Forget Me Not (12 page)

Clay rushed to the bathroom on shaky legs, and peered into the full-length mirror on the back of the door. No cuts. No gashes. Only a collage of bruises of varying ages, and a body that was so thin he barely recognized it.

The blood wasn’t his, and yet he could find no relief in that knowledge. It had to belong to someone.

The need to scrub it away rose up, compelling him to stumble into the shower. Cold water hit him hard, driving the air from his lungs before it slowly warmed. He lathered himself from head to toe, watching in disgust as the rusty suds spiraled down the drain.

Even though the hot water stung, he still felt detached from the world, as though he were covered by a thick layer of foam, preventing anything from really reaching him. His head was clouded with confusion—so much so that he was only just now realizing that he was confused.

He dried off and headed for his kitchen where the coffee lived. After three cups and twenty minutes, Clay’s brain finally began to function. And with that relative clarity of thought came fear.

There were stains on his floor in the shape of his boots, leading from the kitchen door all the way to his bedroom. He followed them to where the bloody pile of clothes lay on the rug.

There was even more blood on them than he’d imagined. So much that he knew someone had to be dead. The question was who? And whether or not Clay had been the one to kill them.

A sick sense of dread settled over him, making the coffee in his stomach churn.

He had no memories of last night. The sun was streaming in through the windows, but he couldn’t remember anything since lunch yesterday. As hard as he tried, there was simply a gaping black hole where that time should have been, as if he’d been asleep since then.

The blood proved otherwise.

Clay turned on the local news, barely breathing as the anchor moved from one story to the next. He wasn’t sure what he expected to hear—reports of a building collapse or a giant pile-up on I-35, maybe—but he knew what he feared: murder.

His hand shook as he surfed from one station to the next, seeking some sign of what he’d done. When they started repeating the same stories, he wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or scared. Maybe he hadn’t hurt anyone. Maybe he’d saved someone’s life and gotten them medical attention. Then again, maybe they just hadn’t found the body yet. Or bodies.

This wasn’t the first time Clay had woken up with blood on his hands, but he had no way of figuring out how to make it be the last time. The only person he could trust was his best friend, Mira. But she was like a sister to him, and he couldn’t stand the idea of burdening her with his problems.

Still, if anyone could help him solve the mystery, she could.

Clay dug his cell phone out of his bloody jeans and wiped it clean before dialing Mira.

Her voice was so cheerful and bright it hurt his head. “Good morning, Clay. You’re up early.”

“Heya, squirt. I need a favor.”

“Sure.”

“I need to know if anyone in the area was killed last night.”

The line went silent for a minute. “Uh… what?”

He hated lying to her, but there was no other way. “I saw a ton of blood on the sidewalk outside a club. I was wondering if anyone was murdered. Can you find out?”

“Where was it?”

Shit. He hadn’t been thinking clearly enough to consider even such a simple question. He was even worse off in the mental department than he’d thought. “I don’t remember. I was drunk.”

“Clay,” she said in that voice that told him she knew he was lying. “What’s really going on?”

“Can you find out or not?”

She let out a heavy sigh. They’d been friends a long time—since they were kids—and he was not easy on his friends. Especially Mira.

“Hold on.” Disappointment weighed on her voice.

Clay heard clicking of keys in the background before she came back on the line. “There was a drug-related shooting that killed three. One fatal car accident. Three deaths from natural causes. That’s all I could find.”

“Any John or Jane Does?”

“You want me to hack into the morgue? That’s a little dark, even for you. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Really. Don’t worry.”

“How can I not worry? You sound awful. Did something happen?”

The lie nearly choked him. “No. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“You’re not a bother, Clay. You know I love you. Whatever you need, I’m there, okay?”

An unexpected spurt of emotion clogged his throat. She was the only person in the world he really cared about. He didn’t know why she stuck with him when he was such a mess, but he was glad she did. “I love you, too, squirt.”

