The Darkness in Dreams (Enforcer's Legacy, #1)(34)

She looked into that surfer’s face and realized she’d never had a friend like him in her entire life. His eyes were such a deep, clear blue, rimmed with the faintest shards of silver and gold—and she’d never bothered to look until now. Guilt filled her, for her self-absorption. She would do nothing to cause him problems.

She needed him to forgive her.

“Tell me how to make this right.”

“I can’t, because I don’t know,” he said.

Lexi took a deep breath. “Then help me.”

“With what?”

“Teach me things. If I can’t go home, then I have to learn how to fight. How to hold off Christan’s mind games.”

“Teaching you to fight is no problem.”

“And the mind defense is?”

“Lexi.” Arsen hesitated. “Trust is a hard thing to reacquire, and we’re immortals. Our idea of trust differs from yours.”

“Christan invaded my mind. He put that one word there, and he read my thoughts.”

“Listen very carefully,” Arsen said. “Christan can take any memory he wants and put something else in its place, create nightmares that can’t compare to what you’ve already experienced—I’ve watched him do it, and you don’t want that kind of power in your head, not if he intends to use it.”

Unnerved, Lexi waited to hear what else Arsen had to say. “Christan told us what he did, that he was in your mind, provoking you. In all honesty, I’ve never seen him be as reckless as he’s been these past two days.” Arsen studied her face. “But whatever this is, you have to get past it. You are bonded mates, and what happened an hour ago, when you used that one word against him? That shouldn’t have been possible.”

She shivered, and it was evident in her voice. “I wasn’t trying to hurt him, Arsen, but I did and it proves why I can’t trust him in my mind, not ever.”

“I understand. But they trashed your cottage and they’ll do it again, only you’ll be the one nailed to the bed.” Lexi started to cry and Arsen put his arm around her, pulled her against his side. “I’m not trying to frighten you, but Christan may be the only one who can protect you.”

“I trust no one, Arsen.” Lexi wiped the moisture from her cheek as she straightened away. “And what I need to know is whether you’ll teach me how to defend myself or not. Because if you won’t, I’ll ask Robbie and he’ll do it because of Marge. You know he will, and you also know it would be more effective if you did it. So, do you have my back against him or not?”

Arsen looked at her for a long moment, and Lexi could see him working through the options by the way his eyes changed. She felt a pang of sympathy, but not enough to take back the request.

He still hadn’t decided and she played her last card.

“If you don’t teach me, I’ll leave.”

It took five more minutes before he answered.

“You can head toward the river, ten miles from here. If you’re a strong swimmer, and lucky, you’ll get across. Then it’s another twenty miles to the nearest town. Stay on this side of the canyon and it’s fifty miles. As the crow flies. Assuming you could change into a crow and actually fly, which you can’t. So… good luck with that.”

The image of the cat nailed to her headboard flashed back, but at least he was giving her a choice.

“You’re getting pretty good at the arguments, Bucko.”

“Been around a long time, Slick.”

Lexi turned in his direction, made her final offer. It sounded like her first. Arsen was kind enough not to point it out.

“If I stay, you teach me to fight and to resist the mind games.” Arsen lifted his eyebrow, and she added, “And that thing that shouldn’t have been possible but it was? What if I can’t control it next time I’m angry?”

Arsen thought about it. Lexi counted her breaths, in for six beats, out for eight.

“Okay,” he said. “Just don’t let Christan know what I’m doing.”





CHAPTER 14




Portland, Oregon




Two weeks after writhing on a cabin floor, Christan stood at the top of a bluff, overlooking the Willamette River. In the distance were the bridges of Portland, and the afternoon sun was bright and warm. Rowing clubs fluttered along the river like gigantic waterfowl. Oars sparkled in the water, faint voices called in rhythm. Oregon natives relished every bit of sunshine that came their way. Summer didn’t start until July, and they crammed half a year’s worth of play into the space of two months, three if they were lucky. Then the sky clouded over and the rains came. The lights on the bridges glowed in the fog and the playtime moved indoors.

Christan shifted, uncomfortable in the black slacks and white formal shirt he wore in deference to the upcoming meeting. He preferred denim and a leather jacket and felt out of place. The meeting was not scheduled for another half hour, so he took advantage of the time. He went first to the Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge at the base of the bluff. The walk was easy and allowed him to check to see if he’d been followed. He saw a few hikers, a family of three, walking in the opposite direction.

The area was one of Portland’s favorite wildlife parks—but it was built on top of a landfill. Christan wondered about a culture that thought it could bury its trash so easily. Trash, whether human or inanimate, had an unfortunate way of resurfacing, even after centuries. He would know, although he didn’t place himself in that category. No, Christan was more in the category of those who buried the problems in places where they remained buried. Although sometimes trash needed to be displayed, and he was fine with that, too.