Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Mason opened his eyes, more than a little surprised to discover he hadn’t passed on to the other side.
His mouth was dry, and his attempts to swallow only made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.
The steady drone of rain beat upon the roof, but everything inside the unit was still.
The American had probably taken his car and left.
He couldn’t blame her. She’d done more than others would have.
He needed to get up and find water. The simple act seemed as insurmountable as sprouting wings and flying.
He turned his head, and that small movement sent pain rolling through him, sharp and relentless like broken glass.
The harsh, fractured sound of his strained breathing was loud to his ears.
Each time he thought the agony would relent, it doubled until it consumed him.
He squeezed his eyes closed, caught in the vicious cycle of pain.
“Easy,” came a soft, feminine voice near his ear.
She laid a hand near his wrist while her other gently stroked his forehead with a cool cloth. Her touch eased him, allowing him some much-needed time to get a handle on the worst of the discomfort.
“Drink,” she urged.
He met eyes a blue so pale they seemed ethereal. Streaks of silver and white within the blue only added to the otherworldly appearance, while a darker blue like faded denim circled her irises. The gaze drew him in until he was drowning in the hues.
Something touched his lips. He parted them and felt a straw against his lips. Immediately, Mason began to drink. The sweet, satisfying taste of the water filled his mouth before sliding down his parched throat and into his stomach. All the while, he held her gaze, transfixed.
“Not too much,” she said, breaking eye contact as she withdrew the water and twisted to set it aside.
That’s when he took in the wealth of strawberry blond hair that fell just past her shoulders. She turned back to him and pressed a wet cloth to his forehead again. He was at once thankful that she was there and wary of why she’d stayed.
He followed her finger as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
She watched him as cautiously as he watched her.
He had been too hurt when they met to really see her.
But he saw her now. An oval face framed by waves of fire-kissed hair, freckles scattered like stardust across pale skin.
Her chin lifted in quiet defiance, lips full and lush—temptation in their curve.
And her eyes…bloody hell, those eyes. They locked on his, piercing straight through to his soul.
There was an air of steel around her, as if she were ready to take on whatever came her way. Those like her were survivors. Whether they wanted to be or not. Fate had bestowed that upon her, and it appeared as if she carried it uneasily.
He knew the feeling well.
“I stitched you,” she said into the silence. “I can’t say it’s my best job, but time was of the essence.”
Her accent wasn’t strong. At least, not in the obvious way. It had a calm, measured pace. A slightly laid-back tone. Words stretched a little longer, and the vowels curled at the edges. Every word was easy on his ears.
“Thank you,” he croaked.
She shook her head. “Please, don’t try to talk.
” She licked her lips and shifted from her knees to sit on the rug next to him, cross-legged.
“You lost a considerable amount of blood. You’ve been out for eight hours.
I, ah,” she paused and glanced toward the mini fridge, “I helped myself to some food and clothes.”
He flashed her a quick smile and grunted.
“I also moved your car,” she added. “I didn’t think it would be good sitting out front. Though I just moved it to the side of the building. Not sure it’s going to stay hidden for long, but it’s something. I did my best to clean the blood from the car.”
He mouthed thank you.
“I’m Rowen, by the way. Rowen Thornevale.”
Before he could try to tell her his name, she lifted his wallet.
“I got bored,” she said, wrinkling her nose by way of apology.
He chuckled, which set off another round of pain. She was back immediately with the cloth. He shut his eyes as she bathed his heated face.
“Mason,” she called.
The sound of his name pulled him back to consciousness. He blinked open his eyes to find her face above his, her brow furrowed, and worry etched in her pale orbs.
“I found your first-aid bag.” She turned away for a moment and returned with the water once more. “You seem very prepared, and I’m glad you were, since you’ve been getting hotter to the touch each time I checked.” She pushed out two pills from a blister pack. “Take these antibiotics.”
He opened his mouth as she dropped the pills onto his tongue. Then the straw was there again. He drank deeply, letting the capsules slide to the back of his mouth and then down his throat.
“Is there someone I can call?” she asked, taking the water away again.
He grabbed her wrist, gripping it too tightly by her pained expression. “No one,” he stated.
“All right,” she said. “I can see from this setup that you were expecting something to happen. I saw the wards on the car and this unit. The door is bolted. My phone ran out of battery hours ago. I might have stitched your wounds, but by the look of things, you really need a Healer or a doctor.”
“Can’t,” he said and felt his eyes closing.
He wanted to tell her how important it was that he remain hidden. He wanted to tell her to get out while she could. But his body had other ideas as he slid into unconsciousness again.
