A Stone-Kissed Sea
Page 56

“The trial protocol is in place,” she murmured.
“So?”
“You know who the donor is,” Makeda said. “You just have to talk to her, Lucien.”
Her voice was cold. Dead.
“Makeda, you need to get inside now.”
Her hair curled around her in wild abandon. She’d been sitting on the rock long enough that it was nearly dry. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t look at the glassy stillness of the lake or the birds flying over the water or the fishermen in the distance, rowing their reed boats out to the middle of the lake.
She was staring at the horizon, watching the sky grow lighter.
“Makeda, get inside,” he whispered.
“Just a little longer.”
Lucien was afraid to touch her. “Makeda, please.”
She finally looked at him, and her eyes made his heart scream. Her anger sliced through the last of his armor. Her eyes convicted him.
“You don’t need me anymore,” she said carefully. “There is nothing I can offer this study that you cannot do yourself.”
Understanding threatened like the dawn. “Please don’t do this.”
“There is nothing more you need from me, Lucien.”
“Makeda—”
“I have served the purpose for which you turned me.”
He tried to keep his heart steady, but he couldn’t. “You know that’s not why I did it.”
“Then why?” she screamed, leaping to her feet. “Tell me why! Why will I never see the sun again? Why will I never have a child? Why will my sisters die before me? My nieces. My nephews. Why will I watch everyone I love leave me behind? I had a life, Lucien! I had a family. I may have been an amusement to you, but I had a life. And you took it away. Took my life. My choice to die. You took everything when I was nothing more than a mind you needed!”
“That’s not true!” He rose to his feet. “Makeda, please come inside. Let’s talk about this.”
“You don’t need me anymore.”
“You know that’s not true.” He clenched his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her.
She was right. He’d taken the choice from her at the beginning of this. He could not take it from her again.
“Makeda…” He lost the fight against his instincts and reached for her, wrapping her in his arms. “I’m sorry.”
The cry wrenched from her throat undid him.
“I’m sorry,” he said it again. “I’m sorry, Makeda. I’m so sorry.” He clenched her tighter when her shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t see you die. I couldn’t.” Don’t make me watch you die. He could feel the dawn coming, but she wasn’t falling asleep. Damn stubborn woman. “Makeda, please come inside.”
She didn’t say anything. Her sobs were grieving, angry cries that tore at him, shredding his control. He gripped her tighter and stepped toward the edge of the rock.
“Please,” he whispered again. “Don’t do this to me, yene konjo. I don’t want to face the night without you.”
She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no. Her body collapsed into his, and Lucien took it as permission, gripping her tightly as he dove into the water and headed toward the shore. When he reached it, he picked her up and walked straight to the shelter of the tukul, slamming the door just as the sun rose over the mountains in the distance.
He set Makeda on the edge of the bed and reached for the pitcher of blood. She was limp in his arms, like a child fighting to stay awake. A child who had cried too much and worn herself out.
“Open,” he said. “Drink it all.”
For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t comply. Then she opened her mouth and Lucien practically poured the blood down her throat. A thread of it dripped from the corner of her mouth, and he leaned over, licking it up before he placed a gentle kiss at the corner of her mouth.
When the blood was gone, her expression hadn’t changed. If anything, her eyes were even more remote. They glassed over, unable to focus as exhaustion took her. Before she fell asleep, he helped her out of her clothes and pulled one of his own shirts over her head, wrapping her in his scent. Then he covered her with a sheet and crouched back on his heels, staring at her as she closed her eyes.
Her body relaxed completely.
Her breath stopped.
And soon there was nothing but the quiet hum of her amnis and the scent of the woman who had somehow come to mean more to him than his own life. The realization hit him like a hammer between his eyes. He sat on the ground and put his head between his knees.
It had been coming for weeks. Months even. Perhaps it had been as inevitable as their first argument.
Lucien stared at Makeda, whose body had gone limp with the sleep of the newly blooded.
He would have stayed with her.
He would have held her as the dawn broke and they both burned.
Damn the world. He would have stayed.
She didn’t wake with a snarl or a start the next evening. Lucien was ready for her anger. Ready to face her claws. But Makeda didn’t bare them when she woke. She opened her eyes to the thatch ceiling above them, not even looking at Lucien where he lay beside her. He heard her inhale and knew she smelled the blood in the pitcher next to the bed. But she didn’t move.
Lucien didn’t move either. His realization the night before had changed everything, and he held his feelings carefully. He felt almost as fragile as she looked.
She said, “I was in a bad place last night.”