by A. C. Arthur
“I’m not that woman anymore, Jerome. Why don’t you go back to Boston. You’ll be much happier without me.”
“No!” he roared.
She jumped.
Thaddeus reached behind and held tightly to her arm. His touch was very warm, his strength building. Tayla didn’t need to look at him to know he was shifting.
“I’ve been miserable without you for the last two years. Can’t you see that? You said you loved me, you said we’d be together for the rest of our lives, then you left. You just left!” Jerome’s hand was shaking, and his finger was on the trigger.
With his other hand Thaddeus reached for his athame, then changed his mind. He wouldn’t need it to deal with this man. There was no strength there, no power that the man could use over him. Besides, he was falling apart in front of them. So much for his appearance of bravado. Even though he held the gun, he was about to start bawling like a baby.
“No, Jerome. You let your mother interfere. She handled you like a puppet on a string. You were cruel to me because of her, and I won’t go back to that. I won’t!”
With his free hand Jerome reached for her. “You will come back to me! We belong together!”
Thaddeus pushed Tayla back, blocking Jerome’s path at the same time. “The lady doesn’t want to be with you anymore,” he growled, and heard the echoing of his own voice.
“What the hell kind of beast are you?” Jerome craned his neck to look up at Thaddeus, who now stood a good foot above him.
Thaddeus ignored his comment. He’d felt the change beginning. His bones were stretching and lengthening, preparing to do battle. “I won’t let you hurt her.”
Behind him Tayla saw something glowing at his back and remembered that knife thing he always had with him.
“You can’t stop me.” Jerome pointed the gun at Thaddeus’ chest, because it was easier than aiming at his head.
Thaddeus’ rage grew, his shoulders growing broader as he reached for the hand holding the gun at the same time that Jerome pulled the trigger. It was a good thing Thaddeus’ movements were lightning fast. The bullet tore through the wooded beams above them.
Tayla screamed and grabbed for Thaddeus’ athame, pulling it from beneath his shirt. It was dreadfully heavy, and she needed two hands to hold it steady as she came from behind Thaddeus, who was stopping the circulation in Jerome’s arm by squeezing his wrist. In a second the gun would fall to the floor, but he could get off another shot in that second. Tayla was not willing to risk that.
“Tayla, go into the bedroom, lock the door and stay there until I come for you!” Thaddeus screamed to her.
“No.” Tayla shook her head, stood with her legs spread slightly apart. “This is my fight. I’m damn well going to stay here and fight it.” This thing she held was like a knife, a well-crafted knife with an intricate black handle and a long shiny blade. She took a step closer to the men and…what? What did she plan to do? Was she really going to stab Jerome?
Before she could answer her own question the gun fell from Jerome’s hand, sliding noisily across the wooden floor just as Thaddeus landed one fist in the man’s pretty face. Jerome tried to fight back, but was no match for Thaddeus’ strength.
“You will never have her! “ Jerome spat through his bloody lips. “If she’s not with me, she’s not with anybody! Do you hear me, Tayla? Do you hear what I’m saying?”
She heard him, alright. She would kill him; she had no choice. He’d never leave her alone if she didn’t. So it wouldn’t be murder…it would be more like self-defense. She lifted the knife again, prepared to strike.
Thaddeus looked up at her. “Tayla, no!” he roared.
But it was too late.
The combination of her thoughts of murder, his momentary rage and the tense atmosphere brought the athame to life. It began to glow. Heat stung her palm and seared her arms before she had the good sense to drop the knife to the floor. Flames exploded on its impact, instantly devouring the animal skin rug, before stretching to the wooden coffee table and attacking the couch.
Tayla jumped back, blowing on her hands while keeping her eye on the spreading flames. Thaddeus left Jerome squirming in the floor and attempted to run toward her, but the flames chose that exact moment to grow in height, separating them.
