The Wicked (Elder Races #5.5)(17)

“You are superb at your job. I don’t have to see you in action to know that. You wouldn’t be on this trip otherwise.” He took both her hands. She still felt chilled. He cupped them between his own, trying to warm them up. “And so?”

“I thought I was a strong person,” she began. “I’ve never had such a reaction to a Vampyre before, and I’ve encountered them countless times. I’ve helped dozens of them at the library without a single problem…”

“Stop,” he said. “Just stop.”

She fell silent and regarded him gravely.

“What happened is not your fault,” he said. Her fingers moved underneath his. He realized he was crushing her hands between his and made a conscious effort to loosen his grip. “It has no bearing on your intelligence or your worth, or strength as a human. It’s like—like coming down with cancer, or—” He cast about his mind for another example but came up blank, so he reached for something that he was more familiar with. “Or mortality. It’s a part of your human condition. That’s all. He is a very old, very Powerful predator, and you are his prey. Everything about him is designed to pull you in, and you heard what he said. Sometimes it takes humans that way.”

She nodded and straightened her back. “Intellectually, I understand what you’re saying. It’s just taking my emotions a little while to catch up. You know, it’s quite terrifying to not be in control of what is happening to you.”

Her words hit him hard, and it was his turn to avert his face. He muttered, very low, “I know.”

There was a pause. He could feel her gaze upon him almost like a physical caress. “That’s happened to you too.”

He didn’t have to tell her anything. The thought flashed through his mind, and he even paused to consider it. He had no business opening up to someone like her, or attempting to develop a real connection. They lived vastly different lives, and his was cursed.

But that intangible thing about her still drew him, just as it had on the plane and earlier on the deck when they had talked. And he discovered that he wanted to confide in her.

His mouth twisted. He said, “It’s happening to me right now.”

Her hands turned under his, slender fingers closing around his. “What do you mean?”

Slowly he disengaged one hand, removed his sunglasses and looked at her. Funny how quickly the glasses had become such an ingrained habit that he felt naked and vulnerable without them.

Her breath caught, the tiny sound quite audible in the deadened quiet of the cabin. Then she leaned forward and cupped his cheeks between her hands as she stared at his eyes. He knew what she saw. He looked at the same thing several times a day.

He was an Eagle Owl in his Wyr form, the largest species of owl in the world, and normally his eyes were very like his Wyr form’s, a kind of golden amber with an orange hue. The strange, brilliant color unsettled many people.

Now his eyes were changing. Darkness like spilled ink grew over the irises, the pupils and the whites. He had already lost some of his distance and peripheral vision. Eventually the black would take over completely.

“What happened?” she breathed. She stroked his temple. The caress felt shockingly intimate and kind, and it woke an immense hunger inside of him.

His voice turned harsh. “I’m going blind,” he said. “The last job I took, I was guarding an archaeological party that traveled along the Amazon River. We were attacked.”

He told her about the chieftain, the shrunken head and the curse, while horror and compassion shadowed her face. “We did everything to try to avoid actual violence, but there comes a point when you have to stop talking and fight for your lives. I think he wanted to strike me blind instantly so that I would be crippled in battle, but my body’s natural immune system took over and started fighting it off. I get periodic headaches and low grade fevers. Eventually the curse will take hold completely.”

She asked gently, “Isn’t there some way to break it? Most written curses I’ve seen are structured like a lock and key. Verbal ones have to have the same kind of structure.”

“This one has a very tight lock,” he said. “I’ve expended most of the company’s personnel and financial resources looking for a cure. In fact, I have a dozen teams searching in the field right now. Carling thinks the only way to reverse the spell is to have the chieftain use the head again. But of course that’s impossible, because he’s dead.”

She shook her head. “There has to be something, some other way.”

“Carling said I should consult with the Oracle about it,” he said. “I don’t think a prophecy will be much use, but I’ll try anything. I plan on going to see her when we get back.”

“Don’t write off what Grace might be able to do for you,” she said, still stroking his temple. “She’s done some strange and wonderful things.”

The disappointments of the last several months had been so bitter and extreme that a resurgence of hope hurt. His chest felt full of ground glass. He couldn’t trust himself to say anything. Instead he gritted his teeth and merely nodded.

When she sat back and let her hands fall to her lap, he missed her touch.

Then he decided he wasn’t going to miss anything. Not a thing. He would grab at every last bit of life, experience everything, take everything he wanted. He knew it was a selfish decision, and he didn’t care.