by Kait Nolan
“Like hell,” she snarled.
“Too…dangerous…like this.”
“Shut up and walk,” she ordered.
They weren’t going to make it far. Her own energies were flagging, despite the massive adrenaline spike. They needed transportation and they needed it now.
The alley let out to an access road running parallel to the strip. And all along it were parked cars.
Thank Christ. “C’mon,” she said.
Ian seemed past arguing and simply stumbled where she dragged him. She began covertly checking doors of each vehicle they passed, praying for an idiot or a careless driver who trusted too much in the auto lock feature. She hit pay dirt on a late-nineties sedan.
“Lucky number seven,” she muttered, pulling open the front passenger door and dumping Ian into the seat, narrowly avoiding adding a concussion to his list of problems. She buckled him in and circled around to the driver’s side, struggling not to run and draw attention to herself.
“No keys,” mumbled Ian as she slid into the driver’s seat.
“Don’t need ’em,” said Marley, yanking open the fuse panel and pulling the wiring harness free. She slid the small multi-purpose knife from her pocket. It wasn’t good for much, but it would work for this.
“You know how to hot wire a car?”
“I had a foster brother with a penchant for boosting cars and joyriding,” she said, twisting the bare ends of the power supply together. “He liked to teach.” She touched the ignition wire and the engine caught.
“Fascinating woman,” he slurred.
“Yeah. I’m a real catch. All kinds of secondary skills from hanging out with juvenile delinquents.” She pulled carefully into traffic. “I need you to keep it together, Ian. Tell me what to do.”
Silence was his only reply.
“Ian?” Marley glanced over to see his head tipped forward in a slump. Unconscious. “Shit!”
She was on her own.
~*~
Ian was burning up. Marley could feel the heat pulsing off him as she leaned into the passenger side of the car and unfastened the seat belt. God, what was wrong with him?
“Wake up.” Marley tapped at his cheek, gently at first, then hard enough to leave a faint red mark. Swearing a steady blue streak, she wrapped her arms around his torso, struggled to shift his bulk. She was never going to get him inside the cabin. “Damn it, you’re a dead weight. I can’t get you out of this car if you don’t help me.”
“Let me.”
Marley froze at the sound of the voice behind her.
I chose wrong, she thought, pulse beating a trip hammer in her throat. She should’ve kept driving, not risked coming back to the safe house for their things. And now the Hunter had found them.
Moving slowly, she ran a hand down Ian’s back, feeling for the butt of the pistol. The metal was warm from his body as her fingers closed around it, drew it from the holster. It felt huge and heavy in her hand. She didn’t know if bullets would stop what had come after them, but she’d be damned if she was going down without a fight.
“I’d really appreciate it,” she began, keeping her voice even as she extricated herself from Ian and whipped around, leveling the gun at the man beyond the car door, “if you’d step the hell away from the car.”
It wasn’t the Hunter. At least not the one who’d tailed them in Gatlinburg. Neither was he the scar-faced man who’d been watching her from the crowd or the warlock from her apartment. Unless he was some kind of shapeshifter like the one who’d killed her mother. This man was taller, broader with silver-shot dark hair and eyes that seemed to shift and move like smoke.
He eyed the gun dispassionately. “Will you actually use that?”
“If I have to.”
“Good.” The man flowed toward her, his hand curling around hers. Before she could cry out or squeeze the trigger, he spoke again. “Be sure to turn the safety off next time.”
Something snicked, and he edged back in that weirdly fluid way.
Marley stared at him, the gun in her hand bucking. “What are you?” she whispered.
“Help. If you’ll let me.” He took a step back toward her.
Marley firmed her grip on the gun and shifted to better block Ian in the passenger seat.
The man could’ve disarmed her. He’d been close enough to snap her neck and instead chose to turn the safety off on the gun in her hands and step back into the line of fire.
“Ian is going into shock. If he’s not treated soon, irreparable damage will be done.”
