If the vampire sensed the surge of energy that had briefly accompanied her shift in position, he showed no sign of it.
He raised his eyebrows. Why do you travel the fields?
I need to question a ghost.
What ghost? Jak? Is that what Rhoan Jenson asked you to do?
So he’d been close enough to hear at least some of our conversation – and it was enough to place Rhoan’s life on the line if it was passed on to Hunter. The churning in my gut got stronger, and I briefly wondered if it were possible to be physically ill on the astral plane.
What other ghost would he be interested in? I said, striding forward. Not directly toward him, but off to one side.
Even so, his stance shifted and his eyes narrowed. He sensed something was off, even if he wasn’t sure what. And does this sudden desire to question a ghost have anything to do with Jenson suspecting Madeline Hunter’s involvement in the death?
Fuck, fuck, fuck! He’d heard entirely too much and I really had no choice now. I didn’t know when Markel was back on watch duty, and I simply couldn’t risk this vampire reporting what he’d heard to Hunter.
My grip tightened on Amaya. Her excitement burned through my mind, thick and hungry. I was almost within killing distance. A few more steps, and his life would be mine. His soul Amaya’s. I wanted to run. Wanted to hide. Wanted to throw up so badly the bitter taste of bile stung the back of my throat.
I did none of those things. Just kept one foot moving in front of the other. I need to find out what Jak might have done to annoy Hunter.
He did nothing, and you know it. His gaze swept me. What is this truly about?
This is about saving lives. Nothing more, nothing less.
And with that, I stabbed Amaya into the heart of him. Her flames exploded in and around him, capturing him, consuming him. It was murder, nothing less, and it sickened me to the core.
I’m sorry, I whispered mentally. So, so sorry. But I have to protect the people I love.
He opened his mouth; no sound came out. But his eyes burned, damning me, and my cheeks were wet, though I had no idea if tears were even possible here. The plane around me grew dark and heavy, bearing down on me, as if the weight of this death was something I would carry for the rest of eternity.
And I would. I knew I would.
Amaya continued to devour the vampire, until there was nothing left of him. Not even ash.
I closed my eyes and imagined myself back in my body. The minute I was, I rolled onto my side and was violently, completely ill.
The bed dipped. Azriel didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything, just sat behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder. He didn’t need to do anything else. His presence and his touch was enough.
“I am sorry you were forced to do this.” His voice was filled with compassion and understanding. “I would have, if I could have.”
“I know.” I pushed upright and leaned back against him.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and brushed a kiss across the top of my head. “We’d better get moving. It would not be wise to be late.”
“I know,” I repeated. “Just let me clean up.”
“Ris, it can wait.”
“You’ve obviously never had the taste of vomit in your mouth.” I forced myself away from him, climbed off the bed, and headed for the bathroom. For several minutes I did nothing more than scrub my hands, trying to remove blood that didn’t actually exist. Blood that had drained into my soul and become a weight I’d never be free of. I swallowed heavily, then grabbed my toothbrush. After brushing my teeth and rinsing my mouth, I cleaned up the vomit, then tossed the towels down the rubbish chute rather than the laundry one. The last thing anyone would want was my vomit rolling around with their clothes. Although given the state of the living room and kitchen, washing clothes would be the last thing on anyone’s mind, even if they didn’t have bigger problems right now.
“Right,” I said, returning to Azriel’s side. He’d resumed his regular position near the window. “We’d better go meet Uncle Rhoan.”
He turned to face me. His expression was back to its usual noncommittal self but the compassion lingered in his eyes. “How do you wish to handle this?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I could touch his memories, make him forget. Would that not make things easier?”
“In some ways yes, in other ways no.” I grimaced. “Uncle Rhoan is basically a psychic dead zone. He can’t be touched telepathically. It’s what has made him such a fantastic guardian.”