Wilde Omens Read online

  Chapter 26

  I stared at Watson in a new light. I’d always known he was brilliant, but today, I realized in addition to being brilliant, he was also crafty, manipulative, and, if his plan worked, an amazing actor.

  Holmes, on the other hand, was concerned. I supposed he had the right to be after all Watson had put him through with the Lila saga, but from the angry look on his face and his determination to go through with the plan, I suspected my kidnapping had shaken something loose in him—mainly his faith in Lila.

  Lila’s remark about Watson not wanting to be around Holmes anymore made him think, especially after I disappeared right under his nose. Watson didn’t go into great detail, but I sensed he was trying to make up for letting me down. Not that he could have known Lila would go that far. What he seemed to be most upset about was his misjudgment of someone he once loved.

  I supposed that was fair, but it didn’t make me sympathetic for Lila, considering my father suspected her from the get go. We would wait a few days to let things die down and gauge the situation at COTO. Holmes and the organization were on close terms, so he had an ear to the ground on things going on.

  If Lila was still in their organization, Watson would lure her here with promises of being on her side. I was to act as bait. I wasn’t super excited about that, but it was the best way to get her here. She needed my blood—lots of it, apparently—so the lure of that would probably be enough to override any distrust of Watson. He would proclaim to love her, promise happily ever afters, and each would get what they wanted. Well...sort of. We’d get what we wanted and Lila would stay locked up for the foreseeable future. For a while, though, Lila would think she’d gotten away with it. We would have to take several vials of my blood while she watched to ensure she really trusted us, and Watson would do a switcheroo with cow’s blood.

  Don’t ask me how Holmes or Watson would come across cow’s blood. I’d learned to stop asking the answers to questions I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I wanted to know. Lila would take the still warm fake blood, heated with a convenient hand warmer in Watson’s pocket, and having gotten what she wanted, hopefully deign to leave me alone.

  But things weren’t all that prone to working out well around me, so I reserved judgment for now. Putting the plan in action was bound to result in improvising on the fly. I bet Watson was a pro at it. I, on the other hand, almost flunked drama because I couldn’t act worth a darn. I preferred books to speaking in almost all areas of life, but when I tried to make it as imaginative out loud as it sounded in my head, my voice came out wooden and my face turned bright red. All of my other grades were close to perfect, but my drama grade left a lot to be desired.

  However, this time, my life depended on me being a good actress.

  Two days had passed since our dramatic landing inside the compound. Masters and Aaron had been placed in the student dorms for now and neither were happy about it. Aaron hinted around about staying in my apartments, and even though I was tempted, thoughts of Watson stopped me. I liked Aaron. We’d definitely gotten off to a rocky start, but we were good now, and I trusted him as much as I could trust anyone who heavily drugged me. Spending a couple of nights with him could be a good distraction, but it would throw in so many complications I couldn’t even begin to prepare for.

  Plus...Watson.

  I sighed. I’d barely been able to shake him off my tail since our time in Holmes’ office. While I kept telling him I didn’t need a bodyguard, I’d catch him out the corner of my eye when I’d walk down the hallway or stopped to eat lunch. He was watching me, but he was also watching Aaron. I was stifled and suffocated and getting tired of it.

  I suspected it would all come to a head soon.

  I stood in front of Watson wearing a sports bra and a pair of workout capris. I’d been sweating my ass off with him in our training sessions lately and I preferred not dying of exhaustion due to modesty. My hair was tied up in a high ponytail and I was trying out a new pair of memory foam slip-on shoes. I wasn’t a big fan of the combat boots that went with the academy outfit, so I’d been slowly trying to get out of wearing them. So far, so good.

  His gaze swept my body. “Comfortable?” he said after a moment, but not before I saw him blink and swallow hard.

  I stifled a grin. “Yep. Ready?”

  “Born that way,” he quipped, and swept his leg out without further warning.

