Stained

  Julia gaped; the blade was much freakier up close. Almost a foot long, it seemed to pulse as Cayne twisted his wrist. She opened her Sight and saw it glowing silver. She was trying to decide whether or not to prod it when, like magic, the thing disappeared.

  “I spent two years trying to relearn whatever I could, but it was hard. I wanted to keep myself hidden.” He shrugged. “I didn’t find much, but what I did…” Another shrug. “When I finally felt ready, I went after Samyaza.”

  As his story sank in, Julia felt empathy. They were, in a sense, the same. Cut off from a part of their history. Not whole. “No one looked for you? Or came after you?”

  “I only revealed my identity to two people. Samyaza’s crew thought I was dead. Which was the way I wanted it.”

  His eyes found hers, and Julia couldn’t break the gaze. This…confusion so colored who he was, that not knowing of it had hidden a part of him. A part that she could see now. A part that made her sad.

  She bit her tongue. It struck her that a large part of him was probably pristine, programmed, a bundle of uninformed instinct. Every decision he made was based on…what? Not history. He didn’t have history.

  He didn’t have anyone.

  Just like her.

  “So you think you can get your memory back? I mean, how will you get him to…”

  Cayne lifted his shoulders, his jaw locked. “I’ve only gotten close to him a few times, never as close as I was in Memphis. I don’t know yet, but I’ll find a way. I’ll keep you safe, too. And when I kill him, we’ll both be free.”

  Julia nodded. She couldn’t help but see the sorrow in his aura, and she longed to wrap her arms around him. Instead, she pulled away from the curb.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cayne was picky about their night’s stay. It took him thirty minutes to settle on a modest motel just off the Interstate, and ten more to circle the parking lot. Finally, after he’d patrolled all three floors three times, he sent Julia into the lobby to request one of the corner rooms on the ground floor. All three were filled, but as “luck” would have it, the occupants of room 107 decided to check out minutes later.

  Cayne led her into the tiny, humid room, dropped their bags by the door, and eased himself onto one of the shabby twin beds, weariness dragging on his features.

  Julia saw a stack of plastic cups by the sink and hurried to fill one. She felt Cayne’s eyes on her as she brought it to him.

  He took the cup, and his fingers brushed hers. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  He drained it in one gulp, rested his head on the cedar headboard, and closed his eyes. With his head back as it was, the scar at his throat gleamed in the light. Julia wondered what it was like for him, not knowing how he’d gotten it.

  She wondered, too, about his fight with the other Nephilim. If he could take Samyaza, their king, how had he gotten so injured by two fellow Hunters? He’d wanted answers, so maybe he’d held back.

  Julia spent a few minutes staring at his sleeping form. When the butterflies in her stomach were too much to bear, she rummaged through the drawers and found an old newspaper—complete with a crossword puzzle.

  After what must have been an hour, Cayne jerked awake. His face looked stricken.

  “What’s wrong?” Julia, on the opposite bed, leaned forward as he swung his feet off the mattress and hunched to squeeze the bridge of his nose. He shook his head, but she could see his shoulders trembling.

  “Cayne—” She started to get up.

  He pushed off his bed and, almost clumsily, hurried for the bathroom. Halfway there, he turned and looked at her. “Dream,” he muttered. And that’s when Julia realized why he kept such distance. For a badass half-demon, the boy had no poker face once you knew his tells.

  The shower was off in less than five minutes. Julia pressed her cheek against the bathroom door and heard the soft swish of fabric. Then nothing. Cayne didn’t come out for almost half an hour. When he did, he was calm and clean and shirtless, and Julia nearly swallowed her tongue.

  “That was nice.”

  She arched a brow, trying very hard not to look at his chest—which was, because of the many blots on his torso, totally impossible. “Oh yeah?”

