TORN: (The Fire Born Novels, Book Two) Page 17

  My hand went to my mouth, and I thought of Tristan, who’d rushed me out of Max’s house and dunked me into the ocean so I wouldn’t implode into flames. Tristan, who’d patted my back afterward, when I’d been sprawled out on all fours, heaving on the beach. Tristan lying in a pool of his own blood at my feet, telling me to leave him—to help Max. Tristan, who was still hurt—because of me—because of Max. Because we were the only Ancients left. He’d been protecting us against the enemy. Doing his job. The same way Justice had been, continually following me around like a stray dog who needed food. I swayed where I stood. Justice with his smart mouth. I remembered the expression on his face—the absolute terror I’d seen when he’d told Max to grab me and run, the day we were attacked. The tone of his voice when he’d found me in the Underground and begged me to let him help find Max. As if he’d needed my permission.

  It would destroy Max if anything happened to either of them. I knew that without having to think. The way he talked about them with a mixture of awe and annoyance. Like brothers. Like family. The information struck me, like nothing else had, and made me physically ill. If either of them died or got taken away from Max—like his mother …

  I looked up at Benny. “There has to be way to stop this. We can’t just let them …” My words ended in my throat, as her eyebrows lifted, jaw set. “The Morrigan,” I whispered, chills slithering their way up my spine.

  The reason everything, and everyone, was in chaos. Benny nodded, clear blue eyes wide.

  “But … she’s dead.” As the words left my lips, I knew it had been the wrong thing to say.

  Benny’s eyes darkened, as she looked away from me. “You don’t really believe that, I hope.” Her voice was soft and low, but she might as well have been screaming.

  The memory of Agrona’s words rang in my memory. ‘I will help her. Niece of The Morrigan. Wielder of war. The one with the Ancient’s Oghams.’ Her red-eyed gaze had swept across the Etchings on my shoulders and wrists. ‘I will help The Raven.’

  Oh, god.

  As if the ground rose up underneath my feet, and I was falling head first into the mouth of a volcano, I remembered my mother talking to my grandmother in the Underground, ‘Is it her?’ Her voice had rung like an echo in my head. ‘Is it the Morrigan? Tell me what you see in Teine.’

  Oh, my god.

  26

  The band was performing sound checks, as I walked into the overcrowded all-ages bar next to Benny in some kind of trance, like my feet weren’t making contact with the ground, and I just watched everything from some other existence. I was sick of all the wives’ tales and rumors that did nothing but lead me in circles trying to chase a legend no one really knew.

  A high pitched, ear-splitting wail rebounded off The Pub’s walls, causing everyone to cover their ears, and snapped me back into reality.

  “Sorry.” Justice’s voice boomed out of the speakers. “Sorry about that. Technical … difficulties.”

  I plopped down at a table close to the stage and gave him a half-hearted smile as he casually glanced in my direction. With horror in his eyes, he stared back, and swiftly turned around, facing one of the other band members.

  I rolled my eyes, too out of it to care what his problem was now, having become used to how weird Justice could be, even on a good day.

  “I’m gonna get something to drink. You want anything?” Benny leaned against the edge of the table, tapping her fingers on the wood veneer.

  “No thanks. I’m going to go to the bathroom.” I had the urge to splash cold water on my face, maybe dunk my head in the toilet. “Tell Justice to save the table.”

  The hallway leading to the restrooms was painted deep purple with splashes of army neon green. Without the blinding stage lights, and red hued ornamental lanterns on the tabletops, I had to squint to see. A sign read ‘Babes’ on a solid matte black door that looked like it had been painted with chalkboard paint. Next to it, another identical door read ‘Stage’ both with reflective glow-in-the-dark stick-on letters. Through a crack in the ‘Stage’ door, a guy shuffled equipment around, mumbling curses under his breath. I swung the restroom door open, blocking him from view, and entered.

  Benny’s knees were bouncing under the table when I sat back down beside her, a flood of white from the stage lights sending the rest of The Pub into near darkness.

  “Nervous?” I asked.