  I jumped out of the way and waggled my eyebrows at him. “Too slow,” I taunted. I’d been practicing in my room for lack of better things to do. Every time I left my room, I was being stalked by Aaron or Watson, so I’d taken to staying in and practicing some of the moves he’d taught me and some of the things I’d seen in those few classes I’d attended. I wasn’t half bad, although I had a lot of room to improve.

  Watson didn’t respond, but his lean face sharpened and his nostrils flared. My heart pounded a little bit faster. He came at me in a blur of speed and with a squeak of horror, I barely managed to get out of the way in time.

  “Faster,” he said in a calm voice.

  “What?” I squeaked.

  “I know you can move faster.” He bounced on his heels and came at me again. I barely saw his fist before I ducked and punched him in the thigh. I was aiming for his balls, but he moved too fast.

  An inhale of breath was the only sound he made. I, however, was breathing like a pregnant elephant. I crab walked out of the way. “I’m sorry!”

  Watson raised one eyebrow, and, like the gentleman he was, gave me time to get to my feet before he charged me again.

  “Push yourself!” he screamed at me.

  My lips thinned. Anger pushed to the surface. Watson came at me again, grabbed me by the waist before I could get away, and threw me against the wall. The air flew out of me and I slid down the wall, gasping for breath.

  “Jesus,” he whispered and flew over to me. “I thought you’d move.”

  I didn’t look at him. I didn’t say anything. I flew to my feet and kicked him in the face. He flew back and skidded across the floor. The sickening crunch of bone breaking caused me to pause, but it didn’t stop the rage boiling in my veins.

  “You bastard!” I screamed. “Get up!”

  Watson covered his face with his hand. Blood streamed down his face and neck. He stood, his eyes unreadable, and pulled his t-shirt up to his face. He wiped the blood off, but it still continued to pour down his face.

  We stood facing each other a few feet apart. Watson turned abruptly, pressed a button on the wall, and sped toward me in another blur. I narrowed my eyes, controlled my breath, and everything went into tunnel vision. His fist headed toward my face and I dodged and slapped his hand out of the way with one hand. I punched him in the ribs with the other hand. He grunted.

  I grinned.

  Without waiting for him to attack me again, I sped toward him in a burst of wind and a flurry of rage. I can’t remember how many times I tried to hit him. I only remember when the blows landed. A sick sense of satisfaction flowed through my veins.

  “Good,” he grunted as he dodged and dived out of my way.

  That pissed me off. Everything he said to me today pissed me off. I screamed in rage and came at him again. I don’t remember how long it went on. I don’t remember how many punches I took, though I know it wasn’t that many. I don’t remember the door clicking open.

  “Enough,” came from Watson.

  “No,” I grunted. My body took on its own rhythm. I punched and kicked and flew around him, disturbed at the gracefulness my body exhibited, terrified because I’d never learned most of the things I was doing.

  Watson held out a hand and grabbed my arm. “Enough,” he said again.

  I stopped and watched as he bent over at the waist to calm his breath.

  The sound of clapping rang out through the room. I spun around to see my father leaning against the wall. He wore jeans and a white t-shirt with a pair of slip-on loafers. It was the most casual I’d ever seen him dressed.

&n
bsp; Sweat poured down my face and body, but I wasn’t as out of breath as Watson was. The anger flowed out of my body as fast as it had arrived.

  “Was that what the button was for?” I walked over, took my towel from my bag, and dried my face off.

  “Me. We’ve been waiting for a breakthrough like this.” My father walked over to Watson. “You all right, bloke?”

  Watson waved a hand. Holmes chuckled. “I haven’t seen him that worn out since he and I used to spar.”

  Fortunately, the blood from Watson’s nose dried up. He was still covered in it and, from the sticky feeling between my knuckles, so was I.

  “Ewww,” I murmured. I sat down on the floor, stunned at everything that had happened in the last few minutes. “What exactly happened here?”

  My father pulled up an old chair from the side of the sparring ring. “It appears some of your abilities manifested.”

  I shook my head. “That makes no sense. I never knew martial arts or street fighting before.”

