Devon Monk - Hell Bent

“My heart?”

She drew the letter T , her cold touch leaving goose pimples across my wet skin.

“Don’t,” I said, pushing her hand away, even though my hand just passed right through her. “He’s the last thing I want to talk about.”

She stepped back and eased through the door. I scrubbed my head, face, and body. Tipped my feet so I could see how bad off the soles were. Bruised black and purple-red, lots of long cuts from heel to toe that were scabbed and not weeping, thanks to Terric. What had I done? Walked across glass?

I washed the cuts as gently as I could, then rinsed and got out.

Pulled a towel that was folded on the edge of the sink and rubbed my head.

Good. God. It was the softest towel I’d ever touched. I shut out everything but that sensation—soft cotton drifting across my skin—whisking the water away.

If it was wrong to have carnal feelings for a towel, I didn’t want to be right.

Terric had an eye for luxury. Lived his life like it was worth doing right.

Maybe he had something there. We were all going to die. Might as well savor whatever time we had.

Maybe it was the towel, maybe it was thoughts about mortality, but I found myself thinking about Dessa and smiling. Terric said she’d dropped me off. So she’d been following me.

Who knew I’d have the hots for a ferret-smuggling stalker girl with an overactive desire for revenge?

If she’d dropped me off, then that meant she’d approached me when I was out of my mind and devouring all the life around me.

Correction: stalker girl with an overactive desire for revenge and a hell of a lot of guts.

She’d been with me when I was dangerously uncontrolled. I could have killed her. And yet I hadn’t. Or at least I thought she was okay.

She also hadn’t come inside with me so we could ask her what Eli said she knew: namely where the hell he, or his Soul Complement, was being held prisoner.

If Dessa was making it a point to keep an eye on me, she should be nearby. It seemed strange that Terric hadn’t found her yet. Maybe she had a lead on Eli and was following it.

Great. She might be walking right into a situation that would get her killed.

I looked around for the clothes he said might fit me. Spotted a folded gray T-shirt, a heavy brown sweater, and faded blue jeans. A belt was set out next to the jeans. Not exactly my colors, which were, by the way, black, but better than being naked.

I shook out the pants, put them on. A little long, but not by much, too loose at the waist. Belt took care of that. I shouldered into the T-shirt, fit me fine, then the sweater.

Everything smelled like Terric. The colors looked like Terric.

I toweled off the mirror. Got a good look at myself while brushing back my hair.

Dark green eyes a little bloodshot. Needed a shave. The bones of my cheeks and jaw were squared and prominent. However, even in the bulky chocolate brown sweater, I looked like I could kick ass and take names.

Not my colors. But not bad.

I looked around for socks. Nothing. Then I pissed and left the bathroom.

Terric was on the phone. Pacing. Couldn’t tell who he was talking to.

I started looking for my shoes. Remembered I’d come over barefoot. Crap.

Terric stopped pacing. Glanced over at me. One look at me and he paused a second in his good-bye, which made me grin.

Damn straight I was worth looking at.

He pocketed his phone. “I know it’s only brown, but damn, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you in a color, Shame. You should wear colors more often.”

“I do wear colors: black, coal, ebony.”

He smiled. “Sit. I want to look at your feet.”

“This foot obsession you’ve got going?” I said. “Unhealthy.”

I sat in the nearest chair and propped both my feet up on the coffee table. Realized something that had been nagging me. “Your place smells like cigarette smoke.”

“Does it?”

I took a deep breath. “A bit.”

“Hm.”

“Why? Did you take up smoking?”

“No. Jeremy smokes.” He sat on the couch, bent a bit so he could see the bottom of my feet. It really was sort of weird having someone stare with such interest at my heels and arches. “I’ve told him not to, but.” He shrugged, then put his hand on my ankle, firmly.

“That’s—” I started.

“Don’t,” he said.

So I didn’t. But if I had finished the thought it would have run along the line that Terric hated when his things smelled like smoke. And after that it would have gone down the path that his house didn’t look like he lived here anymore.

The things that always made it feel distinctly his, things like his photography, his collection of hardbound books, and the wall that used to display the pictures of all of his many—and I do mean many—brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews and cousins, were gone. Wiped away. Replaced with the abstract art. Changed.

Jeremy had made Terric change for him. Or maybe Terric had done it willingly.

I was no expert on relationships. Still, this total takeover didn’t seem . . . healthy.

I had plenty of energy to pull my feet away from Terric’s grasp this time. But I didn’t. The magic that Terric called upon was like sliding my feet into warm, soothing oil. And since I was in possession of most of my gray matter this morning, I paid very close attention to what he was doing and how he was doing it.

Mankind had wanted to use magic for healing for years on end. And while magic can help speed up the healing process, or support the body while it naturally heals, or ease the pain brought on by magical damage, I’d never seen anyone straight-out heal with magic.

Doctors used magic, yes. To assist and support surgeries and other medical procedures.

But that’s not what Terric was doing.

Terric had his eyes closed and was whispering slightly. Not a spell, more like a mantra. Sounded like Latin and maybe a little French. I didn’t know either well enough to take a guess at what he was using to keep his concentration sharp, but I knew that’s what he was doing.

Also? My feet were glowing. Not the bright green-edged white that Terric usually called upon. This was the soft yellow of candlelight.

“No word on Dessa?” I said.

Terric didn’t answer. Kept his concentration on the healing.

“That’s strange, right? She’s following me. Which means she should be close by.”

Terric just kept whispering those words, guiding magic to knit my cuts and ease my bruises.

I was starting to feel good. Much better than I should feel after a night like last night.

Was this hurting Terric? One way to find out.

“Ter,” I said, “open your eyes.”

He did. Still whispering. That was a blank, empty look. Not feverish, not like he was thinking over some kind of complex calculations. Just inhuman, alien. Life magic was staring back at me, hungry and hollow.

There wasn’t a scrap of Terric in those eyes.

I pulled both feet out of his grasp, stood, walked halfway across the room. “Stop it,” I said.

He didn’t seem to hear me, just frowned and stood, then came marching toward me. That glow in his eyes turned into a hard, hungry glint.

I knew the face of the monster in his bones. It was the twin to mine.

His fingers curled into claws as he spread one hand toward the floor, and the other toward my heart.

The bushes outside the house suddenly leaped against the windows, lashing and twisting and growing so fast they completely blocked the morning light.

Heat shot up my legs from my feet. My skin pricked like electricity was riding my nerves. And I felt my body change. Change into something the magic in Terric wanted it to be.