Bright Star. Grayson Reyes-Cole

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СКАЧАТЬ he tried to deny the scene before him. He backed into a low wall at the edge of the roof. Quickly, he looked over his shoulder to see the twinkling skyline of his city. They were at least thirty floors up. He turned back to her. Her head lolled toward him. Her eyes were rolled into the back of her head, just slits of milky white. Then, as if from force of will, bright blue eyes snapped to attention and pinned him where he sat. Jackson swallowed. He tried to ask her who she was. He tried to ask her who did this to her. He tried to ask anything, but he couldn’t. Those eyes were on him. They held him and assessed him. When she blinked, tears streaked her cheeks, and her eyelids flickered convulsively again, he was able to ask her, “What happened to you?”

      “My name is Bright Star.” She answered in a rasp. Forming words caused her to pant in grating wheezes as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes were wide. Blood trickled from the corner of her lips with each violent gasp. She swallowed and her auburn lashes fluttered as she stared upward. “I’ll be dead soon.”

      “No!” Jackson rasped. Somehow, he found control of his limbs and rose up onto his knees at her side. He could handle this. He had been trained to handle this. He reached out to touch her hand with its endlessly working fingers. She was ice cold to the touch. He held those fingers still in his own, willing them to warm.

      “You have great Talent,” she stated in a deeper voice than she’d used before. Her eyes that had been a clear aquamarine, blazed bright and turquoise. They were so bright that Jackson imagined her lids were tinted blue as she blinked.

      Jackson shook his head. He needed to be clear. “Who are you, Bright Star? Please tell me.”

      She started to speak but only managed a painstaking swallow. She opened her mouth again but only gurgled blood. Jackson pinched her nose with his left hand then used the fingers of his other to swipe excess liquid from her mouth, thinking that it was the second time in the day he had performed this technique. He pressed her tongue down then turned her head to the side to clear the last of the fluid. In the back of her throat, he could see a thick, bloody bubble. Her breath was sweet, salty and metallic. He blew into her lips and she swallowed again, this time less painfully and her airway seemed to be no longer blocked. “Talk to me,” he commanded again, shaking her wrist. He watched her hand flop at its end.

      “I…I—”

      “Come on,” Jackson coaxed.

      “I’m dying,” she told him again.

      “You’re not,” he told her forcefully, rubbing her fingers more briskly between his palms. But she shook her head silently, refuting his words. “Just keep talking to me. Keep talking. Tell me who you are.”

      “I am a Shifter, like you,” she told him, though her words were slow and measured. She swallowed freely. “I am going to die in seven minutes. The Shift I used to bring you here required too much of me, more than I have to give. The Perma-Shift sped up the bleeding. I… I…”

      Jackson considered her words. She was a Shifter. Not a Serviceman. Amazing. Impossible. Children with Talent never managed to avoid the Service. None with any real power as far as he knew had ever done it. The only Shifters who didn’t get fully assimilated were those whose Energy was so insignificant that they could pass for instinct, intuition, good luck even. But the Service still watched them, looking for the power to blossom into something more. This woman was powerful, maybe more than he was, but she was not a Serviceman.

      An image of his brother Rush flashed in his mind. Jackson shook his head again. “How long have you been here?” He asked as he searched his pockets for his key ring. He didn’t have it, but located it on the ground, having dropped it when he fell. The mini flashlight on it beamed light in each of her eyes. Her eyes—God, they were incredibly blue—followed him intensely, but her pupils did not respond. He killed the light and her eyes drifted closed. Her fingers went limp in his hand, and he patted her cheek firmly to bring her back. Then he started talking to her again: “If you could call me—bring me here—you may have been able to save your own life. Why would you Shift to bring me here?” he asked roughly, though his voice sounded desperate.

      Her eyes blazed brighter like a fire that had been stoked. “Save me,” She whispered in a full-hearted plea.

      He would not tell her that he couldn’t save her, that he wasn’t sure he possessed the power to do so. “Why did you bring me here? Why won’t you save yourself?”

      “I couldn’t. I can’t. I haven’t the Energy,” she answered, bringing one forearm up to cover her eyes. “Please,” she begged in an agonized croak. “You have to save me.”

      Jackson considered her words then cast his gaze around the rooftop looking for something, anything that would help him save her. He turned back. “Bright Star,” her eyes were closed. “Bright Star!” he called again, clapping his hands over her face. Blood spattered on her milky skin and her eyes came open gradually.

      “Bright Star, I need you to keep your eyes open,” he told her in strong clear words. “Can you do that for me?”

      There was barely a nod, but there was one just the same. Jackson leaned over to look her in the eye even while his hands eased up to her abdomen. “Please just keep your eyes open. Please. And keep talking to me.”

      Her eyes widened and they snapped to the hand at her waist. She started to shake her head violently. Her chest rose and fell quickly with her increasingly rapid breathing. “Don’t.” she told him. “Don’t!”

      “I’m not going to do anything,” he told her, stroking hair from her face. He grimaced when he realized he had smoothed more blood into her skin. It was a red crescent over her forehead and cheek. “I just need to check your wound.”

      “Don’t!” She pleaded again. Clear drops began to collect in the corners of her eyes. They balanced precariously on her cheeks then melted down her face. “Don’t,” she begged raggedly.

      Jackson stopped gazing into those tortured eyes. He couldn’t do this if he had to see her looking at him like that. Slowly he slipped his hands up to the tender, opened flesh around the knife. He tested the thick syrup around the wound. It was clotting already. That was good. Clotting was good. He checked the knife: tapered, edges smooth, not serrated.

      He leaned toward her again. His face nearly pressed against hers again. This time he tried to hold her mesmeric gaze. He would have to distract her from what he was about to do. He would have to see if the knife came out freely, without causing any more damage. Ever so careful, he eased his fingers up the black, plastic handle, barely touching it. Then, just as slowly, he wrapped his fingers around it.

      “Please stop,” she cried. Her eyes were luminescent, drowning pools. “Please stop.”

      “Look at me,” he softly urged. She didn’t. “Look at me,” he commanded more firmly. Her blazing blue eyes turned back to him and he found himself lost in them again. Only for a second. Jackson knew what he had to do. He firmly took hold of the handle and pulled. He sickened at the sound of the knife cutting away at her insides. He looked down and his pulse quickened as he realized the bleeding had started again and now her entire abdomen was soaked in blood. It was flowing from her as if her body was a scarlet fountain.

      “Oh no,” he heard himself say. “Oh God, no.” The blood was so fast and so abundant. Hot and sticky, it bathed his hands when, on impulse, Jackson pressed his fingertips to the wound, applying pressure. He hoped the pressure would stop the blood, but he also needed to touch her to release as much power as he could stand into her at full strength. He closed his eyes and shook his shoulders loosely, trying to СКАЧАТЬ