Mathieu Read Online Free Page B

above.
    “Wait,” the golden skinned man—Eddie--said. “Wait. Marcus, don’t let him go yet. Don’t go.” He lurched to his feet and staggered across the room to grab Mathieu’s arm.
    It took Mathieu everything he had to hold the power inside and not kill the man that instant. Maybe because the touch was merely warm—not of fire and ice mixed together in such a way as to peel the flesh from one’s bones, the touch of Gadreel and his ilk—he was able to hold the darkness inside.
    He reeled away from the touch and wrapped his arms around his chest to keep his terror—and the death—from leaking out and killing everyone in the room. He sobbed as he spoke, “Don’t touch me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you; I don’t want to hurt anyone. Please don’t touch me. I’m sorry.”
    Eddie lifted his hands, and Mathieu saw blisters were forming on his palms. Through gritted teeth, Eddie said, “I wasn’t going to hurt you; I just wanted to talk.”
    Marcus yanked Eddie back by the shoulder and hissed at Mathieu, “no one is going to touch you or hurt you or make you do anything. Get out.”
    No one wants to be touched by my corruption, Mathieu thought as he drew a shuddering breath and pieced together his shattered bits into a façade of calm. He glanced back toward where Yve—no, her name was Jenn now—Jenn was tending to her wounded and then climbed the stairs and threw open the door.
    The weak sunlight blinded him and he blinked as he breathed in the free air. It was only then that he felt the pressure of all humanity around him, their fears and hatred and base emotions calling to the darkness inside, only then did he realize the enormity of his struggle.
    God, why did you not let me die? He thought of the most remote place he knew,—the scent of the air, the feel of the earth under his feet, the silence--traced a sigil in the air and vanished from sight.

C hapter Four
    “Can this thing go any faster?” Jennifer Leigh Bartlett-Hascomb leaned her forehead against the window and stared at the mountain below.
    Her voice was tinny in her ears, but she could still hear her stress bleeding through despite the heavy headphones. She could also hear the helicopter pilot answer her in patient tones for what had to be the tenth time, “No, Ma’am. Too many updrafts, too many air currents here. If we go to fast or get to close, they’ll be sending a rescue party up for us instead of your friend.”
    “He’s not our friend,” both Jenn and Marcus said at the same time. She raised her forehead from the glass to look at her husband of two years. He was still the all-American corn-fed quarterback who had slid a gold band on her finger two weeks after they’d almost died in a dank basement. If anything, marriage was making him even more handsome.
    “Did you take your pill? I don’t want you getting altitude sickness,” Marcus said. She knew he was worried because he was twisting the ring on his finger. He had never taken it off, but he did worry at it at times like this. Not that there had ever really been a time like this before.
    “I took it before we left. I already told you that. Did you take yours yet?” She didn’t want to tell him that her head was already pounding from the thin air. She’d always preferred the beach to the mountains, even if she burned to a crisp within the first thirty seconds of putting her feet on the sand. The snow covered peaks that loomed over everything in this part of the French Alps just made her feel cold. She didn’t like being cold. She hated being cold.
    “I took mine. Remember to keep taking them as you go. And drink your water.” If she didn’t know better, she might think she’d married her mother. Except her mother didn’t care about her even half as much as he did.
    “I will. You know how much I hate being sick. I hate being sick more than I hate being cold.” She pressed her head against the glass again. “Are you sure we can’t go