Paranormal Misdirection (Sasha Urban Series: Book 5)

by Dima Zales

  “What happened?” Ariel asks in horror, and I realize I didn’t translate Rasputin’s “depressing world” warning for her earlier.

  I translate Ariel’s question and join everyone in staring at Rasputin, glad for a chance to tear my gaze away from the corpses.

  “It was Tartarus.” Rasputin raises his visor and massages his forehead. “He comes to a world, kills all other Cognizant there, gets the populace to worship him to get a boost in power, and then feeds on their energy to sustain his mockery of a life.”

  I translate the explanation for Ariel, and she shakes her head in disbelief.

  His face pale, Felix looks at the husks again. “We were told about Tartarus during Orientation, but I didn’t realize he was this bad.”

  “Oh, I knew he was bad,” I say, remembering Hekima showing us a deserted world where humans attacked and ate a hapless Cognizant who came through the gate. “By the way…” I look at Rasputin. “Are you sure this world is safe?”

  “Few, if any, humans survived,” Rasputin says. “Developed technology worlds are particularly vulnerable to Tartarus at the stage when he chooses to reveal his power.”

  “I see,” Ariel whispers after I loop her into the conversation. “He must’ve leveraged TV and social media to get worshipped by billions before he sucked them dry.”

  “Yeah.” I look around again. “What kind of Cognizant is he, to be able to do something like this?”

  “The type who feeds on human life energy,” Nero says. “At some point, most of the other Cognizant deemed Tartarus’s kind too dangerous and hunted them almost to extinction.” He says this with a disapproval that makes me think dragons weren’t among the killers—or that someone might’ve wanted to exterminate his kind for being too dangerous as well.

  “However,” Nero continues, “Tartarus himself was too powerful for anyone to slay, so he persists as the last of his kind to this day.”

  “Which explains why he starts his takeovers by killing all Cognizant,” Itzel says. “Must be upset about what happened in the past.”

  “That makes sense,” Felix says. “Racial cleansings do tend to bring out the worst in people.”

  We walk in silence for a few minutes, stepping over corpses as we go.

  “Lilith thought we were Tartarus’s spies,” I say for Rasputin’s and Nero’s benefit. “I think that was why she wanted to torture us for information.”

  “Lilith has been obsessed with Tartarus for ages now,” Rasputin says. “Nostradamus had made a series of prophecies for her, and one was that Tartarus will be Lilith’s doom.”

  “That would mean that Tartarus sometimes accidentally does something good,” Ariel says when I translate. “Not that it compensates for the bad.” She looks around.

  “No,” I say and walk up to a husk that looks to be about Nero’s height.

  Crouching, I open the dust-covered suitcase lying by the corpse and rummage through it until I locate a black tracksuit with a logo that looks eerily like Earth’s Adidas.

  “Put this on.” I toss a pair of pants at Nero. “You’re making Itzel uncomfortable.”

  With an unreadable expression, my boss catches the pants and puts them on.

  Next, I grab the jacket and walk over to help him put that on over the bandages.

  “Very thoughtful,” Nero murmurs when I zip the jacket for him. “I’m sure Itzel is going to be much more comfortable now.”

  My face is overly warm, but I shrug and fish out sneakers from the same suitcase, along with a pair of socks, and give them to him.

  “Let’s go,” a very sporty-looking Nero says and strides for the airport exit.

  As I follow, I almost regret giving him clothes. Seeing Nero naked would’ve made this airport passing a lot less dreary—if anything could.

  Oh, the sacrifices we sometimes make.

  Doing my best to focus on anything but the thousands of dead bodies, I spot the airport sign, which states we’re in New York International Airport instead of JFK. So we’re obviously not on our Earth. Still, it’s one where New York is actually called New York—and all the people’s fashions are very similar, as are the uniforms worn by the mummified TSA agents.

  Nero walks up to a corpse who might’ve been a tourist and snatches a map from his stiff, gnarled fingers. He studies it, then drops it on the floor.

