Leandra turned, lunging for Morgan. Her knife was in her hand, although she didn’t remember having it with her. Pressing it to Morgan’s throat, she rasped out, “It should be
you
. . .”
“And that is the problem, isn’t it?” But it wasn’t Morgan’s voice. It was Agnes. Leandra jerked back in shock as the voice came not from the grave, but from behind them. Leandra shoved Morgan away and spun around to stare at the woman walking out of the woods.
Shock and hope made Leandra’s legs weak, and she collapsed to the ground, staring up as Agnes slowly moved out of the woods. Her long hair was gray, woven into the same cable that she’d always worn, and her clothes were the same: long skirt, a simple white shirt, and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
Agnes glanced down at her clothes and scowled. “I look like an old woman.” She looked up at Leandra with a wry smile.
The lines on her face—they were fading, lessening with every passing breath, and the gray in her hair began to bleed away into long, honey-gold locks. She lifted her hands, studying them as they became smoother and younger-looking.
“What in the hell is going on?” Leandra whispered.
But the woman just looked at Leandra with a smile. “Stop blaming yourself, Leandra. Things happen as they are meant to, love.”
SHE WAS SO STILL.
Mike sat on the edge of the hospital bed, holding one of Leandra’s still hands in his, willing her to move, to make some sort of sound. Four days of nothing. He didn’t like it, and there was no explanation for why she continued to sleep.
He shifted to his knees by the bed and wrapped an arm around her waist, burying his face against her side. “Wake up,” he whispered softly.
It felt like his heart had cracked open inside his chest, and he was slowly dying inside from it.
He hadn’t ever felt a fear like this, a pain like this.
Not even five years ago, when Leandra had fired that gun into his side. He’d take poison and silver over this any day.
Time stretched out endlessly in front of him, minutes ticking away into hours, as he knelt there. Was this what he was facing, a lifetime of emptiness? Was she lost to him before he ever really had her?
There were no answers, though. And no response from the still, silent woman on the bed.
Dimly, he realized he wasn’t alone anymore, but he couldn’t muster the interest to look at the other man. It was Malachi. Mike recognized his scent, and the ripple in the air as the ancient one drew near. Sensing him hovering over the bed, Mike looked up and found himself staring into a face ravaged with grief and anger.
“She still sleeps,” Malachi said in a monotone.
Slowly, Mike nodded. “There was a doctor out here—can’t find any reason for it.”
Malachi reached out, brushing pale fingers across Leandra’s cheek. “She will wake when she is ready, wolf. Leandra is strong.”
Then Mal turned away, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop, the air tightening until Mike thought his lungs might explode from the pressure. “And this bitch still lives,” Mal whispered. His voice was a soft, almost gentle whisper, but the look in his eyes was enough to make Mike’s skin grow cold.
“Eli is going to let the Council deal with her,” Mike said, dragging his eyes away from the woman across from Leandra. He didn’t have the control right now to handle the anger he knew would come if he thought too long about the young woman.
Malachi smiled. It was a cold, mean smile that displayed deadly fangs. “I
am
the Council.”
“You cannot speak for the entire Council, Mal.”
Mike glanced behind him at Lori, watching as the young witch stepped inside the room.
“Little witch, I can speak for whomever I choose,” Malachi purred, not even glancing at her.
“The woman is unconscious—helpless.”
“She is still to blame for what has happened.” Malachi looked unconcerned as he drew closer to the bed. Long, deadly fangs had slid down, and they glinted as he smiled, his eyes focused on Morgan’s still face with predatory intent. “Eli wants her to be the Council’s problem—
I
am the Council.”
“You cannot speak for me, Malachi,” a new voice said. “I serve the Council as well. Don’t I have a say?”
Something shifted in the air—a warmth that chased away the chill of Mal’s rage. Kelsey appeared in the doorway behind Lori. Reaching up, she laid a hand on Lori’s shoulder and lowered her head, speaking quietly to the younger witch. Lori’s jaw tightened, but she nodded and then turned away, leaving in silence.
Kelsey glanced at Mike, and he just lowered his eyes, looking back at Leandra’s face. Although he knew sooner or later he would feel differently, at the moment, he didn’t care what happened to the bitch. He just wanted Leandra back.
