Chapter 76
Who Wants Me Dead?
I slept heavily, waking only once when I’d tried to turn in my sleep and a sharp pain clinched my ribs, yanking me awake.
I managed to roll to my back and stayed there until I woke at the beginnings of the morning light.
My head ached. My chest felt sore. My face throbbed with each beat of my heart.
One eye was almost closed; through that side I could see only a thin slit of blurred ceiling.
I turned my head gingerly to the side. The bed was empty, untouched. The chair too, was empty.
Sunlight glinted softly across the covers.
Outside, birds chirped. The early morning sky was filled with shades of fire and flowers.
I laid in bed and cherished the feeling of normality, aside from my aching body.
Had things taken a worse turn last night, if one of those bullets had hit me, if the punch had knocked me out for longer, if Ethan hadn’t answered, if Karson hadn’t of come, today I may not have woken at all.
Finally, I forced myself to move, groaning, I rolled slowly to my side.
Pain jerked at my ribs. Biting my lip, taking deep breaths, hissing through my teeth, I used my hands and arms as leverage, and pushed myself up.
The room dotted, dizziness held me hostage, and I sat there for a moment, breathing through it until the room came back into focus.
I recognized the feeling from hospital after the car accident that’d taken my mother’s life. It’s a side effect of concussion.
I peeled the covers back and dangled my feet over the edge of the bed. Someone had left pain relief and water by my bed. I took three tablets, gulped down some water and stood. I was stiff and sore, but all things considered, I was lucky.
I went to the bathroom and stared at my face in the mirror.
I looked like I’d just been in the ring with Mike Tyson and lost. The left side of my face was a mixture of swollen blues and purples.
My lips were fuller than a B grade Hollywood actress.
The split had crusted over but it wouldn’t take much to open it again, and I had one hell of a shiner.
I lifted my top up. A hand-sized section across the left side of my ribs was mingled black, purple, and blue.
Swollen, like rows of purple cabbage. The bruising traversed around toward my back, where it may have stopped, I didn’t know—I couldn’t twist my torso far enough to check.
I got changed at a snail’s pace, brushed my teeth, run a brush through my hair and headed downstairs.
I could hear the shower blast from Ethan’s room.
Someone had kept the fire going, the lights were off and in the dull light, the orange glow radiated across the room.
Monique was seated at the table, her feet hooked up on a chair, drinking tea.
Michael was on the couch, his legs crossed, reading the paper. Karson was nowhere to be seen.
“How are you feeling this morning, Amelia?” Michael asked, peering up over the paper. An image of a crashed van filled the entire front page. A flare of guilt stole the breath from my lungs. I jerked my eyes away before I could read the story.
“Like I’ve been hit by a Mini Minor,” I answered, my ribs burning with each step. I held the rail for support as I climbed off the last of them.
“Not as bad as a bus, then.” He sent me a sympathetic half smile.
“Where’s Karson?” I asked, diverting the topic.
He didn’t need to answer, because as I spoke Karson opened the door.
He stopped abruptly as if he was startled to see me.
A flicker of what might have been tenderness cut through his eyes, and then, in a blink it was gone.
He cared enough to save me, but not enough to be with me.
He released me, I reminded myself. The tiny skerrick of hope that’d ignited with the look extinguished like ashes in the wind as I let out a breath.
“Hey,” I said softly.
He was holding a small, blue, disposable ice-cooler in one hand.
His hair was ruffled, like he’d been in the wind, but there was no wind.
He had a thin sliver of blood, like a fluctuating graph line, across the front of his shirt.
Not wind, a fight, I realized. He dropped his eyes quickly, with a look that might have been guilt on his face and moved inside.
“Well? Monique asked. She reached for the esky as he sat it on the table.
“Have you checked the perimeters?” he demanded.
“It’s not our first rodeo,” Michael drawled, settling the paper on his lap.
“Well, was it the boy?” Monique pressed.
The boy. Chris.
For the second time the breath tore from my lungs. Was he dead, had Karson killed him too? I felt sick. My chest tightened. The walls seemed to close in.
“You went to see him, didn’t you?” I breathed, scanning the blood on his top.
“Yes.” He met my eye. “I did not hurt him, if that is your concern.”
It was. I looked pointedly at the blood on his shirt and folded my arms over my chest.
“What did you do?”
He rubbed a finger down the side of his nose and looked amongst us as he spoke.
“He denied it. Of course. The woman Tom heard was just a nurse who was one of his father’s ex-girlfriends, apparently.
I told him I did not kill his father, if I wanted him dead it would have been done much sooner.
” He slid his eyes to mine. “And that if he ever looked even sideways at you again, I would pull him apart, limb by limb.”
Charming. “And the blood?” I questioned, wanting to believe him but not entirely convinced.