He knew Ian’s name. And apparently knew what was wrong with him. Maybe that meant this man knew how to help him. It was a chance she had to take.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Probably best if you don’t know that. Plausible deniability.”
“What should I call you?”
“Commander will do.”
One of Ian’s military contacts? Maybe. He was Mirus. Ian had said they hid in plain sight.
“Move very, very slowly,” she ordered, edging out of the space between the car and the open door.
The corner of his mouth flickered a little, as if she amused him. Threats from someone like her against someone like him probably were a joke. But he did as she asked, easing into the vacated space and laying two fingers on the pulse in Ian’s throat.
“Fool,” he murmured, hoisting Ian from the seat and throwing him over one shoulder. “I get you the biggest promotion of your life and you blow it off for this.”
“Move toward the cabin,” she said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
He paused just at the edge of the porch and reached up, using one finger to trace a pattern in the air. Where he touched, a symbol flared gold before guttering out.
“What the hell was that?” she demanded.
“I had to undo the protection runes around the perimeter to get in. He’s not playing around with you.”
Protection runes?
There was no time to consider that. They performed a bit of a juggling act as she fished in Ian’s pocket for the keys and unlocked the door. The other man entered before her, eyes sweeping the space in the same militaristic way Ian’s did. Without another word, he crossed the room and dumped Ian on the sofa.
“How long has he been like this?”
“Unconscious for nearly an hour. Before that he was stumbling a fair bit for another thirty, forty-five minutes. He said it was nothing.”
The man ripped open Ian’s shirt to bare his chest. Marley gasped at the sight of the scars etched into his flesh.
“Fucking stupid, principled bastard. He’s starving himself.”
“No, it must be something else. He’s been eating regularly. We had lunch before we left.”
“Not talking about that kind of food, lady.”
“Then wh—” Marley trailed off, as the man used his thumb and forefinger to open one of Ian’s eyes. One of his glowing, silver eyes. Her mind flashed to another set of luminous eyes, a set of sharp teeth, gone in a blink. Daddy. Not a dream. Reality.
She felt the floor beneath her tilt and grabbed for the nearest piece of furniture to keep from toppling. “He’s not human,” she mumbled, numb.
The commander shot her a surprised glance. “Well, I can see you two have bypassed some of the necessities in the get-to-know-you portion of being fugitives. If you’re going to scream or faint, then get on with it. Otherwise, I need your help.”
Marley’s spine stiffened. She was no weak-willed female unable to handle a shock. “What does he need?”
Please don’t say blood. Please don’t say blood.
“Emotion.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“He’s a wraith. He feeds on human emotion.”
“What is that? Some kind of psychic vampire?”
“He can explain the technicalities to you when he’s awake, if he so chooses. Are you going to help or not?”
Marley willed her legs into motion. “How? It’s not lik
e I can bottle what I feel and dump it down his throat.”
“Touch him. Wraiths feed through skin to skin contact.”
She thought of all those times her touch seemed to calm him. If he was somehow starving himself, that would explain a lot.
The commander backed up so she could perch on the sofa beside Ian. When he kept backing away, she asked, “Where are you going?”
“It isn’t safe for me to be here. I’m supposed to be on the other side of the world.”
“But I don’t know what I’m doing!”
“You’ll figure it out. When he wakes, tell Ian he is riven. This is no longer a matter of a single Hunter. There will be a squad sent after him. I’ll do what I can to slow them, to buy you both some time. But your mutual survival depends on him.”
“Wait!” called Marley. “Why are you doing this? Why help us?”
The commander edged back into the shadow of the staircase. “I’m repaying a debt. Now listen carefully. As soon as he’s conscious, you must make your way to the following coordinates.” He reeled off a series of numbers, made her repeat them.
“Why should I believe any of this? What’s there?”
“The truth about who you are.”
“I don’t understand. What do you—” But her words met an empty room. The commander was simply gone.