  She jumped like I’d shocked her with a taser gun, her big blue eyes centering on my face with what looked like fear—or maybe pity? “This probably wasn’t a good idea. You ready to go?”

  “We just got here.” It was better than sitting at home. Staring at the floor some more. Even if what Benny told me had completely freaked me out.

  She leaned over. “I know, but you really don’t look good. I think you might be getting sick.”

  “Thanks. Why do you look like you’re about to jump out of your skin?”

  She gave a little groaning noise and, without a word, her eyes shifted toward the stage. My gaze followed, and all the air seemed to suck out of the room.

  Max sat on a barstool at center stage, next to Justice, eyes down, tuning a guitar resting over his lap. I stared at him, transfixed, watching his fingers strum the chords. He smiled over his shoulder toward Justice and tapped the microphone with his finger, inches from his mouth. It made a thudding noise throughout the bar.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  He cleared his throat and looked like a guy without a care in the world. Thrumming the guitar again, he scooted closer to the mic.

  I blinked, hard, hoping the motion would clear his image away—show me the true reality of what I was seeing, because I could not be seeing Max. He couldn’t have lied to me.

  Was the Fomore thing just an excuse? A reason to break up with me?

  The soft thrum of drumsticks counted off the beat, before Justice began to play a melancholy tune. The bass came after, along with Max at lead guitar. He raised his mouth to the mic, and the sweet, husky sound of his voice filled the small space, rendering me speechless. Dazed, I stared at the snug sleeves of the T-shirt accentuating his biceps. The way his foot tapped out the beat of the music on the wooden stage floor. His light brown hair fell across his face, and the bright stage lights made his grey eyes glint in the darkness.

  I had no idea he played the guitar—or sang.

  We were thrown together and torn apart again so quickly in the last few weeks, we’d never had a chance to catch up on everything we’d missed since we were kids. Never had a chance at a life that included normal activities—not running for our lives.

  I stood up too fast, awkwardly knocking into the edge of the table. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, how absolutely breathtaking he was. I rotated on my heel, and my chair leg tangled up with my foot, causing it to crash to the floor, and I tore toward the exit.

  “Layla.” Benny’s call pressed against my ears as I pushed through the crowd, knocking into people. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  A muffled, grinding sound ripped through the amplifiers lining the stage, and bounced off the walls with a screeching wail. Something hard and heavy hit the stage with a thwack, sending another high pitch over the disgruntled crowd.

  My eardrums vibrated. Obviously the mic had struck the floor. Someone swore, and boos rang out in unison.

  “Layla—” Max called after me.

  Pain filled my chest. Heartache and despair. Unwelcome tears fell down my face. My vision blurred, and heat rose into my throat, cutting off my ability to breathe properly. A sharp pang radiated across my shoulder blades.

  “Hey, what about the music?” someone yelled over the wailing pitch bouncing off the walls.

  “Layla, wait.” Max’s voice cut me like a razor, shredding what was left of my already frayed nerves.

  I broke into a run, pushing people out of the way, toward the door.

  “Liar, liar. Nothing but a liar.” A familiar, taunting voice rang in my head.

  Feet pounded
behind me. “Layla, come on. Stop.” Panic leached through his labored breaths.

  Shoving the exit door open, I caught the corner of the brick building, and swung myself down the alley between The Pub and the bakery.

  Max caught my wrist. “I’m sorry.” His voice was ragged and drawn. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  I pushed away from him, not wanting his comfort. Not the sweet smell of his skin, or the sound of his voice. He let me go, staring with an expression of shock and disbelief, as I moved away from him so fast I hit the opposite brick wall.

  “You didn’t know I’d be here? What are you doing here?”

  His mouth opened and closed. “It’s hard to explain …”

  My control snapped. “If you wanted to break up with me, you could have just said that! You didn’t have to make up … an excuse.” My body shuddered.

  “Break up with you? Wha—are you crazy?” His eyes were wild.

  “Save it. Just go, Max. You made your choice. Just go!”

  His eyes widened further. “I—”

  “You left.” I paced, trying to burn off the building pressure of betrayal. “You left!”

