Tempted (House of Night #6)

Tempted (House of Night #6) Page 8

Stevie Rae controlled her automatic impulse to step back because guy voice or no guy voice, and the question of his humanity put temporarily aside, the honest truth was he was one big, bird guy whose blood smelled seriously wrong. And Stevie Rae was very much alone with him. Look, I know you're hurt and all, so you're not thinkin' right, but if I was gonna kill you I definitely wouldn't have dragged you in here. She made her voice sound normal and instead of backing away from him like she wanted to, she stood her ground and she met those cold red eyes that looked so bizarrely human. Why won't you kill me? The words were little more than an agonized whisper, but the night was so silent that Stevie Rae had no trouble hearing him. She could have pretended she didn't hear what he'd said, or at least didn't understand him, but she was sick of evasions and lies, so she continued to hold his gaze and told him the truth, Well, actually, that has a lot more to do with me than you, and that makes it a kinda long, confusing story. I guess mostly I'm not real sure why I won't kill you, 'cept for the fact that I tend to do things my own way, and I can definitely say I'm not a big fan of killing. He stared at her until she wanted to squirm under that strange red gaze. Finally he said, You should. Stevie Rae's eyebrows went up. I should know, I should kill ya, or I should do things my own way? You're gonna have to be more specific. Oh, and you should also consider being less bossy.

You're not exactly in a position to tell me what I should do. Obviously at the very end of his strength, his eyes had begun to close, but her words had him reopening them. She could see some kind of emotion changing his expression, but his face was so foreign, so unlike anything or anyone she was used to, that she couldn't read him. His black beak opened as if he was going to say something. At that moment a shudder rippled through his body. Instead of speaking, he closed his eyes tightly and moaned. The sound was filled with an agony that was completely human. Automatically she took a step toward him. His eyes reopened and, even though they were glazed with pain, she could see his scarlet gaze was focused on her. Stevie Rae stopped and spoke slowly and distinctly. Okay, here's the deal. I brought water and stuff to bandage you up with, but I'm not really cool with coming over there by you unless you give me your word you won't try anything I'm not gonna like. This time Stevie Rae was sure the emotion she saw within the red of those human eyes was surprise.

I cannot move. His words were halting, and it was an obvious effort for him to speak at all. Does that mean I have your word you won't bite me or do anything else that's not very nice? Yesssss. His voice had gone all guttural and the word ended in a hiss, which Stevie Rae didn't find at all reassuring. Still, she straightened her spine and nodded like he hadn't just sounded like a snake. Well. Good. Okay, let's see what I can do to make ya feel better. Then, before she could talk some sense into her own dang head, she walked right up to the Raven Mocker. She plopped the towels and the moss on the ground beside him, and set the water bucket down more carefully. He really was big. She'd forgotten that. Well, maybe it was more like she'd blocked it from her memory, because forgetting his size was pretty hard. It hadn't been exactly easy to drag/carry him into this shed before Erik or Dallas or Heath or anyone had seen her, even though he'd been weirdly light for how heavy he looked. Water. The word was almost a croak. Oh, yeah, sure! Stevie Rae jumped and then fumbled with the handle of the dipper. It fell on the floor, and as embarrassed as she was frazzled, she dropped it again--had to pick it up, wipe it on a towel, and then finally dip it into the water. She moved closer to him. He stirred weakly, obviously trying to raise an arm, but the attempt caused him to moan again and his arm seemed to only be able to hang at his side, as useless as his broken wing.

Not pausing to think about what she was doing, Stevie Rae bent, lifted his shoulders gently, tilted his head back, and held the dipper to his beak. He drank thirstily. When he'd had his fill, she helped him lie back, but not until she'd put one of the towels under his head. Okay, I don't have anything to clean you up with except water, but I'll do my best. Oh, and I brought some strips of moss. If I pack your wounds with them, they'll help. She didn't bother to explain that she really didn't know how she knew the moss was good for his wounds--it was just one of the snatches of information she'd get from time to time--out of nowhere. One second she wouldn't have a clue about something. The next she'd be sure of how to, well, plug up a wound, for instance. She wanted to believe it was Nyx whispering to her, like the Goddess whispered to Zoey, but the truth was, Stevie Rae didn't know for sure. Just keep choosing good over evil . . . she muttered to herself as she started to tear one of the towels into strips. The Raven Mocker's eyes opened and he looked questioningly at her. Oh, don't mind me. I talk to myself. Even when I'm not alone. It's kinda like my own version of therapy. She paused and met his gaze. This is gonna hurt. I mean, I'll try to be careful and all, but you're pretty messed up. Go ahead, he said in that pain-filled whispery voice that sounded too human to be coming from such an inhuman-looking creature. Alright, well, here goes. Stevie Rae worked as quickly and as gently as possible. The hole in his chest was terrible. She flushed it with water and picked off as much of the twigs and crap from around it as possible. His feathers made what she was doing super weird.

