Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“You aren’t,” Remy said bluntly. “But the Beast is. You don’t remember much after your feet blistering, do you?”
“No.” Now my voice was softer. How could he know I had no idea how I’d made it out of that inferno?
Remy grunted. “The Beast sensed the danger and overtook you. That’s how you made it out of that wildfire alive. It’s also how you didn’t drown as a teenager.”
“She’s the safest out of us all now, too,” Setreg added.
“What?” I asked, seeing the glare Remy shot his way.
Remy gave Setreg another warning look before turning back to me. “He means you’re the only one who can kill this Beast’s host without then being inhabited by that Beast.”
Now my laugh was brittle. “Because I already have a supernatural Occupied sign on me? In fact, how did you kill a Beast without becoming one afterward? You killed everyone else who’d drawn its blood, so wouldn’t you have been its next host?”
A muscle ticked in Remy’s jaw. “I never drew its blood. I lured it into a building that was about to be demolished, and then tricked the Beast into activating the detonation itself.”
Making the Beast kill its own host versus Remy doing it. How very clever, and how very, very cold.
“Is that what you would’ve done with me, if things had been different between us?” I asked hoarsely.
A harsh smile twisted Remy’s mouth. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.”
That shouldn’t hurt, but it did. I looked away before he could read it from my eyes. Then I spun all the way around.
“I don’t know why that bothers me,” I admitted over my shoulder.
“I tried to kill the Beast, too. Hell, when we first met, I was optimistic at your death threats, thinking maybe a sorcerer could pull off what I’d failed to do.
It’s unfair to get all judgy now when you’re only proving that you could. ”
Hands settled on my shoulders. Remy didn’t say anything, and he didn’t turn me around to face him. He just moved his fingers in slow, soothing circles against my skin.
I tried to focus on that, because deep breathing would only draw more of that burnt stench into me.
I was apparently stuck in “fight-or-flight” mode since I was in the middle of a Beast’s slaughter in the same woodsy setting I’d lost my family in.
Add that to finding out that I’d triggered the wildfire back when I killed the former Beast’s host, and …
yeah. It was a lot, and that wasn’t even counting the supposedly fire-proof and drown-proof revelations, either.
After a few minutes, I tilted my head, brushing Remy’s hand with my cheek. Then I turned around and gave him a wry smile.
“Thanks for not dropping a building on me when we first met.”
He didn’t smile back, and his gaze had never been more intense. “You were never in danger of that from me, because you weren’t like the other hosts. You forget that the day I found out what you were was also the day I discovered who you were.”
I let out a soft snort. “Come again?”
“The Beast was about to kill me.” His hands moved up to caress the back of my head. “My strength was fading, so I called your name, and you forced it back down.”
“Because I’m the Beast’s real cage,” I whispered.
“Not only that.” Growled a mere breath over my lips as his mouth dipped lower. “You’re the warrior who fought its control for over a decade. You’re also the nurse who makes it heal instead of kill, and you’re the woman who haunts my dreams. Being its cage is the least of who you are, Raine.”
God, I wanted to kiss him. I would’ve already done it if we weren’t standing in the middle of a literal murder scene. Since we were, I took a ragged breath and forced myself to step back.
Remy’s eyes tracked every movement, and from the fire in their depths, he was debating stopping me.
“Do you sense anything yet?” Setreg asked in a terse tone.
He was still focused on what had to be done. I took more steps away from Remy before I turned and faced the clearing.
That unpleasant crawling sensation returned.
I rubbed my upper arms, trying to chase it away as I walked toward the carnage.
It didn’t help. When I reached the first body part, it felt like I was being bitten by a swarm of mosquitoes.
Then again, it was summer, and I was only wearing shorts and a short-sleeved top. I swatted at my bare arms and legs.
“Is that a yes, or are you experiencing a psychotic break?” Setreg asked in a dry tone.
“If there aren’t any mosquitoes, then it’s a yes,” I said. “Anyone else feel like their skin is getting chewed on?”
Remy and Setreg exchanged a look. “No,” they both said.
I blew out a breath. “Then I definitely sense something.”
Remy snapped into action, taking his own very thick rifle out of his backpack. “In the clearing, or outside of it?”
I walked away from the bodies and went through the opening in the trees that we’d entered through. After walking a few feet down the path, that stinging sensation eased. When I walked back into the clearing, I felt like I was getting invisible acupuncture from all the pricking sensations.
“It’s strongest in the clearing.”
Remy lowered his rifle. He’d been pointing it at the area I’d first walked toward, even though the surrounding tree line was thick enough to hide anything except a large predator.
“You must feel the Beast’s presence from when it killed these people. Can you track where it went from here?”
“I’ll try.”
I forced myself to get familiar with the sensations I felt when I was near the campers’ remains. Then I tried to follow them. Every time I got away from the bodies, they sputtered out. I kept trying, but after an hour, I threw up my hands.
“I don’t think that part of the legend is true.”
Remy sighed. “Thank you for trying. I know it wasn’t easy. We’ll head back now. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
I looked behind him at the new storm clouds forming over the horizon. “Good, because I think it’s about to rain again.”
Remy glanced up at the sky—and suddenly I was propelled through the clearing and back up the slope into the trees. I’d barely managed to blink before I was knocked over by Remy’s backpack as he swung it off and began grabbing things out of it.
“What?” I gasped out.
Remy spared me a single, savage look before continuing to arm himself with the contents of his backpack.
“Those aren’t storm clouds.”