Hour of the Dragon - Heather Killough-Walden Page 0,127
small red marks were forming. They began as pinpricks of scarlet, darkened into garnet, and lengthened from a single point to a line. Ares knew this was happening to her back too; that’s why his hand had been wet. His guess was confirmed when he glanced at his palm to find line-like smudges of precious red.
His gaze slid back to her sweater. The red lines across the cashmere were deepening in breadth and growing in length. “Leia, what’s happening?” He tried so hard to stay calm, at least outwardly. For her. But there was a screaming inside him, and it was maniacal.
Annaleia opened her eyes at last and met his. “I’m… I’m sorry, Ares,” she whispered. She winced, hissing as a few more red lines showed up across her jeans. He could see pain reflected in her beautiful eyes. So much pain. “I just couldn’t do it again.”
Absolute panic gripped Ares. “Magnus! What the hell is happening to her?” he demanded as he took hold of Annaleia’s arms and pushed up her sleeves. He knew what he would find when he did. And he was horrified, but not surprised, to find that his instinct was right.
Her scars were opening up again. All of them, as if they had never healed in the first place. Every last one of the wounds that had appeared but immediately closed and scarred when she had resurrected someone was now un-healing, peeling apart and turning back time to bleed pain and injury throughout her entire body.
“Annaleia, I need to heal you,” said Magnus. He took her from Ares’ arms, and her sleeve slipped back down. Ares was grateful for that small thing. By now, her clothing was turning a uniform shade of red. Knowing it was her blood was…. And knowing it was her and not just anyone, knowing it was the single most important person in his existence… had the most unpleasant effect on Ares.
But Magnus seemed to have no pity on him as far as the clothes were concerned, because as soon as he had maneuvered her so that she was laying down where she’d been kneeling earlier, he slid the sleeves of both arms back up, exposing the cuts that painted a martyred picture across her body.
Part of Ares wanted to separate from the rest of him, move away and protect itself by simply not believing. The rest of him was steadily growing sick. From the greenish pallor of her resurrected friends as they watched her undergo such a horrid and fast transformation, they were feeling it too. Even the warden crowd was affected. It was no different for them than coming upon one of Randall Price’s murder victims – but while she was still alive and bleeding.
Except this was worse. The wide eyes, tiny pupils, and hushed, disturbed whispers of some of the more hardened people in the garage gave away their true emotional involvement. This was not just any woman, it was a warden. And this was the warden who could resurrect.
They were watching the destruction of an angel.
Why wasn’t the sentinel moving faster? How could the bastard stay so calm? Fucking heal her, damn it! But Magnus ignored the obvious frantic waves coming off Ares. He moved with gentle deliberation, remaining calm in the face of disaster – which was what you wanted from a guardian. But right now, it was driving Ares slightly mad.
Magnus leaned down and cupped Annaleia’s cheek, peering into her eyes as if she were the only person in the world of any import to him.
Which she was. Ares knew that. Heal her now. Ares gritted his teeth, bit back a growl, and felt time scrape along his nerve endings like a cheese grater. It was excruciating.
“Hang in there, Anna,” Magnus told her with a reassuring smile, as the same kind of white light that Anna had created earlier finally began to emanate from beneath Magnus’ palm. Annaleia immediately closed her eyes, and her breathing slowed. Ares could hear her heartbeat settle down too.
Ares had once read that the best feeling in the world was not sex or an orgasm or winning a lottery or even being praised for good work. The best feeling in the world was when the pain stopped. It was when suffering was taken away from you. The quote was something like, There is no greater pleasure than the cessation of pain. Yes, that was it. Leave it to him to remember it word-for-word in the most dire of times.