Make Me A Match (The Matchmaker) Page 17

  “Of course.” She pushed me away and shoved the sleeve back down. She looked upset, although why, I wasn’t sure. Damn, I wished I could read her thoughts.

  “Can you heal her?” Josh asked.

  “We aren’t supposed to,” Pet said, annoyed. “Not with minor things, you know that.”

  “I don’t need him to heal me,” Emma snapped. She spun around on her sneakers and started for the door. “It’s a little scratch. It will heal.”

  She slammed the door behind her.

  “I’m sorry, Owen,” Josh said. “She begged me to train her. Said if she had to be stuck here, she should at least know how to protect herself.”

  Yes, right. I knew it was more than that. Josh couldn’t resist a pretty girl. I glanced at the door where she’d disappeared. Besides, Emma would never beg anyone for anything. “She’s angry.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Petunia said.

  Josh laughed. “Well, yeah, she’s angry. You basically said the only reason you don’t want her injured is because you don’t want to feel her pain, not because you actually care.”

  I flushed, annoyed. “I didn’t.”

  Josh shrugged. “Women are difficult, Owen. I forgot that you didn’t have much of a childhood.” Josh placed the foil in the bag. He hadn’t been found until he was eighteen. He’d had a childhood. I had been ten. I knew I couldn’t read humans well, especially females, but I sure as hell wouldn’t admit as much to Josh.

  “Just apologize. Believe me, it’s the easiest way.”

  “Why should he?” Pet pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Ignoring them, I disappeared. We couldn’t go on this way; I had to make peace with Emma. I reappeared in Emma’s bedroom.

  “Crap!” Emma cried out. I turned to face her. She was clutching a robe to her body. I had the sinking feeling she wasn’t wearing much behind that robe. “Dang it, Owen. You can’t just appear in my bedroom. Ever heard of boundaries?”

  “I didn’t mean…” I paused, rubbing the back of my neck, not sure what to say, afraid I’d make things worse.

  She sighed and quickly pulled her robe on, giving me a flash of a camisole and pink underwear. “Just forget it. Leave me alone.”

  How I wished I could. But I couldn’t. I was stuck with her, stuck with the feelings she produced. “I didn’t mean that I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I know,” she said, tightening the belt of her robe.

  “No.” I raked my fingers through my hair. I might not have known much, but I knew women were bloody difficult. You couldn’t just say what you meant, because somehow they always took offense. “I mean I don’t want you to get hurt because I don’t want to hurt.”

  Her brows drew together. “What?”

  Hell. I wasn’t even sure what I was trying to say anymore. “I don’t want you hurt because I care, okay?”

  The surprise upon her face quickly fled. A slow smile spread across her lips. More of a smirk, really. I had to resist the urge to step back. “Owen, are you saying you like me?”

  I frowned.

  Her grin widened.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Perhaps at times I don’t dislike you.”

  She quirked a brow and crossed her arms, matching my stance.

  “I’m your Protector,” I started. “It’s my duty…”

  She rolled her eyes.

  I nodded toward the bed. “Just lie down.”

  “Wow, you expect a lot for a compliment.”

  I frowned. It was her way of dealing with her emotions, to joke. At times it was useful, but sometimes, like now, I wished she’d be serious and own up to her feelings. “I want to heal you.”

  “No.” She shook her head. Her grip on the robe tightened. “I won’t have you take my pain. It’s not right.”

  Not right? What did this have to do with right or wrong? It was a job. My other Matchmaker hadn’t cared. “The blood’s already soaking through your sleeve. You need to be in good health, Emma. It’s my job to make sure—”

  She threw her arms wide. “Enough with the job thing already!”

  I grew silent, waiting. What was the real issue here? I knew her reluctance was more than ethics. I also knew if I pushed her, she’d close up like a clam.

  She paced to the large windows that looked out onto the city below, framed by billowy white curtains. She’d been placed in one of the better rooms. Large and spacious, it was decorated in various shades of white. Antique furniture, a typical French elegance. She belonged here, but she didn’t even realize it. She had no idea how beautiful she was, no idea how intriguing.

