(eng) Karen Chance - Cassandra Palmer 08 by Ride the Storm

Author:Ride the Storm [Storm, Ride the]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-one

I woke up to a soft bed, a spill of light from an open door, and a familiar, velvety darkness. But not a familiar room. I sat up abruptly.

And immediately regretted it.

Pain ripped through my body, radiating outward from a hundred points. Old pain, from strains and sprains and bruises weeks old. Newer pain, from my side, from my feet, from the battle on the drag. Brand-spanking-new pain, clear and bright and soul deep, from ghost bites, from channeling too much power, from everything, all at once, forcing a sound out of me.

It was surprise.

I guess nothing else fit, I thought, and put out a hand to steady myself.

And found warm flesh, not cool sheets.

“Easy,” someone said, and fingers closed gently around mine.

I looked up, struggling to see anything with the light from the next room blazing in my eyes. Until a dark head blotted out most of it. A very familiar dark head.

Mircea.

For a minute, I wasn’t sure if my brain had conjured him up or not, and the view didn’t help. Because he looked just like always: fall of smooth mahogany hair just brushing his shoulders; dark blue suit, the rich wool glimmering slightly in the low light; lashes too long and thick for a man, like the lips that appeared wine reddened without any wine. He should have looked feminine, except the strong features and broad shoulders never could.

“If I conjured you up, I did a good job,” I told him blearily.

“I’m real enough,” he said, and held a glass to my lips.

I finished the whole thing. It was only water, but it seemed to help. I lay back against the pillows again, feeling stronger.

“You sure?” I asked, glancing around. I’d been right: I didn’t recognize this room. Not that I could see much of it, but the furniture wasn’t in the right place, and there was no broad sweep of windows. Or any at all.

“I’m sure.” Mircea leaned over and smoothed back my hair. “I tried to contact you through Seidr earlier, but it didn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Lord Mircea,” someone said, from the doorway. Mircea didn’t even turn around, but I looked past his shoulder to see a tall, thin shadow blocking out some of the light. A shadow with a shock of unruly dark hair and glasses he shouldn’t need, because he was a vampire.

“In a moment,” Mircea said, his eyes still on mine. “It hasn’t worked since that incident at Dante’s this morning.”

I frowned, trying to jump-start my brain. “You think Ares did something?”

“I don’t know,” he said again, fingers combing through my hair, causing the pain in my head to recede slightly. Until I caught his wrist, because he couldn’t spare the energy right now. He just smiled and switched hands.

“I thought at first that you were simply asleep, something I verified with Marco,” he told me. “But it didn’t work later, either. Although, in fairness, the fault could be mine. After yesterday . . .”

I nodded. Mircea had been the

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