What kind of world had she fallen into?
Shifting her focus back to Ian, she wrapped a hand around his and laid her free hand over his heart. It beat slow and sluggish beneath her palm. His skin felt feverish to the touch. Feverish for a human anyway. The hand in hers was lax and unresponsive. Marley had no idea how to tell whether this was working at all or not. She gripped his fingers tighter.
“Ian, you’ve got to wake up. You’ve come with me this far. You can’t go dying on me now.”
Marley tried to imagine her emotions as some kind of life force, a river she could direct, like chi. She gathered every ounce of gratitude she had for what he’d done for her and tried to push it into him.
No response.
Maybe it wasn’t working because she wasn’t fully human. There was no time to think about or react to that. A little desperate, she pushed his shirt aside, wrapping her arm around his bare torso and pressing her cheek against his heart.
Use me as an anchor, she thought, holding tight.
The rhythm of his heart stuttered and sped up.
Did that mean it was working?
She thought of every good thing about him. His fierce protectiveness. His kindness to her. His respect toward her. His strength. His willingness to sacrifice himself. His honor. Something hot and full lodged in her own chest, just below her breastbone. Marley swallowed against it, loosening her hold and easing up his body until she hovered over his still face.
“Don’t you leave me alone, Ian,” she whispered. “I need you.”
Marley pressed her lips to his and felt the knot in her chest dissolve, flowing out. For long moments, nothing happened. Then the lips beneath hers softened and opened on a sigh. Marley angled her head to deepen the kiss, offering more. He tasted of man, rich and dark, with faint hints of chocolate.
Ian’s arms lifted, hands trailing up her back to cup her nape, splay across her spine, and pull her closer. The heat of him soaked into her skin. Marley shivered as relief slid to desire. Some dim, distant part of her brain shrilled an alarm. There was something important she was forgetting. But she was past caring. Beneath his touch, her nerve endings electrified, whipping her past want and into need. And all she wanted was to drown in it.
Chapter 9
Ian was dreaming. He had to be. Only there would Marley be warm and ready in his arms, only there would his appetite find the satisfaction it craved. He wanted this. Needed this. Since it was only a dream, he dragged her closer, shifted her lithe little body until she straddled him, her weight a glorious torture. He plundered her mouth, wallowed in the taste of her until desire strained at his always iron control. He wanted her. God, how he wanted her.
At least here, in a dream, he could relinquish that control.
Ian rolled to reverse their positions and suddenly there was nothing beneath them. Before he could correct, they crashed to the floor. Marley let out a grunt as his greater bulk landed on top of her. A bolt of pain shot up his bad leg.
He wasn’t dreaming.
For a long, humming moment, he stopped breathing as he lay there, chest to chest with Marley. The haze of lust was almost palpable around her as she looked back at him from heavy-lidded eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth red from the assault of his. She reached up to draw him back down and Ian threw himself backward, scrambling away from her like some drunken, lopsided crab.
Oh God. Oh God, he’d fed from her. Strength and power coursed through his veins, undeniable proof he was an uncontrollable monster.
“Ian? Are you all right?” Marley sat up, started to crawl toward him.
“Don’t!” he barked.
She froze, arousal fading, replaced by a mix of embarrassment and humiliation. The nausea would come soon. Struggling to find calm through the horror, he scanned her face, searching for the signs. The pulse at the base of her throat hammered. Ian could see it from across the room. He’d taken too much. He felt drunk from power, revived in a way that was as damning as blood on his hands. And Marley…Marley should be dead.
He struggled for words, for some shred of control in the panic. “How did we get back here?”
“I stole a car.” Marley’s voice was stilted.
It was his nature to amplify negative emotions when he fed, and he could see her struggling to get them under control when she should’ve drowned in them long before now.
Marley got to her feet effortlessly, not like he’d all but sucked the life out of her. “Then this guy showed up.”
The bubbles in his blood turned to ice. “What guy?”