  He dropped his chin, his head falling into his hands. “I know … and I’m—I don’t—how am I supposed to do this?” he asked in a whisper, rubbing his forehead. “You have every right—every right to hate me.”

  Hate you? I didn’t say anything, only watched him in silence with my jaw clamped tight. “He’s the enemy. Don’t talk to him.” The same odd voice taunted me, rattling in my head. I closed my eyes tight, trying to shove it away.

  “I’m here because Justice asked me to play with him. One last time, as he says. Before I go.”

  My eyes opened, and I stared at him across the dark alley. “I never even knew you played the guitar.” I growled. “You’re the lead singer of a band, and I didn’t know. What else don’t I know?”

  “I used to sing all the time when we were little. You don’t remember?”

  I glared at him. “Nursery rhymes don’t count!”

  “I hate this,” he said, seeming unfazed by my anger. “I miss you. I didn’t—don’t want to leave you.” It was the faintest whisper as if he’d known he shouldn’t have said it, but he did say it, and hearing him admit it weakened my resolve—my anger—into ash.

  “I miss you, too,” I whispered, hating myself for admitting it, wanting to stay mad at him for leaving—for giving up on us. On me.

  He gazed at me under the hazy yellow lights between the buildings, and I realized the dark shadows under his eyes hadn’t diminished since I’d seen him weeks ago. If anything, they were more pronounced. Deep purplish bruises marked his jaw, and his skin wasn’t its usual golden tone, but an almost gray color. He looked sick.

  I walked closer, genuine concern obliterating whatever anger I had left. “Are you … okay?”

  “No.” His head thumped back like a weight against the brick wall, eyes closing. “But that’s nothing new.” He gave a slight, humorless chuckle. “I haven’t felt good in weeks.”

  Moving closer still, I pressed my palm against his forehead. He flinched, opening his eyes,watching me. “It isn’t the flu, Layla.” His tone was low and soft. “Níl aon ghrá sin gan pian.” There is no love without pain.

  I lowered my hand, knowing I should back away—leave him alone. It would only be worse when he left again. Instead, I said, “Ní dhéanann an bhraitheann mhaith phian.” This doesn’t feel like pain.

  His gaze smoldered and darkened as he stared at me, chest rising and falling. “I haven’t heard you speak in Irish since we were little.”

  Surprised myself, I said, “I guess my memory is slowly coming back.” I touched the shadowed marks under his eyes. They were almost black, and as I looked closer, I noticed a large dark spot bruising the side of his neck. It extended down to his collarbone. Gently touching it with my fingertips, I asked, “Why aren’t these healing?”

  He shivered and put his hand over mine, entwined our fingers, and moved my hand back to rest at my side. “I should go back inside.”

  I nodded slightly, unable to take my eyes off of his.

  He lifted his hand, as though he couldn’t stop himself, and touched my cheekbone, sending a tinge of electricity through my jaw. “Why can’t I leave you alone?”

  I didn’t say anything, relishing in the heat of his touch, the closeness of our bodies. He smelled of gardenias and smoke, like the remnants of a wood burning fire.

  “You should tell me to go. This isn’t safe.” His finger traced the line of my jaw, and he lifted my chin. “Me, talking to you.”

  “Cé a dúirt go raibh mé ag lorg sábháilte?” Who said I was looking for safe?

  Color flooded his cheeks, and a wicked, devilish grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. His thumb traced my lips. “Tell me to go away.” He leaned closer, and with the softest of touches, he parted my lips with his own.

  My face flushed with heat, as I inhaled the sweetness of him, tongues mingling.

  Slowly moving his lips from side to side over mine, he said, “Tell me to leave you alone, Layla.”

  A tiny part of me wanted to push him away, tell him to go like he asked, and stay mad at him for leaving, but as I looked up into his face, so close to mine, the low lights casting dim shadows off the bruises marking his jaw, the wells under his eyes, I couldn’t. Where someone else might have seen injuries—a guy to stay away from—I saw the same beauty I’d always seen, the most amazing person I’d ever known, and I couldn’t turn my head, or look away, or move. I wanted only him. Perfectly battered and bruised. “I can’t.”

