Page 33 of All Saints Day
“Cazzy,” I soothe as sweetly as I can, Dennis helps to lower me into the sheets beside Caz.
He reaches for one of my hands, clutching me tight as soon as our hands touch.
“We can’t wait any longer!” he wails, tears streaming from his closed eyes as Seb runs a hand over Caz’s forehead. “I know we wanted to make more plans, but we’ve run out of time.”
Dennis is doing his best to be patient given the dire circumstances—but I can tell he’s about to snap. As the only one on the outside of the bond, he hasn’t been able to glean any of the horrors we’ve seen. He is desperate for even a few words of explanation.
“Shhh, shh,” I hush, rolling onto my side and pulling Caz against me—the little spoon in our shared drawer of sorrow. “Take some deep breaths—we’ve gotta get you calmed down, then we can talk about our next steps,” I murmur against his ear as Seb smooths one of his broad palms over the top of Caz’s blond buzz-cut.
Little by little his chest stops heaving with such ragged gasps—his breathing becoming slower and more even.
I struggle to a sitting position, a hand still laid comfortingly on Caz’s waist as he lies, drenched in sweat—curled on his side in the tangle of sheets.
“Seb, can you help him get washed up and into something comfortable?” I reach my other hand for Sébastien—a thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead, a hollow but stable undertone to his maroon gaze as he bobs a single silent nod.
“Dennis—help me get some water and I’ll get you caught up,” I groan, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.
I allow Dennis to scoot in under my arm and rock me up and onto my feet—Seb similarly helps Caz to the bathroom from the other side of the bed.
“What the fuck happened back there?” Dennis asks in a hushed voice as he unloads me onto the worn sofa in the livingroom, rushing to grab me a much needed glass of water as soon as he has me seated.
“Things got really bad for Louise,” I begin soberly—locking eyes with Dennis as he hands me a tall glass.
“How bad?” he asks grimly, all the muscles along his jaw ticking away as he grits his teeth.
“How much do you know about Frank’s mood swings, his losing time?” I ask tremulously, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table.
Dennis cocks his head, the concerned furrow between his brows deepening.
“I don’t. Back when I knew Frank—he was practically flawless. Even now, without the rose-tinted glasses of an infatuated greenhorn—I can recognize that he was a goddamn machine.”
“Before Michael…” I sigh, both of us looking away from one another—faces turn to the sliding glass windows to the deck; lush green trees as far as the eye can see.
“Yeah, I never really saw Frank Stone, the Saint, like you, Caz, and Seb—only Francis Stone, the Fed,” he muses sadly as I light my cigarette.
“It seems that poor Frankie couldn’t quite take all the strain on his poor psyche after he was forced to become an instrument in the double-crossing of one of his fated mates,” I sigh on an exhale of smoke. “Frank split himself. From what I could see down the bond from Louise—an alter named Rook was fronting an interrogation.”
Dennis swallows hard and bites his tongue, knowing better than to interrupt.
“He was pushing her to her limits in a big tank of water, but she was already under duress from a dosage of suppressant melters,” I continue, though my own mounting panic at recounting everything I have just seen down the bond makes my chest ache—my vision swimming with brightly colored stars at the edges. Still, I press on.
“Frank—or rather, Rook kissed Louise.” I swallow, my mouthunable to form the next words without tears strangling my voice. “He felt the bond—the call of fated mates; of all of us on the other side just beneath Louise’s resonance.”
“Shit,” Dennis hisses, his face dropping into his hands—heels of his palms pressed into his closed eyes.
“He didn’t look pleased. Rook shoved her into the tank—but the last thing we saw was medical staff tending to her, putting her under.” I clear my throat, blinking a few tears away.
“Jesus, all of you felt all of that through the bond?” Dennis’ head snaps up as he looks to me then back over his shoulder to the closed bedroom door—Seb and Caz just beyond.
“Yeah,” I shudder, wiping my eyes with the back of one hand, tapping the ash off my cigarette with the other. “It’s the worst for Cazzy, being a theta,” I sigh, sniffling back the urge to go completely to pieces.
“Sure—he must produce extra psychotropic compounds when you have that kind of psychic connection as fated mates.” Dennis nods with deep, pained understanding.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose in an attempt to calm my frayed nerves, my aching heart.
Thyme, hyssop, and the sea.
I scent Dennis just before I feel his fingers comb my hair back from my face.