The heat was intense, the hungry fire bright and violent. Tayla moved toward the front door to get out before the entire house came down on them. She yelled for Thaddeus but he didn’t answer. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anything but the blinding light. She took a few more steps, choking with the smoke that now enveloped her. She didn’t see Jerome, didn’t know if he’d gotten out or if he were still fighting with Thaddeus.
She tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs burned with the effort. She staggered to where she remembered the door was and fell right into a pair of arms.
* * *
Jerome regained enough strength to crawl across the floor to where his gun was, but Thaddeus turned in time to see him. He stomped on the man’s wrist, hearing the bone crack beneath his booted food. Then he grabbed Jerome by his collar, dragged him across the floor toward the kitchen. He didn’t have time to deal with this scum right now; he needed to get to Tayla. He had to protect her from the fire; then he would deal with Jerome.
Effortlessly he tossed Jerome up against the refrigerator. “Don’t move!” he barked, then ran out of the kitchen. With a gesture of his arm a gigantic wave of water formed and saturated the angry inferno.
His gaze searched about the room.
It was empty.
She’d probably gone into the bedroom as he’d instructed her to do before…he reached behind his back, swore as he remembered her wielding his athame, causing the fire. Searching for both Tayla and his weapon, Thaddeus found the athame before entering the bedroom. It was empty. Running back into the scorched living room, he called for Tayla again, but received no answer.
Jerome staggered through the kitchen door, a twisted smile on his face. “She’s long gone. I told you she belonged to me.” He laughed and laughed.
Thaddeus’ rage grew and grew. Before he knew it, a stream of fire went sailing across the room, piercing the man’s chest. The next sound Jerome made was a strangled cry as the flames burned a hole clear through his body.
Thaddeus didn’t give him another thought. He ran out into the night air. It was dark, yet he could see just fine. He inhaled, tried to pick up her scent, but could not. He wanted to complete his transformation, take to the sky and fly until he found her, but a sudden weakness seized him. Thunder rolled through the sky and lightning crackled. He felt dizzy, swayed on his feet. He whispered her name as he tumbled to the ground.
Chapter 11
After being tossed over someone’s shoulder, Tayla felt weak from the smoke. Instinctively she knew the arms she was in were not Thaddeus’. The person carrying her was not her protector. The last thing she saw was the little cabin with flames escaping from the front windows.
He was gone.
She whimpered. Her lids fluttered, then finally closed as the thought of Thaddeus’ death consumed and defeated her.
Then she was aware of being pulled by a force stronger than she’d ever encountered before. It was faceless, voiceless, as it urged her forward, toward an opening just ahead. She screamed to be let go, to be left in peace, although peace was the last thing she was feeling. But the force continued pulling her, then moved behind her, pushing her along. She stumbled once, coughed, then started moving again.
Her eyes fluttered. Streams of light filled her vision and she reflexively closed them again. But it was too late, she was already through the opening, the unknown force smiling, pleased with itself at its accomplishment.
She cracked her eyes open again, slowly this time so the brightness wouldn’t overwhelm her. She was in a room, a dark room. She extended her hands to feel beside herself, and surmised that she was lying on a bed, but this wasn’t the bed she’d shared with Thaddeus. It wasn’t even the cabin.<
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Her heart thumped heavily at the thought of Thaddeus. He was gone. He’d said he would die in her place, and he had. Tears sprang to her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.
He was dead, the man she’d known for such a short time, the man who had filled her so completely she’d sworn she wouldn’t be able to breathe without him. He was gone. And each breath she now took was as painful and heart-wrenching as she’d anticipated it would be.
“He’s not dead. He will come.”
She gasped, tears clogging in her throat as she searched uselessly for the owner of the voice echoing throughout the room.
She formed her lips to speak, to ask who had said that, but a warm breeze over her body stayed her tongue.
“He is looking for you and will be here soon. Don’t give up on him.”
There were two voices now, two strangers in this room where she lay. “Who?” she finally managed to whisper.
