Rest For The Wicked(6)

“Please—” The word scraped up his raw throat. “Get back—before I hurt you.”

Surprise flared in her eyes.

“Why would a hunk like you resort to violence when all you’d have to do is smile?”

Something choked him. Laughter. He never thought he’d laugh again. Then he doubled over when agony exploded in his head.

She caught him, eased him to the ground, touched his forehead. “You’re ice cold. I’m getting you to the hospital.”

Eric grabbed her wrist when she started to tap out numbers on her phone. “Can’t help.”

To his relief she lowered the phone, tucked it into her purse. “I’m not just leaving you here. Where are you staying?”

“Don’t—” He fumbled the room key out of his pocket.

She raised one eyebrow as she read the name of the hotel.

“Well, Mr. VIP. I think you can afford a taxi if you’re staying there. Let’s get you home.” With a strength that surprised him she helped him stand, then whistled for one of the taxis trolling for passengers. She helped him into the back seat, gave the driver his location. “The Ritz-Carlton,” she said, then turned back to Eric. “Okay, you just sit back and enjoy the ride. What’s your name, handsome?”

Swallowing, he looked at her, took in the striking face, the short yellow dress that showed off every curve, the life that poured out of her.

“Eric.”

“Hi, Eric.” Her smile pushed back some of the darkness. “I’m Annie.” She leaned in, brushed sweat soaked hair off his forehead. “You take care of yourself.”

She shut the door and watched him as the driver pulled away. Once they were out of sight Eric clutched his head with both hands, forced a scream down his throat when the voice clawed into his mind.

You failed.



*



The Jinn grabbed Claire before she could escape, trapping her wrists in both hands. Then he let out a low hiss and recoiled, shaking the hand that touched her tattoo.

“Gods—what are you doing with that kind of protection? Who in the name of all that is holy did you piss off?”

“None of your damn business. Jinn.” Claire yanked out of his grasp and backed across the shop. “What the hell are you doing in my town?”

One dark eyebrow lifted. He rubbed his hand, then closed the door behind him, flicking the lock. Claire’s heart jumped.

“I came for the festival. Witch.” A smile flashed across his face, carried with it the charm his kind was known to possess in abundance. Claire refused to let it work on her. “Your shop intrigued me, so I decided to take a look. You do not believe a word of this.”

“Bingo.”

“I can prove the truth of it.” Using his left hand, he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, held it up. Claire recognized it immediately; the flyer sent out announcing the Annual Summer Solstice Festival. “I saw this at a New Age shop up the coast. It has been many years since I joined a Solstice celebration.” Grief flashed in those gold laced green eyes before he averted his gaze. Grief she understood. “I decided it was time.”

“Who have you lost?” Claire wanted to take the question back when he flinched. “I’m sorry—now I’m being rude and belligerent. Let me see your hand.” He looked at her, surprise breaking through the sorrow. “I know I hurt you. And no, it wasn’t intentional. The tattoo is new, and honestly, I didn’t think it had the energy to do any harm.”

He moved to her, laid his right hand in her palm. Claire sucked in her breath.

“Heaven above.” A burn scorched the center of his palm, in the shape of her triquetra. “I am so sorry. Come and sit. I have something that will help.”

She led him to the chair behind her counter, watched him sink to it, pain in every move. Guilt had her slipping the amethyst out of her pocket, the stone already warm. She laid it in his left hand and closed his fingers over it. With a sigh, he nodded his thanks, tightened his grip on the crystal.

Light speared through his fingers. Claire stepped back, watched what she had never seen before—a Jinn revealing his true form. It was the only way he could heal himself, and it startled her that he believed he would be safe with her.

The outline of his hunched figure blurred, smoke curling around him, through him. A cyclone of sand and wind burst from him, surrounded him. Inside that cyclone she saw him, the soul many claimed he didn’t have burning like a flame through sand and smoke. His hands flowed together, the amethyst glowing in their grasp, beating out the rhythm of his heart. He threw his head back and the glow burst free, shooting up to the ceiling. Claire let out a cry and covered her eyes.