  “It could get infected. You won’t be able to train.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I won’t let you do it. You heard Petunia, the injury is no big deal.”

  Petunia was right, the cut wasn’t deep, so why did I feel the need to heal her? “Emma, it only hurts me for a moment.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Blood had seeped through the sleeve of her robe, staining the white material red. Hell, when I’d lived in London I’d seen plenty of men nearly beaten to death for a few pounds. So why did my stomach clench now?

  “Lie down, Emma. Please, let me do my job.”

  She frowned, but I could tell she was starting to fold.

  Before she rebuilt that wall, I went to her and took her hand. “I don’t like to see you hurt.”

  For one long moment we merely stood there, our hands clasped, as the truth hung between us. She searched my gaze as if looking for something. I wasn’t sure if she would find her answers, and part of me wasn’t sure if I wanted her to. Uneasy, I shifted.

  Finally, she nodded. “All right.” She pulled her hand from mine and moved to her large bed. I didn’t miss the way her body trembled as she tossed aside her stuffed cat and lay upon the mattress. She was in more pain than she let on. But then shallow cuts often hurt worse.

  I settled on the edge of the bed and gently rolled up her sleeve.

  “It’s your fault, you know.”

  I pressed her arm gently to the mattress, using her sleeve to soak up the blood trailing from the cut. “Really?”

  She sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. “Yes. You surprised me so I wasn’t on my game. I could have easily beat Josh.”

  I resisted the urge to smile. The woman hated losing. “I’m sure you could have.”

  Even though I didn’t look at her, I could feel her gaze on me. I settled my hands over the wound, her blood warm and wet upon my palm. She flinched.

  “Shhh, it will be numb soon.”

  I concentrated. My fingers grew warm, the heat spreading from my body to hers. Slowly, ever so slowly, I could feel her skin mending, as the pain and wound transferred from her body to mine. It was like someone was scraping the sharp end of a nail up my arm. I didn’t flinch, didn’t even curse as I pulled away from her, allowing the wound to transfer completely. Petunia might have said I was insane. Yes, we could heal, but it wasn’t expected. After all, the injury would have healed on its own; it wasn’t life-threatening. For some reason, some insane reason, I couldn’t let her suffer.

  “Owen?” Emma’s sweet voice broke through the pain. “You said the pain would fade fast. When will it fade?”

  She was on her knees, sitting beside me, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. I stumbled to my feet, smoothing my face into an unreadable mask. “I’m good. It’s over.”

  It was a lie; the cut still throbbed. But she didn’t need to know. If I could just escape before she noticed the sweat on my forehead, all would be well. I turned and started toward the door. “Get some rest.”

  Yeah, I could heal her. But I wouldn’t tell her the truth…that the pain was worse for me. I wouldn’t tell her that I wasn’t supposed to heal minor injuries because it sucked too much energy from my body, and it would take hours for me to recuperate.

  I rested my hand on the doorknob. “Try not to get hurt again?”

 
; “Owen,” she called out.

  I paused, but didn’t dare look back. “Yeah?”

  “I like you too.”

  My heart slammed wildly against my rib cage. For one brief moment, I closed my eyes and let the words ease the tightness in my chest. Then, without response, I opened the door and left.

  Chapter 14

  Emma

  I pressed my face to the shop window, barely listening to Falconer as he lectured me on the history of the town. As I watched the pretty young Frenchwomen searching through fashionable clothing, I realized that just last month I would have been envious. But I didn’t care about friends or clothes, not really. No, because all I could think about was the fact that Owen hadn’t come with us. My first trip outside the castle walls, and he hadn’t deemed it important enough to protect me.

  Not that I needed protecting, but wasn’t it part of his job? He certainly didn’t mind lording it over me when it was to his benefit. Now…nothing. In fact, I hadn’t heard from him since I’d admitted I liked him. But he’d said he liked me first. What did that mean anyway…liked? I liked hamburgers and fries. But I didn’t make out with my hamburger…usually.

