Second Nature (15 page)

Even as the thought entered my mind, warmth
built in the hand of the arm that hadn't been wrenched. It grew,
getting more intense by the moment. Eventually, it got hot enough I
could feel my flesh burning. An iron cuff dug into my wrist as I
fought to free my hand. Only it wasn't my hand, it was Nate's. I
think they were slowly boiling it in water. I sobbed, unable to
separate the physical pain from the emotional. Despite all that had
happened between us, he didn't deserve to be put through this hell.
No one deserved it.

Trying to counteract the burning, I ran into
the kitchen and put my hand under the coldest water our tap could
provide. Since we got our water from a well rather than the city,
it got pretty cold. Though it gave me some relief, it wasn't
helping Nate. Gritting my teeth and holding my perfectly normal
hand close, I sat on the kitchen floor. With my back against the
cabinets, I suffered with my mate as I waited for someone who had a
clue what to do to help.

BEFORE XANDER AND Sariah made it home, Nate
fell unconscious and the pain receded. I collected myself enough to
meet them at the door ready to start the search. My awareness of
him dimmed to a spark, but it was still enough for me to direct
Xander. The faint sensation led us back to the same warehouse as
the rave—it couldn't be coincidence. The entire block was deserted
and silent in the evening sunlight. The broken windows stared down
at us along the empty street as we eyed the brick building. None of
us spoke as Xander pulled up to the curb.

We climbed out of the car and shared grim
looks. Xander's face was hard as he shimmered and disappeared. He
had improved in the time since our parents’ deaths, and there
wasn’t even haze, he just wasn't there anymore.

Sariah disappeared around the back of the
building; a sharp pain in my left foot was the first indicator Nate
was awake. Splinters were shoved under each toenail, making me cry
out with every one. I don't care how badass you think you are,
being tortured is not something you can ignore. I couldn't keep
silent at each new stab of agony; even though I tried, tiny
whimpers kept escaping. The impulse to collapse on the ground in
tears overwhelmed me, but I had to push through.

I wished I could wall off the pain the way I
used to with emotions, but it didn't seem to work. Trying not to
limp, I slipped silently into the warehouse and crept through the
emptiness with mock stealth. I wasn't the real rescue party, just
the distraction. There didn't seem to be anyone in the building,
but I couldn't see into the shadows along the edges of the large
room. There could have been an army lining the walls, so it didn't
hurt to be a little cautious. I ducked behind a stack of crates,
trying to peer into the shadows.

I couldn't stop a hiss as heat built under
my toenails like they were on fire. Unable to resist this time, I
dropped to the floor and ground my teeth. How could anyone be this
much of a sadist?

Still not seeing anyone, I needed to draw
them out if they were there. Finding strength, I climbed to my feet
and walked straight to the stairs. As my foot hit the stairs, the
burning pain seemed to get dimmer. There was a strange disconnect
in Nate’s mind that worried me.

Despite every fiber of my being telling me
it was a trap, I climbed up the stairs. Closing my eyes, I
hesitated with my hand on the doorknob afraid of what I would find.
Squaring my shoulders, I opened the door. The room bare except for
a built in counter and sink along one wall with brown-red stains
where Sariah killed the fool woman who shot me. Averting my eyes, I
made my way to the next room where I sensed Nate. There was no way
he was torturing himself, so I figured he wasn’t alone.

Someone I couldn't see brushed past me into
the room. Knowing my brother was with me helped stiffen my
quivering insides and I stepped in. Nate was strapped onto the
table where I had found Xander. Frankly, I was sick of finding the
people I loved being tortured in this room. I understood why the
pain was so strange, intense yet fading. He was in a semi-conscious
state and barely hanging on. He was a mess, bruises and swelling
covering him in mottled blues, purples and yellows. Someone had
taken the time to bandage him which seemed odd considering what
they did after that. The stab wound in his shoulder was dressed,
his dislocated joint had been set, and his arm immobilized in a
sling. His leg was in a splint, and the hand they had boiled
disappeared beneath white gauze, though some bloody fluid seeped
through to the surface. If I had any doubt about whether this
attack had been aimed at me or not, it died when I finally saw
him.

There was no one else in the room. I looked
around in disbelief, but there was no window or back door to escape
without being seen. Someone had shoved the splinters under Nate's
toenails after we arrived, where did they go? I rushed to Nate and
pulled the long popsicle stick like pieces of wood out of his feet.
The ends smoldered from the fire that very recently went out. I
couldn’t tell if they'd been put out, or if they had simply gone
out on their own, but I had no intention of sweating over it. I
tried to heal him, but the industrial district had turned the earth
stagnant. Without energy to draw from my powers were useless. For
now, I'd have to settle with getting him out of here.

As soon as I touched him, I knew something
was wrong. I had been in love with Nathanial Peplow my entire life,
and I knew how touching him felt. And this was wrong. It was him,
that wasn't the issue, but something had been laid over him like a
blanket. I wondered if the strange sensation was what severed our
emotional bond.

His eyes snapped open at my touch then
closed again. “No.” His voice was slightly hoarse. “Break my bones,
flay me, anything but this. Don't torture me with her face.”

I blinked. After a moment, my brain was able
to digest his unspoken thought process. I had been alert at the
time the bond severed. Nate hadn't. Dylan was there to reassure me
Nate was well. Nate awoke somewhere dark and alone, and unable to
sense me—he still couldn’t sense me.

