identification or greeting, he simply told her to call Pam and tell her Livvy was sick and wouldn’t be in to work in the morning.
“She’s already off for a few days. Where is she?
I want to talk to her.” Andrea’s voice was cold.
“She passed out. I put her to bed. She’ll be fine until morning.”
“Leave her alone, John. You’ve done enough dama—”
He hung up with a gentle click. Damage, yes, he’d done enough damage already. He’d turned love into hate in one fell swoop. He never did anything half-assed.
Chapter Seventeen
Twenty minutes later, he heard her. The bathroom light sliced across the empty bed in a harsh triangle. On her knees, Livvy retched violently, her back arching with the force. One slim hand held her hair, the other gripped her heaving stomach. John waited in the open door. She retched for so long, he began to worry.
“Livvy, how much did you drink?”
“Go away.”
He waited through another round of vomiting.
“How much, Liv?”
“I don’t know. Some peppermint schnapps and chocolate syrup. Then Tow made some Happy Snappers.”
“What the hell’s a Happy Snapper?”
“I don’t know. You told him about it.”
She heaved again, less forcefully. John
couldn’t remember telling Tow about any drink recipe except the Leftover Hangovers, and if the bastard had made those for a novice drinker, then John was going to kill him. “Liv, did it have Popsicles in it?”
“Two cherry.” She vomited the words.
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Tow was a dead man. Peppermint Patties
followed by a slapped-together instant drunk was too much for a beginner’s stomach. Livvy was lucky she didn’t have alcohol poisoning. “How many did you drink?”
“One. Pitcher.” Sliding to her butt on the floor, hair in front of her face, she reached up and flushed the toilet. John caught her before she crashed to the tile. He pulled her to a half-stand and realized she hadn’t quite made it to the toilet in time. She couldn’t sleep like this. She also couldn’t stand by herself.
“Liv, come on, wake up. We need to get in the shower.”
She pushed out at him, panic widening her eyes.
“No shower. No, Murphy, not with you.”
“Okay, okay, shh.”
He waited until she clung to him then lifted her butt onto the vanity. He filled the basin with warm soapy water, one arm around her waist so she could lean against his shoulder. If he couldn’t hold her forever, he could at least care for her when she needed it.
The washcloth helped revitalize her as he wiped her pale face. She pushed her hair out of her closed eyes, her hand grabbing for his arm when she fell back.
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He tried not to frighten her with his words.
“Liv, I’m going to take your shirt off, okay? Just hold onto my arm.”
He pulled the stained shirt over her head, tossed it in the shower then squeezed water out of the cloth. One-handed, he cleaned her chest, working down to the top edge of her panties.
Green polka-dotted cotton. A smile threatened his mouth as he remembered a bright purple pair that hadn’t lasted ten minutes. He forced the memory away and dunked the cloth again.
Livvy didn’t fight him. He wondered if she was awake when her hand caressed his cheek.
“I’m sorry I hit you.”
The whispered apology halted his movements but he couldn’t bring his face to hers. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. How could I do that to you, knowing what you lived through? I’m so sorry.”
Mute with emotion, he nodded and rinsed the cloth. Livvy’s slap had been minor and yet she was the only person who had ever apologized.
The move screamed with meaning. Re-warming the cloth, he murmured, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Her nod was almost invisible. The tear that fell was not. He bent low, cupping her heel. Red streaks dotted her left calf and he drew the washcloth down her leg. Her fingers stroked his hair. “I wanted your baby.”
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He hadn’t thought it was possible for his chest to get any tighter. Why did fear have to taste so sour? His eyelids squeezed firm and his voice was broken. “Don’t, Livvy.”
She swayed but tried to use her hands for balance. When he rose, her eyes found his. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” The words scored his raw throat.
Cherry lips tilted along one side and she broke the connection with a slow shuttering of her lids.
John pulled in a deep breath and drained the basin.
Livvy shivered. He snagged a towel and smoothed it along her damp skin. When her hands crossed her breasts, hiding them from him, his throat got tighter.
