and swelled, and burned their hearts. Five hearts, five lights shining through the veil of their quiet flesh.
I dreamed of sunlight, then. I dreamed them eating light, and growing—large as lions, large as bears, larger than the bones of creatures millions of years dead—and when they walked, mountains broke—and when they wept, my heart broke—and when they screamed—
—my dream broke.
I floated near consciousness, hot and spinning, and listened to a woman say, “You will kill yourself, Lightbringer. You must take what you need from your bond.”
“No,” Grant said, in a harsh voice. “She’s not strong enough.”
“Then find another. Bond with me, if you like. I am strong.”
“Get the hell away.”
He sounded so angry—but tired, too. Nearly broken. I tried to open my eyes, or speak, but I was still too close to the edge of sleep. So I listened. I listened to the silence that followed his voice, and floated in the darkness of my mind, burning with fever and the lingering memory of the boys, screaming in my dream.
“You must choose soon,” said the woman finally; but she sounded distant, as though she had, indeed, gotten the hell away. “You used so much of yourself, trying to heal her. You took nothing in return. If you would feel more comfortable bonding with your old assassin—”
“No,” Grant said, and there was finality in that word, and in the power of his voice, that made the air shiver.
“No,” he said again, softer. “My wife, or no one.”
“Then you will die,” said the woman, “and perhaps we will all be safer for it.”
Hell, no, I wanted to say, but my voice was buried too deep inside my throat, and my throat was sinking, along with the rest of me, even deeper into that lush, dreaming night inside my mind.
I fell asleep again. If I dreamed, I did not remember.
CHAPTER 8
T HE next time I opened my eyes, I was in a bed.
With demons, and my husband.
I lay on my back, sunk into a soft pallet beneath the open sky. It was night. I could see stars. I had no idea where I was, but a blanket had been pulled up to my chin and smelled like vanilla and coffee. Dek and Mal snored against my neck.
I wiggled my toes. My fingers twitched. My skin no longer burned. Except for my aching muscles, I felt fine. Weak, but fine.
I exhaled slowly, contemplating that miracle. That wonderful, crazy miracle.
I glanced left, and found the source of that miracle. Grant slept beside me on his side, one hand clutching my blanket, near my shoulder. Even unconscious, he looked exhausted.
Sucking on his claws, Raw slumped across my husband’s legs. Aaz rested on my right, spines drooping. Candy wrappers surrounded him, along with a half-chewed baseball bat, Playboy magazine, and a cloth tote bag filled with thick knitted socks, some of which covered his feet and the spikes on his head.
My boys. My boys had not abandoned me.
It was stupid, how much that meant. I wanted to sob like a kid and curl on my side while hugging Aaz and his stupid porn magazines. I wanted to wrap all those dangerous, crazy demons in my arms and squeeze them until we all hurt a little less, or a little more, or whatever. Whatever. My boys were here.
But that was followed by an equally powerful wave of horror, and loneliness. I felt so alone.
“Maxine,” Zee breathed. I turned my head, and found him sitting beside the pallet, hugging a teddy bear. One of its arms had been torn off, and some stuffing clung to the side of his sharp mouth.
I tried to smile for him, but all it did was make me want to cry. “Hey.”
Zee took a deep breath and tucked the teddy bear under the blanket, beside me. Then he crawled in with it, clinging to my side. I lifted my arm as much as I could and hugged him close.
“Are you okay?” I asked him. “Do you hurt?”
He shrugged, small, hesitant. “Pain. Then weakness. Tired now, but better.”
“You went away from me.” I sounded hurt, and couldn’t help it.
Zee drew in a ragged,
I dreamed of sunlight, then. I dreamed them eating light, and growing—large as lions, large as bears, larger than the bones of creatures millions of years dead—and when they walked, mountains broke—and when they wept, my heart broke—and when they screamed—
—my dream broke.
I floated near consciousness, hot and spinning, and listened to a woman say, “You will kill yourself, Lightbringer. You must take what you need from your bond.”
“No,” Grant said, in a harsh voice. “She’s not strong enough.”
“Then find another. Bond with me, if you like. I am strong.”
“Get the hell away.”
He sounded so angry—but tired, too. Nearly broken. I tried to open my eyes, or speak, but I was still too close to the edge of sleep. So I listened. I listened to the silence that followed his voice, and floated in the darkness of my mind, burning with fever and the lingering memory of the boys, screaming in my dream.
“You must choose soon,” said the woman finally; but she sounded distant, as though she had, indeed, gotten the hell away. “You used so much of yourself, trying to heal her. You took nothing in return. If you would feel more comfortable bonding with your old assassin—”
“No,” Grant said, and there was finality in that word, and in the power of his voice, that made the air shiver.
“No,” he said again, softer. “My wife, or no one.”
“Then you will die,” said the woman, “and perhaps we will all be safer for it.”
Hell, no, I wanted to say, but my voice was buried too deep inside my throat, and my throat was sinking, along with the rest of me, even deeper into that lush, dreaming night inside my mind.
I fell asleep again. If I dreamed, I did not remember.
CHAPTER 8
T HE next time I opened my eyes, I was in a bed.
With demons, and my husband.
I lay on my back, sunk into a soft pallet beneath the open sky. It was night. I could see stars. I had no idea where I was, but a blanket had been pulled up to my chin and smelled like vanilla and coffee. Dek and Mal snored against my neck.
I wiggled my toes. My fingers twitched. My skin no longer burned. Except for my aching muscles, I felt fine. Weak, but fine.
I exhaled slowly, contemplating that miracle. That wonderful, crazy miracle.
I glanced left, and found the source of that miracle. Grant slept beside me on his side, one hand clutching my blanket, near my shoulder. Even unconscious, he looked exhausted.
Sucking on his claws, Raw slumped across my husband’s legs. Aaz rested on my right, spines drooping. Candy wrappers surrounded him, along with a half-chewed baseball bat, Playboy magazine, and a cloth tote bag filled with thick knitted socks, some of which covered his feet and the spikes on his head.
My boys. My boys had not abandoned me.
It was stupid, how much that meant. I wanted to sob like a kid and curl on my side while hugging Aaz and his stupid porn magazines. I wanted to wrap all those dangerous, crazy demons in my arms and squeeze them until we all hurt a little less, or a little more, or whatever. Whatever. My boys were here.
But that was followed by an equally powerful wave of horror, and loneliness. I felt so alone.
“Maxine,” Zee breathed. I turned my head, and found him sitting beside the pallet, hugging a teddy bear. One of its arms had been torn off, and some stuffing clung to the side of his sharp mouth.
I tried to smile for him, but all it did was make me want to cry. “Hey.”
Zee took a deep breath and tucked the teddy bear under the blanket, beside me. Then he crawled in with it, clinging to my side. I lifted my arm as much as I could and hugged him close.
“Are you okay?” I asked him. “Do you hurt?”
He shrugged, small, hesitant. “Pain. Then weakness. Tired now, but better.”
“You went away from me.” I sounded hurt, and couldn’t help it.
Zee drew in a ragged,
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