Page 12 of Fearful (Powerless Trilogy #3.5)

Lenny fails to notice Death’s sudden presence beside him on Loot’s uneven cobblestone.

She finds herself a bit disappointed by this—Mara was hoping her absence was felt—though unsurprised. Alas, the Imperial is far too engrossed by the Tele accompanying him. He watches Blair take in the moonlit slums, disdain carving a path through her stony expression.

This does not sit well with Lenny.

“If you hate the slums so much,” he remarks curtly, “why did you want to come here?”

Blair flashes him a look of disgust. “I don’t hate the slums.”

“Oh, really?” The Imperial chuckles dryly. “Everything about you says otherwise.”

“I’ve pretended to hate it here,” she snaps. “Even now, I’m only angry because I never got to have this.”

“This?” Lenny gestures toward the street, littered with meandering souls. “Blair, these people would give anything to have what you were handed.”

Mara, who knows most things and feels a great deal more, adamantly agrees with this.

“You think I don’t know that?” The words aren’t nearly as biting as she intends. “Still, I would give anything to live how I please, love who I please. But I can’t, and I don’t, because I’m trapped.”

The Imperial stares at her. Death does the same beside him.

“Blair—”

A looming figure steps before them, blocking the path.

The man can’t be any older than Lenny, though it is clear which one of them was blessed with a towering physique—in Mara’s trivial opinion.

His broad shoulders lift with each breath, muscles straining beneath his black tunic and vest. Moonlight sharpens his cheekbones and highlights the scar slicing through his lips.

A silver streak mars his wavy black hair—and, distantly, Death thinks one of his arms is the size of her leg.

Lenny clears his throat, perhaps intending to take charge as the Imperial in this situation. But Blair beats him to it, sounding rather bored, in fact. “Can we help you?”

“Yes.” The stranger’s deep voice chills the air. “I’ve been looking for you, Blair Archer.”

“Damn, he even sounds cool,” Lenny mutters in awe.

Death’s lips twitch, though the gesture is seen by no one. Curious, she takes a peek at this man’s soul. The dull orange she’s greeted with is surprising.

Blair looks magnificently unimpressed, so her Imperial attempts to follow suit. “Look,” Lenny starts, “you seem lovely, but we have somewhere to be. So, if you don’t mind—”

An invisible force knocks him aside, suddenly.

Mara’s brows lift in surprise (this is a rare show of expression from her).

Lenny stumbles back, nearly losing his footing, as the man says, “I’m not here for you.”

Another Tele, then. This should be rather interesting.

Blair stands her ground, as condescending as ever. “If it’s money you want, I suggest trying to rob someone else.”

“Not money.” The man’s menacing form towers over her. “But a debt is owed.”

“Blair,” Lenny warns as he scrambles back to her side. “Don’t do anything—”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“—stupid,” the Imperial finishes weakly.

The man’s nostrils flare in response to Blair’s condescension. For a moment, his dark eyes seem to cut right through to her swirling soul. And within that pocket of time, Death thinks he might just walk away.

Then she hears a soft gasp.

Mara’s gaze flicks back to Blair, finding her still wearing that stony facade. But her skin begins to pale; her eyes water.

Lenny swallows. “Blair?”

A sickening gasping sound slips past her lips. She lifts a hand to her neck.

The stranger is choking her.

And yet, she refuses to break the man’s stare.

Death can feel it in her chest, the hum of a life thread splintering, right where a beating heart would be. She feels drawn to Blair, as she does when an endangered soul is in her vicinity. A connection is being forged between them, something tangible and final.

“Blair!” Lenny is shaking her shoulders now. Then he turns to shout his desperation at the man. “Why are you doing this? Let her go!”

With a thought from the stranger, Lenny is thrown back several feet to collide with a merchant’s cart. He curses, crashing into a display of fabrics before toppling to the ground. Groaning, the Imperial braces his palms against the cobblestone to push himself into a more dignified position.

A rasped cry has him stiffening.

Mara turns to find Blair hovering several feet above the ground, struggling against a fellow Tele’s power.

“You killed her.” The man looks up at Blair’s hanging body, his hand outstretched. “You used this very power to drive a branch through her back. Her back!”

Hmm. He, too, must wish to avenge the mysterious, murdered friend.

Lenny limps toward him. Death is unsure as to what he could possibly do, and the Imperial looks to be thinking the same. Yet, he does not stop.

“She is gone because of you,” the man breathes. And despite the darkness, the grief that consumes him is visible. It dwells in his hollow gaze, his trembling voice.