  Watson finally straightened. I winced at his appearance. Two black eyes were beginning to bloom on his face. His right cheekbone was cut and swollen to twice its normal size. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, “the serum intertwines into your DNA so much, it alters it for survival. Each of us has a trigger.” He gave me a bloody smile. “Yours appears to be rage.”

  I hunched my shoulders. “So the trigger to engage the serum fully is anger? That seems dangerous.”

  Holmes tsked. “Not anger, Penelope. We’ve seen you angry plenty of times before. This was straight up murderous rage. I’m surprised Watson isn’t in worse shape.”

  “Sorry,” I murmured.

  Watson grabbed his towel and scraped some of the blood off his face. “Most fun I’ve had in years. Don’t apologize. Bloody fucking brilliant the way you took advantage of my sympathy, though.”

  I had done that. “Did I break your nose?”

  He chuckled. “Broke it and I’m pretty sure you shattered my cheekbone, too.”

  I cringed in horror.

  My father laughed. “We heal faster than the average joe, too. If you haven’t noticed that yet, I’m sure you will very soon.”

  I felt surprisingly okay, although the guilt swimming through my body was pretty intense. Even if he did heal faster than normal, I’d completely lost it on him. I watched him sit on the floor in front of me. He moved a little slower than normal.

  “I really am sorry,” I said again.

  “You needed to do that. You’ve been wanting to punch me since I first met you.”

  My lips twisted. He was right. “Didn’t mean I had to go that far.”

  “Love, it happened to all of us, though with different results. Holmes didn’t sleep for an entire week, his brain manic on the effects of the serum. I screwed my way through half of London.”

  I closed my eyes. “Didn’t need to know that.”

  When I opened them again, Watson was staring at me with amusement. “I’m just saying we all take to it differently. You bottle everything up and even though you had a couple of normal outbursts because of the changes in your life, you’d never really and truly embraced your anger until I picked you up and threw you.” He wiped sweat off the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, by the way. I honestly thought you’d move and then when I started, I couldn’t stop myself.”

  I shrugged. “I suppose we’re even.”

  My father let out a hoot of laughter. “More than even, I should say, daughter. You almost beat him to a bloody pulp.”

  Watson turned to glare at Holmes. “Are you quite finished?”

  Holmes leaned back in his chair and studied us. “You want me to leave, don’t you, old boy?”

  He blew out a breath, and if I didn’t know better, blushed, although it was hard to tell with all the blood on his face.

  “Go away, you bloody bastard.”

  I barked out a laugh and pushed my knees up against my chest. I smelled like sweat and exertion, but I’d rarely known a time when I felt so alive.

  Holmes got up from his chair, gave me a wink, and left us alone.

  I began to feel uncomfortable. We’d passed this weird hurdle in our relationship and I wasn’t sure where we stood. Or even what our relationship was. I’d never beaten the crap out of someone and stayed friends with them—or beaten the crap out of anyone, for that matter.

  “So…” I drawled, “did you want to talk to me about something?” I tried to put a light spin on it, but my voice caught.

  Watson stood and motioned for me to follow him into his apartment. I exhaled a deep breath and followed him. He held the door open for me and I ducked under his arm to walk in.

  I noticed after all that working out he didn’t smell and that made me even more nervous than before.

  I stopped in the kitchen and waited. He held up a finger and disappeared. I started digging through his cabinets for two glasses. I filled them both with water and took a long drink while I waited for him to come back. The last time I was in his place, I injected his rear end with an almost lethal dose of narcotics. Good to see we were probably going to keep things a little more chill today.

  Right when I was starting to get restless and even more uncomfortable, Watson came back with an old dusty album and a small box. I gave him a questioning glance, but didn’t speak. His face was a mixture of trepidation and hope, so I decided not to open my big mouth and insert my foot in it. I rarely could say anything without a hefty dose of sarcasm, but today, I would try my best.

  Watson set the album down on the kitchen island and moved to stand beside me. He cracked open the book. My gaze traveled down to the spidery script on the yellowed pages.

