Page 15 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

SIX

JAMES

That morning couldn’t have gone worse.

Emma had not at all been amenable to our “suggestions” and I was sure she wouldn’t come into Cyclos on her own, under any circumstances. I really had to keep myself from shoving a big fat told you so down Stephen’s throat, though I suspected it was written all over my face.

Back at my loft, Stephen and I kept staring at nothing specific in silence, clearly both still thinking over the implications of her stubborn idiocy, but I worried we’d reached very different conclusions.

He let out a big sigh. I followed suit. Then we both shrugged at the same time, feeling a strange kind of bond forming out of the shared desperation to do the right thing for Emma and the rest of humanity.

Right before jumping through the portal he'd opened to head back to his consensus-tour, Stephen spun around, and wrapped me into a hug.

He whispered in my ear, “I know you will do what you feel you must James, and far be it from me to keep you from doing what you think is right, but don’t forget to consider Emma’s feelings in this.”

He paused.

“She has been living a life, a lie yes, but a life for twenty-three years. She has family, friends, a career, everything you have built here, she has built over there. Can you imagine someone asking you to give it all up? For something you don’t even really believe in?

For something you’re not even certain is real?

I’m not telling you what to do here, I’m only telling you…

” He hesitated. “To be patient with her. I came to you, not only because of your background, but also because of your current position. You are, I believe, the only one who can properly navigate this situation. Whatever you want to do, I’ll support it either way.

” He smiled, then vanished through the portal without awaiting my reaction. Not that I had one.

I walked into my bedroom, knowing he was right, but I recognized an inexplicable frustration with Emma. Somehow, she had gotten under my skin and I couldn’t stop thinking about it…about her.

Sitting on my bed by myself, I went over the entire conversation with Emma at least ten times in my mind.

And not only the conversation if I’m properly honest, also the images of her and her body kept popping up in my head.

It was the strangest thing, a combination of pure frustration and arousal.

I thought about her stubbornness, then about her lips, how they would feel, wondering if they'd tremble under my touch.

I thought about her arrogance, then about her cleavage, covered in all that red lace.

Her attempts at deflecting by using fancy words, then her thighs, picturing them gripping me tight.

It was fucking confusing.

By the end of the afternoon, I had replayed every unpleasant comment that had come out of her mouth and I had full-on fantasized about her at the same time.

Of one thing I was very certain: there was no way in hell she would come in voluntarily, and we were going to have to inform the Council of our failure sometime soon.

It was around two o'clock that night when I got the call. I was finally asleep and extremely annoyed to be woken up.

I answered the Nexus with a deep desire to yell at the other person but, when I heard her voice on the other end of the line…so full of angst and despair, I was instantly wide awake.

“James…” she whispered, her voice shaking and I knew something was terribly wrong. There was nothing left of that big time “arrogant” lawyer I had met the same morning, just a small girl with a childlike panic in her trembling voice.

“Where are you?” I growled, not bothering with any other question, jumping out of bed and reaching for my clothes.

She didn’t answer but kept repeating my name, whimpering, almost pleadingly. My heart nearly stopped.

“Fuck, Emma, where are you?”

She finally gave me the address of a bar and I portaled in the street not even four minutes later.

The bar was on the verge of closing, but I barged in without waiting for anyone to stop me, nearly yanking the door from its hinges. I glanced around frantically, my heart pounding, but I couldn’t spot her anywhere. Had I screwed up the address? A wave of anxiety started to build up in my chest.

In the back of the bar, there was a sign directing to the bathroom on the left; she had to be in there.

Reaching for the doorknob, I hesitated for a moment. My heart was racing with adrenaline, and I had to gulp in a lungful of air. I steeled myself and turned the knob, holding my breath, unsure of what the hell I was about to walk into.

As I pushed open the door to the ladies’ room… I couldn’t even begin to describe it. The entire place resembled a horror scene from a slasher movie. There was blood everywhere—over the bathroom floor, the walls, even the fucking mirrors were splashed.

The white paper towels, lying all over the floor, were now soaked in red, and at the center of it all, an unconscious guy, clearly bleeding out, with Emma kneeling beside him, covered in his blood, desperately trying to resuscitate him.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head, as I struggled to make sense of the insane scene playing out in front of me.

“What the hell have you done!” I bellowed in absolute horror. I was burning with the sort of rage I’d never felt in my whole life, and it was all aimed at this girl, sitting there, covered in blood.

There was no doubt she had done this with uncontrollable translation, why else would she have called me?

Plus I didn’t take her for the homicidal type, which meant her stubbornness had already, not even half a day after our fucking warnings, brought about the only possible outcome—death and destruction.

I wanted to scream at her, strangle her, I wanted to punish her for disobeying and ignoring perfectly sane advice. It coursed through my veins, every muscle, every nerve, even my taste buds were tingling with rage. I had to hold myself back from slamming my fist into a bloody wall.

Godsdammit, it’d been years since I had to work so hard just to keep a lid on my temper.

