Knowledge Hurts

Chapter 3: Heartache is hard, Numbness is easy…

Chapter 3: Heartache is hard, Numbness is easy…Walking between the beds, I made my way to where Marianne lay beside Striker. After the success of treating Acenith's wounds, I was feeling more confident, but still far from comfortable. Those of Lucas's Kiss who had the energy to keep their eyes open were watching me cautiously, but it was Striker who broke the awkward silence. “So,” he remarked casually, “you left our place as meek little Charlotte and now - you're what? Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

“Something like that,” I couldn't help but smile at the comparison.

“So it's true, huh? Ralph says you really are an Angel,” Striker continued. He was coping better than some of the others, with three empty bottles sitting beside him on the bed it was apparent he was regaining strength, but there was worry in his eyes as he watched over Marianne protectively.

“That's the rumor,” I agreed easily, settling carefully beside Marianne on the bed. She watched me solemnly, her skin the same stark white as the pillow she lay on. Since I'd last seen her in Montana, she'd added dazzling aqua blue streaks to her hair, but they were muted by the dirt and detritus of captivity. “I'm going to put some marks on your skin, give those wounds a helping hand,” I explained.

Lifting her wrist carefully, I drew a sigil against the deep gouge where the silver chain had burnt into her skin, watching with approval as it began to heal. Within seconds, the skin smoothed over, leaving a faint scar.

“That didn't hurt,” Marianne whispered.

“Healing sigils don't hurt supernaturals, only the ability sigils cause pain,” I explained, placing a second sigil further up her arm.

“So we're supernaturals now?” Striker asked with a wry grin. He shifted on the bed and gasped with pain.

“Lay still, Striker,” Jerome growled. “You're not Superman.” He began to prepare a feeding tube, his actions belying years of medical experience.

Undeterred by Jerome, Striker continued our conversation. “So tell me, Lott. How'd you get strong enough to kick a vampire in the head and send him flying across the room?”

“The ability sigils give me extra strength.” A tiny smiled played on my lips. “And I wear titanium capped boots to stop my toes getting broken. One of Epi's innovations.”

“Ahh. That explains a lot,” Striker agreed huskily. His voice was hoarse and an octave deeper than normal. If he'd been human, I would have thought he was suffering from a sore throat. As it was, I knew it came from t*****e and probably screaming for mercy. A cold shiver trickled down my spine.

“How did you know the Consiliului had taken us?” Ben rasped. He was lying on the bed beside Striker with his eyes closed, but obviously he was listening to the conversation.

I worked steadily across Marianne's battered body, marking sigils. “The spirits told me as soon as it happened, then Nick called and confirmed it. The Tremaine pack was attacked by younglings on the same night.”

Straightening up, I moved further down the bed to treat the wounds on Marianne's legs. I forced myself to look at the calf which was devoid of flesh. Another quick word with the spirits confirmed which sigil was needed and I marked her skin, close to the edge where muscle and tendon lay brutally exposed. There was a numbness spreading over my body as I worked, a protective barrier against the horror I'd witnessed today. I welcomed it, embracing the numbness and nurturing it to keep me from screaming my frustration and anger and running away from the scene around me. The utter lack of sensation was better than the alternative for now.

“The Tremaines were attacked?” Ben opened his eyes, blinking at me in disbelief.

“Yeah,” I responded unhappily. “Lyell Tremaine was murdered, along with half of their people. Conal is Alpha now.” The back of my head had started to thump and there was a tremor in my hands which was becoming obvious the longer I worked. The initial adrenaline from having escaped Romania was fading fast, leaving me nauseous and weakened. I glanced over at Ben and Striker, then back to Marianne. “Let's talk about this later, when you're feeling better.” I was worried how more bad news would affect them when they'd already suffered so much.

To my utter relief, both men lapsed into an unsettled silence and I moved on from Marianne after pressing a kiss against her cheek, leaving Jerome to set up the nasogastric tube. He directed me towards Gwynn next, who looked so small and vulnerable, her glorious mane of copper red hair matted with dirt. She watched me warily as I approached, pale blue irises washed out. She looked as if she suffered from the milky blindness of cataracts.

“I need to shower,” she rasped, fingers plucking nervously at the gown she was wearing.

“Later, Gwynn. For now, we need to heal your injuries,” I insisted quietly.

She shook her head wildly, the plucking of her fingers against the material growing more agitated.