  “Where exactly are we going?” he asks Rasputin.

  “This map is too small,” my father says. “But it would be in this direction.” He points to where New Jersey would be in our world.

  “That’s the equivalent of Newark Airport,” I say, and Rasputin nods, describing the long walk ahead of us.

  “Can’t we drive?” Felix asks.

  “Don’t you see that?” Itzel points at a huge pileup of cars blocking the nearest road.

  Felix’s shoulders sag. “Maybe the roads get better outside the airport?”

  “It gets worse,” Rasputin says, though I’m sure Felix could’ve guessed that much himself.

  We start walking, and soon, we see the equivalent of Belt Parkway.

  My father was right. There’s a huge pileup of cars there, each with a dried corpse or two inside.

  It’s depressing to look at all the carnage, so we walk onto the road in silence, passing the pileup as we head south on I-678.

  The farther we get, the more the scenery reminds me of different post-apocalyptic movies and shows—from I am Legend to The Walking Dead. Except there are no zombies anywhere, or even feral zoo animals.

  “I hope a necromancer never comes here,” Ariel mumbles under her breath after we’ve been walking for a while.

  “I also hope Tartarus never comes to our Earth,” Felix says with a shiver.

  No one disagrees with him, and we walk on in dreary silence.

  “Any chance we can take a break?” Itzel huffs when we’re midway through Brooklyn. “My legs are killing me.”

  I sneak a peek at Nero. It could be my imagination, but I think he’s unusually pale. If he were human, I’d say he should eat lots of food with iron, but who knows if that’s true of dragons who lose blood.

  “How about we stop by that Key Food-like store?” I point at a supermarket just off the road. “They might have some cans that are still safe to eat.”

  No one argues, so we trudge over to the place.

  It’s dark inside the store, but the hardware section happens to be right by the entrance, so we manage to locate some flashlights and can openers straight away.

  Deeper in, the store is just as bad as everywhere else, but it’s somehow extra disturbing to see people sucked dry in the process of picking out their cereal or paying for groceries.

  Nero nonchalantly grabs a shopping cart and fills it with twenty cans of organic tuna. You’d think he’s planning to feed an army of cats instead of one man/dragon.

  I grab pinto beans and peaches in heavy syrup for myself, and the rest of the crew get an assortment of other canned goods. We then go to the Hallmark-card section of the store because there are no corpses there, and make ourselves comfortable on the floor as we devour our selections.

  Even though we can’t see the dead, no one feels like talking, the corpses’ presence in the next isle as oppressive as if they were right next to us. By the time we exit the supermarket, the sun has set, and like the rest of this world, the moon looks just like the one I’m familiar with, as do the stars.

  “Are there many duplicate worlds like this?” I ask as we head for the highway.

  “There are so many Otherlands that repeats are bound to happen,” Felix says, but he doesn’t elaborate—a sure sign this place is taking a psychological toll on him.

  As we walk farther, the similarities to our Earth keep stacking up. The Manhattan equivalent has a nearly identical skyline, and the Brooklyn Bridge looks just like ours.

  When we finally reach Manhattan, Itzel yawns demonstratively. “My legs hurt again. Also, I’m very sleepy.”

  “Are all gnomes such divas?” Fe
lix says. “Or is it just—”

  “Itzel makes a good point.” I sneak a glance at Nero and wonder what’s better for an injured dragon—some rest or professional medical attention?

  “We’ll camp out in a hotel,” Nero says, deciding the matter. “I assume we need to cross the river, and it’s not something we want to do in the dark.”

  “We can walk on a bridge if we take the longer way, but a boat ride would be much faster,” Rasputin says. “And there are plenty of boats to steal if we can see what we’re doing.”

  Thus decided, we look for a hotel that uses traditional locks that can be opened with a key—or picked. We finally locate one in this world’s clone of Wall Street.

  It takes us an hour to round up six rooms that have no dead people inside, and by the time we do, I’m yawning as loudly as Itzel and thanking the stars we got proactive about this sleepover.