  “Emma?”

  “Sorry.” I pushed away from the window, and gave Jotham and Falconer a forced smile.

  Yeah, it was great exploring the streets of France, but I hadn’t imagined exploring with two guys old enough to make my grandmother look young. I mean, seriously…when was the last time they’d shaved those biker beards? And don’t get me started on the robes.

  I sighed, following them down a cobblestone street too narrow for cars. Where the heck was Owen when I needed him? I had a feeling he was avoiding me. But then I had a lot of feelings lately, and most I didn’t want to dwell upon. Bemused, I drew my fingers across daisies planted in a window pot while Falconer droned on about the history of the town.

  Three weeks. Almost three weeks I’d known Owen. The time had gone by so fast, yet oddly it felt as if I’d always known him. I couldn’t imagine my life without him ordering me around.

  “You are well, my dear?” Jotham gently gripped my elbow as we followed Falconer. The man apparently was on a mission and had no time to wait for us. But Jotham didn’t seem to mind and kept his pace slow; the man was all ease and smiles. He was the one person I actually liked here.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  We turned down yet another cobbled road, lined with stone buildings with brightly colored shutters. It wasn’t their fault that Owen was avoiding me, and honestly, I did want to know about the town but I just couldn’t concentrate.

  “We certainly understand that this is all overwhelming. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

  “Yeah?” I slid him a glance, wondering how honest he’d be. Even Owen had issues with giving me straight answers.

  “Of course.”

  “Okay.” Falconer had made it across the street, but we paused as a moped sped by. We were far enough away that he shouldn’t be able to overhear. “How do you become members of the Consulate?”

  He smiled. “We were once Protectors.”

  I nodded. Interesting, but where were their Matchmakers? “Why aren’t you now?”

  He sighed. “Well, our Matchmakers died and we never sensed another.”

  Died. One day I’d die, and apparently Matchmakers kicked the bucket earlier than Protectors. “Owen has healed me twice now.”

  I don’t know why I blurted out the truth, but there it was, hanging in the air.

  “Has he?”

  I could read nothing in his tone. It was the only thing that frustrated me about the man; there was never any judgment, which made it awfully hard to know his opinion. Petunia had certainly given her opinion vocally enough. She had acted as if Owen healing me was completely taboo.

  “Do keep up,” Falconer called out, waving to us from the curb across the street.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and kept pace with Jotham. “Yeah, he has.” We started across the street. “And I know he feels my pain. But I was wondering…I mean…why? Why does he do it? Is the Consulate okay with the healing? Is he supposed to?”

  “Well.” He folded his hands in front of him. “They don’t encourage it.”

  I’d known, hadn’t I? Petunia sure as heck hadn’t wanted him to heal me. I had a feeling she would have preferred if I’d bled to death. But I could admit that there was something that felt wrong about him taking my pain. I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling guilty as hell.

  “It’s a fine line,” Jotham said, “for a Protector to know how much pain he can take, which is why we frown upon it.”

  Falconer paused at the end of the street, looking annoyed because we were so far behind. The moment we caught up with him, I’d lose my chance to get information. “How much can a Protector take?”

  “More than anyone else. They have a higher pain threshold. But therein lies the problem. If a Protector takes too much, he could die before he realizes it’s too late.”

  The thought made me shiver. “Protectors have died from trying to heal their Matchmakers?”

  He sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s also why the Consulate frowns upon Protector and Matchmaker becoming too close.”

  I flushed. Owen and I were close…too close, according to him. I had a feeling Jotham knew. “So a Protector is to save himself before he saves his Matchmaker?”

  He didn’t respond and as we reached Falconer’s side, I knew our conversation would have to end. But I had a feeling I knew what he was implying…Matchmakers were disposable. One dies, the powers would transfer, and another would take her place. No biggie. Protectors were, apparently, a little more valuable. So why had Owen acted like I was so important?

