The Wild Road by Marjorie M. Liu Page B

disquieting as her self-loathing. Lannes rolled onto his side. “What do you want to do?”
    “I want to stop it,” she said immediately. “Find who’s doing this. Learn why.”
    “First thing you have to stop is blaming yourself.”
    Her jaw tightened. “It was my hands that did the deed. That puts Orwell Price’s death inside me.”
    You take too much responsibility, Lannes wanted to tell her, but he knew what it was like to second-guess things that could not be changed. So he said, “I called my brother. Explained the situation to him. He’s going to look for more information on Price.”
    She paled. “Did you tell him what happened at the house?”
    “I had to.”
    “And?”
    “And, nothing. I told you, he’s going to help. Find the connections.”
    “She called Orwell a murderer. She, me, whatever.”
    “If someone was murdered, there should be a way to link Price to it, no matter how distant in the past.”
    The woman shuddered. But that was all. No hysterics, no tears. Just calm, grim determination. “That doesn’t explain how anyone managed to reach into my mind. I must be crazy, to believe it-that minds can be hijacked, stolen. But I felt it. And as for you…”
    She did not finish. Lannes was afraid to ask. The woman pulled the covers higher over her shoulder.
    Sometime later, when he thought she was asleep-when he was almost asleep-she said, “I want to trust you.”
    “So trust me,” he said, and closed his eyes again. He heard her near-silent sigh. Listened to her toss and turn. He did not move or look at her. He tried not to think about how he was alone with a woman in a motel room. There was a joke in there somewhere.
    His wings ached. So did his heart. He kept his eyes shut, and eventually he fell asleep.
    It was a bad, hard sleep. He dreamed. The moon was in the sky, filled with blood, and beneath him was no sea, no trees, no earth to fall upon. Merely stone, a living breathing stone, reaching up to grab him. He could not fly fast enough from it. He could not, no matter how hard he tried. Body heavy, wings weary, all his strength ebbing into sorrow. Magic, entirely out of reach. Helpless. Feeble. Stone touched him. He screamed- And opened his eyes at the exact moment his fist connected with a soft body. A body that made a small sound of pain and rolled off the bed. Lannes stared, shocked and horrified. He scrambled forward, his claws digging into the covers, ripping them. The bed frame shook.
    The woman lay on the floor, propped up on her elbow. One hand was holding her shoulder. She looked dazed.
    Lannes fell beside her. He moved devoid of his usual caution-everything shook with his weight-but he did not touch her, and she hardly seemed to notice the minor earthquake his landing caused. He was so much larger than she. So much stronger. And her trust…her trust was already so tenuous. If he had hurt her…
    “I’m sorry,” he said, breathless. “I’m so sorry.”
    She shook her head. “You were dreaming.”
    “I hurt you.” Lannes began to reach for her and stopped, afraid. But she shook her head again, and leaned toward him, just slightly, as she tried to push herself up.
    He held his breath and placed one hand ever so carefully against her back. Her hair draped over his skin. Fine, feathery, soft as silk.
    “Did I hit your shoulder?” His voice was so rough, so painful, he felt as though he had swallowed glass.
    “I think so,” she said, and winced. “Yes, definitely.”
    He briefly closed his eyes. “You should see a doctor.”
    “No.”
    “Please.”
    “No. It’s not that bad.”
    “I hit you hard.”
    “Yes,” she said, her voice far more gentle than he deserved. “But you were in a bad place.”
    A bad place. No worse than the place she was in.
    Lannes swallowed hard. “If you won’t see a doctor, then at least… at least let me see your shoulder. Of if you aren’t comfortable with that, then go to the bathroom and use the mirror. Just…please. Being