Locked in Silence: Grimm's Circle, Book 5 (7 page)

You just called me a fucking whore
.

Vanya clamped a hand over her mouth, tried not to laugh. Okay—she knew her grasp of Russian was admittedly pretty damn shoddy. Ever since her father had died, there wasn’t really anybody to speak it with. He’d died when she was young. Too young. Both she and her sister had been raised to speak both languages, and in school, naturally, they’d spoken English. They’d preferred to use English with each other, for the most part. With Grandma, they’d used an odd mix of ASL, Russian and English, and a mix of Russian and English with their father.

And he hadn’t
ever
taught them
those
words—they were just words she’d remembered hearing from him occasionally—usually in a fit of anger, along with other colorful phrases.

“Well, that’s sad,” she drawled, finally lowering her hand. “You speak it better than I do.” Then she winced, blood rushing to her cheeks. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean it like that I’m so sorry.”

He smiled.
Why? I don’t speak. It would be pointless to get upset over a casual remark and pointless for you to have to walk on eggshells and watch every single word you say.
He dumped the large leather duffel he’d been carrying onto the floor and sat on the bed across from her, eying her closely.
You’re tired.

“I’m fine.”

You’re tired. Too tired. I’ve told you, it will take you a few months to completely adjust, and I’m pushing you hard with your training. You are allowed to be tired.
He pointed to the phone and the neat stack of take-out menus he’d collected from somewhere.
Pick out somewhere to order food from
.

Vanya’s belly chose that exact moment to growl, even though the last thing she needed to be doing was ordering takeout. Her money was running pretty damn slim, and somehow it didn’t seem right that she keep stealing the way she’d always done. Granted, she’d taken money from those who wouldn’t need it—namely the demons she’d killed—but still. She was supposed to be an angel now—a guardian angel. Angels shouldn’t steal. “Ah, maybe I could run to the store and pick up some stuff for us to keep around here…”

Silence lifted a brow.
Like you did last week
? He opened his mouth and mimed gagging himself.
If I never see Ramen noodles again, it will be too soon. No, you need to eat—real food, Vanya.

“Look, I don’t have much money…”

Silence lifted a brow.
I’ll pay for it. After all, it’s only fair. I’m sharing the room. I’ll handle the meals.

She should argue more…

But she was pretty damn tired of Ramen noodles, peanut butter and all that crap herself.

Still, feigning reluctance, she reached for the menus.

Well, one nice thing—there wasn’t a shortage of decent places to eat in Ann Arbor. Nice thing about college towns. It meant there were plenty of places that offered takeout. She settled on Italian, figured her body could use the carbs. Silence had told her she’d be very hungry for the first few months, her body replenishing the reserves she’d depleted while she went through the change.

While she was studying the menu, she was vaguely aware of Silence rising from the bed, vaguely aware of him moving around the room—although he didn’t make a sound.

He was so damn quiet—
Silence
was an appropriate name for him, all right.

Wavering between the fettuccini alfredo and the lasagna, fighting the heavy weight of her tired body, she sighed. That voice—the one that had her convinced she was going out of her mind—was there in the back of her head again, murmuring, muttering…

“I push her too hard. She looks too tired. I should let her rest more.”

“I’m fine,” she said absently.

Then she stiffened and lifted her head, all too aware of his sudden, intent interest. Swallowing, she met his pale blue gaze.

His eyes narrowed.

Blood rushed to her cheeks.

“Um…nothing.” She looked back at the menu in her hands, tried to ignore the voice.

It was harder, though—because now his voice was
louder
.

More focused.

And now, he was calling her by name.

“Do you hear me, Vanya?”

Pointedly, she ignored it. Lasagna, she thought. She really thought she could use some lasagna. It had been a while since she’d had a good dish of lasagna. And after all, he was buying, right? Bread too. Salad. Yeah. That sounded good.

“Vanya, look at me.”

She started to whistle as she reached over and grabbed a pen and a notepad from the bedside table.