Kelsey had to smile. She knew when she’d been dismissed. Mike knew damn good and well she wanted him out of the room while she spoke with Malachi, but he didn’t care.
She didn’t have time to mess with him, either.
Malachi was ready to kill the woman lying on the bed. Kelsey couldn’t deny that part of her wanted to see the witch dead. Kelsey wanted her to
suffer
. There was an aching, gaping hole in her chest caused by the loss of her dearest friend.
Agnes had been like a mother to her. Kelsey couldn’t imagine living without her.
And she knew Malachi had been even closer to the old witch than Kelsey was. His pain was so great, it almost choked her, even through her shields.
But she couldn’t let him kill a helpless woman.
It would destroy him.
“She’s helpless right now. You’ve never killed the helpless before, Malachi. You can’t mean to start now.”
He glanced at her, his eyes still glowing with rage. His voice was almost bored as he replied, “I do not mean to start anything. All I want to do is kill her. And then I’m done.”
Kelsey really didn’t like the finality of his words.
Done . . .
And she knew what he was thinking. It would be hard for him to kill himself, but he could certainly manage it. He was stubborn enough. But the Council had already lost Agnes. Losing Malachi would leave them all weak.
And . . . it hurt. The thought of a world without that arrogant, stubborn bastard made her belly feel all hot, queasy, and tight. “Is this what Nessa would have wanted?” Kelsey asked gently.
He crossed the room so fast her eyes couldn’t even register the movement. He was by the bed, and then he was just there, his hands wrapped tightly around her upper arms as he lifted her up and slammed her into the wall. Ivory fangs flashed as he snarled, “Nessa cannot want anything. She is
dead
. Dead because of her. So I’ll see her bleed as well.”
Kelsey reached up, cupping Malachi’s cheek in her hand. “Nessa chose her path, Malachi. This was what she wanted. You knew her even better than I. You know how lonely she was.”
The frightening rage she saw in his face melted away, and she saw the knowledge in his eyes. The knowledge, the grief, and the guilt. His eyes closed, and slowly his hands loosened on her arms, and he lowered her back to the floor. But instead of releasing her, he sank to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her hips as he pressed his face against her belly.
When he spoke, his voice was thick with the lyrical accent of Scotland. “Lonely . . . aye, I know loneliness. Nessa—she’s been there for so long. With her, the loneliness eased a bit. How could she leave, Kelsey?”
For the first time in her life, Kelsey was faced with a pain she had no idea how to ease. She didn’t have any words, didn’t have any magick, nothing that she could do or say that could ease him. Laying one hand on his shoulder, she smoothed her other hand down the silken length of his hair.
“I wish I had an answer for you, Mal. But it happened because it was meant to.”
“Meant . . .” he muttered the word against her belly, shaking his head. His hair slid over her hands, so soft and silky. Unconsciously, Kelsey closed a hand around his hair, rubbing the slick stuff back and forth between her fingers. “What is meant, Kelsey? I used to know. I was meant to be a Hunter, meant to be a vampire. Just as Agnes was meant to be a witch so damned powerful that her magick kept her alive long past when her body was ready for death. But were we meant to spend centuries alone? Meant to suffer? Meant to live and die lonely? It makes no sense.”
With a sigh, Kelsey murmured, “I don’t know, Malachi. I just don’t know.”
He leaned back, and Kelsey felt the punch of his stare sizzle through her. “There are no answers for us, are there, Kelsey?” he whispered. His hands spread open, and she could feel them cupping her hips.
Heat began to arc through her as he leaned forward and nuzzled her abdomen. “No answers, no reasons. What is there left to us?”
Kelsey swore silently, her heart stuttering in her chest.
This isn’t good . . .
a soft, sane voice murmured in the back of her mind. No, it wasn’t good. Flicking her eyes up, she saw Mike was still sitting back on Leandra’s bed, seemingly unaware of them.
But she knew he could feel it; there was no way he couldn’t feel the sexual tension building in the air. Kelsey could feel her own heartbeat kicking up, and she wanted to swear. Her instincts were screaming at her, and it took every last bit of willpower she had to bolster her shields. Even then, she could feel the heat of lust pulsing through the air.