  Cayne nodded, stepping in front of the mirror to examine his wounds. The largest stretched from the soft skin above his hip to the middle of his rib cage. His fingers traveled its length. He gingerly pressed there, and Julia saw a faint gray knot in his aura chain. Blood daggers must have packed supernatural punch, because after what happened with the old man, a meal, some water, a nap, and several hours, it didn’t look like his wounds would heal tonight.

  Julia bit her lip. “I just had a thought.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t think you’ll like it.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well?”

  She put her hands on her hips, hooking her thumbs into the charcoal jeans she’d gotten from Anthropologie. “I’m afraid we might need to cut your hair.”

  Cayne froze, and she laughed. “I told you.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. His long locks bounced in rebellion. “Why?”

  “That,” she pointed at the scab, “is why. Remember the hundreds of Nephilim that are after you? They know you as Cayne with long hair. Right?”

  “It’s been that way since…I can remember.”

  “I know. But—”

  “Changing my hair won’t do much to hide my trail. Or yours, if we do anything that leaves one.”

  “Yeah. But I thought any advantage we could—”

  “You’re right.” He turned to lean on the counter. “Cut it.”

  The row of bulbs over the mirror made his damp skin glisten. Julia allowed herself a brief glance at his amazing, chiseled torso, but her face got so hot she fled to grab a desk chair. Damn shirtlessness.

  “Sit there,” she said, and reached for her bag.

  Cayne rested his arms on his knees. He looked at her through the mirror and his mouth quirked. Softly, he said, “This reminds me of a story.”

  “What?”

  “Guess.”

  Julia stepped closer and raised the comb to his head. She was nearly undone by the heat coming off his back. She felt each of his breaths in the bottom of her stomach.

  “You have to give me a hint,” she managed.

  “It’s a Bible story.”

  “That’s fitting.” She murmured. It only took her a second to get it. “Do you feel like Sampson?”

  Cayne straightened his huge shoulders. “Do you feel like Delilah?”

  Slowly, for her hands were clumsy this close, Julia ran the comb through his hair. He tilted his head. She pressed her fingers to his crown and again drew the comb. She slid her palm as she went, moving down his scalp to brace against tangles. Cayne closed his eyes.

  She kept her pace steady as she stepped around him, brushing his hair until it was straight and his breathing was so soft she hardly heard it. Then she started to cut. His eyes opened once, and he touched a strand near his face. After that, he relaxed, waiting still and patient while the scissors made their swishing sound and his hair fell to her feet.

  When it was finally short, she ran her hands through, gently tousling. He made a noise that sent a shiver down her spine, so she played with it some more, emitting what she hoped would be an unnoticeable amount of healing energy. He leaned into her. His head was inches from her stomach, and she knew, just knew, that he was hearing her pounding heart.

  When every inch of her was slick with sweat, Julia announced that she was finished and went quickly to bed. She hoped the energy she’d sent him would keep his dreams sweet.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Julia woke the next morning to the smell of breakfast in bed.

  “Cayne.”

  His eyes sparkled in the sunlit room. He nodded at a white Styrofoam box on the bedside table and Julia blushed. He was even hotter than usual with
his new haircut. It wasn’t a buzz cut, but it was short enough to accentuate his features—especially those beautiful green eyes.

  She straightened her posture and tried to look unaffected. But when she flipped the lid back and the hot, tangy smell of steak reached her nose, she blanched. Steak. Breakfast steak, and medium rare at that.

  Julia couldn’t hold in a giggle. Cayne half-shrugged, obviously confused, and because he looked so cute, she let him squirm for a second.

  “…No?”

  Julia shook her head, smiling. She cradled the take-out box. “Is this what you eat for breakfast?”

  “It’s got lots of protein.” His smile was crooked. “But now that I think about it…I guess that’s kind of odd for most people.”

  Julia held her fingers apart. “Only a little.”

  She stopped by McDonald’s on their way out of town—Cayne was not a fan of their sausage biscuit—and, once on the Interstate, she rolled her window down and floored it.