“You’ll have to figure out what you want and then I’ll call it in,” she said, forcing more cheer than she actually felt into her voice.

“Just order me what you’re getting
.”

“Okay, two—”

Fuck.

Her hand tightened on the pen, and then she carefully laid it down before she looked over at him.

He was eyeing her closely, a narrow, appraising look on his face.

“You hear me,”
he said pointedly.

“Ah…well, not all the time,” she hedged. Licking her lips, she looked at the menus and then laid them back down, sighing. “I just…hell, I thought I was going crazy or suffering some weird, post-death, come-back-to-life thing.”

That deep, rumbling laughter whispered through her mind, and a wide grin split his face.

“Exactly how often do you hear me?”

“Shit,” she muttered, shifting around on the bed. Sighing, she tucked her hair back behind an ear. From the corner of her eye, she saw the menus. Seizing on that distraction, she shoved one toward him. “Aren’t we going to eat? I’m hungry.”

He lifted a brow.

It was amazing how many things he could say with simply a look.

Still, she didn’t look away, didn’t lower the menu.

He signed,
I already said, whatever you’re having. Order. Then we talk
.

Naturally, it only took two minutes to place the order—nowhere near enough time for her to get her thoughts straight.

The past month had been hard, grueling—she didn’t even know it was possible for a person to be beaten into the dirt as often as he had. It didn’t necessarily help that come morning, her body felt completely refreshed, completely revitalized…meaning he came at her just as hard, just as fast.

She’d rather they start a fresh bout of training all over again than to have any sort of…
talk
.

Especially something remotely personal.

After she laid the phone back in the cradle, she looked back at Silence.

The two of them, they hadn’t done much talking, at least not of a personal nature. Lots of training. He’d done a lot of explaining about what sort of demons they’d face—succubae, incubae, orin…others. How they traveled from a place called the netherplains to their world—most of them had to take over a human body in order to do much of anything.

Basically, she played student to his teacher—if there was a theme song for her new life, maybe it could be “Hot for Teacher”.

He made her heart race just looking at him.

He also made her belly clench, made her palms go damp, her knees go weak.

He made her ache.

In the worst possible way, in the sweetest way.

And now he wanted to talk about her gifts.

Hell. This was too damn personal.

What if he was like her?

She’d gotten pretty damn good at hiding how she felt over the past few years, but if he was anything like her…

Vanya blushed even thinking about it. Blushed furiously as she sat there with her chest tight, her palms sweaty, her breath lodged in her throat.

“You’ve got gifts, don’t you?” she blurted out.

Silence narrowed his eyes.
We’re supposed to be talking about your gifts
, he signed. He added emphasis by jabbing a finger at her after he’d finished.
Yours
.

“I know. I just…well, this is weird. I haven’t talked to anybody about what I can do. It’s…”

The hard line of his mouth softened and the aggravated look in his blue eyes faded.
Not easy to talk about, is it
? he signed.

“No.” She hitched a shoulder up, wondered how she could explain that she barely even needed him to sign when he was talking to her because she often heard his voice—low and deep—in the back of her mind. And if he was
thinking
about her, she heard him too.

How did she tell him that?

He sat down next to her. She had to check the impulse to scoot away—the long, hard length of his thigh against hers made her uneasy—made her want to climb into his lap, see if she couldn’t crack the polite, friendly mask he wore around her.

He held out a hand. Startled, she looked at it—stared at his broad, scarred palm. His hands were a mess—ridged with scars that looked like knife cuts, burns, other old injuries she couldn’t even indentify. So at odds with his perfect, angelic face. Looking from that scarred hand into ice-blue eyes, she said, “What?”

He grinned. And again she
heard
his thoughts. “
You want to know about my gifts. I’ll show you.”

Nervously, she laid her hand in his. “You’re not a psychic, are you?”

He shook his head, and then with his free hand, gestured to the room.

Vanya looked around. “I don’t know what I’m looking for…”

He took his hand away.

The room fell into darkness. Darkness so complete, she couldn’t even see him, although he sat right next to her. She couldn’t
feel
him, and she’d gotten pretty damn good at that.