“Then let me help you. The headaches, the blackouts—you need help.”

The pile of bloody clothes popped into his mind, staring at him in accusation. Until he figured out what was going on, he wasn’t safe to be around. “I’ll be fine. But I’m not feeling so great, so I’m taking a sick day. Will you let Bella know?”

“Sure. Get some rest and call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” he lied.

* * *

Mira hung up the phone, feeling sick to her stomach. Clay was getting worse. The bruises, the split knuckles, the dislocated joints. And now he wanted her to check death records? Even if her IQ had been cut in half, she would have been able to figure out what that meant.

He thought he’d killed someone.

Clay kept pushing her away, making up reasons why they could no longer hang out together. The more she tried to help, the harder he pushed.

If he wouldn’t let her help him, she had to find someone who could. And there was only one man Mira knew who even had a chance at getting through Clay’s thick skull.

What she was about to do would piss her best friend off, but that was just too bad. She owed him her life—even if he didn’t remember—and if she had to suffer through his anger, so be it.

With her decision made, she dialed the phone.

Stay tuned for a special look at the latest novel in

the Sentinel Wars series by Shannon K. Butcher,

DYING WISH

Now on sale from Signet.

Missouri, April 2

Jackie Patton was dressed to kill, and if one more of those burly, tattooed Theronai warriors tried to grope her, she was going to do just that.

Her red power suit was far too dressy for the occasion, but it made her feel better, almost normal. The thought sent hysterical laughter bubbling up from deep inside her. Normal was such a distant concept that she couldn’t even remember what it felt like.

Two years. That’s all the demons had stolen from her. She could never get them back, but she was free now, and determined to live that way.

She smoothed her hands over her suit jacket, ignoring the way they trembled. What little she had was already packed. She’d regained access to her bank accounts. Her house was gone—foreclosed and sold at auction—but she’d find another. She had enough money to live on while she found a job, and despite the tight job market, her résumé was impressive. A good position was just around the corner. She could feel it.

All she had to do now was let Joseph, the leader of this place—this compound—know she was leaving. Today. Right now.

Jackie went to the door of her suite, hesitating with her hand on the knob. She was safe here. There were no demons roaming the halls, no monsters lurking around the corner. But there were men out there. Suffering, desperate. Dying.

She’d been told she could save one. All she had to do was give up her life and dive into this world of monsters and magic.

They said it like it was no big deal, like she’d gain as much from this bizarre union as the man she chose would. Not true. She was free now. There was no way in hell she was giving up that freedom after having lost it for two years. She wouldn’t tie herself to any man. Not now, not while she was still broken and barely holding it together.

Don’t think about that now. If you do, you won’t leave your suite today. Again.

Jackie sucked in a long, deep breath and focused on her task. Simple. Fast. She’d be on the road within the hour.

That thought calmed her, and gave her room to breathe. She could do this. She had to. No one else could do it for her.

She grabbed what was left of her self-confidence and gathered it around herself like a cloak, holding it close. There had been a time when she could have faced a crowd and spoken to them without breaking a sweat, but those days were long behind her. Now simply leaving her suite made her shake with nerves.

She was a different person now, not the powerful, confident corporate exec she’d once been. She was a refugee.

No, a survivor. That sounded better. Stronger.

She left her suite, feeling moderately less miserable. She had almost made it to Joseph’s office when she rounded a corner and came face-to-face with one of the giant warriors who called themselves Theronai. As he towered over her, nearly seven feet tall, his gaunt body seemed to grow taller by the second. A shaggy growth of dark beard covered his wide jaw, and his amber eyes, shadowed with fatigue, lit up with the realization of who she was.

Jackie’s heart squeezed hard, flooding her body with adrenaline. Survival instincts honed in the caves where she’d been held captive kicked in. She went still, hoping he’d pass by and leave her in peace, as Joseph had ordered all his men to do. But this man didn’t pass. He slowed, coming to a stop only a few feet in front of her.