  The Audi was a wonderful car. Its pale hood glistened like a wet pearl under the late morning sun that flung blinding light over the stark mountains and dry desert valleys of the Great Basin. They were still headed west, at Cayne’s orders.

  While Julia drove, he sat, shoulders loose, long legs stretched, staring out the window.

  They had a brief battle over the radio, and Julia won an hour of pop. After that, they listened to classic rock.

  Cayne’s color was almost back to normal, and most of his scabs had disappeared. The big one was almost a scar. Julia wondered how his regenerative powers worked. After a seven-song marathon, she decided to ask.

  “How fast do you heal?”

  Cayne blinked, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh my gosh, it’s a question!”

  “I was going to answer, but now—”

  “You have to!”

  “Oh I do, do I?”

  Julia grinned from ear to ear. She still felt butterflies every time he teased her. “Yep. Tell me right now, or I’ll pull this car over.”

  “And spank me?”

  Julia gaped. He winked, and she was sure her face looked like a tomato. That dirty jerk. Making her blush. “If you’re lucky,” she managed. She was pleased when Cayne cleared his throat.

  “I heal fast.”

  “No joke.”

  “Under the right conditions.”

  “And what are those conditions?”

  “That it’s something minor. Most injuries I shake off in a few hours.” He paused, assessing her out of the corner of his eye.

  She nodded.

  “But if that doesn’t happen, I need sleep. Like last night.”

  “And how often do you sleep?”

  “Not often,” he said. “I’m not a fan of sleep.”

  Not a fan? Julia had a feeling he wasn’t willing to share any details about his nightmares. Naturally, that jacked up her curiosity. She thought about what she’d done the night before and hoped it had helped a little. Finally she said, “That sucks.”

  “It has advantages.”

  She batted her lashes. “Like watching pretty girls when they sleep?”

  “Is that what you wish I did?”

  “I know how you guys are.”

  Cayne laughed. “I’m probably not what you’re used to.”

  “Hmmm... Fine, fine.” She was so not blushing again. No way. “So what’s so great about not sleeping?”

  He shrugged. “I’m productive. And unlike you, I can see danger when it comes.”

  “Unlike me?”

  “You sleep like the dead.”

  “I do not!”

  “Do so.”

  “Whatever.” She tossed her hair at him. “I guess you think you’re some kind of bad ass?”

  “I was.” He ran a hand over his head. “But not anymore.”

  “Not anymore,” she echoed, and then reached over to ruffle his hair.

  It was supposed to be a quick, friendly gesture. But once her fingers sifted through the soft strands, they didn’t want to leave.

  He shifted under her touch; it made Julia’s stomach tighten. Flustered, she slid her hand away and pasted on a very false smile. “I like it short.”

  He laughed, low and sexy. “Do you?”

  “Yes.” She rubbed her eyes. It was definitely time to change the subject. “So how long do you think it will take us to find Sam?”

  Cayne gave her a sideways smile. “Weeks,” he said, and that made her heart flutter.

  But he must have wanted them to get where they were going fast, because every car on the road was in the right lane. They covered a lot of ground in a just a few hours and were somewhere outside Elko, Nevada, when Cayne lifted his shirt and smiled proudly.

  Left with no other choice, Julia peeked at his six-pack. A soft, pink line was all that was left of the gushing wound he’d received the night before.

  “That’s amazing,” she said. “My biggest scar’s on my calf, and it took weeks to heal.”

  “What happened?”

  “I fell off a four-wheeler once, and the motor kind of ran over me.”

  He looked appalled. “Someone ran over you?”

  Julia explained ATVs and mudding, and she told him how she flipped after another four-wheeler cut her off in the woods. Cayne was all questions, so Julia explained that she was eleven and at a youth camp with some of her foster siblings.

  “You had those?” He looked surprised.

  “One at my first house, three at the second. None with…my last parents.”

  Cayne frowned. “You lived with more than one family?”

  “Yep.”