Then his hand was in hers again, and the darkness was gone.

“Oh—”

Once more he pulled his hand away.

The darkness returned.

“—shit.”

This time, the darkness didn’t disappear. It gradually bled away, like the night bled into day. Her heart banged hard against her ribs as she looked at him.

“What in the hell was that?”

He smiled and signed. She didn’t recognize it, though.

When he spoke into her mind, she stiffened. “
It’s illusion. I can make you think you see darkness when there is none.”

She blinked. “You mean, it wasn’t really dark?” Scowling, she remembered the night at the warehouse—the night she died. “That night. At the warehouse.”

Absently, she reached up and touched her throat. She couldn’t remember much of anything beyond that first pain, the shock of it. But she remembered everything right
up
to that point…the fear, the terror. The helplessness—knowing she’d been alone.

But she hadn’t been.

He’d been there.

Waiting.

Part of her wanted to rebel at the thought—wanted to demand to know why he hadn’t done something—even though she already knew the answer. He’d done exactly what he’d been sent to do.

She couldn’t very well become one of them if she hadn’t died, could she?

And just as she’d been promised, she hadn’t been alone.

“That night at the warehouse,” she said again. “There was so much darkness. But it wasn’t darkness, was it? It was you.”

He nodded. A grim look entered his eyes. “
You know that I couldn’t have stopped what happened—not if you’re meant to be one of us. But I cannot blame you if you are angry.”

“I know that.” She sighed and looked away. Bracing her elbows on her knees, she covered her face and said it again. “I know that. It doesn’t mean it’s easy to
think
about, although…well, it helps knowing I wasn’t alone.”

She shot him a faint smile. “I was terrified, thinking I was alone.”

“You weren’t.”
He touched the back of her hand. His mouth twisted as he studied her face.
“It wasn’t easy to simply stand there, either. Even knowing what was to come.”

She blew out a breath. “Well, it’s over and done, right?” Self-preservation had her forcing some distance between them. Sitting there, so close, was wreaking havoc on her state of mind, not to mention was it doing to her body. “So, the darkness in there that night—that was all you?”

Silence nodded and made that unusual sign, the one she didn’t recognize. As he did it, he said in her mind,
“Illusion. Just illusion. It’s one of my gifts
.
”

“That’s pretty cool,” she murmured, smiling.

He shrugged. Then he reached up, tapped her brow, waiting with a lifted brow.

She grimaced. Standing, she moved away from him, slicking her damp palms down the front of her pants. They were snug-fitting black yoga pants—something Silence had picked up for her. Along with several other changes of clothes—more yoga pants, close-fitting sport bras, the sort of clothes she could maneuver in while he pounded her into the floor.

“I’m psychic,” she said, keeping her back to him, staring out the window into the night. “It’s not exactly reliable, and usually I’ve never gotten anything more than the odd random thought here and there. It was strongest with my sister. After she died, it got more erratic—more like a radio station I couldn’t quite get to tune in. It was awful when I was in crowds—like I was hearing all these screaming voices and I couldn’t focus on any of them.”

The muscles at the base of her neck were tight. Reaching up, she cupped a hand over it, rolled her head first one way then the other, trying to ease the tension there, but it didn’t help.

She was still a mess of nerves.

A mess of need.

She didn’t hear him—

She felt him.

He was there, that big, powerful body heating hers through and through. His hand came up, lightly brushed hers. As if asking permission.

Get the hell away from him before you do something really, really stupid, Van,
she told herself.
Like throw yourself at him.

But when he gently nudged her hand out of the way, she couldn’t find the strength to do anything but stand there.

“And the gift is different now, isn’t it? Is more powerful? Other changes since you came back?”

She shivered at the low, velvety rumble of his voice echoing through her mind. Or maybe it was the way his roughened skin rasped over her neck as he dug his thumbs into her skin and started to massage away the tension there. Heat blossomed inside and she swallowed the moan before it could escape.