There was chest and skin under them, but it was just so dang odd! He had feathers, and under them she found downy little black puffs that felt soft as cotton candy from the state fair. She glanced at his face. He'd laid his head back down on the towel pillow. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was breathing in short little pants. Sorry, I know this hurts, she said. His only response was a grunt which, ironically, made him seem more guy-like. Seriously--the grunt was well known to be a major guy communication method. Okay, I think it's ready for the moss. She spoke more to soothe her own nerves than his. Tearing off a section of the moss, she carefully packed it into the wound.

It doesn't seem as bad now that it's not bleeding so much. She kept chattering, even though he barely responded to her. Here, gotta move you a little. Stevie Rae rolled him further on his stomach so she could get to the rest of the wound. He pressed his face into the towel and stifled another moan. Stevie Rae spoke quickly, hating that agonized sound. The hole where it came out of your back is bigger, but it's not as dirty, so I won't have as much cleaning to do back here. It took a larger chunk of moss to cover the exit wound, but she got it done quickly. Then she shifted her attention to his wings. The wing on his left side was tucked tightly against his back.

It didn't look like it had been injured at all. But his right wing was another story. It was totally messed up--shattered and bloody and hanging lifelessly down his side. Well, I guess it's time to admit I'm totally out of my comfort zone back here. I mean, the bullet wound was nasty, but at least I knew what to do about it--kind of. Your wing is something else. I have no clue what to do to help it. Bind it to me. Use the cloth strips. His voice was gravelly. He didn't look at her and his eyes were still tightly closed. Are you sure? Maybe I should just leave it alone. Less pain--if it's bound, he said haltingly. Well, shit.

Okay. Stevie Rae got to work tearing another towel into long strips, and then knotting them together. All right. I'm gonna arrange your wing on your back kinda in the same position your other wing's in. Is that right? He nodded once. She held her breath and picked up his wing. He jerked and gasped. She dropped it and jumped back. Shit! I'm sorry! Crap! His eyes slitted and he looked up at her. Between panting gasps he said, Just. Do. It. She gritted her teeth, leaned forward and, blocking out his muffled moans of pain, rearranged the shattered wing into a position that vaguely resembled the unwounded wing. Then, with barely a pause for breath, she said, You're gonna have to hold yourself up a little so I can get this tied around you.

Stevie Rae felt his body tense and then he heaved himself up, leaning mostly on his left arm, so that he was in a tilted-over, half-sitting-up position--and his torso was far enough off the floor of the shed for her to quickly wrap the towel strips around him and secure the wing. Okay, got it. He collapsed. His entire body was trembling. I'm wrappin' your ankle now. I think it's broken, too. He nodded once. She tore more towel strips and then securely wrapped up his surprisingly human-looking ankle, just like she remembered her volleyball coach wrapping up one of her teammates' weak ankles back when she was in high school at Henrietta High, home of the Fighting Hens. Fighting Hens? Okay, her hometown's mascot had always been silly, but at that moment it struck Stevie Rae as super-funny, and she had to bite her lip to keep a hysterical giggle from bubbling out of it. Thankfully she got herself under control in just a couple breaths, and managed to ask him, Are you hurt bad anywhere else? He shook his head in a short, jerky motion. Okay, then I'm gonna stop messin' with you, 'cause I think I got the worst of it tended. When he nodded once in agreement, she sat on the floor beside him, wiping her shaking hands on one of the leftover towels. Then she just sat there, looking at him and wondering what the heck she was going to do next.

I'll tell you one thing, she said aloud, I hope I never have to tie up another broken wing in my whole dang life. His eyes opened, but he didn't speak. Well, it was totally horrible. That wing hurts worse than a regular broken arm or leg, doesn't it? She was talking because she was nervous, and Stevie Rae didn't expect him to answer, so she was surprised when he said, It does. Yeah, that's what I thought, she continued, as if they were two normal people having an ordinary conversation. His voice was still weak, but it seemed easier for him to speak and she guessed immobilizing his wing had really helped his pain level. I need more water, he said. Oh, sure. She grabbed the dipper, glad her hands had stopped shaking. This time he was able to hold himself up and tip back his own head. She only had to pour the water into his mouth, or beak, or whatever the correct word for it was. Since she was already up, Stevie Rae decided she might as well gather up the bloody pieces of towel, thinking that she should get them away from the shed. The red fledglings' sense of smell wasn't as good as hers, but it also wasn't as undeveloped as regular fledglings. She didn't want to chance any of them having a reason to sniff around there. A quick search of the shed and she discovered extra-big lawn and garden trash bags, into which she stuffed the rags. There were three towels she hadn't used, and without really giving it much thought, she unfolded them and spread them out, covering as much of the Raven Mocker as was possible. Are you the Red One? His voice made her jump. His eyes had been closed and he'd been so quiet while she was cleaning up that she had assumed he was asleep, or maybe passed out.

