The Darkest Edge of Dawn

obviously now mending.

What was even more amazing, besides sheer luck in landing where we had, was that Hank’s insane escape plan had worked. We’d gotten away from Llyran and the darkness. We’d survived a fall from forty-six stories up—a nightmare that would forever join a few others in my subconscious.

And then he’d tossed my broken body over his shoulder like I was some crash-test dummy. The pain had been unbearable.

I let my gaze scan the room once more, pushing the memory into the back of my mind. There was a small pitcher of ice water and two glasses sitting on a table in between the lounges. I poured a glass and gulped it down, much thirstier than I’d realized. I wanted a second cup, but sacrificed the rest for payback—I stood with the pitcher, pausing a second to let my wobbly legs regain their balance and for my head to stop spinning, then walked over to the peaceful form of my partner and dumped the entire contents onto his face.

His arms flew up and he jerked upright, sputtering and taking a moment to realize where he was. Slowly he wiped a palm over his wet face. Then his gaze found mine and went sapphire hard. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

He wiped his face again and then dragged his damp hair back from his forehead, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “What? Save your ungrateful little ass?”

“Yes.” I cocked my head, feeling rank and stubborn. “I had things under control.”

“Yeah. The Oh-fuck-I’m-going-to-pee-myself look on your face really said ‘control’ to me.” He swung his legs off the bed, and then rubbed his hand along his shin where the hole and the blood on his pants were. “Now you’re going to have to get me some water. I’m thirsty.”

My hands squeezed the pitcher handle. “Get your own stupid water.”

He stilled. “No. I will not get my own water. You will get me my water.” His nostrils flared with anger, and he spoke through gritted teeth. The flames on the candles flickered in response to his mood and the energy being pulled toward him. “You know why? Because I saved your goddamn life today, and I’d like a little gratitude.” His jaw clenched tightly, but his gaze did not back down.

I didn’t back down, either, willing myself not to blink, even as my conscience began to feel guilty for what I’d done. He had saved my life. And I was so focused on the pain, on the way he’d handled me … Goddammit.

“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll get your stupid water.”

“Fine.”

I let the door bang shut and then marched down the hallway toward the concierge desk, hoping to hell that Zara was off today. Hank’s on-and-off-again girlfriend was the last person I wanted to see. But, of course, there she was, sitting behind the desk, her perfect blue eyes staring at her computer monitor, and her long, strawberry blond hair tucked behind one ear and falling in a sheet of glossy satin that pricked my envy.

I slammed the pitcher on the counter. “Mister High and Mighty wants water.”

Zara jumped. “Charlie.” She stood, smiling in greeting, rising to her glorious supermodel height, and took the pitcher. “You guys have been out for”—she glanced at her monitor—“an hour and a half? I take it you’re feeling better.”

“It feels like I just fell forty-six stories. It hurts, and I’m … not happy.” I turned, leaning my back against the counter as she went to the water cooler and filled the pitcher.

She chuckled. “Don’t be too mad. Hank carried you here with a cracked skull, a broken kneecap, and a few internal injuries if I had to guess. And he cleaned up your … mess … on the floor.”

“Oh.” All of my ire deflated with that one word. “I thought someone else did that.”

Once the pitcher was full, she turned to me and held it out. “He really cares about you, you know.” Heat crept into my cheeks as I took the pitcher. She glanced down at her feet and then back up at me, giving me a small shrug and a half-smile. “I don’t know if he told you … I broke it off with him. For good, this time. I’d been thinking about it for a while anyway.”

I set the pitcher on the counter, still holding on to the handle. “But, why?”

“It’s hard to explain. I like him. I really do.” She leaned closer to the counter, looking like she could use someone to talk to. “Honestly? It’s the voice-mod.”

Hank’s words from earlier came back to me. I shook my head. “I don’t get it …”

Her perfect gaze fixed on a point beyond my shoulder for a moment as she decided how to explain. “With it stuck on his neck … certain things are not what they should be … um, if you know what I mean.”

My brow lifted high in realization. “Oh. Okay. I see …”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Her smile was so pretty it made me cringe and want to be her devoted best friend all at the same time. “Yeah,” she said. “Sirens … well, we talk. Murmur, whisper, use our voices to accentuate certain things. It’s very powerful. It makes the experience that much greater, and it’s way more for the females than the males. That’s why you don’t see very many female sirens with any other type of males. We almost never”—her face turned pink—“you know with other males. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Hank is …” Her eyes widened and she gave me an incredulous expression of awe. “But without the power of his voice, it’s not the same for me. Not what I’m used to.”

Just the idea of a male siren using his voice during sex—I was red-faced just thinking about it. “Mott Tech will find a way to remove it.”

“I know. And Hank’s a great guy and everything. I’m just not sure we were meant for each other. It’s all awkward now and …” She laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“It’s okay,” I muttered. “If anyone knows awkward, it’s me.”

She sat in her chair. “Make sure you guys use the healing pool. It’ll speed your recovery.” Her fingers tapped against the keyboard keys, her gaze returning to the monitor.

I slid the pitcher off the counter and muttered a lame goodbye, walking a lot slower down the hall than I had a few minutes ago. Hank’s irritability, his reaction to my using the word emasculated … Things were beginning to make a lot more sense.

When I returned to the room, he was lying on the lounge, one arm thrown over his face. I picked up the second glass, filled it, and held it out to him. “Here … sorry about earlier … it just hurt.” Tears stung my eyes. “Really bad.”

He turned his head slightly and opened his eyes, staring at me for a second before sitting up and taking the glass. “Thanks.”

With a heavy exhale, I sat on the lounge across from him, my attention riveted on the tile floor. “No, I should be thanking you. For saving my life and getting us out of that tower.” I glanced up. “And, for the record, I was not going to pee myself. I was too damn scared.”

Hank finished off the water and then one corner of his mouth lifted into a shadow of a smile. “I was scared, too. Seeing you go flying backward off the terrace and up into the clouds … I thought he was going to drop you. On purpose.”

“He showed me the sun,” I said quietly. “He believes the Char nobles were once Elysians who were cast out. Llyran’s got it in his head that I can help him return the nobles back to Elysia.”

Hank nodded thoughtfully, leaning his elbows on his knees and rubbing his chin. “How does he think you can help?”

“Hell if I know. He’s grandiose, wants more than power. He wants to be in control, of everything and everyone. He mentioned the star, raising the star, just like Daya said. Thinks I can make that happen for him.” I rubbed a hand down my face and let out a long, tired moan. “You think he’s still looking for us?”

“No. I think he’s fucking with you. Maybe he wants to do to you what he’s been doing to the others: take your power.”

Hank stood and held out his hand to help me up, but I just sat there looking up at him. “Then why hasn’t he?” I asked lamely.

“I don’t know. Seeing what you’re made of? Testing your power? We knew this would happen once news got out about you, what’s been done to you. You’re going to be a lure, a beacon to anyone searching for a leg up, for power.”

“Yeah, and I can’t even summon power when I really need it. I can’t control it.”