“Maybe you could call him. You have a phone, don’t you?” He grinned at the idea. She was a succubus, an insubstantial spirit who existed to feed on the sexual essence of men. She’d have no idea what he was talking about, but it was fun to tease her.
“Phone?”
“Yeah. Everyone has one nowadays. Surely you have cell phones in the demon world?” His phone was up by the roadside, crushed into tiny pieces.
She didn’t answer. In fact, the red haze was dissipating. He really didn’t want her to go. Beautiful as this spot was, he really didn’t want to die here. Not alone, anyway. Even a succubus was better than no company at all.
“Hey—you aren’t leaving me alone now, are you?”
She didn’t answer.
* * * *
This was the moment of truth.
Rion Hunter had finally completed the process of creating a work of art. He’d carefully chosen the wood, shaped the body and painstakingly created the instrument piece by piece. He’d combined old-world techniques with modern tools, and every instrument that came from his hands grew closer to mastery. He knew he’d never create that perfect instrument, but hopefully it would be perfect for his client.
Carefully, he began to tighten the strings, allowing them to ease in and out of tune as they stretched along the neck and down to the face of the elegant instrument. With a few final tests for tune, he strummed a chord and began to deftly pick out Romanza. The classical piece poured forth like music made liquid and sound made into light. He sighed, knowing that this time he’d gotten it right, from the mother-of-pearl tuning pegs to the golden-ash body.
He picked up his phone to call his client just as it rang, causing him to jump.
“This is Hunter.”
His soft voice remained hoarse and raspy after all these years, always reminding him of who he really was, and what was no longer his. Rion no longer sang with the angels, the music he made now was of a different sort. Now he gave voices to inanimate objects, and wasn’t that nearly as wonderful as having the most angelic voice in heaven?
Maybe it was.
“Hunter? Orion Hunter?”
He went still. Rex was the only one who used his full first name. It showed up on his driver’s license, his fake passport and birth certificate, but no one else called him Orion. Only Rex.
“Yes. That’s me.”
“Oh.”
There was a long silence on the phone and finally Hunter held the receiver out, looking at the caller display. It read Caller Unknown. No surprise there.
“Hello? Are you there?”
“Yes.” It was a woman’s voice. She sounded a bit confused. Sleepy. Automatically, he went into caution mode. Usually he might be impatient, but her use of his name was spooky.
“How can I help you?”
“Kokabiel, you must help him.”
Shit. Double shit. He blinked hard, his heart racing. Of course it was an unknown caller—she probably wasn’t using a phone. No human knew his real name, the one that was secret.
“Who is this?” he whispered.
“He’s hurt. I can’t see him, but he says he might be dying.”
“Okay…okay, can you tell me where? It’s Rex, right? Can you tell me where he is?” Hunter was up, pacing the workshop. Rex had gone out that morning. He’d been driving into the city looking for rare plants for the garden. Shit— Rex had the car! He glanced outside at the sunlit vista. If he flew, he’d be seen, and he didn’t have Rex’s skills at magic. He managed to keep his wings hidden and toned down his coloring, but that was pretty much the extent of his ability.
“Reux is sleeping.”
Hunter fisted his hand and rested it against his forehead…thinking…thinking…
She knew Rex’s true name as well.
“Was it a car wreck? Is he on the highway?” His chest hurt from the pace his heart raced.
“I’m looking.”
Was she a psychic? A seer of some sort? Instinctively, Hunter knew to let her do her thing, but he had to know more.
“Are you there? Or are you seeing him some other way?”
“I’m asleep.”
“You’re asleep.” A cold certainty came over him then. It was her. The succubus. Dread ran over his skin. Hatred. Something else he didn’t want to name.
“What did you do to him?” he whispered.
“Nothing. I felt his distress. I took no energy, but I can’t share mine. Not at a distance.” She sounded dispassionate. Matter of fact. She wasn’t worried about Rex’s wellbeing. Not really. She was concerned for her food source. That’s all.