  “We shall stroll the streets,” Falconer said. “Let your powers guide you.”

  I nodded, and gave him a tight smile. Back to business. “Was Owen busy?”

  “Hmm?” He turned his back to me and started down the sidewalk. “Oh, yes, a meeting of Protectors.”

  I nodded, not missing the way Jotham stared at the man, as if somewhat confused. I had a feeling they weren’t telling me everything. But if he wasn’t at a meeting…what could be keeping him?

  Petunia.

  The name whispered through my mind. I ignored the taunt. As a trio we started down the street, strolling past shops like any tourists out for the day. Any young tourist with two creepy old guys wearing long robes.

  At first I felt nothing…no emotions, no love, no magic of any kind. But then, I wasn’t really trying. No, the city was way too interesting to worry about my powers. How I wished I were just visiting, taking in the sights with friends. At a bakery I paused, the scents too much to resist. It was the same bakery I’d stood outside with Owen the first day we’d arrived.

  If Owen had been here he’d help me focus, tell me what to look for, the signs. He could have at least told me he wouldn’t be coming along. When Falconer had sent word that we were headed to town, I’d assumed Owen would be there, waiting. I admit when I’d skipped down the stairs and only Falconer and Jotham were waiting, I’d been extremely disappointed.

  “Would you like to try something, my dear?” Jotham asked.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  The older man smiled. “At the bakery. Are you hungry?”

  Falconer looked annoyed and I started to say no, but before I could respond Jotham latched on to my arm and led me into the shop. The place smelled of cinnamon and chocolate, of freshly baked bread and apples. It was heaven. Jotham spoke rapidly in French to the woman behind the counter. She pulled out a tray of chocolate pastries, resting them on the glass countertop. My mouth watered.

  “Delicieux,” I said in my pathetic French.

  While the baker looked disgusted by my handle of her native language, Jotham merely smiled down at me. “Try one.”

  I didn’t need to be asked twice. I lifted a warm doughnut with a cream-filled middle.

  Jotham paid, picking up a pastry of his own
. “You will not find better food in all of the world.”

  This is where I wanted to be…in a quaint French town, eating French delicacies. And for a moment, I could forget why I was here. But I realized with some bemusement that I wanted to be here with Owen. Heck, I actually missed him. Together we left the shop, following Falconer down the lane while we ate our sugary breakfast. With Owen I could be myself, say whatever outlandish thing I wanted to, and better yet, get away with it. With Owen I didn’t have to pretend to be polite, pretend I cared about the town’s history or my powers.

  I bit into my pastry and my thoughts in that instant centered around how freaking good the doughnut tasted. Yep, I could get used to living here. We turned a corner and I realized I’d fallen back, somehow losing Falconer and Jotham ahead. I quickened my steps.

  The crowds grew thicker and someone bumped into me, sending me off-balance. My ankle twisted as I teetered off the curb. The world around me spun.

  “Pardon,” the person who hit me muttered, hurrying on.

  “Do you feel anything?” Falconer asked, pausing ahead.

  I tried to focus on the man, tried to focus on his voice. As far away as he was, I could still tell by the look upon his face that he was growing annoyed with my lack of supernatural abilities. I felt like a freaking circus monkey, forced to perform.

  I shook my head but it wasn’t exactly true. My brain was growing muddled, the noise around fading into a pulsing murmur of sound. Faces before me blurred out of focus. My hand dropped to my side, the pastry falling to the ground as my powers came whispering into the forefront. Crap.

  Falconer was suddenly beside me. “Focus, my dear.”

  I tamped down my annoyance as I scanned the crowds. Someone moved by me, their shoulder brushing mine. It was a whisper of a touch, but it was enough. Suddenly everything went calm. The voices receded, the world faded. Drawn to her, I turned, my gaze focused on that woman. Her long dark hair swayed as she moved further away, weaving in and out of the crowds. Without thought, I followed.