Hunter's Edge

Chapter Twenty Five

Never once stopped loving you

Sunset—shit, what had he meant?

She looked back at his face and that weird, secretive smile appeared on his lips. He tugged on his jeans and then held out a hand. "Come on, sugar. Ask yourself this... How can things get any worse?"

Her eyes sought out Kel and she knew, without a doubt, nothing would be worse than seeing him laying dead at her feet. Not even the twelve years she'd spent thinking he was already dead. "What's the point of this?" she asked wearily as she reached out and laid her hand in his.

As though escorting her into a formal affair, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and guided her to Kel's side. "The point, sugar, is that not everything is as it seems." He knelt down, and because he still held her hand, she had to kneel with him.

They sat like that for a few seconds, him staring at her and Angel staring everywhere but at Kel or the man. "Toronto—the girl called you Toronto. Is that seriously your name?"

He shrugged. "Seriously, no. But it's the only one I've ever gone by."

From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand, saw him lifting it to touch her face. She braced herself, and still, when he touched her, she flinched. Even through her shields, she could feel the rush within his mind. Indistinct words, thoughts, emotions, all of it a blur. If she lowered her shields, she knew she'd likely pick up more, but she didn't want more.

Angel had taken in far too much over the past twenty-four hours and she felt like she was going to crack.

His hand cupped her cheek and guided her face around until their gazes met. "He never stopped thinking about you. Never once stopped loving you. When he realized there was a danger coming your way, he thought of nothing but protecting you."

Tears burned her eyes but she blinked them away. Crying now wasn't an option. Once she started, she knew it would take a long time to stop and she'd rather not fall apart around a stranger twice in one day. "Already figured that much out for myself, thanks," she said, her voice harsh, her tone purposely derisive.

Toronto crooked a grin at her and murmured, "Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. I am a little thrown that you aren't asking where he's been, why he stayed gone...?"

Damn it, the tears were trying to slip free anyway. "Does it really matter?"

His only response was a loose, restless shrug. "Maybe. Maybe not. One thing that does matter though... He never stopped loving you. Nothing could change that. But what about you? You still love him? Anything gonna change that? Because the answer to that matters quite a bit."

In a voice gone tight with emotion, Angel rasped, "I never stopped loving him...not even thinking he was dead all this time could change that. Nothing ever could."

"Good." Then he let go of her arm, reached for something outside her line of sight.

She didn't see what it was at first. But then she saw it, the silver surface reflecting the dim light back at her. A knife. A wickedly mean, serious-looking knife.

Shit—so much for things not getting worse.

But he didn't bring that shiny silver blade within a foot of her. He wasn't looking at her at all. He slashed it along his wrist, then, as blood welled, laid it on the floor at his side. Sparing her a quick glance, he said, "'Nothing ever could,' you said."

He lifted Kel's upper body, braced him with one arm.

Angel's eyes went wide as Toronto lifted his wrist to Kel's mouth. "Come on, kid. It's wake-up time."

Whatever Angel had been expecting, it hadn't been this.

Whatever Angel thought that freaky girl from earlier might have meant, it wasn't this.

Whatever weird thing could cause a body to so rapidly heal from injury, it wasn't this.

This was scientifically impossible.

But as she watched, Kel's lashes fluttered. He groaned, low in his throat and then, like a baby rooting for milk, he turned his head towards Toronto's bleeding wrist. His lips parted and she caught a glimpse of something white—then, he struck.

Feeding.

The silence in the room stretched out. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty. When his eyes abruptly opened, a startled hiss escaped Angel's lips. He didn't see her—something about the glassy, glittery look in those green depths made her think he couldn't see her.

It made it a bit easier, actually. Made it easier to focus on the fact that his pale skin was no longer that deathly white. Made it easier for her to shift around a bit until she could look at his upper chest and shoulder.

The sun had set, taking with it the soft golden light that had shone through the windows. Now the light came from three naked bulbs hanging from the beams in the ceiling and their bright light was harsh, unforgiving—and it allowed nothing to hide.

That bloodied, ugly hole was gone. All that remained was a wound that looked almost innocuous, something that might need a few stitches, but not something that could make a man bleed to death before help arrived. And with every past heartbeat, that wound grew smaller and smaller, the flesh knitting together in a smooth, seamless fashion.