Now those human eyes were open again and trained on her. I don't know how to answer that. I am a red vampyre, if that's what you mean. The first red vampyre. She thought briefly about Stark and his completed red tattoos, which made him the second red vampyre, and wondered where he was going to fit in their world, but no way was she going to mention him to the Raven Mocker. You are the Red One. Well, okay, I guess I am. My father said the Red One was powerful. I am powerful, Stevie Rae said with no hesitation. Then she held his gaze and continued, Your father? You mean Kalona? Yes. He's gone, ya know. I know. He looked away from her then. I should be with him. No offense, but from what I know of your daddy, I think it's best that you're here and he's not. He isn't exactly a nice guy. Not to mention Neferet has gone completely batshit crazy, and the two of them are like peas in a nasty pod.

You talk a lot, he said and then grimaced painfully. Yeah, it's a habit. A nervous habit, but she didn't add that. Look, you need to rest. I'm gonna go. Plus, the sun started to come up five minutes ago, and that means I need to be inside. The only reason I can walk around at all out there is because the sky's so full of clouds. She tied the trash bag closed and scooted the water bucket and dipper within his reach--if he was able to do any reaching. So, bye. I'll, um, see ya later. She started to hurry away, but his voice stopped her. What will you do with me? I haven't figured that part out yet. She sighed and fidgeted, picking nervously at her fingernails.

Look, I think you're safe here for at least one day. The storm isn't letting up and the nuns aren't going to be messin' around out here. All of the fledglings will probably stay inside until sunset. By that time I should know what to do with you. I still do not understand why you don't tell the others about me. Yeah. Well, that makes two of us. Try to rest. I'll be back. Her hand was on the door latch when he spoke again. My name is Rephaim. Stevie Rae smiled over her shoulder at him. Hi. I'm Stevie Rae. Nice to meet ya, Rephaim.

Rephaim watched the Red One leave the building. He counted one hundred breaths after the door clicked closed, and then he began shifting his body until he'd forced himself into a sitting position. Now that he was fully conscious he wanted to take inventory of his injuries. His ankle was not broken. It pained him, but he could move it. His ribs were bruised but, again, he didn't think any of them were broken. The bullet wound in his chest was serious, but the Red One had cleaned it and packed it with moss. If it didn't fester and putrefy, he would heal. He could move his right arm, though it was difficult, and it felt unnaturally stiff as well as weak.

Finally, he shifted his attention to his wing. Rephaim closed his eyes and probed with his mind, following sinew and ligaments, muscle and bone, through his back and down the length of his shattered pinion. He gasped, almost unable to breathe, as he truly comprehended the full extent of the damage the bullet, and then the terrible, ripping fall had done. He would never fly again. The reality of the thought was so horrible that his mind skittered away from it. He would think of the Red One instead and try to remember everything Father had told him about her powers. Maybe he would find some clue in his memory that would explain her unusual behavior.

Why had she not killed him? Perhaps she still would--or at least perhaps she would betray his presence to her friends. If she did, so be it. Life as he had known it was over for him. He would welcome the chance to die battling anyone who tried to keep him prisoner. But it hadn't seemed she'd been imprisoning him. He thought hard, forcing his mind to work through pain and exhaustion and despair. Stevie Rae. That had been the name she'd given him. What was her motive in saving him if not to imprison and use him? Torture. It made sense that she had kept him alive so that she and her allies could force him to tell her all he knew about Father. What other reason could she have for not killing him? He would have done the same had he been lucky enough to have been in her place. They will discover that the son of an immortal will not be easily broken, he thought.

Stressed beyond the reserves of even his great strength, Rephaim collapsed. He tried to position himself so that he could attain some relief from the agony that wracked his body with every beat of his heart, but it was impossible. Only time could relieve his physical pain. Nothing would relieve the soul-deep pain of never being able to fly again--of never being whole. She should have killed me, he thought. Perhaps I can goad her into it if she returns alone. And if she comes back with her allies and attempts to torture my father's secrets from me, I will not be the only one to shriek in pain. Father? Where are you? Why did you desert me? That was the thought foremost in his mind when unconsciousness finally claimed Rephaim again and, at last, he slept.