  He considered this, and a part of her was amazed that his beautiful face was twisted in puzzlement over her mundane life. Stranger, still, when he asked for more details.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  Julia drummed the steering wheel and delivered the spiel: Her biological parents died when she was a baby. She was told it was a car accident. She lived at a group home until she was four, when she went to live with the Raysons, her first foster family. She stayed until fifth grade. She left because of some problems with their son, Billy. She—

  “Problems?” Cayne asked.

  “Problems.”

  “What happened?”

  “I went back to group home.” She could evade questions, too.

  She went back to group home for three months before Sally and Frank Murchinson took her. She stayed with them until she was twelve, when Harry and Suzanne brought her home.

  When she said their names, Cayne grunted softly.

  “Yes. They’re the ones.”

  It was too hard to say. Maybe even harder than it had been a few days ago. Now that she was thousands of miles from her home, it was finally real. With Cayne and her stealing cars and fighting Nephilim and chasing Samyaza, Harry and Suzanne were about all that seemed real.

  Cayne laid his hand on her arm, his fingertips stroking her wrist—for half a second. “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, because she didn’t trust her voice.

  For a long time, her eyes didn’t stray from the Interstate. The mountains receded and the desert stretched out before them, dry and dead. The setting sun made everything look faded, and later blue, and then gray, and then colorless as night came.

  When she could finally look at him again, Cayne had his eyes closed. As the stars came out and the land began to roll, he said, “We’re closer.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No. Just that we’re closer.”

  They went through Reno under a full moon, and under the glare of the flashing casino lights, Julia started getting angry. She let it simmer until they neared the California border, and then it bubbled over.

  “I can’t wait until we find him. Stupid bastard Nephilim.” She waved at Cayne. “No offense.”

  He nodded.

  “I need to talk about it,” she said. “I want to talk about how he...” And
that was all there was. Her shoulders shook with so much grief that it was all she could do to keep her hands squeezing the wheel. Cayne was a steady presence beside her. When the pent-up sobs died down, and it became clear that she wasn’t going to talk, he asked, “They were most like your parents, Harry and Suzanne?”

  She sniffed and nodded, and he passed her a napkin for her eyes.

  “Are you ready to find out why he did this?”

  “Yes,” she choked. “And what he did to you.”

  Cayne squeezed her shoulder. His touch, so unexpected, stopped her tears.

  “He’s near San Francisco,” he said softly. “Have you been there?”

  “No.”

  “When we’re finished, I’ll take you to the bay. I think you’ll like it.”

  “I’d like to kill Samyaza.”

  “I’d like that too.”

  “I’ll help you,” she promised.

  “I know.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Every time Julia was almost asleep, the horizon would brighten and exit signs would appear. Casa Loma, seven miles. Dutch Flat, five miles. A teensy town would peek over a hill or around a bend, and for a full minute the windshield would flash in reds and yellows.

  As quickly as they appeared, the oases would vanish. The dark would return, and Julia’s eyes would slip shut as she gazed at the black sky. Then the horizon would light up again.

  They were near the California border. Or maybe they had crossed it. Julia couldn’t remember. The land looked the same: small, rolling hills, trees in twos, threes, and fours, and little communities gone as quickly as they popped up. Half asleep, it was hard to tell where the road ended and her dreams began.

  She tried to imagine herself in a town smaller than her old high school. Were these the sorts of places that embraced lonely, hunted girls and half-demons with missing memories? Or was anything out of the ordinary out of the question?

  Cayne, who would probably stick out like a broken middle finger anywhere—okay, he might fit in at an Unnaturally Good Looking People Who Are Also Kind of Intimidating Convention—made an impatient noise. In the hour or so since they’d passed through Reno, he had again gone the way of the mute. Or the almost mute. The grumpy, noise-making almost mute. He was driving, and Julia hoped he was concentrating on the road—at more than 100 miles per hour, he needed to—but she felt sickly certain that something less mundane had his boxers in a wad.