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to stop.
Moving slowly, he lifted his free hand and reached across
his body, ready to freeze if she woke up. But she didn t. His
fingers gently trapped the errant curl and pushed it back from
her face.
Then his fingertips drifted down, touched her temple.
Between the touch of her hand on his arm and the feel of
her skin under his fingers, his heart hammered. The pleasure
swamped him in waves, an undertow of exquisite sensation
drawing his nerves tight as guitar strings just before snapping.
He tore his fingers away. Not like that. Not while she s
sleeping.
It was so goddamn tempting. He could slide into a corner
of her mind, use the gift that had made him such a successful
grifter, convince her she needed him, liked him.
His breath caught. He squeezed his eyes shut again, his
pulse thundering at his throat and wrists and temples and
below the belt too.
Don t think about that. Keep your mind on your work,
Watcher. Don t get distracted.
The trouble was, she was so eminently distracting. He would
have never believed that a woman could raise his body
temperature just by breathing. By tomorrow his shoulder would
smell like her and the rest of him would smell like her room,
her private sanctum. He would carry a reminder of being allowed
into her room all day.
 Storm Watcher 57
She sighed. Her eyelids fluttered. REM sleep, dreaming
sleep. She was dreaming.
I wonder what she s dreaming about. Is it a nightmare?
Should I wake her up? Gods, no. Don t let her wake up. Let
her sleep. Please let her sl-
She moved slightly, and now her cheek was against his
shoulder. Only the thin cotton of his sleeve kept her soft face
from touching his skin.
I. Am. Not. Made. Of. Steel. Dammit, he thought, every
word bitten off as savagely as if he d been speaking. He d been
glad she had allowed him into her sanctum, closer in case of a
nightmare, closer in case of an attack but he hadn t realized
what kind of pleasant unremitting torture it was going to be.
Maybe I should sleep on the floor.
Every fiber of his body rose in protest. He didn t want to
sleep on the floor. He wanted to sleep next to her, hearing her
soft breathing, feeling the touch of her satin skin on his.
Hanson invoked control. The memory of Watcher training
rose under his skin, and the memory of the Trial, where the
tanak the symbiote had been melded to his body. It had been
sheer agony. Compared to that, even being around the
Lightbringers and feeling broken glass grind into his bones was
a picnic.
Mari stirred uneasily, her cheek pressing his shoulder.
Hanson, his control reestablished by only the thinnest of
margins, took a deep, soft breath in through parted lips. Duty.
Honor. Obedience. He repeated it to himself, the Watcher s
watchwords.
Maybe someday, in the distant future, she might allow him
a little closer. But he had no right to even be this close to a
Lightbringer, let alone the most absolutely perfect Lightbringer
ever created.
 Thank you, he whispered, to the silence of her room, to
the sound of her even and relaxed breathing. Her eyelids stopped
fluttering. The dream was done. No nightmare. Her fingers still
rested against his arm, and Hanson stared at the ceiling, willing
himself to stay awake, to not miss a moment of her touching
him.
Eleven
 I can See more now, Suzanne said.  And so can you.
Mari raised her head.
The ocean muttered along the sand. It was a perfect
tropical beach, the kind she had always dreamed of, white
sugar sand and perfect blue water mouthing the soft shore.
Warm air caressed her skin.
Suzanne stood tall and straight on the sand, barefoot,
her yellow cotton sarong lifting slightly in the breeze. She
wore a loose yellow peasant top, and she looked younger.
The lines of worry on her face had been erased, but her hair
was still steel gray, and still braided into a coronet atop her
graceful head.
 I m dreaming, Mari whispered.  I m dreaming.
 Not dreaming. Seeing. There is, Suzanne said quite
dryly,  a difference.
 Suzanne 
 Listen. Time is short. But Suzanne cocked her head,
elegantly, and the sound of the ocean grew louder, reaching
into Mari s bones.
I have to visit the sea again, Mari thought. It s been too
long.
 You must find the Library and complete the spell, Mari,
Suzanne said urgently. Her form rippled, shivered with an
unearthly silvery light. Mari remembered that light from the
spell that had made them Guardians. Had it come for her
too? She threw up her arms, shielding her face, as the thunder-
crack of light spread out.
 Find& Library, Mari. Ask& your Watcher& He ll
help& 
Mari fell, but the sand didn t catch her. Instead, darkness
closed over her, darkness and an awful smell. She recognized
that smell.
 Give it to me, the lipless sibilant voice said, as if
speaking through mud.  GIVE it to me!
Mari struggled, desperation granting her hysterical
strength. She tore her arm free of the iron grasp of darkness
and ran, hearing the howling cheated scream behind her. A
long twisting street laying under a blanket of fog, the wet oily
glow from street lamps at even intervals, the stitch in her side
 Storm Watcher 59
gripping and something warm and wet dripping into her eyes.
Shutter click. Thunder rippled, tore at her ears. He was
coming; there was no way she could escape. He was chasing
her. Mari cowered behind the inadequate shelter of the air-
conditioning vent.
 Make it stop! Suzanne s voice over the sound of the
storm.
 I can t! Mari yelled back, miserably.
Suzanne s voice turned stern.  Make it stop, Mari! You
can! I know you can.
A deep grinding roar. The ground shifted under her feet.
Mari screamed, miserably, and then wonder of wonders
there was Theo.
Theo materialized from thickly-gathered shadows, her
heavy blue skirt weighed down with water from the lashing
rain. She ran for Mari, her arms outstretched, and Mari gave
a sob of relief and fresh pain. She knew what was about to
happen, was helpless, helpless&
Then, the awful crunching sound. Theo looked down, a
bubble of blood bursting on her lips. Water streamed down [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]