When Mason next woke, he still felt like shite, but at least he could swallow. He rolled his head on the pillow to look for Rowen and found her across from him in the chair, asleep, her head at an awkward angle.
How long had he been out this time? She was right, though.
He needed a Healer, but he couldn’t trust reaching out to anyone.
He had one other option: Skye. If he could get to the isle, Ferne would help him.
The problem was, Thomas and London would be looking for him, and he was in no condition to drive himself.
The wards he had inscribed in various places in the unit would only shield him for so long.
Thomas wouldn’t stop until they found him.
Mason didn’t know how Thomas had figured out that he’d been playing him.
He had been careful, but obviously not careful enough if the elder had figured things out.
Mason had been prepared for an attack, but one with magic, not weapons. And he’d nearly died from that mistake.
He would be dead if it weren’t for Rowen.
Strands of her straight, strawberry blond locks fell against her face, and her mouth was parted slightly as she breathed deeply and evenly.
He ran his eyes down the long, pale column of her throat.
The blanket had fallen, revealing his gray tee.
It hung on her smaller frame so the short sleeves fell to the middle of her upper arms.
Mason lifted the blanket covering him and peered down to see the bandages along his side.
He steeled himself and lifted his head from the pillow.
There was a fresh onslaught of pain, but he was ready for it this time.
It took his breath away once again, but he was able to get it under control more quickly.
He moved the blanket to get a better look at his right leg. The wound was on his upper leg, more toward his inner thigh area. As if his attacker had been trying to hit his femoral artery. She had missed, thankfully.
“What are you doing?” Rowen asked sleepily as she squatted beside the cot.
“I needed to see.”
She raised her brows as his head fell back onto the pillow. “See what? That you were injured?”
He grunted at her sarcasm. He probably deserved it, though. Then, he stilled when her hand covered his forehead.
“You’re no longer warm. That’s a good sign.”
She put the straw to his lips again, and he drank greedily. She then rattled the blister pack of pills. He gave her a nod and accepted two more before washing them down.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She cut him a look before rising to settle into the chair across from him. “I already told you my name.”
“But not who you are or what you were doing at the London headquarters.”
“I’ll answer if you will,” she retorted.
There were a great many things he could tell her that would give the illusion that he was being open. Yet even as the thought went through his mind, he recognized that she could—and likely would—do the same.
“Deal,” he said.
She brought her knees up to her chest. “I’m from Orcas Island. It’s a part of the San Juan Islands of Washington state. Brenna, our leader, has received numerous requests from London for us to visit.”
She didn’t sound as if she had been keen on the idea, which was interesting. Perhaps she saw London for what it really was.
“I was chosen to make the trip. Last night was my first meeting,” she told him.
“What did you think?” he asked.
She studied him for a long moment. Finally, she said, “It was peculiar.”
A chuckle rose up before he could stop it. The pain silenced it a heartbeat later. He blew out a breath. “Is that all?”
“What would you say if I told you that I had to sneak away from the woman who was showing me around? That I bolted before the meeting was even finished?”
He met her gaze. “I’d say you were smart and did the right thing.”
She dropped her socked feet to the floor and leaned forward to prop her elbows on her knees. “And you?”
There was far more to her story, but she was keeping that to herself. He respected that, and he hoped she did the same for him. “I was at the meeting.”
“I saw you.”
He quirked a brow. “Did you?”
“Ella, the woman with me, was quite enamored with you and took great pains to point you out to me.”
“I take it I didn’t make much of an impression on you.”
Rowen shook her head. “It was more that I was already trying to find a way out and had just gotten there.”
Smart girl if she figured that out so soon. He wished others would. “What was it that didn’t sit right with you?”
“Everything,” she answered immediately. “It should’ve felt welcoming. Instead, it was too polished, too rehearsed. Like a facade built to dazzle and distract. And underneath it all, something was wrong.”
“That’s because it is.” Either Rowen was true to her word, or she was one of Thomas’s spies. Mason had yet to figure out which. She had saved him, which gave her a little leeway, but not a lot.
She glanced down at her hands. “I saw you enter the meeting without blood covering you. Then I saw you, well,”—she nodded toward him—“like I found you.”
An image of Thomas smiling triumphantly flashed in his head. “I ran into a bit of trouble.”
“You ran into a whole lot more than a bit. Do you know who attacked you?”
Mason nodded as he raised his gaze to the roof. “I do.”
“Do you know why they did it?”
“Yes.”
There was a brief pause, and then she asked, “Are you going after them?”