“Just a tap on the nose.” He waved his hand dismissively, moving into the sitting room. “He’ll live.”
I raised an eyebrow and followed behind. “Oh? I suppose the wind ruffled your hair then.”
He swung back and made a frustrated sound out of his nose. “Unless Chris wanted to hit me with his plaster cast, I doubt he was capable of any kind of physical encounter.”
And yet he’d a physical encounter with someone. And also, there was no need for a physical encounter with Chris at all, not when he could mind read. I circumvented the need to point it out, I figured the answer would be he enjoyed the infliction. So, who did he tussle with then, if not Chris?
“That’s the problem when you hang around witches, Karson,” Monique said looking between the two of us. “They are such deceitful little creatures they don’t trust anyone.”
I threw her a sharp look, but it was wasted, she’d already turned her attention to the cooler. She held up a blood-bag and squeezed the contents, a dark-red, sickening-looking concoction, into her cup.
“Did you have a chat with Caron?” Michael asked, watching the blood run into the cup like it spoke to him in tongues, then he dragged his eyes back to Karson. Monique popped the half empty bag back in the esky and took a sip.
“She wasn’t home.” He yawned, something I’d never seen him do before, and stretched his shoulders back. He hadn’t slept at all then. Monique lifted her eyebrows in a look of suspicion but remained tight lipped. She disappeared into the kitchen with the cooler.
“Perhaps she’s simply off making her own enquires,” Michael mused.
“Perhaps,” Karson responded like he wasn’t entirely convinced either.
Monique came back with two cups; she handed one to Michael and one to Karson.
I watched as Karson took a sip and looked straight at me, almost as if he was challenging me to object.
I’d never seen him drink blood before. I guess he no longer cared what I thought.
Fine.
I couldn’t think of one good reason why Caron would take me; though the men were remarkably, and somewhat disturbingly, similar to the three she’d left to die.
They didn’t know what I was—then, what we were had to be kept a secret, so she wouldn’t divulge that information.
The text had also said not to harm me, and Caron wouldn’t want me harmed.
She needed me to fight. But then, why take me?
I was training, I was doing what was asked.
Except for meeting them. No, it didn’t fit.
Who else would want me dead? It was the million-dollar question, to which the answer seemed to lay beyond the usual four-choice response.
We couldn’t ask them, nor could Karson read their minds, given they were all dead.
My head felt like a pinball machine, the thoughts slammed from side to side, and it began to throb uncomfortably.
The side effects of concussion hovered over me like a gray cloud, more exhausting than a hangover.
It was an effort just to stay on my feet.
I fingered a rogue tear out of the corner of my sore eye.
“Dahlia will be here shortly,” Karson said, watching me like I was made of glass and about to shatter in front of him.
They were all watching me, I realized. Michael with sympathy and concern. Monique looked appalled. My humanness on blazing show for all of them to see.
Feeling uncomfortable, I went to the kitchen and made a mug of tea and two pieces of toast. I walked past them like the floor was made of floating cushions and headed outside to breathe in some fresh air.
I sat on the steps, wincing as I lowered myself down, the burn in my ribs had upgraded to a throbbing fire.
I stared blankly at the sky, drinking the tea and munching mindlessly on the toast.
The door opened and closed. Karson appeared, seating himself beside me with a look that had me wishing he’d wrap me in his arms.
“I think we should get you checked out. Page is away, but I could call Tom and ask him to come here if you don’t wish to go to the hospital.”
If Tom came, he’d think Karson had done this, he’d be furious. Unless Karson mind controlled him there was no chance there wouldn’t be some kind of physical fight. Neither scenario was something I could tolerate. I took a bite of toast.
“I’m fine.”
“You do not look fine. You look worse this morning than you did last night.”
The swelling and bruising was to be expected.
“Dahlia is coming, she’ll fix me.”
He sighed, like he half expected the battle would be lost before he’d opened his mouth and knew it was pointless to continue.
“What’s the plan today?” I asked, taking a sip of tea. I watched a solitary milky-pink cloud, urged by high winds, sail along the horizon. I sat the cup on the step.
He rubbed his thighs. “We still need to clean up. I need Darcy to check out the emails on the laptop and phones we collected. There may be more information on there. Monique and Michael are seeing what they can find out about the witches from last night. They’re going to visit a few places today to see if they can pick up the scent.
Monique has an exceptional sense of smell.
She’ll be able to track them if they’re still here. ”
“Great, I’m bleeding and the vampire who hates me has a great sense of smell.” I feigned humor.
“She won’t hurt you. She knows if she does, I will kill her.” He rose and walked back inside. I stared after him, wondering if he meant it. She was his friend, I didn’t think so. Though I couldn’t be entirely sure.