Are you there?
There was hope in the uncertain question. She saw his battle between truth and hallucination and then his acceptance that he didn’t care. No matter whether she was real or not, he desperately hung on to the notion that he was no longer isolated.
I’m here.
Her voice was fainter in his mind now, and he frowned even as he raised his head and stretched his arms above and then around him.
What did you do?
She didn’t respond. It took all her strength to maintain the bond between them, but she could still feel it fading.
What did you do? His question became more strident. She felt a surge of strength through his body as he tested his arms, his hands and then his legs. How could you have done it? Who are you?
I’ll return to you. Her thought was a mere whisper in his mind now. I won’t leave you alone to face this. I swear it.
She caught traces of his frustration just before she let go and retreated from his mind. For a long while, she lay on the bed gasping and shuddering as she tried to process the waves of pain, both physical and mental.
She rolled to her side, pulling her knees to her chest in a manner reminiscent of his own posture in his filthy, dark cell. She rested her forehead on her knees and sucked in breath after breath until finally the pain began to recede.
Her cheeks were damp. The tendrils of hair over her ears were wet from her tears. She staggered to her feet and walked clumsily toward the bathroom, where she splashed cold water on her face.
Who was he? Why was she drawn to him? Why had she heard him amid the millions of other cries in the night? Her gift was so random. Her fist pounded down on the sink. She couldn’t control it. Not like the people who hunted her and her sister wanted.
Shea couldn’t heal others like Grace could. She could only ease suffering for a little while. She could hear people’s thoughts. Talk to them in the same manner. What use was that to anyone?
And yet she was pursued ruthlessly. As was Grace. The two sisters had made a pact. As painful as it was to be away from each other, they’d gone in separate directions, hiding, not contacting each other.
If either sister were found, one would be used to draw the other out. Shea wouldn’t allow that to happen. She wouldn’t be responsible for Grace’s capture.
Grace was special. She was vulnerable and her gift was as much a curse as it was a true gift. She could not survive in the hands of people determined to use her gift with no regard for the cost to Grace. They’d kill her because they didn’t understand Grace’s abilities. They wouldn’t mean to. They wouldn’t want to. But they’d force her to use her skills, and the result would be Grace’s death.
“I won’t allow it to happen,” Shea murmured fiercely.
Grace was good. She was tenderhearted to her detriment. She couldn’t bear to see anyone suffer, and as a result, Grace often suffered pain beyond Shea’s imaginings. Shea’s temporary agony of tonight was nothing compared to the days when Grace would be gripped by the very illness she took from others.
Shea hastily tossed her toiletries into a large case and then stood in front of the sink, her hands braced on the surface, eyes closed as she battled the weariness that beat at her.
She’d hoped by reaching out to him that she might somehow gain relief. But now sorrow blanketed her. She couldn’t leave him to suffer alone. He was so very close to giving up all hope. She could sense his desire to die and slip away from his awful reality.
She shook her head in denial. She wasn’t going to let him go.
NATHAN Kelly sat quietly in the corner of his tiny cell and stared broodingly into the darkness. He had no idea if it was night or day. For all practical purposes, he was in a box. A tiny, airless box. How long had he been here?
For the first weeks, he kept meticulous count, sure that rescue would come at any moment. Not only did he have the U.S. Army to count on, but his brothers ran a top-notch military ops group. They were a private organization that took jobs nobody wanted or had the means to complete. They often contracted with the U.S. government, but they just as often took assignments from the private sector. No way they’d let him stay imprisoned in some hellhole. Not after what had happened to Rachel. They would question everything. They wouldn’t blindly accept his death, no matter what they were told.
He closed his eyes and thought about his fragile sister-in-law, Rachel, who was married to his older brother Ethan. Then he shook his head. She wasn’t fragile. A fragile person wouldn’t survive an entire year imprisoned in hell.
Nathan couldn’t have been here for more than a month and already he was losing his grip on reality—and his sanity.
He moved again, waiting for the fresh resurgence of pain. But it remained at bay. It wasn’t that he was numb or that he’d finally gone beyond the parameters of pain. He was aware—hyperaware—of his surroundings. He could feel each bead of sweat that rolled down his chest. The pain was simply gone.
After he’d lived with agony for so long, having every waking moment be one of intense suffering, it was unsettling to suddenly feel nothing.
How had it happened? Was she an angel? The voice in his mind could only be a hallucination. Sweet. Warm. So soothing that he wanted to drown in the sensation.
For one brief moment he knew peace. His mind was empty, and calm had descended, wrapped around him like a warm, fuzzy blanket.
It was absurd to think that there was any peace in hell. It wouldn’t last, but he was grateful for even a moment’s respite.
He eased down onto the rough floor and curled into as tight a ball as he could muster. He was nearly lost in the corner, a mere shadow in darkness.