“It's not a trick, Nate, it's me.” I smiled,
placing my hand over his.

“Lies!” His loud voice echoed in the small
room as he jerked his still restrained hand away. “The dead can't
visit the living.”

“If I was dead, you would be too, wouldn’t
you? Besides, you can still feel me.” I pinched my ear lobe gently,
and his eyes went wide as he looked at my hand and tried to raise
his own. I unbuckled the restraints on his arms, and he tried to
move but winced as the stab wound pulled.

He eyed me skeptically, “If you really are
Amelia, tell me something only she would know.”

I ran down a mental list as I released the
straps on his feet, trying to decide which one to use. Finally, I
placed my hand over his, a small smile toying at my lips as I
remembered. “The night after we killed Monica, I lay in your arms
in a worn out hotel room in Peoria. You squeezed me close and
buried your face in my hair then whispered in my ear, ‘Sometimes
everything feels so out of control. But when you’re lying in my
arms, I feel like the master of the universe.’ And I told you ‘no,
that was He-man.’ I could feel you smiling, and it made me think
maybe, just maybe, there
could
be life after all the chaos.”
I smiled, but my eyes were a little liquid.

Something changed in his eyes, and I could
tell he realized what happened. “Why can't I feel you? This close,
I shouldn't be able to keep you out of my head.”

“Dylan says our emotional bond has been
severed, but we're still physically connected.” Nate twisted his
face in shock and horror. “Believe me, I know.”

I helped him sit up, but I wasn't sure how
to get him out of there. I searched the room for his clothing or
something to cover him with, but found nothing. My cheeks flamed as
I tried to keep my eyes averted, but they kept creeping back of
their own accord. Nate seemed as oblivious to my embarrassment as
he was to his own nudity. I found an old drop cloth to wrap around
him toga style. I grabbed it and covered him as best I could. I
sighed in frustration, knowing I wouldn’t be able to get it around
him unless he stood up.

“Can you put any weight on your leg?” I
asked. He slid to the floor and tested it. I could feel the pain it
caused, but it could bear his weight without overpowering him. I
wrapped him in the makeshift toga, knotted at his shoulder. It fell
to his mid-thigh, but at least he was covered until I could get him
home. Thanking the heavens his good arm was on the side of the
broken leg, I helped him limp out. The stairs seemed like they were
going to be impossible, but we quickly figured out he could manage
hopping on one leg. Once at the bottom, we resumed the awkward
shuffle across the warehouse floor. Hope took root in my chest,
timid at first then growing like a weed. We were going to make it
without a confrontation. But a nagging voice insisted that wasn’t
possible or they wouldn’t have taken Nate in the first place.

It had gotten darker as the sun set, and we
were now in complete darkness. It could have been my imagination,
but it seemed like some of the shadows were deeper than others,
maybe even moving. There was an audible click, and the warehouse
flooded with light. My stomach sank as I saw a woman facing us
flanked by six very large men with their arms crossed over their
chests.

Arching a perfectly shaped brow, she smiled
condescendingly. “Going somewhere?”

I COULDN'T HELP but stare at the woman.
There was no doubt in my mind this was Xander's “smoking hot”
Librarian. I assumed the giant men with the blank expressions were
victims of the Djinn blood drug, Diesel. But it was the woman who
held my gaze. Her skin tight body suit was vinyl, and a red trimmed
black corset provided a shelf for her giant boobs. She wore knee
high black platform boots with red insets around the laces. Her
hair, which was far too red to be natural, was slicked back in a
wrapped ponytail at the crown of her head. She wore tons of dark
eye shadow and the brightest red lipstick I'd ever seen.

“Did you just come from a Halloween party?”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to clap my hand
over it, but there was no way I would let her know how I unnerved I
was.

Her red lips quirked up on one side in a
sadistic smile. “Oh, I kinda like her, she has spunk. Peter didn't
tell me you had spunk.”

Cold rushed through me. Peter had found us.
It was too much to hope that the drugs and Peter were in no way
connected. No wonder he was able to track us so easily when he had
a Librarian working for him. I shifted Nate’s weight a little on my
shoulder, trying not to look unnerved.

“So Peter found a hot Librarian, good for
him.” I wondered why I couldn't stop poking this bear with a stick.
“But why the army of mindless goons?”

She stood with her feet planted, one hand on
her hip, completely still as she studied me. She raise her other
hand and gestured with her palm up. “Oh, these ‘Fumes’ aren’t my
idea, but I'm not complaining. I just stumbled onto someone else's
genius.”

“I get why Peter's after us—psycho with a
grudge and all, but what's in it for you?”

“Cash. I have expensive taste.'' Her red
lips quirked up in a cold sneer again.

''What would the Library heads think?” My
gaze locked with hers, refusing to back down.

Her brows rose in shock. I guess I wasn't
supposed to know about Librarians? “The Council can hole themselves
up with their books until the end of time for all I care.” She
scoffed, her voice taking on a condescending tone. “They were
always trying to keep us out of the world, saying ‘The Otherworld
is too violent. We are the recorders of history and therefore must
remain neutral.’ But taking sides has its perks.” Her eyes lit up
with contempt and barely repressed anger.