Part 30 (1/2)

Perrin's fingers pressed lightly on either side of the parasite. ”It is . . . it is just the size it should be.”

His voice was raw. Jenny tried to look at him, but he held her down, with another hand on her shoulder, this one a little firmer. Her uneasiness grew.

”You going to take it out?” she asked him.

”No.” Perrin's voice was even quieter, rougher. ”No, I won't do that.”

This time she forced his hand aside and rolled over to look at him. Perrin had pale skin-most anyone would call him albino, she thought-but he seemed even whiter than usual. Or maybe just ashen. His expression was grim and cold, but there was no hiding his eyes, and the pain in them was frightening.

”Perrin,” she whispered.

”It is a kra'a,” he said, practically breathing each word. ”It should never have bonded to you.”

Jenny swallowed hard. ”Will it kill me?”

His hesitation was not rea.s.suring. ”I don't know.”

She stared at him, helpless, filled with questions she didn't know how to ask. ”What is it?”

Perrin closed his eyes. ”It is the . . . larva . . . of a Kraken.”

Jenny burst out laughing, then choked, feeling sick. ”No.”

He didn't seem disturbed by her reaction. ”It's not what you think. Every thousand years, a sleeping Kraken, male or female, produces a clutch of these larvae. They do not mature. They are like . . . antennae. Linked to the Kraken's mind. A way for the beast to see the world around it and know if it is time to wake.”

Jenny hugged her knees to her chest, suddenly filled with the need to be very small. ”Your kind uses these . . . kra'a . . . to keep the Kraken down.”

Perrin nodded, eyes still closed. ”We destroy all but one, then bond that surviving larvae to a suitable host, as it would have bonded to any other life-form, if left on its own. When a larva is newborn, it is untrained, unfocused. Only the very strong are given the task of training an unformed kra'a. It requires intense mental stamina. The first three hosts usually do not live longer than a decade during that initial bonding.”

Jenny frowned. Perrin said, ”The one in your head is over seven hundred years old. You don't need to worry.”

Creeped out was a better description for the way she felt. ”It seems to have a will of its own.”

”Kraken are intelligent, their larvae no less so. That kra'a shared the minds of twelve others before you. It is a . . . deep relations.h.i.+p. The kra'a becomes part of your soul.”

Perrin looked ill when he said that-a broken quality in his voice, something broken in his eyes. Stirred her instincts in a bad way.

”This was yours,” she said.

Grief twisted his face, but it smoothed into a cool hard mask. ”Yes.”

”It was taken from you.”

”Yes.”

”Maurice-the old man I was sailing with-tried to remove this thing from my head. Almost killed me. Or felt like it.”

Perrin shuddered. ”I had been its host for almost eight human years when my kind ripped it from me.”

f.u.c.k, she thought. f.u.c.k.

The parasite twitched. Inside her head, a voice whispered, We grieved. We grieved and did not understand. His dreams were good, strong.

”They didn't think I would survive,” he said, and again, there was a broken quality to his voice that cut her: loneliness, and despair, and a hurt that ran all the way to the soul. She heard herself in his voice. She heard her own voice, six years younger, sitting in a cemetery by a gravestone with no name.

”You did nothing wrong,” she said, and didn't know if that was the parasite talking or her. Just that she knew it was the truth-deep in the heart of her gut where all her most trusted instincts resided.

”I dreamed,” he whispered. ”And they tried to take my dreams.”

Jenny had no idea what that meant, but the parasite twitched again, and a wild roaring heat rushed from the base of her skull down her spine. She reached out, and very gently placed her hand on top of his. Then, just as carefully, she leaned off the bed and kissed his ear, and murmured, ”Breathe.”

He drew in a choking laugh that sounded like a sob. And then it was a sob, strangled into a terrible silence that left him shaking so violently, Jenny was afraid for him. She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him close until his head rested on the cot, their cheeks pressed together, her mouth against his ear, whispering words that she forgot as soon as she said them, just that her heart was in her throat, she wanted him to feel her heart, and hear it, and know he wasn't alone.

She sensed movement at the door. Eddie. Pale, with dark hair that curled loosely over his eyes. He must have been in his early twenties, but he had an old-man gaze, something she had not noticed in the surveillance photos. He didn't look dangerous, except for his eyes. Core of steel.

Eddie looked at Perrin, his expression startled, then embarra.s.sed. He carried power bars, and another bottle of water. He did not make a sound, but Perrin suddenly stilled.

The young man backed away, disappearing into the hall. Jenny listened for his footsteps. He was quiet, but she heard the faint sc.r.a.pe of sneakers against wood.

Perrin tried to pull away. She tightened her grip around his neck and slid off the cot, into his lap. He made a m.u.f.fled sound of protest, but she shook her head, making herself comfortable on the floor, with him. His arms were heavy and warm, his cheeks wet.

Why did this happen? Jenny wanted to ask him. Why me, why you?

More questions. So many questions.

But she didn't ask them. Not yet. Instead, she listened to his heart beneath her ear and felt the rise and fall of his chest, and it dragged her under into that soft place that felt perilously close to dreams, dreams that had always been safe.

”I'm sorry,” she murmured to Perrin. ”I'm so sorry.”

Perrin said nothing, but his fingers slid through her hair and rested warm on the parasite.

We dream again, said that quiet voice. We dream.

The next time she opened her eyes, Perrin was gone. Jenny lay on the floor. A pillow had been pushed under her head, a blanket draped over her hips. She was sweaty, her hair smelled like hot pepper-and her mouth tasted like cotton b.a.l.l.s.

Jenny fumbled for the water bottle that had been laid beside her. She saw power bars, too. Her stomach growled, followed by a reeling ache that had her ripping one of them open, pus.h.i.+ng it into her mouth before she realized what she was doing. Tasted dry, but good.

She washed it down with half a bottle of water, ignoring the low, throbbing ache in her face. Eating and drinking hurt. So did standing. Her entire body was sore.

The floor vibrated beneath her. She heard an engine running, a dull roar that rose and fell in a slow, chugging rhythm.

Jenny stumbled to the door. A small hand mirror had been nailed to the wall, and she caught her reflection. More like, it caught her.

Half her face was purple, though the bruising was worst around her mouth and cheek. Her eye was a little swollen, but thankfully not enough to limit her vision.

Jenny looked like someone had punched her, though. And she hated that. She hated looking like a victim. Again.

Les, how could you?

Les, I'm going to kick your a.s.s.