“His car is up there. Near the road, but hard to see. Someone hurt him, Hunter. They hid the car.” Now he heard a trace of venom in her voice. Maybe she wasn’t as detached as she seemed.
Scary thought. With her abilities, she could make a man orgasm to death. He didn’t want to be on her bad side.
Up there. That was helpful. He set the other information aside. There were plenty of people out there willing to hurt Rex and Hunter. Some of them were even mortal. They’d deal with that later.
“Who are you?”
“He’s hidden himself from those people, but he doesn’t want to die alone.”
Her soft statement seared his heart and devastated his soul. Rex was everything…his world. If he lost him…
“Where…? Please, tell me where?”
“Under a bridge. On a hill under a bridge. The flowers are orange and red…and blue. A small river…boulders… That’s all I can see through his eyes, Hunter. I’m sorry.”
And somehow, he suspected that she was sorry. A hint of sadness crept into her voice. After all, she’d been Rex’s frequent companion since the 1860s. No matter how far Hunter ran with his lover, she’d managed to locate them. He’d finally learned to shield against her, but Rex—damn Rex insisted she wasn’t evil. He insisted she needed them.
“How did you know my name? My real name?” Hunter knew he should be running, looking for a vehicle to take him to Rex, but he stood frozen to the floor. Half-remembered images from dreams long past flooded his mind. A woman with hair the color of stars, her face dancing with laughter…twisted with fear. Arms wrapped around her body, holding her back as they…
“Anahita.”
He blinked, coming up from the near trance state he’d fallen into. The memories drifted from his mind like cobwebs.
“What?”
“Anahita. When I sleep.”
“Anahita? You’re Anahita?” He vaguely remembered that name. Rex had mentioned her long ago. But there was no answer.
“Hello? Are you there?” As he expected, the phone was dead. And Rex lay dying somewhere. Hunter wasted time looking at the phone, trying to call back. But the phone showed that no call had come in since yesterday when Rex had called from the grocery store. It had been his night to cook…
Had he imagined the call? No. No.
Hunter moved with speed and deliberation, locking the workshop and gathering a few important items he’d need in an emergency. When he was satisfied, he stepped outside. The neighbor had a decrepit station wagon he could borrow. Surely fate would smile on him? Surely he could coax the heap into starting.
Swinging the pack onto his back, Hunter broke into a run, determined to steal a car if that’s what it took.
Chapter Three
“So anyhow, we moved on to Michigan after that. There just weren’t enough trees in Nebraska. I can’t survive without forest or something. Don’t get me wrong, there’s beauty there—it’s just a different sort.” Rex sighed, glancing over at his patient audience. “I hope I’m not boring you.”
The red fox lay just yards from Rex, panting and basking companionably in the sun. One furry ear flicked as he stopped speaking.
“You want to hear more? I mean, it’s been an awfully long life, hasn’t it? So if I have to go, it’s not really that big a loss.”
But it was. He wasn’t meant to die this way, and how would Hunter get on if he di
d? Life was good. He wasn’t ready to leave just yet. It made him sad.
The fox stopped panting and tilted its head slightly.
“You hear something? A car maybe?” Rex couldn’t move enough to look upslope from where he lay. He’d done a swan dive off the roadway to get away from the guys who’d been beating him. Initially, he hadn’t been afraid of them, but he’d rapidly lost his glamour as blood smeared the runes on his skin and power had leeched from his body, along with his blood. What would they have done if he’d shown what he truly was? Going off the embankment had seemed the lesser of two evils at the time. If they’d seen the wings and tail, they’d have hunted him down and shot him. Probably stuffed him like a trophy afterward. He hadn’t been afraid of the fall.
True to his motto, it had been the landing that hurt.
The fox rose and stretched like a lazy cat, licking his chops. “On your way, eh? Well, thanks for keeping company with me.” He grinned as the rusty-red creature shook its glossy fur and trotted away, hopping lightly over the rough rocks on the ground. The company had been good while it remained.