Nonny caught my eye and came over to stand at my side. “She won't allow me to bathe her,” she whispered, although I knew everyone in the room could hear her. “She won't allow anyone to touch her yet.”

Swallowing down the painful lump in my throat, I gazed down at Gwynn. “Please Gwynn, you're not strong enough to shower right now.” My eyes drifted across her arms studying the blackened pattern of deep wounds. “Let me heal your injuries first, then we'll see.”

“No, no, no,” Gwynn chanted hoarsely. “I have to get clean, I need to be clean…” Her pretty, heart-shaped face screwed up suddenly, as she fought to cry tears impossible for her to shed.

Jerome limped over from Acenith's bed and his practiced eye flew over Gwynn's body, shaking his head infinitesimally. “I'd dearly love to give her a sedative, but it's a useless wish, won't have any effect on her.”

“What should we do?” I asked in a low voice. Gwynn was obviously bordering on a breakdown and I wanted to avoid it, desperate to stop her from worsening. A bottle of blood sat by her bed, unopened and untouched and her fangs were run out, pressing against her blistered lips.

There was a flurry of motion from the other side of the room and I turned to see Phelan lifting William gently in his arms, carrying the vampire across the room. He laid William at his wife's side and William cradled her in his arms, ignoring the pain it must be causing him with his own grievous injuries. He whispered softly to her, holding her tightly against him and his pain - the agony which was not only physical, but psychological - was apparent in his grey eyes. Gwynn settled in his arms, burrowing her head against his chest and William continued to softly murmur against her hair.

We stood there - Jerome, Phelan, Nonny and I - four outsiders intruding on a moment between a husband and wife which was both acutely heartrending and breathtakingly tender. I wanted to turn and run, get away from this church, these horrific scenes which would be indelibly inked in my psyche forever. Subconsciously I took a step backwards, but Katie appeared at my side, reaching up to grasp my hand as her round grey eyes took in the scene before her. For long minutes she remained still, watching William and Gwynn vigilantly and flashes of emotion filtered across her face as she tried to in vain to comprehend the sight before her. Finally she tugged on my hand and looked up at me. “You gonna fix William an' Gwynn now?”

“Yes, Katie, that's exactly what we are going to do,” Jerome announced gruffly. He turned away and wiped impatiently at his eyes before turning back to the bed. “William, we need to intubate Gwynn, get some blood into her body and Charlotte will treat her wounds whilst I'm doing that,” he raised his head, looking around the room. “Epi?” he called when he located the warlock standing at Lucas's bed. “Do you have a bathtub? Gwynn would like to get cleaned up, but she's not strong enough to shower.”

Epi shook his head but started moving towards the back of the room. “I will arrange one.” On his way past Gwynn's bed, he haphazardly waved his hand towards us and curtains appeared, seemingly hanging from fresh air as there were no fixtures. They drew themselves around the bed, which would have amused me endlessly in a normal situation, but nothing was humorous in our current circumstances. “I believe the little one needs some privacy,” he announced gruffly.

Nonny kissed my cheek and hurried to follow him. “I'll make sure everything is prepared,” she called over her shoulder.

“I'll go and do a blood round,” Phelan announced, turning on his heel to slip through the curtains but I grasped his arm and he looked at me in surprise. I reached up to kiss his cheek gently.

“You're a good man, Phelan,” I whispered against his ear.

I could swear he blushed before he slipped through the curtain and I turned back to our patients. Gwynn was calmer now with William by her side, lying passively as I approached. “We're organizing a bath, Gwynn, but I really want to heal your injuries first… is that okay?”

She nodded her assent, closing her eyes with a sigh and nestling on William's chest.

“Charlotte… I need blood while you do this,” William said gruffly, “the scent of your blood too close…” he faltered, shutting his eyes. “My self-control is shot to hell.”

I took the full bottle from beside the bed and unscrewed the top, handing it to him. “You're self-control is just fine, William,” I announced as I began to work on Gwynn's injuries. “Your self-confidence about your self-control is the problem.”

He considered my words for a minute, sipping from the bottle as his dull grey eyes followed my movements. “You may be right,” he admitted quietly.

