Page 70 of The Guardian (Dark-Hunter 20)
"Never better." He smiled at her. "I'm just grateful you're awake. You've been extremely sick the last few days..." He'd have to explain eventually why she was missing several days out of her life. What better way than illness? "We were worried about you, that's all."
But inside, he felt like shit as he debated what to do. He hated to keep a secret from her, especially one that involved someone who obviously loved her as much as the Guardian did.
She had a right to know what he'd done for her. But if she had no memory of the Guardian, why disturb her with the truth?
Obviously, her safety had meant more to the Guardian than anything else. Who was he to interfere?
So long as she didn't remember, he would never speak of it.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, touching her warm cheek-something he would never again take for granted. "I can have George make you anything you want."
Lydia smiled at his offer. "Banana pancakes would be wonderful." She didn't know why, but she had a strange banana craving.
"Get dressed and I'll have them waiting in the atrium." Solin kissed her hand as if it were a holy relic and hesitated before he finally let go and left her.
Yeah, okay, her father was in a very, very strange mood.
As she went to the armoire and opened the door to get something a little less hideous to wear, there was a shadow in the back of her mind.
A world beyond a world.
Why did that seem important?
She opened and closed the armoire door. The way the blue wallpaper flashed on the ceiling reminded her of something. But what?
It was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't quite grasp it.
Blue on the ceiling?
What did I get into? She felt woozy and had a voice. But what really confused her was when she pulled her gown off and saw ...
Was that a swallow?
What on earth?
Frowning, she fingered the weird tattoo on her shoulder just below her collar bone that hadn't been there before. It was incredibly colorful and beautiful, but she had no memory of having it done. And if that wasn't strange enough, she had some weird Egyptian cartouche around her neck.
Okay, remind me to never, ever drink again.
* * *
"You're so pathetic."
Seth didn't bother to look up at Noir as the bastard came to drain his powers again. He was so weak he could barely breathe. Since his return, as part of his punishment, he hadn't been allowed to charge them at all.
And for that small mercy he was actually grateful.
Without his powers, he had no way whatsoever to see Lydia. There was no temptation to even try ...
Which kept her safe.
Still, he would give anything to have one more second with her. To see those beautiful topaz eyes ...
Noir laid his chest open, bringing him out of his numbed state as pain seared him. His overlord had become even more sadistic in his attempts to make sure Seth suffered as much as possible. And in guaranteeing that Seth would never escape again.
Not that he would.
He had no reason to go anywhere and every reason to stay. So long as he was here, Lydia was safe.
That was all that mattered to him. At least that was what he kept telling himself. But over the weeks, it'd gotten harder to remember the sound of her voice. The softness of her touch.
It terrified him that the day might come when he'd have no memory of her whatsoever.
And that was a far worse torture than anything Noir and his demons could dish out.
But his initial torture on his return here had at least clarified one thing in his memory. He knew why Lydia's jackal form had seemed so familiar.
Her mother had been one of the jackals in his adoptive family.
Her grandfather was the one who'd sold him to Noir.
The irony of that stayed with him. But it didn't stop the part of him that loved her anyway.
Noir raked his claws down the side of Seth's face as he finally pulled back. "You are too repulsive to look at."
Seth had no response as he closed his eyes and tried to escape in his mind.
But he'd given Lydia his swallow and cartouche to keep her safe whenever she awoke, and without those he had no choice except to stay here and feel everything.
* * *
Lydia floated in the dream realm on her white gossamer wings. She didn't know why, but her swallow tattoo kept pulling her here at night. It was almost as if it were trying to tell her something.
But whatever it sought, they never found it.
Arching up toward the dark sky, she saw a shadow moving far below. One that was terrifying and ...
She saw eyes of steel set in a face that reminded her of warmth.
But as soon as she saw them, they were gone.
Yeah, I've lost my mind now.
And she had.
Time to wake up and see about moving the rest of her things from her home in England to her father's estate. She was still sick from the week she'd been in a coma. And he was too worried about her to leave her alone. Which was fine with her.
Lydia had a feeling that in the coming days, she was going to need someone with her.
She just didn't know why.
* * *