She was too unsteady to leave so he pulled his tee shirt over his head, tugging it over hers. The color made him smile softly. Livvy never wore red, claiming it clashed with her hair. Tonight she had no choice and didn’t seem to notice. He thought the color made her hair seem brighter, bolder, closer to the hue of her mouth. It was adorable.
“I need to brush my teeth.” The sentence
sounded like one long word as she started slipping back into sleep. Although she struggled, he knew it was a battle she would lose very soon. Her toothbrush still stood beside his in the glass cup Inez Kelley
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and he held her while she leaned over the sink, spitting foam. When he pressed two white tablets in her hand, she protested.
“Liv, trust me. Take them.” She fought the water too but he got her to drink half a cup. It was the best he could do. Almost asleep, she rocked on the vanity. Smoothing her bangs away from her face made her open her eyes halfway and tilt her cheek into his palm. His knees threatened to buckle.
He helped her off the vanity and steadied her at his side until she was ready to walk. She licked her lips and nodded. Four steps had their feet on carpeting and she shrank back, pulling from him.
“No, I can’t, Murphy. Not your bed, please.”
Her words squeezed his gut in an iron vise. His bed had once brought her pleasure.
“It’s the closest to the bathroom. I’m not sleeping there. You’re okay.”
Coaxed back to calm, she let him lead her to the empty bed. She snuggled into her pillow with a sigh. In the bathroom’s glow, her lashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks and he stroked his thumb across one. The lashes parted and she caught him with a sad drowsy gaze. John squatted beside her and caressed her hair.
She’d leave him in the morning, probably
hungover and feeling worse, and he’d never get this close to her again. He wanted her to stay 450
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awake forever, just like this, letting him drown in her eyes. But too much alcohol flowed through her system and her eyes fluttered closed, shutting him out. He pulled his hand from her hair and grazed her mouth with a soft kiss.
“Love you,” came her sleepy sigh.
John rocked back on his heels. Did she love him or hate him? Probably both, he realized. He quietly grabbed another shirt before turning off the bathroom light and leaving Livvy to sleep. In the hall, he paused. He was always leaving Livvy.
She hadn’t left him until he pushed her away.
The remote had gotten kicked halfway under the couch and he fished it out, one click halting Germany’s rise to power. Plunged into dark slumber, the house breathed. John stopped and listened. The house felt different. Livvy had come home for the last time.
Leather creaked as he sat, his head laid back into the cushion. Hell could not get any more torturous than hearing Livvy pour out her pain.
Pain he’d caused her when all he wanted was to protect her.
Bright starbursts of colored light popped behind his eyelids and he tensed.
Oh God, not
now. I can’t handle any more
. The shrink had warned him it would take a while for the
medication to build up in his system, to prevent all but the most powerful flashbacks. His hands Inez Kelley
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gripped the couch cushion and he tried to focus on breathing. It didn’t work. He didn’t have the strength to fight this one off, and his spine rattled.
Flashes and snippets rushed his mind. He
clamped his hands on his skull, a futile attempt to halt the memories. He rolled off the couch, curled into a ball. Carpeting burned his knees and scratched against his forehead. The ghostly whistle of swinging wood stung his skin. His ears filled with distorted voices as the images claimed him.
Alan, red-faced and sweating… Louder,
John… violet eyes wide in terror… If you’re going
to hell, I’ll be right behind you… The broomstick
lying on a flat red floor… Buttercream… Tea
kettle whistling… Homestyle wisdom in gospel
tones… Cursed be the day on which I was born…
Livvy, head back and laughing in the sunshine…
Gina crouched in the pew, hands clamped over
her ears… Vory screaming… Livvy’s legs around
his hips as she rocked beneath him… A bumblebee
bouncing on a white ceiling… Do it! From hell
you came, to hell you’ll return… Blood streaking
Tyler’s cheeks… Whispered secrets in pale
morning light… A torch springing to life against a
black sky… Coward… Chantilly Lace and a pretty
face … I’m not leaving you, Murphy… Wet copper
hair spread on white pillows… Plum toenails
against his leg as fireworks shimmered
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overhead… Livvy kneeling before him, angel’s
wings at rest… Trembling cherry lips… You’re in
my blood, Murphy, in my soul.
