damn thing off.
She’d made the mistake of looking at the mirror and it had been like being flung back into time.
It was an ugly, awful irony that Morgan’s former body bore a striking resemblance to Nessa’s. The shape of the eyes were a bit different, and her hair was blond now rather than brown, but the differences were so slight they could have been sisters—nearly twins.
Seeing herself in that chemise and wearing a face that looked far too much like the one from her youth had been too much.
Now she had echoes of Elias’s voice in her mind, the low, rough sound of his laughter, the heated whispers in her ear as he made love to her. The tormented, awful rasp of his voice as he lay dying in her arms.
My Nessa . . .
Only God Himself could keep me from you.
Pain wrapped around her heart and squeezed. It poisoned her, darkened everything and stole the breath from her lungs.
Closing her eyes, she buried her face against the pillow and whispered, “Please, just let me rest. Please . . .”
K ELSEY stood outside the door, her hand frozen just inches from the door. She’d been about to knock, but then a wave of pain had threatened to send her to her knees.
Helplessly, she turned toward Malachi and rested her head against his chest.
“What’s wrong, sweet?” he whispered, stroking his hand up her spine.
She shook her head, unable to explain the maelstrom of pain coming from Nessa’s room.
“Kelsey,” Malachi said, his voice low, rough.
Lifting her head, she looked at him. In his midnight blue eyes, she saw the warning. If she didn’t explain, he’d go look for himself. Sighing, she rested a hand on his chest and lowered her shields, projected some of the pain she felt from Nessa.
It hit him like a sledgehammer. She watched as he stumbled back a step before righting himself. She cut the flow off and took his hand, guiding him away from Nessa’s room.
They had their own quarters, tucked in the east wing—or rather, under the east wing of Excelsior—and that was where her footsteps led her. Once inside their bedroom, she curled up in a chair and hugged herself, watching while Malachi started to pace.
“What in the hell are we supposed to do?” he finally bit off, turning to stare at her. Fury and worry warred in his eyes.
Kelsey understood completely. “I don’t know.” She sighed and rested her head against the padded back of the chair. Closing her eyes, she muttered, “I just don’t know. But she can’t survive with that kind of pain inside her, Mal. It’s going to drive her mad.”
“I think it already has.” He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “You didn’t see how weak she was, sweet. If I hadn’t seen her, I never would have believed it, and yet she plunged feetfirst into a fight with a couple of ferals. She passed out—right in the bloody middle.”
She’d heard this already. Several times. But she said nothing. If she was shocked just to hear it, she couldn’t imagine the shock it had given him to watch.
Nessa was courting death too closely these days.
“How can we help her?”
Kelsey opened her eyes and stared at her husband. It broke her heart, in so many ways. Just to see him look so confused, just to feel how helpless he felt—this was Malachi . The oldest of them all. He went where angels feared to tread and did it with a laugh. There was nothing he couldn’t handle . . . or so it would seem.
He couldn’t handle this, though. And she didn’t have any idea what to say to him, how to help him. She didn’t know how to help Nessa, one of her dearest friends.
Quietly, she said, “I don’t think we can.” Rising, she crossed the floor to stand in front him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her head against his chest. She sighed as his cool body began to warm from the contact. He ran his lips down her neck. Cupping the back of his head, she tipped her head to the side and pressed him close.
They both hurt. They both worried.
She’d made the mistake of looking at the mirror and it had been like being flung back into time.
It was an ugly, awful irony that Morgan’s former body bore a striking resemblance to Nessa’s. The shape of the eyes were a bit different, and her hair was blond now rather than brown, but the differences were so slight they could have been sisters—nearly twins.
Seeing herself in that chemise and wearing a face that looked far too much like the one from her youth had been too much.
Now she had echoes of Elias’s voice in her mind, the low, rough sound of his laughter, the heated whispers in her ear as he made love to her. The tormented, awful rasp of his voice as he lay dying in her arms.
My Nessa . . .
Only God Himself could keep me from you.
Pain wrapped around her heart and squeezed. It poisoned her, darkened everything and stole the breath from her lungs.
Closing her eyes, she buried her face against the pillow and whispered, “Please, just let me rest. Please . . .”
K ELSEY stood outside the door, her hand frozen just inches from the door. She’d been about to knock, but then a wave of pain had threatened to send her to her knees.
Helplessly, she turned toward Malachi and rested her head against his chest.
“What’s wrong, sweet?” he whispered, stroking his hand up her spine.
She shook her head, unable to explain the maelstrom of pain coming from Nessa’s room.
“Kelsey,” Malachi said, his voice low, rough.
Lifting her head, she looked at him. In his midnight blue eyes, she saw the warning. If she didn’t explain, he’d go look for himself. Sighing, she rested a hand on his chest and lowered her shields, projected some of the pain she felt from Nessa.
It hit him like a sledgehammer. She watched as he stumbled back a step before righting himself. She cut the flow off and took his hand, guiding him away from Nessa’s room.
They had their own quarters, tucked in the east wing—or rather, under the east wing of Excelsior—and that was where her footsteps led her. Once inside their bedroom, she curled up in a chair and hugged herself, watching while Malachi started to pace.
“What in the hell are we supposed to do?” he finally bit off, turning to stare at her. Fury and worry warred in his eyes.
Kelsey understood completely. “I don’t know.” She sighed and rested her head against the padded back of the chair. Closing her eyes, she muttered, “I just don’t know. But she can’t survive with that kind of pain inside her, Mal. It’s going to drive her mad.”
“I think it already has.” He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “You didn’t see how weak she was, sweet. If I hadn’t seen her, I never would have believed it, and yet she plunged feetfirst into a fight with a couple of ferals. She passed out—right in the bloody middle.”
She’d heard this already. Several times. But she said nothing. If she was shocked just to hear it, she couldn’t imagine the shock it had given him to watch.
Nessa was courting death too closely these days.
“How can we help her?”
Kelsey opened her eyes and stared at her husband. It broke her heart, in so many ways. Just to see him look so confused, just to feel how helpless he felt—this was Malachi . The oldest of them all. He went where angels feared to tread and did it with a laugh. There was nothing he couldn’t handle . . . or so it would seem.
He couldn’t handle this, though. And she didn’t have any idea what to say to him, how to help him. She didn’t know how to help Nessa, one of her dearest friends.
Quietly, she said, “I don’t think we can.” Rising, she crossed the floor to stand in front him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her head against his chest. She sighed as his cool body began to warm from the contact. He ran his lips down her neck. Cupping the back of his head, she tipped her head to the side and pressed him close.
They both hurt. They both worried.
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