“He didn’t give his name, said to call him Commander. Tall guy, graying dark hair, weird eyes. He’s the one who carried you inside.”
“Matthias,” Ian growled, rolling to his feet, automatically scanning the room. But there was no threat to protect Marley from except himself.
“He’s already gone, but he said to give you a message.”
“A message.”
“He said that you are riven and they’ll be sending a squad. He’ll try to buy us as much time as he can. Is that as bad as it sounds?”
Ian closed his eyes. Riven. Officially discharged from Council service and targeted for extermination. The punishment for treason. “Yeah, it’s bad.”
“Well you look like you’re in fighting shape again, so I guess it worked.”
His eyes snapped open. “What worked?”
“He said you’d been starving yourself. That you feed from skin to skin contact but he left before explaining how. Ian, why would you do that?” She reached out, put a hand on his arm.
“Don’t touch me!” Ian snatched his arm away from her and watched hurt and embarrassment bloom faster than a hand print if he’d slapped her. But he couldn’t take it back, so he focused on anger, on Matthias. “Damn him, he knew the state I was in, and he told you to feed me deliberately? Is that what you were doing?”
Marley wrapped both arms around her middle and the magenta hue of humiliation deepened. “I wasn’t trying to molest you.”
“No, you were just trying to revive a monster you know nothing about. Why would you do such a thing?”
“You gave up everything to save me.” Marley gave a defensive jerk of her shoulders. “It seemed about damn time I did something to return the favor.”
“I could have killed you,” Ian whispered. “I’m sorry. I would never have willingly used you like that. Never have hurt you like that.” Wanting to touch, to comfort, he took two steps toward her before he caught himself and dropped his hand.
Her stiff posture eased as magenta shifted to peach. Why the hell was she concerned for him? She was the one who’d just been molested.
&n
bsp; “I’m not hurt. I feel fine. A little edgy, maybe, but I figure that’s not bad considering there’s apparently a whole group of assassins on our tail now.”
“Not assassins. Shadow Walkers,” he corrected automatically before bulldozing on. “We have to move. The squad could arrive at any time. I can gather our gear, be ready to go in five minutes. Sit down and rest.”
Maybe by the time he’d finished, he’d be calm enough to check her properly.
She trailed him into the bedroom, picked up her own bag and began to pack it as he did the same. “Ian slow down for just a minute and look at me. I’m fine.”
He didn’t slow as he took in her flushed cheeks. “It is not possible that you are fine. I took too much.”
“You didn’t take anything I didn’t freely give,” she insisted. “I swear, I’m okay. Look, Ian—”
“That’s not how it works.” Ian shoved clothing into his duffel with barely controlled violence. “My race are parasites. We feed on negative emotion. Our abilities enhance it in direct proportion to how much we take. Left uncontrolled, we can leave our victims in the throes of suicidal depression or insanity. No one volunteers for that, and you should be weeping uncontrollably or unable to stand because it’s too much effort.”
Marley crossed her arms and studied him, the very picture of inexplicable health. “Sorry to disappoint you but I’m not depressed or crazy. I’m starting to think maybe you’re a little bit of both.”
She didn’t understand. How could she, without knowing his origins?
“I’m a wraith. My race was created to be a tool of war,” he said, interrupting her. “We were slaves, each bound to a single master. Power hungry, vicious men, driven to dominate, to kill. War is ugly and we made it uglier. We took the fear, the hatred, the anger and magnified it using whatever illusion was necessary. Then we fed, drawing down their strength, channeling it into our masters, ensuring victory, leaving a trail of the broken and the dead in our wake. We were used. And for centuries, we thought that we were merely conduits. That the hunger was that of our masters. Then the Council freed us and we found that it was not our masters after all. The hunger, the goddamned insatiable hunger for the worst of men turned out to be our own. They merely capitalized on what we are. We’re monsters. Exactly what you thought was hiding in the dark.”