The aftermath was always hushed. Silence
pressed like a too-heavy wool blanket. He had no idea how long this attack had lasted. Now sighted eyes searched the dark, focusing on shadows.
John gathered his scattered thoughts but it was a slow process.
Reality came back in snatches. It was night. He was alive and unhurt. He was on the floor. He was under his dining room table. Livvy was in his bed.
She was going to leave him when she woke up.
She loved him. He loved her. They’d hurt each other. Andros whispered, offering peace.
His heartbeat slowed to normal. Gulping air, John drew unsteady hands down his damp face.
Muscles wasted with tension quivered. His knees cracked when he rolled to his feet. Sweat dripped down his forehead and he let the wizard’s voice lure him to the study. The silent monitor taunted him. A dry mouth worked to swallow. Blue then white appeared as he clicked files.
Seconds ticked by as the program loaded and John opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out a small stone, stolen from Livvy’s landscaping. It gleamed in the lamplight with the glossy color of dried blood. He searched the stone as if it were an oracle of legends and he heard its story.
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He began to type.
Despair hung like fog in the now silent
room. Both Thorn and Vory were exhausted, slipping deep into a troubled sleep. Jondi had no more tears left, his soul empty and numb to anything other than the swish of
Andros’s fur as the wizard paced. Huge
white feet kicked his knapsack, the opened flap spilling odds and ends over the polished stone floor. Andros heaved a great sigh and bent to pick up the scattered mess.
His massive hand cradled the tiny gray
pebbles, black eyes wide with wonder.
“Jondi, where did you get these?”
He shrugged, his voice dull and flat.
“They’re just rocks. I found them in the Dell.
I thought they were pretty. I don’t know
why I picked them up.”
“They’re blood stones, Jondi, ancient
magic. I haven’t seen any since I was your size.”
Jondi glanced at the large monster. “You
can have them.”
The wizard’s voice trembled in horrified
understanding and he closed his colossal
hand over the delicate rocks. “Could even he be that evil?”
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The wild movements of Andros’s eyes,
his hurried breathing and the shake of his fur penetrated Jondi’s pained stupor.
“What?”
Andros didn’t speak, just grabbed a small sharp knife and rushed to Thorn’s side. The speed of his removing Thorn’s bandage
frightened Jondi. When he hurried to Vory’s side and pulled the blade, Jondi jumped in fear. Andros lifted one small hand and cut into Vory’s flesh, the thin line bleeding bright red drops onto the stained bandage.
“What are you doing to her?”
“Come, give me your hand.” Jondi
hesitated and Andros roared, “Now! Come
here.”
A brief sting crossed his fur as the blade sliced a short line. Blood welled until
Andros pressed the cloth to the wound,
soaking the bright ooze. Jondi watched in confused fascination. Andros pounded one
small stone into powder, his pestle and
mortar grating with a fractured crunch. The blood-soaked cloth spread out on the table held the stain of three friends, three souls linked forever by fate.
“What are you doing?”
“Praying that I’m right and it’s not too
late.”
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Smaller than sand grains, the pulverized
blood stone fell from Andros’s fingers and sprinkled over the fabric. It touched the wide stain from Thorn’s head and began to smoke. A thin line of smoke wafted from
Vory’s blood a second later. But it lay flat and damp on Jondi’s before sucking the wet mess up, the powder turning deep red.
Andros drew a deep breath. Using his
fingers, he scooped up the wet red mix and dropped bits onto the smoldering patches.
Smoke poofed, then the tiny sodden grains sucked the smoke back, turning black.
“What happened?”
“The spell that made no sense. It’s your
blood, Jondi. Nordrake cursed the Dell. Any warm-blooded creature inside it will get
sick and die from his curse…except for
royal blood. It’s perfect hate. He couldn’t kill you outright so he set out to torment you, steal from you what was most precious,
your friends.”
Hope blinked and Jondi held his breath.