  Once I actually try to fall asleep in my room, however, I find it impossible. There are too many confusing thoughts swirling through my brain.

  I have to talk to my father, to learn more about the mystery of my origins, but he doesn’t seem very talkative in this depressing place. I also want to talk to Nero, but I have no idea what to say or how to go about approaching him.

  This whole trip, he’s been distant, as if we’re back to being an employee and her boss. Which is ridiculous, given that he’s risked his life to save me.

  Two sleepless hours later, I give up and get up.

  Not sure where I’m going yet, I grab my flashlight and let my legs carry me where they will—and it soon becomes clear my treacherous legs took me straight to Nero’s room.

  I hesitate, then walk up to the door.

  What am I doing here?

  I turn and get ready to retreat when the door opens, revealing Nero, his blue-gray eyes bright in the glow of my flashlight.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” I blurt out.

  His limbal rings expand. “Me either.”

  “Can I come in?” I shock myself by saying.

  He opens the door wider and gestures for me to walk in.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Once inside, I set my flashlight down on a dresser and stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.

  Nero studies me with an unreadable expression, and I realize that he’s jacketless—as in, his chest is bare.

  Well, at least he’s not completely naked this time.

  A part of me not drowning in hormones notices that he redid his shoulder bandage using one of the hotel towels, and that some blood has already seeped through the towel.

  Then the hormones take over, and my eyes leave the wound to hungrily roam over his abdominal muscles.

  Crap.

  I force my gaze to his hand and notice it’s doing much better than the shoulder.

  “Dragon claws have enzymes that hamper healing,” he says, following my gaze. “But I have a way to speed up my recovery when we get to Earth.”

  He probably means Isis—and the idea of her shooting Nero with that pleasurable healing energy bothers the currently overstimulated parts of my brain, the ones that make my eyes go to his abs yet again.

  I can’t help but wonder if it’s customary—and even polite—for a rescued damsel to throw herself at her rescuer.

  No. Bad Sasha.

  Given what said rescuer is, that’s a bad idea—for reasons still unclear. Also, if we’re talking purely customs as defined by fairytales, the damsel is supposed to be rescued from a dragon, not by a dragon.

  “I wanted to thank you,” I finally blurt out, taking a step toward him. “For coming to save me and all.”

  His eyes narrow. “You left without a word.”

  “I saw a vision of what you would do if I told you what I planned,” I retort, even as I take another step toward him. “You would’ve locked me in that stupid safe.”

  “And that didn’t clue you in about the dangers you would face?” His nostrils flare. “You think I enjoy locking you up?”

  “I think you might,” I say, my hackles rising. “Not going wasn’t an option. You know me better than that by now.”

  He steps toward me, stopping so close that I can smell hints of his spicy cologne. “I spent a day looking everywhere for you,” he says in a dangerous tone. “Do you know what that was like?”

  “Lilith decapitated you in my vision,” I reply, matching his tone. “Do you know what that was like?”

  “You got between two fighting dragons,” he growls in such a dragon-like fashion, I can’t believe I didn’t guess his nature based on this alone.

  Speaking of dragon stuff, can he spew fire in this form? He looks just about ready to do so.

  Balling my fists, I lean in and hiss, “You—”

  His lips angrily capture mine, swallowing the rest of my rebuttal.

  Wow.

  I kiss him back as though I need his tongue for sustenance.

  His hands grip my hips and pull me impossibly closer.

  The unburned adrenaline in my veins conspires with the years of abstinence to make this kiss a kind of out-of-body experience—one made that much stronger when he lifts me off my feet as if I were a feather and carries me to the bed.

  Double wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on in my life—and that includes my encounter with a succubus.

  My practice in straightjacket escapes pays another dividend when I manage to slide out of my clothes without unlocking our lips.

  His hands roam over my body, spreading tingles of heat everywhere he touches, and a flock of excited hummingbirds beat their wings in my belly as I reach to help him escape his stupid pants.

