Hunter's Edge

Chapter Twenty Two

Veil of Tears

The clock's ticking was abnormally loud. Or at least it seemed that way to Angel as she shifted on the floor and rolled her head to stare at Kel.

Her entire body ached from the chore of dragging him into the house. Even as she'd done it, she wondered why she bothered.

He was dead.

This time, well and truly. She'd never have answers for where he'd been, what had happened...why he'd left her. The ugly injury in his chest had long since stopped bleeding and when she'd touched her fingers to his neck, desperately seeking a pulse, there hadn't been one.

After trying to feel one for a few seconds, she'd bent over him, listened desperately for the sound of his breathing. Anything. But his chest didn't rise, his heart didn't beat and even though it had only taken her seconds to get to him after she'd shot...the other...his body had already started to cool. Getting him in the house—had she wasted precious time? She didn't know much about first aid, but if she'd stopped the blood flow sooner, would it have helped?

Logically, her brain said no. There was so much blood. It didn't seem possible somebody could survive losing that much blood.

He was dead.

So she sat there on the floor beside him, staring at his face through a veil of tears. Occasionally, she reached out and combed her fingers through his silken gold-touched hair, or traced the line of his jaw. If she'd had any doubt, the coolness of his skin, his absolute stillness would have destroyed it.

He was as cold as a corpse and he hadn't once tried to breathe since she'd dragged him into the house nearly an hour earlier.

The tears continued to roll down her cheeks. She'd long since stopped wiping them away, long since stopped trying to come up with answers. There were none. No answers. No justice. No explanation for why she'd lost him, why he'd returned after twelve years only to die, truly die this time, right in front of her.

"Girl."

She should have been afraid. After the hell she'd witnessed through the night, the sound of somebody speaking to her should have terrified her. Especially when she turned her head and saw that it was the blond stranger, swaying in the open door, naked as a jaybird and staring at Kel with wide, worried eyes.

There was an ugly, and she did mean ugly, wound in the guy's belly. It was almost like something had tried to claw its way in—or out, perhaps. It was seeping red, wet blood, blood streaking down over his right hip, over his thigh. It wasn't the only injury, either. There were bruises that looked days old, yet he hadn't had them before he left the house, had he? He'd had the cuts from flying glass on his back, but he hadn't looked like he'd gone a round or two with Rocky Balboa.

He did now, though. His body was liberally littered with injuries. Scratches, bruises, bleeding cuts.

"Sunrise."

That was all he said, but it didn't make much sense to her. She slid her gaze past his shoulder to stare at the eastern horizon at his back. The sun was rising and in a few minutes, she'd been able to see the results from last night in bright, vivid detail.

Instead of answering, she just turned her head and stared at Kel. At his still face. He still looked so damned perfect. Under the blood and the scrapes and bruises, she suspected he'd still look pretty much like he had then.

"Damn it. Sunrise."

The man's voice was imperative this time and it hit her shields with enough force to make her flinch. Turning her head, she said in a clear, level voice, "What the fuck do I care if the sun is rising?"

His eyes narrowed. He lurched inside, blood dripping from his side to plop onto the floor. He stumbled to his knees beside Kel, but when he reached out to touch him, Angel came off the floor and leaped for him. "Leave him alone!" she snarled, swinging out and clipping him on the chin.

He caught her wrists in a brutal, merciless grasp. "He can't be here..." His voice broke off and he panted for air. "When the sun rises...it will kill him."

Something about those words should have bothered her. If she had cared about anything. But she didn't. In a dull voice, she replied, "He's already dead."

"Fuck." He shoved her off to the side. Weak as he appeared, he had the strength to send her stumbling back onto her ass. He grabbed Kel's body and slung him over a wide, blood-streaked shoulder in a fireman's hold, like Kel didn't even weigh fifty pounds.

"Leave him alone!" Angel demanded again, shoving upright and reaching out.

This time, he caught her wrist and jerked her against him. He bent down low and put his face in hers. "I didn't live through this to watch him die now."

"He's already dead!" she screamed. So loud, so ragged—it hurt her throat, but she didn't know how much of that came from saying the words or from her screaming.

But he wasn't affected at all. He just pulled away, stumbled out of the living room, leaving behind him a dripping trail of blood.

"Not happening this way," Toronto muttered, keeping one hand braced against the wall in effort to keep from falling forward on his face. "Not going to happen."

The silver lingering in his system pretty much sapped what little strength he had, but sheer determination had gotten him to his feet, just like it had gotten him into the house, just like it had gotten him to pick up Kel—and it would get him into the kitchen because there was a door there that led downstairs. He'd seen it when he came in through the back door, and being the good little soldier he was, Toronto had taken two seconds to check it out. It led to a basement. Someplace dark where Kel could sleep safely, away from the daylight.

She was following along behind him and Toronto wished he had the strength to reassure her. To say something. But it was getting harder and harder with every step just to stay upright. By the time he'd stumbled into the kitchen, his legs were shaking and by the time he made it to the basement door, his vision was graying out. One step at a time. One step...

On the fourth to last step, his strength gave out and his abused, toxin-filled body went down. Kel, limp as a rag doll, hit the ground. Casting a quick look around the basement, Toronto reached out, grabbed Kel's wrist and began to crawl. Crawl until the two of them were in the far northeast corner of the house, out the sight of the few windows and hopefully...away from the sun.

Stunned dismay was the only thing to describe what she felt as she followed the blond down the steps, watched as he fell. Kel's body went flying and Angel stifled a scream. Her heart, already barely beating, died just a little more.

But the man wasn't done.

No, it wasn't enough that he'd grabbed Kel away from her and used his physical strength to keep Angel from getting to him. On his knees and one hand, the other hand holding Kel's wrist, he dragged both himself and Kel into the shadows. She stood at the bottom of the steps now, staring as he settled in a corner and pulled Kel closer, kind of the same way a girl might hold a rag doll, with him tucked up against his side.

"Sunset."

Angel blinked and tried to focus on the man's face better, but all she could see was his eyes. Those pale blue eyes—blue...but in the darkness, they gleamed yellow. His lids drooped, shielding his gaze.

He muttered it again. "Sunset. You'll see. It's okay. 'sall okay."

Then his head slumped to the side and he passed out.