Page 52 of Above Cursed Winds

Watching the woman take a liberal swig of his beer shouldn’t have lit a fire within him. But as he stared blankly at the Raeth who’d trailed him here, he’d never felt more ashamed, more enamored, or more alive.

The conflicting emotions had paralyzed him. Zia, completely at ease within the unseemly environment, deftly perched on the stool beside him, donning a seductive smile.

More than a few pairs of eyes were on her. Immediately, Jeremiah wanted to roar. No one in the cellar was worth her attention—him included—but he’d be damned if any of them decided to make a move on his woman. He snarled at those who’d inched closer, making his claim known. Wisely, they dispersed.

The bartender, having seen his drink stolen, slid him another. Gripping the sticky base of the glass, Jeremiah finally returned his gaze to the woman at his side.

She set down the beverage only seconds later, turning violet eyes on him. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Jeremiah took a swig and swallowed before grunting, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I wouldn’t understand?” Zia’s voice was a razor, intent on slicing him to shreds. “From where I’m sitting, I’d say it’s pretty black and white. You’re allowing yourself to be beaten to a pulp because you’re feeling guilty about what happened at Kane’s. But those people who died—it wasn’t your fault. Stop blaming yourself for things that were out of your control.”

“You’re not my shrink, Z. Stop it.”

“Well, somebody needs to be,” she scoffed back, unrepentant. “Maybe some time on the couch might do you good.”

Shoving away from the bar, Jeremiah stood and slammed back the rest of his drink. When he wiped his mouth, his hand came away covered in more blood than alcohol, and he sneered at the insult. Without saying another word, he retrieved his clothing from outside the cage. He shrugged his shirt on while he made his way out the door, ignoring the way the pain in his body erupted.

No glance back, no word of goodbye.

Zia didn’t deserve it, the way she’d been acting. Like she somehow cared for him. Too many times he’d fallen for that trick. Not again.

Humidity, sticky and oppressive, choked the air outside the cellar. Aggression had amped up inside of Jeremiah again, making him twitchy and eager for confrontation. He didn’t have to wait long.

Zia emerged from the club only seconds after he did, picking invisible lint off her white camisole. Gesturing at the still-bleeding cut above his eye, she gave him a bland look.

“Seems to me your element has sided with me on this entire farce.”

“What the hell does that mean?” he growled, his eyebrows pinned together. The small movement sent a burning sensation through his eyebrow, a trail of blood leaking down the side of his face.

“Shouldn’t you be healing?”

Offering her a dark laugh, Jeremiah shook his head. “I’ve barred my element from healing me right now. Why would I use it, since I’m, what was it, ‘allowing myself to be beaten bloody?’”

She was right; of course, she was. But there was no way that Jeremiah would ever admit it.

Zia’s hand connected with the wall of his chest, slapping him backward against the brick. “You didn’t kill those people, Jeremiah. The Citizens did.”

He shifted to breeze past her, and she slammed her hand back into his chest again. This time, there was no sympathy in her movements, and he belatedly realized just how strong the Raeth truly was.

“The Citizens killed them. The three vampires you saw in body bags were already dead by the time you arrived. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“Yeah?” A scathing laugh. “And how do you know that?”

“Because Drake told me!” She barked that back, a fire beginning to blaze in her eyes. “When you were getting beaten bloody, the rest of us met to discuss what’d happened. Those three were gone before you even knew the assault was happening.”

The pain lessened, but only marginally, and the rage within remained stoked.

“They’re still dead.”

“Yes, they are, Jeremiah. They’re dead and they’re not coming back.”

Sucking in a breath, his eyes widened, knowing instinctively what she’d say next.

“But Gideon did. Gideon came back, and he’s alive today. Regardless of what happened that night, he’s here, and it wasn’t your fault or responsibility that the Citizens attempted to assassinate him in the first place.”

No matter how much he braced himself, the words still felt like shards of glass piercing his heart. Because no matter how many times he was reassured of it, it still wasn’t true.

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