She’d never come back. He hadn’t expected her to, but he’d hoped. It had been a long, painful day and anything would have helped pass the time. Now the day was ending and the sun would be going down, and Rex simply didn’t have the energy to charm a fire out of mid-air. The night would be worse than the day. It could get damn cold up here in the Trinity Alps.
He lay with eyes closed, listening to the music of the river as it flowed. Across the rocky gorge, the mountains climbed from its banks, black with fir and pine. Huge boulders lay where they’d fallen centuries ago. The place was rough and rugged and so incredibly wonderful. He’d been meaning to come here and vanish into the forest for a day or two, just to recharge himself. Rion understood his need for the wilderness. In fact, the angel had probably memorized the location of every forest in North America, planning their next move.
That had been part of their arguments. Rion wanted to flee from the succubus. Rex wanted someplace to stay, to sink his roots and build an existence. He didn’t understand Rion’s fear of the creature. To an immortal, she was fairly harmless. And he didn’t think jealousy was at the root of Rion’s uneasiness with her. It was a puzzle. After so many decades together, some of Rion’s mysteries still remained.
“You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”
Rex opened his eyes and smiled. Rion hovered in the air yards above him. He’d dropped all his glamour so, in spite of the jeans and hiking boots and the backpack dangling from his hand, he was all angelic glory. His normally auburn hair gleamed like the red of blood and his ivory skin reflected the waning light of the day. His blue, blue eyes…they were the cobalt of a peacock feather. He wore a tank top to give his snowy-white wings room to spread.
Beautiful.
“Are you here to take me to heaven?”
Rion frowned, then gave a strained smile. His landing was innately graceful. It was the sort of grace that could never be taught, it was simply part of him. Years ago, when he’d first fallen to Earth, he’d been clumsy like a colt, but even then there had been beauty in his awkwardness.
In seconds he was at Rex’s side, running a gentle hand down his cheek. The skin of his hands was now rough and calloused, but still so light and sensitive. Rex sighed as Rion ran a thumb over his dry lips. Turning away, he dug into the pack and brought a bottle of water to Rex’s mouth.
Rex swallowed, choked and drank a bit more. At the back of his mind, Rex was grateful he was on a slope. He’d have never been able to cope with sitting up to drink.
“Did she tell you to come?”
“Shhh…” Rion looked him over, evaluating Rex’s injuries. His face became bleak.
“I told her to call you on a cell phone. Silly thing was I didn’t give her your number.”
“She called.” Rion’s voice was huskier than usual. “Now I need to get you out of here. I can fly you up, but there will be pain.” Pain was an understatement. Just the least movement of his arm sent Rex into paroxysms of agony.
Rion held another bottle to his lips, this one contained spirits. It was from Rex’s private stock of good Scotch whisky. He frowned at the waste, but let the fine spirits trickle down his throat. He coughed a bit at the burn, but the liquor did its stuff.
“Trying to get me drunk? I won’t be so easily taken advantage of.”
Rion just gave him a look. Next he brought out a blanket and wrapped it over Rex’s body. “We’ve got to get help for you.”
“Rion, love, if even one doctor checks my blood or requests an X-ray…”
“I know. But you need stitches, and you’ve got several bones broken. I think you’ll heal, Rex, but you’ll heal slow and bad if you don’t get help.” He urged another drink on Rex. “I’ve got a car above. We’ll head to town.”
Town was over sixty miles away on narrow, winding roads.
“We can just head home. Really, Rion.” Their home town wasn’t a complete hole in the wall, it did have a clinic.
“The walk-in clinic closes at five. We won’t make it.”
Rex was too tired to argue. Pain had a way of sapping the humor out of a man, and when Rion carefully lifted him into his strong arms, he very nearly cried with the pain. He moaned, cursed himself for a weakling. Moaned again. He finally resorted to short, shallow breaths that took some of the pressure off his ribs. His leg hurt so badly his mind seemed to abstract that body part from the rest of him, allowing him to view the pain from a comfortable distance.