I continued to work silently until I'd healed all of Gwynn's injuries and then straightened up, groaning inwardly at the ache in my back and shoulders. “I am right, William. You haven't attacked a human in more than forty years,” I smiled at him. “I think it's time you cut yourself some slack. I'm going to go and work on Rowena.” I pulled open the curtain surrounding the bed and spied Nonny, requesting her help to get Gwynn into a bath. The sooner she had the opportunity to wash the memories from her skin, the better it would be for her, though I had to wonder how she was going to cope with the memories imprinted in her mind. They would be much harder to fix and it couldn't be done with soap and hot water.

Shaking off the thought, I strode towards Rowena's bed, feeling like I'd been on this ride for far too long already.

Rowena greeted me with unconcealed delight, holding me close for a very long time. “We have missed you so much, Charlotte,” she whispered, clenching my hands in her own injured ones. Of the four women, she seemed to be coping best and had managed to drink two bottles of blood. Her skin was still too white, she looked utterly exhausted, but her eyes were beginning to return to a more natural hazel. “You look so different.”

I caught her wrist in my hand and created a sigil, watching the skin heal over. “A lot of things have changed since I saw you last,” I murmured.

“I can see that. You look wonderful, despite having given us blood,” Rowena agreed softly. She took a deep breath, clenching her fists tightly. “I want to thank you, so much, for coming to our rescue.” A fine trembling set up through her limbs and a shadow passed over her delicate features. “I was certain we were all going to die.” Her attention flickered across to where Phelan was carefully carrying Gwynn towards the bathroom, Nonny hovering behind carrying the bag of blood which was now feeding Gwynn through a tube in her nose. “What they did to us…” she broke off and the trembling increasing exponentially as her slim shoulders shook with emotion.

I was grateful when Jerome appeared and he spoke soothingly to Rowena while I worked in silence. The numbness was wearing off, leaving the anger and rage and helplessness in its wake and I knew it wasn't a good thing. I still had six people to heal, still had to face Lucas. Still had so many things to deal with. I wished the numbness would come back and forced myself to focus on the present, to take one step at a time. I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and move on.

Conal reappeared from the bathroom. “That feels so much better,” he announced. “But I'm going to have a shitload of bruises again.” His hair was still damp and he'd dressed in jeans and a black American Choppers t-shirt. He stopped beside me, where I was working on Ripley.

“And thankfully, you don't stink like rotting carcasses,” I agreed with a sly grin. “What took you so long?”

“Epi provided plenty of showers, but not nearly enough hot water. I was just gonna give up when he appeared, muttering something about the need for a bathtub.”

“Thank goodness for that. You stunk.”

He grinned. “Just because you got to the shower first, Sugar.”

“Haven't you heard, it's always ladies first?” I replied easily.

“There aren't too many ladies I know who'll take on a demon, a transformed Angel and a pack of vampires,” he said with a wink. “And what was it you called the Drâghici leaders? The Three Stooges? Way to go to piss them off, Charlotte.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I call it as I see it. And you know as well as I do, the plan was to annoy them.”

“Well, you certainly did that. Which reminds me, I must have a word to Epi about that fearless sigil. Not such a good idea…” He laughed as I aimed a quick punch at his shoulder and he sidestepped it easily. “Agility has worn off too, Sugar. I'll rustle up coffee.” He studied my face for a couple of seconds, his brow furrowed. “You're still looking mighty pale. How's the head?”

“Throbbing,” I admitted.

“I'll get you some painkillers,” he offered.

“Thanks.”

Ripley watched this exchange silently, and he abstained from making any comment when Conal walked away, although his eyes revealed his curiosity. He motioned to the healing sigil I'd placed against the cross the Drâghici had branded on his thigh. “How does that work?”

I shrugged a little, unsure how to explain something of which I had little understanding. “To be honest? I haven't got a clue. Suffice to say, it works effectively.” I motioned towards the bottle he held clasped between his fingers. “Drink some more, Ripley. It'll help you feel better.”

Taking a steadying breath, I made my way next to the one person I was most dreading talking to. Lucas. I could have avoided him and treated one of the other men, but I needed to get this over and done with.

My heartbeat accelerated as I approached him and I struggled to control it, hyperaware that he would hear the tempo change. It was a strain to produce an unconvincing smile, which faded as hastily as it had appeared. “Hi,” I said warily.

“Charlotte,” Lucas responded, blue eyes gazing at me intently. “Wait a moment, please.” He raised the bottle he'd been holding to his lips, drinking until he'd drained the contents. When he lowered the bottle, he smiled sheepishly. “I'm struggling with your scent.”

