Chapter 13 _ Asher

Chapter Thirteen

Asher

“Oh, God,” I murmured before opening my eyes. Sitting up slowly, I blinked through hazy vision, willing my gaze to focus.

A simple bedroom, one plain oak dresser, dark curtains covering the window. This was a far cry from the luxurious room where Jackson had brought me. The only thing in this space that was luxe by any stretch of the imagination was the bed I woke up on. Large and soft. Like resting on a cloud. Except I didn’t know where I was. God, I had to stop waking up in strange places.

“Stay still, Miss Callaway.” Devon’s voice tickled its way up my spine, sending an unwanted shiver through me. “You’ll tear your stitches.”

Stitches?

“What happened? Where am I?” The pain in my side brought it all back. “Devon. Devon tried to kill me. I knew he hated me, but not this much.” Panic had my voice tight and high.

“Calm down, Asher. He’s not here. He’s gone.” Jericho sat on the side of the bed but didn’t touch me.

“Where is he?”

“Dead.”

“Devon is dead?” Why did that make my heart ache?

Jericho shook his head. “No. He tried to save you.”

Why did I feel like I needed a roadmap to follow this conversation? “That doesn’t make any sense. He’s the one who stabbed me.”

“That wasn’t him. It was a hunter.”

I shook my head, trying to sit higher, to level the playing field as this priest loomed over me. “A hunter? But . . . I saw him.” The memory of Devon shoving me back and driving the blade into my stomach flooded my mind. Along with another, fuzzier image of him on his knees beside me. His face tight with fear . . . for me. But even if he wasn’t the one who actually stabbed me, Devon still hated me. Why would he care enough to come back and make sure I was okay? I shoved the questions away, in no state to sort through all the conflicting emotions they stirred to life, let alone try to answer them.

“How was he able to change his appearance? I thought hunters didn’t have abilities.”

“This one had some help.” He pulled something out of the pocket of his suit jacket and held his palm out to me. In the center of his hand was an amulet, the amethyst crystal now clouded with dark smoky residue.

“Witches? Why would they do this?”

“I’m not sure. But they were most certainly after you.” He tucked the necklace back into his pocket as he casually spoke. Like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in my lap.

“Me?”

Intense gaze trained on me, he licked his lips, and I forced myself not to squirm under his stare. I could barely breathe, but not due to pain. Father Jericho Sylvesterwas hungry.

“You.”

“Why would anyone want me? I’m a freak. A shifter who can’t shift. A joke.”

“We all want you.”

What did he mean by we? I needed some time to unpack what he just said, but he reached out, the gesture making me flinch away on instinct. Pain sliced through my side, and I cried out before I could stop myself.

“Dammit, I said stay still.” Devon’s palm rested on my shoulder, pushing me to my back, pinning me there as he pulled the sheet away and lifted the edge of the white T-shirt I was wearing.

“Devon, where’s my dress? Did you undress me?”

He wouldn’t look me in the eye. “I had to. You were covered in . . .” He swallowed and took a shuddering breath. “Blood. It was everywhere. I’m surprised Jackson stopped when he did.”

The man next to me tensed as he focused on the gauze dressing on my abdomen. Blood seeped through, and the whole area was red and inflamed, even past the bandage.

“It’s infected,” he muttered. “You should heal faster than this. He gave you his blood.”

The mention of Jackson ’s blood sparked a burst of flavor in my memory. Not like blood at all, but like a kaleidoscope of tastes from the most decadent wine in existence. Spice and sweetness, salt and smoke, berries and apples, all blended together. My uncontrolled moan caused Jericho to stop what he was doing and snap his focus to my eyes.

“Do not make those noises around me. We’re all sinners here.”

His warning pebbled my nipples and made me grip the sheet to keep from reaching out to brush away a stray lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. “Sorry,” I whispered.

Fingers gently peeling away my bandage, he frowned, the concentration on his face not boding well for me. “What was on this blade?”

The wound was red and angry, and blood welled to the surface despite the neat, tiny sutures. Devon’s hands shook as he used a clean cloth to dab the blood off my skin.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Maybe someone else—”

“No! I will care for you. You’re a risk for the rest of them.”

My head throbbed along with the deep ache in my muscles. Honestly, I felt like shit. Like I’d been . . . well, stabbed. “Devon, something’s wrong.”

“Of course it is. You were nearly killed.”

“No. I feel . . . I’m not sure. I think . . .” The room spun, the edges of my vision going dark before I faded into unconsciousness.

Like the first time she came to me, rumbles preceded her arrival.

"Daughter."

My consciousness shifted, solidified. Instead of floating in a sea of nothing, I stood on an empty field, rustling grass and a cloudless sky all I could see for miles in every direction. And her.

My mother.

The similarity between us was striking and unmistakable. Same chocolate hair, wide ocean-blue eyes, and identical full lips. The only true difference was in our height and build. She was slightly taller, her muscles leaner and more defined. Whereas I had more of that traditional hourglass figure. No wonder I’d never fit in with the Callaway. Where they were all flaming hair and green eyes, I looked nothing like them. I stood out like a sore thumb. Never seeing myself in anyone. Until now.