Maybe that was the whisky.
The angel did his best to make the short flight comfortable, but by the time he gently settled Rex on a pallet of blankets in the back of the Neeleys’ old station wagon, Rex was seeing the world through foggy vision. He spared a glance at the wreckage of their car at the side of the road and looked into the face of the man who loved him.
“I knew you’d come. Thank you.”
Rion’s eyes filled with tears, which he blinked away. Rex wanted to reach up and wipe the silvery droplet dry as it traveled down his face. Instead, he let his own eyes slip closed as darkness took him.
* * * *
Rion couldn’t remember feeling this helpless. Not ever. And frankly, his memories stretched back a very, very long time.
The old car chugged along. Its temperature gauge was slowly rising and the sun outside was steadily dropping. Every bump in the road brought a soft gasp from Rex. Every sharp curve rolled him slightly, and Rion grieved to put the Sidhe through such pain.
He had so many questions but he stayed quiet. The time would come for answers soon enough. For now, Rex needed help, help that was well over an hour away on a rough, little-used highway.
He drove through a small town that catered to fishermen—businesses renting poles and cabins studded the roadside. A small store that doubled as a tavern advertised ‘Live Bait’ in red neon. Rion drove slowly, an idea forming. He carefully read every sign at the side of the road, finally finding the one he was looking for.
Willow Ridge Reservation—7 Miles. He made the turn.
They had a clinic there, and with luck, it would have emergency services.
The road grew marginally worse. The two lanes narrowed to one in some places, and the fading light made it a challenge to avoid potholes and dips. Once, Rion had to pull off the road to let a pickup truck pass.
He flipped on the headlights and continued. It was the slowest seven miles he’d traveled in his life.
As luck would have it, the clinic was on the outskirts of the town that formed the heart of the reservation. And there were lights on inside.
“We’re at a clinic. I’ll be right back, Rex. I’m getting help.” He twisted to look at Rex, to make certain that the Sidhe had pulled his glamour back in place.
He was trying, but his left wing shimmered into view like a hazy mirage.
“Rion, the blood’s interfering with some of the marks.”
Rex’s charms were
powerful. He painted the magic runes on their skin every two or three weeks, and unless they were washed away or otherwise defiled, they held their magic. Drying blood over a charm would certainly interfere with the magic of the henna tattoo. So could an open wound.
He took a deep breath, drawing patience into his mind. Rion carefully wet a rag from a bottle of water and got out of the car, opening the back door so he could sit next to Rex. Gingerly, he pulled the blanket away. The Sidhe’s clothing was in tatters, blood matting the fabric.
“It’s the one on my left shoulder…the front.”
“This isn’t good, Rex. You’ve got an abrasion on it.” Rion carefully wiped around the wound. “Okay, the mark is still there, but wound is still bleeding a little.”
“Just pay attention. Wipe the blood away if you need to.” Unfortunately, Rex’s right arm was injured. He couldn’t do it for himself.
Rion paused and looked at his lover’s face. It hurt to the core to see Rex like this. His friendly, open face was swollen and battered, tight with pain. His gleaming brown curls were matted with blood. Over the years, he’d allowed them to grow to waist length, then sheared his hair close to his head before letting it grow again. Rion always preferred Rex’s hair as it was when he’d first met him, an overgrown, unruly mop of curls that spilled into his eyes.
The way it was now.
The light was dull in his beautiful hazel eyes. His smiling lips were puffy and swollen, bruises marred the perfect warmth of his skin.
“This damage isn’t from the wreck.” He stroked a finger along Rex’s cheek, the only uninjured spot he could find.
“No. It was a truck full of high school boys.”
“Gay bashing?” No matter whether they lived, in a city or in the country, certain people objected to men who took same-sex lovers. They’d only encountered it once or twice, but it was still a frightening possibility.
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