He didn’t just know this woman. He loved her.

It all makes sense to Mara now. Loving is the gravest danger one can put themselves in. Those you hold dear will inevitably slip from between your grasping fingers.

Death isn’t pessimistic. She is experienced.

It is revenge—an inescapable blight—that drives the stranger to hurl his lover’s killer into the wall of a crumbling building.

“Blair!”

She does not move at the sound of Lenny’s cry.

He runs toward her, limping as fast as he can. Death follows with the Tele in tow, now plucking a small knife from his belt. The Imperial can do nothing to stop this vindictive stranger as he sends that blade cutting through the dense darkness.

A heartbeat later (Mara assumes) it tears through the flesh of Blair’s shoulder, right below the birthmark hidden by her tunic (Death only knows this intimate detail because she caught Lenny’s gaze tracing it the night before).

The Imperial trips in his haste to reach her, skidding to a stop beside her slumped form.

She stirs in pain, her face pale and peppered with cuts.

Lenny drops to his knees.

She is troublesomely limp against the wall—though, still alive. Death’s connection to her has not yet fully formed.

“You’re okay,” he reassures, likely to himself. “You—”

Steel sings from behind, cutting through the Imperial’s words when the stranger pulls a sword from its sheath. “You killed her,” he growls. “Now I will kill you.”

“No!”

Lenny stands to his feet, looking ready to throw himself at the towering man.

Perhaps their reaching souls aren’t entirely absurd, Death thinks reluctantly. This Hyper seems ready to risk his life for the one he has deemed a Tele tyrant. How annoyingly fascinating.

The stranger raises a hand, intending to throw Lenny from his feet.

The Imperial braces himself for another mental shove—one that never comes.

Instead, it is this new Tele who is thrown backward.

The pommel of his sword sinks into the soft skin beneath his eye, hard enough to promise a bruise. Mara watches him hit the ground with a thud. Disturbing the darkness, his large body sprawls atop the cobblestone.

Lenny stares down at his hands in astonishment.

“It was me, idiot,” Blair pants, wiping blood from her nose.

“Right.” Lenny crouches beside her. “Of course it was.”

She lacks the strength to roll her eyes at him, but the sentiment is there. Breathing heavy, she calls out to the Tele now picking himself up off the ground. “This is between you and me. Leave gingersnap out of it.”

The Imperial winces slightly. “Well, that was almost really touching—”

“Shut up,” Blair rasps.

They do make the most interesting pair.

Obediently pressing his lips together, Lenny helps pull her into a more comfortable position before the Tele is standing over them once again. Mara leans against the wall, having found the perfect vantage point to continue observing the chaos. Her services may yet be needed.

The stranger’s eye waters, but the gaze he pins on Blair is unwavering. “If that is your final wish, so be it.”

Moonlight glints off the steel sword. It arcs through the air, flashing above them.

Blair doesn’t move. She only stares up at the face of revenge.

Death feels her lifeline grow taut. The Mors will happily welcome another soul.

But it is the Imperial, presumably weak and woefully bearing the brunt of every joke, who dives in front of the swinging blade.

“Get out of the way!”

It’s the stranger who bellows this after barely being able to redirect the steel.

Lenny, his eyes still squeezed shut, is practically sitting in Blair’s lap in a bewildering attempt to shield her body.

Slowly, he peeks up at the fuming man. That gleaming tip of steel is now steadily aimed at the Imperial’s heart.

“I said,” the man growls in frustration, “get out of the way.”

“No.” Lenny swallows. “Death is too kind for her.”

Mara tilts her head. Is she too kind for Blair?

She does not think too long on this. Death is simply pleased to be included in the conversation.

“You want her to suffer, just like you’re suffering,” the Imperial continues in a rush.

“And she already is. Hell, she’s stuck with me every day.

” The man doesn’t lower his sword. “If you kill her, she will be free from this life she hates more than anything. And besides,” he breathes, “I didn’t know Adena personally, but I think she would have objected to you killing people on her behalf. ”

Adena.

Death remembers the name of every soul she has ever gathered. Now she knows exactly of whom they speak.

Mara recalls scooping the vibrant soul from a stretch of bloody sand. She was quiet, Adena, in a way that suggested she often wasn’t when alive. But most memorable of all, she was not afraid. Peace itself was relieved to find her.

“Let Blair live,” the Imperial murmurs. He holds the man’s gaze. “It’s the most pain you could offer her.”

A long moment passes.

Death thinks fondly of that sunny soul.

There is sudden flash of steel. The sword drops from Lenny’s throat.