The Soul Collector

Ch. Twenty-Eight

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."

- Oscar Wilde

                                                                              ***

Galloway woke up alone, very early morning light peeking around the curtains, casting the room in dull greys. The sheets tangled around her body as she sat up.

With a sigh, she rolled out of the bed and stretched, pleased when her hip barely complained. She unwrapped her hand to find the skin whole and unmarred, her knuckles no longer aching. Rolling her neck, she threw away the bandages and dressed at a leisurely pace, her mind blissfully empty and still for once.

Not bothering with her shoes, she left the bedroom and started down the stairs, her bare feet silent on the steps. She stifled a yawn, then stopped at the bottom of the stairs when she saw a light on in the kitchen. She padded slowly down the short hall, weighing the possibility of it being Rhys in the kitchen rather than Logan. She wasn't sure she wanted to see the telepath so soon.

Galloway could make out low voices and her steps faltered, hesitating in the hallway rather than going into the kitchen. She listened to what they were saying.

Mostly because they seemed to be discussing her.

"Honestly, Rhys? This is exactly why I didn't introduce you to her," Logan said wearily. "She's hurt enough. She always has been. You can see that and you used it to your advantage."

Rhys scoffed. "You really think that's what I'm doing? After everything I've done to stop this, after all I've been through, you really think that all I want to do is screw around with her?"

Logan's voice was icy and protective—a tone similar to what she imagined her brothers would have used if they had been able to watch her grow up. "Don't talk about her like that. And, kinda, yeah. That's almost exactly what I think."

There was a small silence, and Galloway could imagine the wry glare she was sure Rhys was giving his brother. 

"She is falling, Logan!" Rhys hissed, his vehemence making her heart pound in her throat. "Hard. For that goddamn Hellhound. And when she does, she'll fall a whole lot harder and take the whole damn world with her. There won't be a thing you can do after that point to save her. You won't be able to pull off another daring rescue. Not without dying yourself."

There was another silence. Then Logan said, "I wouldn't be so sure about that. I'm pretty resourceful."

"No," Rhys shot back. "I've always suspected what you promised to come and get me. And breaking that contract will get you dead."

"I brought you here to talk to her, Rhysland," Logan responded, clearly avoiding his brother's insinuations. "Not manipulate her."

"Who said anything about manipulating her?" Rhys snorted, and Galloway frowned.

"You sleeping with her wasn't what I had in mind when I asked you to come here. I asked you here because you know Hell and you know that what happened to you is happening to her."

"Maybe," Rhys said quietly, catching Galloway by surprise. "It might be the same thing. Or we could both be getting paranoid in our old age."

There was a reluctant huff of laughter from Logan. "What makes you think that what's happening here, isn't what's happening here?"

She leaned forward slightly, wondering the exact same thing. Rhys had seemed pretty damn sure yesterday.

There was a small thud, and she wondered if Rhys had pulled himself up onto the counter. Then, he said, "Nothing, really. Honestly...I'm really not sure what's happening here. She actually does trust the Hound. It colors her mind every time she thinks about him. I'm not sure even she realizes how much she trusts him. I don't think she lets herself realize it."