But when she looked up at me, through those long eyelashes, with tearstained cheeks, a trembling bottom lip, and scared eyes full of pain and remorse, all my anger, all that rage simply vanished, like a sinister shadow retreating into the abyss.

There wasn’t a shred left of the insufferable person I had met a few hours earlier and the sight of her, so helplessly trying not to cry, after her show and display of ego that same morning, it was more than I could bear.

She looked so frail, so vulnerable. And her being vulnerable, clearly leaning on me, calling on me, trusting me to fix it all… Somehow that image struck me right into my core.

And instead of anger or rage, all I was left with, was an overwhelming urge to protect.

I knew right then and there something was shifting inside of me.

It felt as if me being the person she could lean on, was everything I ever wanted to be.

As if my entire reason for being had been redirected, and my only goal in life existed from then on in protecting her.

But before I could even really contemplate this new development, I realized there was still a horrible situation at hand, which I had to fix. Now.

“Emma, what happened here?” I asked in softer tones, while approaching the guy on the floor.

“I don’t think he’s dead,” she whimpered, “but I can’t wake him up.” She started crying.

“Stop that,” I commanded her harshly. I felt his pulse and was relieved to find there still was one. While Emma closed her eyes and tried to compose herself, I checked the guy for breath sounds.

“He is alive,” I declared, and we both sighed in relief.

I looked around the room, trying to find something that would somehow stabilize him as I couldn’t use translation without the Council finding out, after which they’d probably lock Emma up forever.

Somehow keeping her safe had turned out a lot more important than saving this guy’s life.

I might have had some prioritizing issues.

“We have to keep pressure on the wounds to keep him from bleeding out,” I mumbled more to myself than to her, but on closer examination, I noticed the wounds had already stopped bleeding. It looked as if the guy was…stable.

My eyebrows pinched, how the hell was that possible?

There was more blood on the walls than left in this man’s body.

He should’ve been dead, but here he was, breathing and with a regular heartbeat.

There was no logical reason for it but I could only conclude that, despite the scene of terror, the guy on the floor was going to be okay.

Redirecting my attention to Emma as she got to her feet, I saw her fingers softly touching the back of her head, as if she was checking for an injury. A rush of concern shot through my mind. Was she hurt?

"Are you all right?" I asked, my voice laced with urgency, moving swiftly to her side, and instantly forgetting about the guy. I raised my hand, silently seeking her consent to touch her wound.

She nodded, and I quickly shifted a few strands of her hair to reveal a nasty bump at the back of her head.

I frowned, wondering how the hell she got a bump back there.

I glanced at the wall behind her and spotted a bloody mark at about the same height.

Godsdamn, her translation must’ve backfired with quite some force for her to have flown into a wall.

Fucking stubborn woman. I was even more pissed she’d hurt herself.

Well aware of the fact there wasn't much I could do about it without proper Healer's training, I repeated my question, more to reassure myself than her. "Emma, are you okay?"

"I'm..." she began, but her voice was quaking so badly, I couldn't quite make out what she was saying. She took a deep breath and silently mouthed, "I'm okay."

Even then and there, I couldn't tear my eyes away from her.

Despite the blood, I could still pick up the subtle scent of the heavenly perfume she had on.

How the hell had I missed that divine smell earlier that morning?

Gradually, the room we were in began to morph in my mind, turning into my bedroom, with solely her and me there.

.. I snapped back to reality, realizing how messed up my train of thought was in the midst of all that blood.

I shook my head slightly and turned away from her.

My focus shifted back to the guy and I realized she still hadn’t answered my question.

“How the fuck did this happen?” I asked forcefully. “I thought you said you only translated when your life was in danger?”

In some twisted corner of my mind, it seemed like a brilliant idea to ask her that directly, just so I could hit her with an "I told you so." But against all my expectations, she didn't deny being in danger. In fact, she didn't say a damn thing to suggest she was wrong about it at all.

Instead, she simply nodded and shot me a look. Was it shame? Or fear? I couldn't quite make out. She was still not uttering a word but a single tear rolled down her cheek. I had to actively keep myself from comforting her, I needed answers first.

Scanning the room, I tried to piece together what the actual fuck had transpired.

Emma had ceased crying, but she kept feeling the back of her head.

And we were in the ladies' room...of a bar.

..with a guy bleeding out and a girl who could only project when she was fearing for her life.

There was but one reason she'd think she was in danger with a guy in a ladies' room. ..

I took a step closer, now standing two feet away from her, my eyes raking frantically over her from head to toe. It was only then I noticed her shirt torn at the side. Ripped clothes and a bloody lump on the back of her head.

My mind went dark.

“What. The Fuck. Did he do?” I asked slowly in a voice I didn’t recognize as my own.

“He tried to…” she started, tearing up again.

That was more than I could handle. I raised my hand to stop her from talking. If she’d finished that sentence, I would've killed the guy right there and then.

I had to remind myself to keep breathing.

“Go home,” I ordered, grinding my teeth. “I will handle this. I will find you after. Talk to no one. Go. Now!”

She swallowed and nodded quickly, grabbed her purse, and ran out without turning back.

I was left alone in the room with the lowest form of human life.