Her expression was more curious than anything remotely nurturing. As if she was studying and dissecting a foreign creature instead of reuniting with the daughter she’d abandoned. Then again, she’d sort of proven that she didn’t have a whole lot going on in the maternal department when she walked away without so much as a forwarding address or even a name.

Any affection I might have felt for the woman who’d given birth to me shriveled and died. “Two times in less than a week. Is this becoming a habit?”

It was nice to know that even though I was technically unconscious and dreaming, I still retained my favorite defense mechanism: my smart mouth. People didn’t seem to realize they’d hurt you if you’d perfected the art of sarcasm. And though she was my mother, I didn’t want to appear any more vulnerable than absolutely necessary.

Her head canted to the side, and her expression softened. It still wasn’t affectionate by a long shot, but it was certainly more understanding. In a lot of ways, she reminded me of one of those angel statutes. Not the cute little cherubs with their sweet curls and fluffy wings. The other ones. The warriors holding swords and shields, decked head to toe in armor with their eyes blazing with divine retribution.

So, in other words, my mother was mildly terrifying. And she managed all of that in a simple maroon dress and leather belt. That almost made it scarier. If she could be that intimidating in a dress, what would she be like if she had actually been battle-ready?

“Your thoughts are troubled.”

“Uh, yeah. Can you blame me? My mom keeps popping in on my dreams uninvited after twenty-three years, and I just got stabbed by a hunter wearing my ex’s skin like a Halloween costume. What do you expect? A tearful family reunion?”

“I tried to warn you.”

“Maybe next time you could go with something a little more direct, like ‘Asher, hunters have placed a bounty on your head. Don’t leave school grounds.’ Or, I don’t know, send me names and addresses.”

She pressed her lips together. “I’ve already told you what you have to do. You need to find that which makes you strong and harness it. It’s the only way to unlock your full potential.”

“That sounds like a whole lot of vague bullshit. I’ve been trying to find my wolf for years. You want to help, Mommy Dearest? Give me something more specific to work with.”

“Your wolf is not the answer.”

“What? You just said—”

My mom glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing. When she returned her gaze to me, her irises seemed to swirl like galaxies before she blinked and they became twins of my own once more. “There is only so much I can reveal. Even here, we are being watched.”

“Watched? By who? The hunters?”

“And those who wish to see you fail. Nothing short of your death will appease them.”

Well, that sounded ominous as fuck.

“Super.”

“The only way to protect yourself is to find the source of your power. Remember, the things that feed you will leave a mark. Embrace them no matter the consequences. They are the answer to the riddle of your birthright.”

“What?”

She glanced over her shoulder again, and this time, the galaxies in her eyes did not fade. “Hurry, daughter. It will not be long before they make another attempt. You need to ready yourself. Remember what I’ve said.”

“Wait, hold on! How will I know—”

But she was gone, the sound heralding her departure a series of ceaseless bangs instead of galloping horses. As I drifted, the field rippled outward like lights on the surface of a stormy sea, and I lost my sense of self.

Once again I was alone, adrift, with nothing more than the echo of her words chasing each other in the abyss.

Embrace them.

They are the answer.

Embrace.

Them.

“Let me see her.”

Cian’s voice broke through the haze of my . . . vision? Dream? Whatever you called it.

“I’ve already told your friends. She’s not well. None of you can see her right now. Not until she’s out of danger,” Jericho said.

“Move aside, Priest. You’ve had her in your lair for the last seventy-two hours. It’s time for proof of life. How can we be sure you’ve kept your control?”

“I’m keeping her alive. I haven’t given in. That’s more than Jackson can say. If I hadn’t taken her from him, she’d be dead by now.”

The energy in the air radiated tension and aggression. I was sure if this came to blows, there’d be honest to God lightning and thunder.

Cian’s voice grew colder, more intense and threatening. “You can attempt to keep me away. Vampire or not, you will fail.”

Pain radiated through me, running the length of my side, down my hip to my thigh, but I forced myself to my feet. I regretted that choice instantly. The room tilted, and a wave of nausea hit me with the force of a tsunami. Something was very wrong with me.

Lifting my shirt, I couldn’t help the little whimper of shock that escaped at the sight of my wound. Sickly black tendrils reached out under my skin, starting at the bandage and creeping across my body. A strange taste, bitter and metallic, filled my mouth. I was going to die here. How could I find my inner power or whatever if I was dead?

I stumbled forward, catching myself on the wall next to the door. “Go me. I didn’t fall.”

“What was that?” Jericho asked.

Before I could turn the doorknob, the door opened, and both of them stood there, expressions grim. I let out a hysterical giggle and pitched forward, but Cian caught me against him.

“What have you done to her, vampire?”

“I’ve cared for her. She was recovering. I don’t understand how she’s worse.”

“She’s dying. Can’t you smell it on her? Death has one hand curled around her throat.”

My skin crawled as Cian’s words echoed my own fears. “I’m fine. I just need to get out of here.” Were my words slurring?