“It's been a while,” I agreed quietly. I eyed the bottle cautiously. “Okay now?”

He attempted a shrug and winced. “I believe so.”

I settled down at his side, keeping my movements slow and cautious.

“It seems there were a lot of things about you we hadn't discovered.” His gaze grazed across my arms, where some of the sigils remained strong and blue against my skin. “Phelan says those markings give you special abilities?”

“Yeah,” I felt painfully self-conscious as I reached for his wrist, marking his skin and while the wound was healing I pointed to some of the sigils on my own arms. “Agility… Endurance… Strength… Courage… Stamina.”

“And fearlessness?”

I looked up sharply, but he was lying back against the pillows, his expression enigmatic.

“Yeah. It's my personal favorite. Without it, I'm not sure I could have worked up the courage to face the Drâghici.”

“I thought you were remarkable,” Lucas responded. “Seeing you walk into the Consiliului stronghold - you were incredibly confident.”

“It was mainly due to the fearless sigil,” I admitted. “When I walked in there - I really didn't have a care in the world. No fear whatsoever.” The liberating effect of the sigil had astounded me. “But Conal seems to think it wasn't such a good idea.”

“You and Conal,” he paused, visibly swallowed. “Are you a couple now?”

I met his eyes, stunned by the abrupt question. “Um… no…well…” I muttered lamely. With a heavy sigh, I shook my head. “It's complicated.”

“I'm good at complicated,” he replied evenly.

For a moment I stared at him, thinking of a dozen different ways to continue this discussion and discarding every single option as being too complicated. “Can we talk about this later? When we can have some privacy?” I glanced around, aware of everyone else in the room. Having this discussion with Lucas was going to be difficult enough, without having an audience.

“If you wish,” Lucas agreed. His gaze held mine for a few seconds more, then he directed his attention to the Hjördis in my hand. “When I first saw you in Sfantu Drâghici and you removed your jacket, the marks were all brilliantly blue and covered every inch of skin.” He studied my bare arm, his eyes tracing the marks. “Some of them have disappeared.”

I returned to my first aid efforts, forcing my attention to the burns on his chest and swallowed deeply, trying not to gag as I healed the deep slashes where a silver knife had gouged his skin open. “They're indigo when I first mark them. As the power of the sigil is used up in combat, they fade and then disappear. These were drawn early this morning, they'll fade away to nothing in the next day or two.”

“Do they hurt you?” He studied his own arm, where I'd hastily drawn the invisibility sigil above his wrist, but it had vanished. “When you drew the mark on me, it felt as if it burned.”

“They hurt you more. When I mark my skin, it's like being scratched with a needle.” I reached forward, bringing my face closer to his as I worked to heal the gash on his cheek. His aroma wafted towards me and I pushed down the crazy urge to hold my breath, to avoid his scent overwhelming me and making me do something crazy. Like throw myself into his arms and kissing him. The mere touch of his skin against mine was already causing electrical energy to spark through my fingers.

“Because you're an Angel,” Lucas responded huskily. “I can hardly believe it.”

I slipped further down the bed, continuing to work. “It takes a bit of getting used to,” I muttered.

Holden was lying beside us and he entered the conversation. “When did you discover all this?” Like Lucas, he held a bottle of blood balanced on his thigh and I realized he bore a remarkable resemblance to his brother. Holden kept his hair much shorter, but it was the same shade of blonde and his sky blue eyes watched me with interest.

“About three months ago. Conal took me to a cookout at his parents' home and I met Nonny. She's the Tremaine pack's secret keeper. When she began to understand what I could do, she brought me here to meet Epi and he confirmed what I was after a lot of tests and discussion.”

Conal appeared, brandishing a mug of coffee. He handed me a couple of painkillers and I swigged them down with the coffee, savoring the wonderful aroma of the brown liquid beneath my noise.

“Nonny's finishing up with Gwynn, once she's settled back into bed she's gonna get some food cooking. No doubt you're starving, Sugar.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed with a little smile.

Conal lifted his gaze to Lucas. “How're you feeling?” His voice was impassive, the look on his face carefully neutral.

Lucas's return gaze was equally blank when he responded. “Better, thank you.”

The tension between the two men could have been cut with a knife and I squirmed uncomfortably between them. I would have willingly faced off against another demon, rather than be sitting here with the two men I'd fallen in love with.

It was a mess, and it was all my own fault.