Above she heard the sky rumble, then the sound of the wind outside picking up and the steady crash of waves. She smelled the sea and whimpered again.
“I am Zeus.”
“I am Poseidon.”
Tears filled her eyes again as Tayla heard Thaddeus’ father and uncle. Again she looked around the room, but there was no physical sign of either of them. Yet she knew they were there, felt their presence. “Is he alright?”
“He will be soon.”
“Where am I? Why can’t you help me?”
“It is not our duty, not our assignment. That is for Thaddeus to do, and he will.”
“But the fire?” He could not have possibly escaped that blaze.
“He is born of fire and he will die of fire. But not yet. He grows weak, but he still must complete his destiny. He must save you.”
Just as Tayla opened her mouth to ask another question, the door burst open and a man she’d known for two years walked in. Yet he was now a stranger.
* * *
Thaddeus awoke in the lushness of the rain forest, his face moist with the morning dew. He remembered the fire, remembered Tayla’s husband screeching inside the burning cabin. Then with painful clarity he remembered searching the house for Tayla, calling her name only to receive no answer. He’d tried to zone in on her thoughts, her aura, but couldn’t seem to manage it.
He felt sick even as he sat upright on the grass. It was morning; the sun was creeping through the thick trees. Struggling to stand, he tried taking deep breaths. He reached to his side and assured himself that his weapon was there.
But Tayla was not.
Where had she gone? Had she left him? Had she decided that she wanted to be with neither Jerome nor him? He remembered his father’s prediction that he’d be fighting over a woman soon and realized with a start that was exactly what he had been doing with Jerome. Sure, he’d masked it as protecting her from her dangerous, lovesick husband, but in the end he’d been fighting to keep her for himself.
She’d told him she loved him and he’d never heard sweeter words, had never felt so right as when he’d said them back to her. They were meant to be together, for however long fate would allow them. He realized then that this must have been the same way his father and mother felt about each other. They had known the truth, the limitations placed on their love, but had not cared, had not tried to avoid love. That was the path he and Tayla had taken, or at least he thought they had.
As he took a few steps to test his balance he felt a brisk breeze rip through his body, rejuvenating him, for a time at least. He knew it would not last, but it provided him with the energy he needed to finish his assignment. He had to find Tayla, ensure that she was safe. And if she had left because she didn’t want to be with him, then he would deal with that.
His thoughts got that far before he felt his strength returning full force. He closed his eyes to it, let it wash over him, even as his arms spread out, feathers sprouting instantly. His body contorted, bones cracking and reshaping. Power flowed through him until he threw his head back and screeched with the wealth of it. His chest heaved as adrenaline spread throughout him. He sniffed the air and took to the sky, circling the forest like his distant relative, the vulture. Searching, seeking, hunting.
He would find her before nightfall, before the occupants of the Underworld made their appearance. He had to.
* * *
“Usef? What are you doing here? What am I doing here?” Tayla sat up on the bed, feeling not one ounce of fear, partly because of the reassurance she had of Thaddeus’ appearance, but mostly because she knew if need be she could take Usef on herself. He was tall and lanky and…twitchy, she thought with an inner grin.
“I am not at liberty to say.” Usef went to the windows, pulled down each shade until all sunlight was blocked. “Are you hungry? I have toast and juice in the kitchen. You’ll need your energy.”
Tayla swung her legs off the bed. She was surprised that she still had her shoes on after all she’d been through. For a moment she attempted to brush the wrinkles out of her shirt, but then realized where she was and forgot about such things as appearances. “No, I don’t want your toast and juice. I’d like to first find out why you brought me here, and then I’d like to go home.” She had begun walking toward the door when Usef quickly moved to block her path.
“I’m afraid that’s not the plan.”
“What?” His eyes looked strange, dazed, and if she didn’t know him better, she’d say glassy, as if he were high on some drug. “Usef, move out of my way so I can get out of here. I see you don’t have any answer, as usual.”
