“You bet your sweet ass you do. Here is the last bit of news I can share – found it before the bosses told me to pull back, so I consider it fair game. Your Nakoa? Only one I found is a berserker held on The Hill for a murder he committed almost ten years ago, when he was eleven. It was a wizard who specialized in dream walking, and he tore the guy apart. There were bits of him all over the room. According to the file, the kid never said a word from when they found him through the trial, and none of the magic users could get inside his head.”
Berserker. Another rarity, though not in the same league as a dream crafter. From what he remembered from his studies, they were naturally immune to all sorts of magic. Between that and their strength few monsters could match, the ones that existed were always under watch.
“How long is he supposed to be there?” A berserker committing a murder before he was even a teenager? Of course they wouldn’t release him, but Merc needed the confirmation.
“He’ll be there for life. They’ll never let him free.”
And now all the pieces fell into place. If this was Amana’s Nakoa, no wonder she was frantic. “Thanks for everything.”
“Hope I see you after all this is over.” With that, Nemesis hung up.
Merc pushed up and out of the seat, moving muscles and letting the blood flow through his body. Amana loved her little brother. It shone through with every word she said and every look on her face as she spoke of him. But while everything he knew of Amana screamed that she would never sacrifice someone she loved, he couldn’t believe she’d set a murderer free, not even her brother. No, she would never stop loving him, Merc didn’t doubt that. In the same way, he couldn’t believe that she would allow a murdering berserker out amongst people again.
A wizard who specialized in dream walking. That was too much coincidence. Had the wizard somehow discovered Amana was a crafter? Threatened to expose her or harm her? Had the boy’s berserker nature come to the fore to protect his sister?
It had to be something along those lines. It would explain why Amana was desperate to save her brother. If she believed all this happened because of her, she’d never allow him to shoulder the punishment alone.
And it was punishment. Berserkers would rather be dead than be in a cage. Honestly, he was kind of shocked the boy was still alive and hadn’t committed suicide by now, either by his own hand or forcing the guards to take care of him.
Probably what kept Nakoa going was the same thing that kept Amana going – needing to protect and care for their sibling however they could. Just as Amana was tearing herself apart to get Nakoa free, Nakoa would know if he died, it would destroy Amana.
Now he understood how Amana had been swept up in the Guild’s offer. Nothing short of the Guild would be able to free a berserker on The Hill.
The Hill…fuck. Only the worst of the worst. Only the ones who needed every type of oversight, both might and magical. How in the four hells was he getting Nakoa free from there?
Biting back that sigh again, Merc headed up the stairs, to where Amana was sleeping.
Chapter Thirty-One
‡
“Don’t think I can’t see you’re awake.”
“Insomnia.” Amana hid the tremor in her voice over what kept her awake. Her double was always on the edge of her conscious now, a malevolent figure she couldn’t escape, staring through death blue eyes and waiting for the first misstep to strike.
Merc paused, but climbed in the bed beside her. Amana’s surprise didn’t stop her from curling up next to him, letting his strong arms envelop her.
This was safety and family and warmth, and Amana edged in closer, tracing the tattoos of his arms with her fingers. “How does your magic work?” she asked.
“Answer for an answer,” he responded, his voice quiet and husky. There was nothing sexual in his voice, but it held a frightening intimacy within, and Amana hungered for and feared what taking what was being offered would mean.
She could walk away.
She could stay here, cocooned in his arms, stroking him and letting him hold her, and he would not go away. He would allow himself to be used for comfort and comfort only.
Or she could walk forward, into shared secrets and intertwined lives.
The choice was hers.
“An answer for an answer.” How her voice came out, promising such dangerous things as hope and faith and trust. Merc shifted above her, but she buried her face into his neck, refusing to look at him, to look at this fragile bridge that existed between them.
“Each line represents a power. It was layered into me a line stroke at a time as Shisen taught me how to master each.”
She didn’t want to think how many lines even one of the tribal sweeps contained, and his body was covered. “Did it hurt?”