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For several seconds I did nothing more than stand there staring at him, my fists clenched and body shaking. Then, gradually, the rage eased and I dropped down beside him, hugging my knees to my chest as I squeezed my eyes shut and fought the urge to cry.
Goddamn it, what had just happened?
Warmth surrounded me, then strong hands caught mine and squeezed them gently. “Risa,” Azriel said softly. “Look at me.”
I didn’t want to. I really didn’t, but there was a note of command in his voice that I couldn’t ignore. I opened my eyes and stared into the blue of his. Saw the understanding there, the compassion.
It shook me almost as much as the rage.
“The events of the last few months have not only threatened your physical well-being,” he said softly, “but also damaged your emotional safety and security. It is natural that, sooner or later, you will experience trauma-induced incidents such as this.”
“But I was moving on, I was coping. Why would the rage hit now and not before, when it all first happened?”
“Because you did not seek help for—or even talk about—the events. You bottled it up inside and forced yourself to go on as normal—”
“But I didn’t. I was useless to everyone for weeks—”
He squeezed my hands again, his gaze searching mine—and, I suspected, seeing far more than anyone else ever had. “That was grief, and natural given what had happened. But we are connected through our chi, and I know the fury, self-loathing, and uselessness that burn inside you, even now.”
Tears tracked their way down my cheeks, cold against my skin. I didn’t dispute his words, though. How could I, when they were true?
I hadn’t dealt with the anger at all. I’d merely pushed it down, pushed it away, and tried to function as normally as I could.
“The rage had no outlet until these men—who may or may not be involved with your mother’s killer—reentered your life.” He released one hand and touched my cheek lightly, and I closed my eyes against the compassion in his eyes and the sense of caring in his touch.
He was a reaper. He couldn’t care.
It was dangerous to even think that, because he was only here for the same reason as everyone else—to f
ind my father.
“Yes,” he agreed softly, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand what you are going through, or sympathize with the rage. I have felt such rage myself.”
I opened my eyes again. “But you’re a reaper—”
“I’m a Mijai,” he corrected. “And as a warrior, I have experienced more than my fair share of loss.”
My gaze searched his. “Someone close to you?”
“A friend,” he said, then released my hand and rose.
The compassion and understanding disappeared in an instant, and I knew I’d get little more out of him. But that didn’t stop me from asking, “So what did you do?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I did exactly what you are attempting. I tracked down and killed those responsible.”
“And did it make anything any better? Did it make you feel any better?”
His mouth twisted bitterly. “No. But at least I could rest easier with the knowledge that they would not be able to destroy anyone else.”
And that’s what I wanted. While it was undoubtedly true that I wanted vengeance so badly I could almost taste it, I also wanted to stop these people from doing to someone else what they’d done to my mom.
He studied me for a heartbeat, then said, “You’re bleeding.”
As if his words were a trigger, the pain hit, rolling through me in heated waves. I unzipped my coat and peeled it away from my side. The shirt underneath was torn and covered in blood, but the wound itself wasn’t really that deep. It hurt like a bitch, but then shallow wounds were often more painful than the deep ones.
“That is a debatable point,” Azriel commented.
“You’ve obviously never experienced a paper cut.” I pulled off the remnants of my shirt and used the unbloodied bits to stanch the wounds. There were benefits to being half wolf, but quick healing was one of those things I didn’t quite get enough of. I healed much faster than a human, but my inability to shift into wolf shape meant I couldn’t get the almost instantaneous restoration that most wolves enjoyed.