His lips set in a tight line, and his brow furrowed at her words. For a minute Tayla thought he might actually hit her, or at least use some of his manly force to get her to do his bidding. She kept her arms straight but balled up her fists, just in case.
He grabbed her shoulders, squeezed tightly and gave her a little shake. “I said you cannot leave and that’s what I meant. Now sit down and I will get your toast.”
Without another word Tayla landed a punch right in his gut and, when he bowed with the pain, she kneed him in his groin. “I don’t give a damn what you said, Usef. And don’t put your twitchy little hands on me again!” She reached for the doorknob, turned it and wrenched the heavy barrier open, only to come face to face with her real life nightmare.
“I see your hooligan ways have yet to change. I told Jerome you weren’t redeemable.” Lorraine Ranier made her way into the room, pushing Tayla back inside before closing the door. In passing she gave Usef one sickening glare, then focused on her ex-daughter-in-law once again.
“Lorraine,” Tayla whispered as she staggered back into a chair.
“Yes, please do sit down, dear. We have lots to talk about.”
Lorraine sat in a chair close to the window. Tayla took her seat, not so much afraid as shocked to see the woman who had made her life a living hell for five years. She looked exactly the same. Her long, straight hair was pulled into a bun so tight her eyes looked pinched at the corners. Her makeup was impeccable, as always. She wore a very classy black pantsuit with Italian leather pumps. Both she and her son seemed to forget that the wilderness called for different clothing. On both hands Lorraine wore rings, on her left ring finger was a large square-cut diamond that looked too heavy for her delicate hand. On the right ring finger she wore that same glossy onyx, the one thing that never seemed to fit her—it was ominous looking, almost evil in its shape and bland character.
That was probably the piece that most depicted the woman on the inside, Tayla thought. Lorraine was looking at her with cold, dark eyes, a frown the only thing marring her perfect face.
“I prayed my son would see you for what you were in time, but he never did. He was too much like his father.” Lorraine shook her head and absently picked at a piece of nonexistent lint on her shoulder.
In the corner Usef moaned and tried to get himself upright.
“Oh, for God’s sake, man, get yourself together. I can’t believe you let her manhandle you like that. I told you
what type of person she was; you should have been prepared for her to attack.” Lorraine spat the words at Usef, then looked back at Tayla. “I’ve been prepared for you for some time now. And believe me, your little street antics won’t prevail in this instance.”
Tayla remembered being afraid of Lorraine. She remembered cowering at the woman’s every word in her attempt to be a good wife to her son. But she was no longer Jerome’s wife. She no longer had to take the verbal abuse from him or his deranged mother. She leaned back in her chair, figuring that physically fighting with Lorraine would be futile, no matter how much she longed to give her one good ass-beating. They’d said Thaddeus was coming, and she believed them. She’d simply wait for him. But in the meantime she would be anything but the submissive prisoner.
“So what is it that you want, Lorraine?” she said in a bored tone.
Lorraine arched an eyebrow. “You don’t know, my dear? Pity, I really despise having to say such vile things.”
“Oh please, you get off on saying vile things, you simply sugarcoat them in that fake aristocratic voice of yours.” Tayla felt rejuvenated, renewed. She wasn’t backing down from the Raniers anymore. This was her life, and she deserved to live it the way she wanted to. Thaddeus had told her that, and now she knew he’d been exactly right.
“I didn’t like you when my son brought you home, and I grew to hate you more with every passing year you stayed with us.” Lorraine’s knuckles went almost white as she clenched the arms of the chair. “When you left I thought we were finally well rid of you, but Jerome couldn’t let go. He couldn’t leave well enough alone. I told him over and over again how wrong you were for him, but you put some sort of curse on him.”
Tayla laughed. “Me? A curse on your son? His heart is as black and evil as you made it. I’d like to see the woman who could penetrate that enough to curse him.” Then, realizing how much Lorraine loved her son, Tayla couldn’t resist taunting her for a change. “Speaking of Jerome, do you know where he is?”
