Because really, when it came right down to it, the cold, hard, rocky truth was that my mother and sister had died because of my elemental power. Because of what I could do with it. To say that I had some guilt about that would be an understatement. Ever since I’d found out that I was the cause for all of this, for all the misery and suffering in my own life, I’d felt sick over it. Just — sick.
Still, despite what Jo-Jo and even Mab thought, I wasn’t foolish enough to think that I was the greatest elemental power that had ever been born. There was always somebody stronger out there, somebody quicker, tougher, smarter. All you had to do was be unlucky enough to meet them, have an off day, and then you got dead.
“I told you that your Ice magic would only get stronger since you overcame the block of having that silverstone in your hands,” Jo-Jo said in a soft voice. “I’d say that it’s the equal of your Stone power now. It was what saved you last night. And it’s what will help you kill Elektra LaFleur. Don’t be afraid of it, Gin. Don’t be afraid of yourself.”
I didn’t meet the dwarf’s eyes, but another shiver swept through me just the same.
Because it was too late for all that now. It had been ever since the night Mab had murdered my family.
Jo-Jo went into the den to put some blankets over Vinnie’s and Natasha’s still-sleeping forms. The dwarf agreed with me that the two of them needed to stay out of sight for the next few days, which meant they’d be bunking here for a little while longer. At least until I’d dealt with LaFleur — one way or another.
I took a long, hot shower and put on the spare set of clothes Finn had brought over for me earlier. Then I went back downstairs, fully intending to head over to the Pork Pit for the rest of the day, help out Sophia, and see if LaFleur came by for her inevitable visit.
To my surprise, Owen was waiting downstairs in the kitchen.
“I thought you were going home to Eva,” I said.
“I’m going to go right now,” he said, getting to his feet. “And you’re coming with me.”
“I am?”
Owen nodded. “You are. You need to rest, Gin. At least for one more day before you put yourself out there as bait for that assassin.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And you’re, what? Offering to take care of me for the rest of the day?”
Owen nodded again. “Night too,” he said in a husky voice. “If you’ll let me.”
I stared into his violet eyes, looking once again for any hint, any sign, that he’d finally wised up. That Owen had finally realized how cold, violent, twisted, and emotionally distant I really was, and that he was finally ready to pretend he’d never met me. But there was nothing in his gaze but warm acceptance — and stubborn determination to watch out for me, even if I didn’t want him to. Even if I didn’t think I deserved it. Even if I didn’t think I was actually worthy of someone’s time, consideration, attention, and sympathy.
The tangled threads around my heart tightened a little more.
Just for Owen standing there in Jo-Jo’s kitchen and caring enough about me to try to delay my inevitable death at least one more day. The realization, the sheer force of it, took my breath away, and I had to reach out and put one hand on the kitchen table to steady myself.
“So,” Owen said, “are you coming along peaceful-like, or am I going to have to hog-tie you and put you in the car?”
“Promises, promises, sheriff,” I quipped. “You have no idea how much I like being tied up.”
A slow, lazy grin spread across Owen’s chiseled face. “Well, maybe that’s one of the things we can talk about in greater detail — at my house this evening.”
The grin dropped from his face, and he was serious once more. “What do you say, Gin? Come home with me. Even if it’s only for today.”
Please. He didn’t say the word, but we both heard it in the rough, raw tone of his voice. And try as I might, I couldn’t stop the silken threads wrapped around my heart from quivering in agreement. From wanting to enjoy just one more carefree day and night with Owen, before I focused all my attention on the deadliest enemy I’d ever faced.
“All right,” I said in a teasing tone, trying to lighten the mood and the unfamiliar, uncomfortable emotions flooding my chest. “But only if we can talk about that tied-up thing in much greater detail.”
“Oh,” Owen said, another grin creasing his face. “I think we can arrange that.”
22
Sometime during the night, Finn had gone back to the train yard and retrieved my car from the discreet location where I’d parked it. So I was able to follow Owen back to his house in my own set of wheels.
An hour after our talk in the kitchen, I was safely ensconced in Owen’s massive bed, with several pillows behind my back and several more blankets piled on top of me, even though I was no longer cold. Owen had also started a fire in the stone fireplace in the corner of the bedroom, and the flames danced merrily, bathing the room in a pleasant, cheery glow. It was late afternoon now, and outside, the long winter shadows had already started to stretch over the landscape, blackening everything they touched. But in here, everything was bright and warm and cozy.
After seeing how I was doing, Eva Grayson had gone out to do some last-minute Christmas shopping with her best friend, Violet Fox. So Owen and I were alone in the mansion. After starting the fire, Owen had told me to sit tight and then disappeared into some other part of the house, saying that he had a surprise for me. As a general rule I didn’t like surprises. Not many assassins did. But I was willing to make an exception just this once.
A few minutes later, Owen stepped back into the bedroom, carrying a large wrapped box that was obviously a Christmas present. Fat, blue snowmen covered the paper, grinning up at me like fools, while a wide red ribbon topped off the whole thing.
Owen sat down on the bed next to me and put the box in my lap. “Merry Christmas, Gin.”
“Oh.” There I went again, being a conversational genius.
I stared at the box, then looked up at Owen. “But I don’t have your present yet. At least, not with me.”
I winced at the lousy lie. The truth was that so much had been going on these last few days that I hadn’t given any more thought to what I might get Owen. He was a millionaire in his own right with a slew of successful businesses, so it wasn’t like he really needed anything. Still, I wanted to get him something — something meaningful, special. But what could it be? Somehow, I didn’t think that a light-up Christmas sweater or a cheesy holiday tie would cut it.
“That’s all right,” Owen rumbled. “I thought I would give these to you early. You might find a use for them before Christmas.”
Now I was curious, eagerly so. Fletcher Lane might not have been my blood father, but the old man had passed his rampant sense of curiosity on to me. In fact, it was the one trait that always seemed to get the best of me, no matter how hard I tried to squash it.
Still, I hesitated. “Are you sure you want me to open it? Right now?”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
I plucked the fat bow off the box and placed it on top of Owen’s head. He playfully grumbled at me, but left the red ribbon where it was, a streamer trailing down each side of his chiseled face. Then I ripped into the snowman-covered wrapping paper, shredding it with my nails. The box was solid and much heavier than I’d thought it would be, and a moment later I realized why. It was actually a silverstone case — the slick, fancy kind that a banker like Finn might use to carry around a large sum of cash.