“You’re the one,” he said, his voice ragged, as if he’d been screaming for days.

“I’m late for a meeting,” she lied.

His long arm reached for her, and she jerked back. “Let me touch you. Let me see if it’s true.”

Panic exploded in her chest, but she was used to that. She’d learned the hard way to hide her fear and terror, and now that skill rose easily, allowing her to speak.

“Leave me alone,” she warned, trying to make her tone as stern as possible. It was a complete bluff. There was nothing she could do to defend herself against him. She was weak from her prolonged captivity, and even if she hadn’t been, his overpowering strength was so obvious, it was laughable she’d even consider fighting him.

Angry desperation filled his gaze as he stared down at her. “I don’t give a fuck about what you want. Grace is dying. If I claim you, we might be able to save her.”

Claim you.

The words left her cold, and sent her careening back into the caves where she’d been held. The monsters who’d abducted her had treated her like a thing—a trough from which they fed with no more concern for her than they’d have for the discarded paper wrapper from a fast-food burger.

She couldn’t do that again. She couldn’t allow herself to be used or she’d be all used up, with nothing left of herself to salvage.

But what about Grace?

Jackie had heard rumors of Grace. She was a human woman who’d sacrificed herself to save a Theronai warrior who’d become paralyzed. She’d taken on his injuries, freeing him, while she lay trapped and dying, her human body too weak to combat the poison that had caused his paralysis. No one had been able to save her. Not even the vampirelike healers these people called Sanguinar.

“Stay away,” she warned, working hard to make her voice firm and unyielding. Sometimes that tone had worked to keep the smaller monsters away. For a while.

She backed up, holding her hands in front of her to push him away if he got too close.

His eyes shut as if he was waging some internal struggle. When he spoke, his voice was gentler, pleading. “I’m Torr. I’m not going to hurt you. But I need you. Grace needs you. You may be her only hope.”

Jackie covered her ears before she could hear more. She didn’t want to be anyone’s only hope. All she wanted was to regain her life. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

The man lurched forward and grabbed her arms. He moved so fast, she hadn’t even seen it happen until it was too late. Violent, harsh vibrations battered her skin wherever he touched. They shook her bones and made her insides itch.

He stared down at the ring all the men like him wore on their left hands. A rioting swirl of colors erupted beneath the surface of the smooth, iridescent band. Jackie watched as his matching necklace did the same.

The luceria was what they called the jewelry. Two pieces linked irrevocably together by magic she didn’t care to understand. They were used to unite couples the way her sisters had been united to their husbands—to channel magic from the man into the woman. While that link allowed the women to do incredible things, Jackie wanted no part of it. This was not her world.

He took her hands in his and brought them to his throat, curling her fingers around his necklace. “Take it off. I need you to wear it.”

The slippery band felt warm. A cascade of yellows and golds rushed out from her fingertips, flying along the smooth band.

“No. Leave me alone.”

His lip curled up in a snarl. “I won’t. I can’t.” His grip on her hands tightened until her fingers began to tingle from lack of blood.

“Please,” she begged him. “Let me go.”

The frantic desperation in his gaze grew until his eyes were fever bright. He backed her against a wall, pushing hard enough to knock the wind out of her. “Do it!”

Jackie couldn’t bear to look at him and see his need. She knew he was in pain—all the men like him were—and she wanted to be the kind of person who would help, but she’d paid her dues. She’d been used for her blood, fed on for two years. She’d kept other women and children alive. Not all of them, but some. She couldn’t let this man or any other use her now, not when she was finally free.

His body pressed against hers. She could feel the hard angles of bones and muscle, feel him vibrating with anger. She didn’t like it.

Fear built inside her, but she was so used to it, she hardly noticed. Her fingers went numb and cold. She tried to shove him away with her body, but it was like trying to push a freight train uphill. He didn’t budge an inch, and her efforts seemed only to anger him further.