Chapter 28 Graded On a Curve
Graded On a Curve
When he could think again, Nigel found himself nearly crushing a frail, entirely desirable angel into a tangled ruin of sheets, her arms stretched wide.
He had both her wrists trapped, denying any escape, and hoped he hadn’t bruised her softness.
Aftermath spilled through him, shudders drowned in a sea of absolute relief.
So this is what they sing about. He’d very nearly lacked the requisite concentration to perform laughably simple sorcery, lost in the wonder of overlapping sensations. Abruptly he was also quite certain he had embarrassed himself, or done something inexcusable.
She was so still, slight and soft and warm underneath him, and maybe she couldn’t breathe. “Cass?” The word scraped his throat; her name was pure music. Was it short for something, a nickname?
He hadn’t thought to ask.
“Hm?” A twitch, and the movement set off a fascinating chain reaction. The result of the entire process was sensitive and somewhat damp; he would have to see to her comfort.
Yet it was over, it was past, it was done. He belonged to a Dreamer now.
“Pardon.” Nigel had to force his fingers to loosen. Thunder roiled outside the building’s bulk; he was vaguely surprised at how little time had passed—only moments, only an eternity. Everything was different, including his own soul. “Ah. Um. How do I…”
“Just put your elbow there and…” She winced, hissing an inhale, and he froze. “Did it work?”
Work? Precious little was working inside his skull at the moment. “What?”
“The sealing thing.” Another very hot, volcanic little movement, drawing away; would she ever let him this close again? “Maybe? You feel different.”
I do indeed. But she meant the sealing. No doubt it had been uncomfortable for her, perhaps even painful. There was nothing he could touch without staining.
“Of course.” Nigel set about the work of untangling himself with infinite care.
Her shirt was rucked up very high; he wished he had more time to explore those fascinating revealed curves.
“There are benefits for you as well—for one thing, you’re insulated from the worst of shadowbeast contagion, even taik flowers and molting shoggoth.
And wherever you go in the Dreaming Lands, I can be taken along.
” He had to stop to take a breath, words tripping and tumbling over each other; he landed on his side, without a sound.
It was a very good mattress, as such things went, but now he was half-dressed, weak-kneed, and already missed the closeness, the warmth, the utter certainty.
“Is that good?” Cass scooted away as soon as his weight shifted, fetching up against the tangle of his weapons-harness. “Oops. My God, did we do that with guns in the bed?”
He couldn’t remember. “Just stay still. I’ll get them.” If my legs will work. And if he could sort out his clothes.
Amazingly, she laughed—hiccuping giggles turning into soft, pleasant chuckles, each sending a rill of pleasure down his spine. It was wonderful to amuse a beautiful woman, even if she was laughing at him. At least she wasn’t weeping, or trapped in that terrible numb apathy.
Jeans, harness, jacket, a tingle of cleansing sorcery, and he was ready for anything.
After the soft, enchanting laughter faded Cass watched curiously, sitting on the bed and hugging her bare knees.
No doubt she only saw dim shapes moving in darkness; lirai didn’t possess the enhanced low-light vision of Sons.
The storm, still rumbling, drenched the hotel’s windows with momentary white light.
“That’s it?” Did she sound nervous? Of course she hadn’t enjoyed the… the operation; what woman could?
“Not quite.” Nigel sat back down on the bed. “May I have your hands?”
“I’m still using them.” A faint quirk to her pretty, slightly swollen mouth, but she extended her arms. Her fingers were slim, delicate, and thankfully warm; her pulse was up, throbbing in her wrists.
Thunder roiled again, only barely muffled by the building’s bulk.
She flinched slightly, and Nigel was once again taken aback by the amount of sheer vulnerable courage packed into such a slight, graceful container.
He had a short lull to speak in, to try and make her understand. “Thank you.” Pale, weak sounds to carry the weight of gratitude; more crowded in his throat, and he had to select the correct ones. “For trusting me, and for allowing… This is the greatest gift possible, and I…”
God’s wounds, why couldn’t he say what he meant?
“Oh, good.” She blinked, her eyes shimmering in the dimness. Was she nervous, or archly amused? Both? “I was afraid it had gone wrong or something. I feel like a teenager again.”
Is that acceptable? Nigel couldn’t tell. “Not wrong. I just, if I didn’t do well, it’s because—”
“That’s what you’re worried about? It’s not graded on a curve or anything.” His Dreamer tugged her hands gently away. “I’m gonna get cleaned up.”
“I can help.” The cleansing-sorcery only took a moment, a blur of heavy, smoky unscent, and he tried not to let the moving drape of energy linger too long.
“Are you ever going to teach me that trick?” But she stiffened and pulled away further, heading for the far side of the bed.
“After you’re safe.” Nigel dropped his hands, swallowed bitter disappointment. He’d already gained more than he ever deserved, and her retreat was absolutely fair. “If you still want me to, I’ll do my best.” At every moment, in every possible way.
She swung her legs off the bedside and went motionless, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Cass?” He leapt upright. Of course he’d immediately fouled this up, it was inevitable.
“We have to move,” she whispered, and lunged for her crumpled jeans. “Now.”
* * *
The sudden wrenching from warm closeness to cold iron readiness was almost a relief. Now fully dressed, Cass clearly expected him to argue, her lovely hands knotted together and her pupils huge.
Keeping the lights off was good tactical practice. The lightning was nearly continuous now, thunder hard upon the heels of every flash as a storm’s heart nestled over the city.
“Whenever I got this feeling, we moved,” she insisted. Her hair was a tangled glory, and even in the dimness her pale trembling anxiety was glaring. “You have to trust me.”
Do you think I wouldn’t? Nigel couldn’t tell where he’d gone wrong, but it didn’t matter. “Of course.” At least they didn’t have much in the way of luggage. “You’ll need to stay close so I can blur the hotel cameras. We’ll go down to the parking garage and—”
She gasped and whirled, staring at the door to the hallway. There was no outline of light showing gaps in its fitting, but Nigel sensed the subliminal buzzing of electrical appliances in flux. Some part of the confusion could be natural, from the weather disturbance.
The rest certainly was not. A long vicious roll of thunder broke like a high wave, and the door shivered under a massive, squelching impact.
Cass hunched, giving a short, hurt little cry. Nigel found himself between her and the door, his sword’s blade alive with blue undertints, reacting to the charged atmosphere and a Dreamer’s aura. Flame-blessed steel, speaking in a language he understood.
“Stay calm,” he said, softly. “Try not to broadcast, you’re still very close to burnout.”
“It’s not like I can control it,” she whispered, and the faint hint of annoyance to her tone warmed him clear through.
Another harsh impact, with the same nasty splorch noise at its end.
The door groaned, more well-constructed than a cheap motel variety but still not meant to stand this kind of abuse.
Nigel considered a second attack through the window, but then the smell reached him and he realized what it had to be.
“Get down.” He didn’t wait to find out if she would obey, and hurled himself into battle.