  His eyes darkened, filled with yearning, as a soft, defeated groan escaped his throat, and his lips parted mine again. Warm hands traveled from my jaw, down my body, to my hips, and he turned me around, leaning my back against the brick alley wall. His kisses turned hungry and desperate, and a flash of movement, like a shift of the light, flickered from the corner of my eye.

  “I’d have to ask to be completely sure, but I think kissing the enemy is against the rules.”

  I withdrew immediately, shocked by the voice—a voice I recognized instantly, but Max held me tight, his racing breath, slowing. The vein in his temple pulsed, as he glanced toward the person talking. His jaw clenched tight, and he cursed under his breath. For a second I thought he might snap.

  The Leanaan Sidhe smirked, standing at the end of the alley with a hand on her hip, looking toward Max. Her yellow-green eyes shifted to mine, and she grinned wide—a sneer on her lips. She was exactly as I remembered her from Max’s house, the day of the attack.

  Long, soft brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, powder pink graced her lips, a short dark dress hugged her shape, and tall boots ended just under her bare knees. “Max …” She gave a pouted whine and dropped her shoulders like a little girl who had a crush on an older boy, who couldn’t have cared less. “I’ve been waiting for you like you told me to.”

  I yanked away from him hard and fast, a bubbling rage spilling out of me like a geyser—a sensation I knew too well. It had fueled my existence for the six years I’d been without Max, positive he was nothing more than a hallucination my deluded mind had created. Fueled my frantic search when he'd been taken away—sustained me like oxygen—or blood. “What does she mean, like you told her to?” The ebb and flow of fire surged through my veins, accompanied by a shivering chill slithering over my skin like needles. “What are you doing with her?” The vicious hiss surprised my own ears.

  Max’s eyes widened, his features softening, and he stepped toward me. “I’m not with her.” He thrust his hand in her direction. “She was sent by Elethan. He wants an answer to his proposition, since I haven’t given him one yet. “

  “Oh, Max, you might as well tell her the truth about us, already.” She smiled and ambled down the alley toward me. “I’m Ana. I guess I never told you that, did I?” She shrugged—a little upward pop of her shoulders. “Max and I—we’ve known each other for a long tim
e. Haven’t we?” She touched his arm.

  “Shut up, Ana.” The edge in his voice was sharp as a knife. His fists balled at his sides as he shrugged her away.

  I glared at him with unrestrained shock, as if I’d never really seen him before.

  “He’s the enemy.” A mismatch of thoughts rambled in my head, prodding me. “Liar. Don’t trust him. He isn’t one of us. He’s one of them.”

  “Lay …” His eyes narrowed, concern lacing his tone. “What is that? What … what’d you just say?” He moved closer toward me. “There’s nothing going on here. I’m not lying to you.” His voice was both gentle and surprised.

  I backed up. “Get away from me.” Red lines bled across my vision, and the Shield on my right shoulder moved like a snake under my skin.

  “What?” His brow furrowed, voice hitching. “Don’t …” He reached for my hand, but I stepped farther away from him. “Stop looking at me like that, Layla. Nothing is going on here.”

  “Uh-oh … better listen to her,” Ana said. “Before she sets you on fire.” She chuckled and sauntered up behind Max, wrapping her hand around his bicep. “This one’s a real handful, isn’t she?” She leaned in close to his ear. “We really do need to go.” She tugged on his arm.

  He shrugged her off with an impatient, angry noise, not taking his gaze off of me. “Layla …”

  I stared at him, the way his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, as if he was in a state of panic, the stiffness of his posture, like he was readying himself to pounce at any second. The grey of his eyes deepened, pupils dilated in the darkness, and I realized he was waiting for me to move—waiting to see what I was going to do.

  “Leave me alone.” I growled it, fists clenched, flames so close to the surface that an eruption would soon be impossible to stop. “You made a choice to be one of them.” I inclined my head toward the Leanaan Sidhe. “You wanted me to tell you to leave me alone before. I’m telling you now. Leave. Me. Alone.”