  Except Nero catches my wrist in an iron grip and pulls away from the kiss with a pained groan.

  “Are you kidding me?” I gape at my naked body and the impressive bulge being strangled by the pants.

  “It’s not safe.” He pulls back, his gaze dark and tormented. “If I lose control, you could get hurt.”

  “I don’t care,” I pant, pulling him back to me.

  His limbal rings leave no sign of the blue-gray in his eyes, and a very dragon-like growl escapes his lips.

  A growl that promises pleasure but also maybe a dislocated pelvis and third-degree burns.

  “Okay, so maybe I care a little,” I whisper. “But surely there’s something we—”

  He silences me with another kiss.

  The logical parts of my brain shut down again.

  His lips trail over my jaw to my neck, which causes gooseflesh to cover me from head to toe.

  I shiver with pleasure.

  His lips draw a line to my right breast.

  My shivers intensify.

  His tongue generates waves of need that hit my core like a tsunami; then his mouth moves down my ribcage to my belly button.

  With a sensuous inhale, I tangle my fingers in his hair as his mouth moves lower still.

  When he reaches his target, I gasp, my back arching and my fingers tangling in his thick, silky hair.

  Oblivious to me trying to scalp him, Nero moves his tongue faster.

  The pleasure explodes through me with such intensity that I can’t suppress a cry.

  He further picks up speed.

  The pleasure is almost too much.

  If I were a dragon, I might hurt him at this point—besides pulling out his hair, that is.

  His pace impossibly speeds up, and something inside me explodes as rays of pure pleasure pummel my every nerve. Moaning, I writhe against him, unable to control myself, my mind blanketed in sensations.

  When my thrashing finally ceases, I realize that my throat is hoarse from screaming and my muscles have turned to mush.

  Moving as though through molasses, I reach to return the favor, but Nero stops me again. Ignoring my objections, he forcefully puts me in a spooning position.

  If he thought this would make things better, he was wrong. I can feel him pressing against my behind, and he’s clearly frustrated.

  Very frustrated.


  He inhales deeply against the back of my head, as though smelling a bouquet of flowers, then exhales that breath slowly and deliberately, like someone trying not to let their temper take over.

  “I want to make you feel good too,” I protest—and feel rather proud that I can string so many words together in my gelatinous state.

  “It’s not safe,” he growls and readjusts his hold on me so I no longer feel his frustration. “You better go to sleep. You’re exhausted.”

  Is he trying to hypnotize me? If so, it might be working. I yawn so hard that my jaws hurt, and my eyelids are starting to feel like they’re made of lead.

  I can’t sleep yet, though. Turning over, I touch his shoulder, where more blood has seeped through the towel.

  “Does this hurt?” I ask softly, and I see a shudder ripple through him as my fingers brush across his naked chest.

  “It’s fine.” His voice is hoarse. “It’s nothing. It will heal.”

  “Let me change it,” I say and move to get up, but he tightens his hold on me.

  “Stay,” he orders, rolling over onto his back, and I obey, laying my head on his uninjured shoulder with a sigh.

  For a few moments, we lie together quietly, and I feel myself starting to drift off when Nero asks softly, “So is he everything you wanted him to be?”

  I pull back to gaze at him. “You mean Rasputin?”

  Nero nods.

  “I don’t know yet,” I say honestly. “It’s been so crazy that we haven’t really had a chance to talk. But I know now that what he did—leaving me at the airport and making a deal with you—was to protect me.”

  “Yes,” he says, his gaze shadowed. “So does that mean you forgive him?”

  I swallow thickly. Do I? How do you forgive a father who’s left you to be raised by strangers who aren’t even your own kind? How different would my life have been if I’d been raised Cognizant?

  Then again, given what I saw in his memories, maybe there was no other choice.

  Nero is looking at me expectantly, and I don’t know what to tell him. Instead, I ask, “What about you? What happened to your family? How did you end up living so far away from other dragons?” And who is Claudia? I want to add, but I don’t. Because what if she’s his wife, and he’d thought her dead all these years?