Malachi’s control was shot—she knew that—worn thin by grief and rage, and it was little surprise that he couldn’t control what he was doing. But that wouldn’t make it any easier for her to handle this.
A vampire’s call was such a heady thing: a sensual, sexual power that increased with age and strength. Malachi’s had become damn near euphoric, and it was addictive. If he didn’t keep it reined in, he’d have women tearing each other up just to be the one closest to him.
Kelsey could normally handle it. All it took was the right kind of shields.
But she hadn’t ever had to test them out with him so close. And with him not even trying to control it, most likely completely unable to . . . no, not good.
Her fingers clutched involuntarily at his shoulders, and she found herself staring at her hands, imagining how they’d look on his bare flesh. His skin was pale, even paler than her own, and smooth. His long body was roped with muscle, and Kelsey’s very active imagination began to paint a picture of what he’d look like under those clothes.
She felt the cool kiss of air on her belly and then the soft brush of his mouth over her skin. His body had warmed as he pressed against her, and as his lips whispered over her flesh, he left a trail of heat. The touch of his mouth on bare skin had every nerve ending in her body singing, and Kelsey felt the muscles in her belly clench. Her knees went weak, and for one second, she started to let him support her weight.
“No.” Her voice was hoarse and rough—she barely recognized it. Clearing her throat, she shook her head and pressed against his shoulders, leaning away from him. The action arched her hips against him, and Kelsey barely suppressed the whimper that rose in her throat as he crushed her hips tight against his torso. “Malachi—just stop, okay?”
Midnight-blue eyes lifted, and Kelsey felt her resolve melting away just at the look of those hot, glowing eyes. She could feel herself melting, felt the hot, exotic whisper of desire pulsing through her system.
And then Malachi was gone. He moved away from her with such silence, such speed, she never even saw him move. Her legs wobbled under her weight for a moment, and she slammed a hand against the wall to brace herself as she sucked in ragged breaths of air.
She felt the loss of his body against hers with something akin to pain.
This isn’t good . . .
Those words circled through her mind for the hundredth time.
Malachi hadn’t ever been good on her senses. She’d managed to keep it under control for years, but this time . . . blowing out a breath, she stared at the back of Mike’s head for a long moment and wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t been there.
Malachi stood several feet away, and she felt the weight of his stare as clearly as if he had been touching her. She looked into his eyes and swallowed. His gaze dropped to her throat, and Kelsey felt her pulse leap. Hunger seemed to color the air—her own, his. The need to feel his body against hers, to feel the sharp, sweet pain as his fangs pierced her flesh.
“Mal . . .” Her voice trailed away, and she sighed, shoving a hand through her hair. She didn’t know what she wanted to say. What she could say.
He closed the distance between them, and Kelsey stood frozen as he reached up and touched a hand to her hair. “Damn you, Kelsey,” he whispered quietly. Then he moved past her, leaving the room in silence.
IT WAS FINALLY SILENT ONCE MORE.
Mike heard the door close behind Kelsey, and he let his head drop forward, resting his brow against Leandra’s thigh.
He was so damn tired. He hadn’t slept since this had happened, and exhaustion weighed so heavy on him, he could barely keep his eyes open.
But Mike didn’t want to sleep. Not until he saw her open her eyes, not until he saw her move.
“Where are you? Where did you go?” he muttered.
There was no answer. He reached up, trailing his hand down her cheek before covering her hand with his. Shifting, Mike pressed his lips to her cheek where he had just touched. “Come back to me, Lee. Just come back, okay?”
SHE COULD HEAR HIM WHISPERING TO HER. HE DID that a lot. Often, Leandra heard his deep, rough voice penetrating the fog that seemed to surround her.
But she couldn’t ever find him. Although Mike’s voice seemed like he was
right
there, no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find him.
Her cheek felt the ghostly brush of warm, calloused fingers, then the soft caress of his lips as he kissed her. Her palm tingled, and Leandra could feel his hand pressing against hers. But when she tried to lift her other hand to touch him, the fog thickened and he was gone.