  For my one and only – Mary

  I sucked in a shaky breath and turned startled eyes on him. His face was tight. I moved a little closer to him and put my arm around his shoulder. He didn’t shrug me off. That was a good sign. He flipped open the first pages and the old photographs showed Mary and John with their arms around each other, laughing at the camera. I remembered from history class the old photographs stiff and formal. No one smiled. No one even relaxed.

  “These are amazing,” I whispered.

  John smiled softly. “Holmes took these.”

  I wasn’t surprised. He flipped to another page. This was a picture of only Mary, coolly beautiful in a long Victorian gown. Her hair was in an elaborate up-do and she smiled at something off to the side of the camera.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  His shoulders tensed under my touch. “She was.”

  We stood there for probably half an hour, him flipping the pages with a reverent touch and me in awe of their relationship. This was his one and only wife. The one who’d stolen his heart years ago. I wasn’t sure of the timeline. I didn’t think it was my business to ask. All I knew was she was gone and Watson didn’t seem like he’d ever gotten over it.

  My heart was breaking for him, but I stood shoulder to shoulder with him and watched as he dealt with his history in front of me. He said little, but answered my few questions when I asked. I didn’t probe too much, but the one question I was dying to ask, I never did.

  He closed the album, slid it gently to the side of the counter, and picked up the box he’d brought in. He met my gaze, a world of heartbreak in his, and opened the latch. I looked down and my breath hitched in my throat.

  “I found it with her things after Mary died.” He swallowed and looked up at the ceiling.

  Tears pooled in my eyes and my breath choked off. Inside the box was a silver baby rattle and an aged note.

  And the world was complete with her two best friends…

  I covered my face with my hands. Horror and anger at myself for repeatedly judging him flared within me. How could I presume to even know what Watson’s life was like before he met me?

  “We were just a couple of days away from giving her the serum. I wanted to take it at the same time she did. But —” His nostrils flared. Watson closed the latch on the box and
set it gently on the counter. “After Mary died, I wanted to die with her. I didn’t want to be here any longer.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Even after everything, I’m not sure I still want to be here now.”

  I nodded. I empathized, but I don’t think I could ever fully understand the depth of his loss. I’d never lost anyone so close to me, and I’d never been in love. Not a love like he obviously had shared with his wife.

  He shook his head. “You don’t understand, Penelope.”

  I blinked. “I know that if I lost someone I loved as much as you loved Mary that I wouldn’t want to live without them.”

  He turned and grabbed me by the waist. He dipped his head and stared into my eyes. “Thank you.”

  My mouth curved into a wobbly smile, even though my heart was beating a hundred miles an hour. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” I said. He was such a man of few words that I wanted him to keep talking. With Watson it was always action and very little stillness.

  I took a chance. “Did my father force you to take the serum after her death?”

  He rested his forehead against mine, still so impossibly close and vulnerable. The air stretched thick and taut as I waited for him to answer my question. I thought I already knew the answer and I didn’t know whether to thank or strangle my father. For if what I thought was true, Holmes had forcibly saved the life of one of the most beautiful men I’d ever known.

  Eventually, Watson sighed and nodded.

  “And you hated him for it.” I curved my arms around his neck and stroked the tawny hair resting at his nape. He sighed, his warm breath fanning over my face.

  “I did. Maybe I still do.” He lifted his head and pulled me closer against him. My head rested against the planes of his lean chest, my arms around his back. I exhaled the breath I’d been holding and just allowed myself the moment.

  “He saved your life,” I said.

  Watson didn’t respond.

  I melted into his embrace. The feel of him, exerted and masculine, assaulted my senses. The rational part of my brain experienced a disconnect as my hands slid underneath his rapidly cooling t-shirt and up the planes of his lean chest and abs. He grunted and spun me until my back was against the kitchen isle. His hands slid up to loosen the bun in my hair and it fell around us. He leaned in and pressed his lips against mine.