Cian held me to him, his large palm spanning most of my back. It felt good. Better. Something about being with him, in his presence, was like a healing balm.

“Let me see the wound, Ashy. I brought something that might help.”

“How can you know what will help her?” Jericho spat. “Even Hawke blood hasn’t fully healed her.”

“The blade.”

“Yes?”

My knees buckled, and Cian scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing. “Thanks, big boy. I used to say I didn’t like a man with too many muscles, but you just changed my mind.”

A deep rumble rolled from his chest. “I’ll hold you in my arms whenever you wish.”

“You make me feel . . . delicate.”

“You are.”

I shook my head, loving the scent of him even as I knew this could all be fever delirium talking. He settled me on the hard leather couch near the fireplace and carefully lifted the shirt Jericho had given me. The worry lines etched across his forehead had my heart racing. So it was as bad as I thought. I wasn’t hallucinating.

“The blade was laced with wolfsbane. I analyzed it after you took her.” Cian spoke to Jericho but stared hard at me while doing so.

“Wolfsbane?” I whispered.

I’d seen a wolf die from a wound like this. Hunters were ruthless, out to end all of us, but wolfsbane was hard to come by, and even harder to make into a potent, concentrated form. They’d really wanted me dead.

“I have a cure. If you’ll allow it.”

“Yes,” Jericho said before I could speak.

“I’m not asking you, Father Sylvester.” Cian turned a tight gaze to me.

“I trust you.”

He nodded, jaw clenched, before he gripped the T-shirt at the hem and tore it completely in two, baring my body to him and Jericho both. I’d never been more thankful that I’d chosen to wear panties. But that dress I’d worn to the club? That was a no-bra situation, so now, my tits were right there, literally in his face.

He swallowed hard but didn’t stare down at my breasts. “I have to touch you.”

“Okay.”

His warm palm pressed gently to my belly, just below my sternum, before he slid it up to my chest, right between my breasts. The other hovered directly over the wound on my side.

“Your heart is hammering like a frightened bird’s.”

“Well, I have been poisoned.”

A slight smirk turned up his lips. “We’ll see to that. Close your eyes.”

I did as he asked and instantly felt him inside me. His essence flowed from his palm and outward, racing through every cell and nerve ending. The pain in my body built and reached an unbearable peak, the overwhelming sensation making me whimper, but he whispered soft, comforting words in a language I couldn’t understand.

“What are you doing to her?” Jericho asked. His voice was rough and breathless, and when I risked a glance at him, there was a feral hunger in his eyes.

“Healing her.”

The pain crested again, a burning heat centering in my wound, causing tears to leak from my eyes before turning to warmth, then pleasure. Pleasure I shouldn’t have been feeling but definitely was. I moaned, my nipples tightening to desperate peaks, begging for attention.

“Cian, oh, my God. What are you doing to me?”

My eyes fluttered open again and locked with his. The same pleasure radiated from him, uncertainty flickering in the depths of his ice-blue irises.

“I don’t know. Fuck, Asher.”

My whole body was alight with euphoria, desire, and rampant need for him to claim me and make me his. It was primal and undeniable. Reaching up, I gripped him by the nape of his neck and used a strength I didn’t know I possessed to pull his big frame down until our lips met and that burning need was given fuel.

Power and strength flowed from him to me, and as my mouth opened to accept his deepening of our kiss, I threaded my fingers in his hair. Cian was giving me more than his healing abilities. He was feeding me his Novasgardian strength—and it felt incredible. Primal, ancient, wild. I’d never experienced anything like it.

Even though we hadn’t moved, except to press closer to each other, my nose filled with the scent of snowy pine and my mouth the somewhat incongruous taste of the sea. Images of snow-capped mountains and crystal blue glaciers raced through my mind—which made no sense given how I’d never seen either in person. But laced through all of it was the absolutely delicious feel of him. Cian. His essence rolled through me, filling me, merging with mine, and it felt so utterly right.

For the first time in my life, I knew what it was like to feel powerful. Unstoppable.

And I wanted more.

A crack sounded in the room, breaking us apart and drawing my attention from the Viking currently ravishing me on the couch to the vampire priest standing at the small table fifteen feet away. The remnants of the small table, anyway. Devon’s eyes were wild, fangs extended and fists clenched by his sides near the rubble that once was his table. His gaze wasn’t on Cian; it was completely focused on me.

“Your wound is healed,” he bit out. “You need to leave here.”

“Devon—”

“I think it best if you call me Father Sylvester from now on, Miss Callaway.”

I sat up, the tattered remains of Devon’s T-shirt falling off me. But Cian was there, pulling his black tee off his back and helping me slip it over my head without me saying a word. It smelled like him, which sent arousal careening through me once more.

“Come on, Ashy. I’ll walk you back to your dorm. Maeve will be glad to see you’re safe.”

I stood and took his offered hand, turning my head to thank Jericho for his help, but the priest was gone, the door to the room next to his bedroom clicking shut before I could get a word out.