had overheard Jonah saying, my insecurities were once again resurfacing and I was regretting the time Gabriel had already spent with her.

“She'll be waiting for you, love,” Ruadhan said as I continued to chuck the few possessions I still had into a backpack.

“Hmmm,” I mumbled. “Have you packed your case yet?” I changed the subject.

He barely lifted his nose from his book. “Aye.”

Gabriel was keener than ever that we leave the next day. The Sealgaire knew I was alive and where I was, even if they did think that Brooke was me, and Zherneboh had already reached into my mind once. Understandably, Gabriel was unwavering in his decision for us to move on. I had made my feelings clear; I wasn't going to run from them, and that hadn't changed. But knowing I was physically far from being ready to take any sort of stand, we had reached a compromise: We would cut all ties and go, but Ruadhan would come with us and help me to harness and learn to use my abilities.

What they both didn't know was that those abilities were fading fast and that I was in constant pain. A sort of flulike sickness had taken hold of me. My temperature switched frequently from searing hot to freezing and that stabbing itch had moved down my throat to the center of my chest. But that was a problem I was going to have to solve by myself.

I tucked my crystal ring inside my T-shirt. There was nothing else to do but meet Iona. It might at least distract me from my illness.

Leaving Ruadhan in my room, I ran my hand down the exposed brickwork as I walked down the stairs. I was halfway down the hall, traveling toward the back exit, when I heard Iona's voice.

I followed her gleeful giggle to the grand dining room. The aging hinges creaked as I pushed the door open.

Iona was at the varnished dinner table, opposite Gabriel, with my chessboard placed centrally between them. Gabriel's huge smile disappeared as he saw my dejected expression, and the soft aura of light around his figure dulled.

Iona twisted around excitedly in her chair. “Brooke! Guess what? Gabriel's teaching me to play chess!”

I tried to collect myself, shaking the resentful thoughts from my head before they could fully form. “I see that.”

“I was giving Iona a tour while she waited for you, and she saw the set,” Gabriel explained, but he could see that I was not pleased.

I closed my eyes, taking a breath, and quickly threw the wall up in my mind. I wanted my privacy.

“The pieces are so pretty. Look at the pony, like!” Iona lifted the white knight in the air, replacing my fingerprints with hers. “Do you play?”

I glanced at Gabriel and then back at Iona. “I used to. Once.”

Gabriel stood up swiftly, but in this room, with its double-vaulted ceilings, even with his six-foot height he looked small.

I searched past him, not quite ready to meet his eye, and the face of the grandfather clock screwed to the wall told me we were running out of time.

“We had better get you ready,” I said to Iona.

“Aye.” She scampered to her feet. “It's a proper birthday treat, like.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Happy birthday, Iona,” I said in a smooth, expressionless tone.

“Naw, it's not today; it's tomorrow. Sort of an early present!” She beamed and played with her long, loose curls.

My gaze was drawn to the white-blond, silky waves, and I found myself envying her looks. Her innocent milky skin and soul of the same was untouched, unmarked, and unmatched by me.

“We'd better get you ready then, hadn't we?” I said.

She bounded joyfully over to me, taking my hand and forgetting, perhaps, that I was a demon. But then she was childlike in so many ways. I didn't give Gabriel any of my attention, but I couldn't help casting one last fleeting glance at the chess set. A remarkable piece of craftsmanship that had once belonged to me. But, along with Gabriel, it now seemed to have been gifted to Iona.

*   *   *

I
N BROOKE'S BEDROOM, I
combed out Iona's gorgeous thick hair with a paddle brush, waiting for Brooke to show up.

“Do you have something elegant to wear?” I asked in a bid to make conversation.

“Aye.” Iona pointed to an ornate chair where she had draped a gown over the arm. I couldn't see it properly, but a pair of what looked like very ugly shoes sat beneath it. I laughed to myself; I wouldn't have even noticed before Brooke.

Thankfully Brooke didn't take too long to surface. She'd been in the motor home, no doubt spending yet more time with Fergal, but at least she was here now. Dumping down a multitude of makeover gear on the carpet, she shuffled me out of the way.

“It's okay, ladies. I have arrived,” she announced.

Forty-five minutes later, a whole heap of powder dusted the dresser, and hair clips, rollers, and other paraphernalia were scattered messily around our feet, but Iona was ready. I partially wished that Brooke wasn't as talented at this type of thing; Iona lit up the room.

“You look lovely,” I said sincerely.

Iona stood in a pair of Brooke's Louboutin nude pumps instead of her own shoes. But Brooke was fully on board with Iona's gorgeous dress: A sequined taupe boatneck bodice with a fully flowing chiffon skirt glided lovingly over Iona's curves. Brooke had placed rollers in the ends of Iona's hair, and her angelic locks floated down to her bottom.

“Do you really think so?” Iona asked, half rubbing away the pink blush from her cheeks.

“Don't touch my masterpiece!” Brooke cried as she reached for the angled brush and swept it back across Iona's skin.

“Yes, I do,” I replied.

Iona couldn't help breaking into a glorious grin, her plump lips shining with clear lip gloss. “Do you think Gabriel will think so?” she said sheepishly.

My heart dipped. Brooke stopped fussing with Iona and shot me a quick glance—more of a warning to keep quiet, I surmised, than out of any real concern for my feelings.