The Time King (The Kings Book 13)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “They’re coming again Helena,” he told her. “The Night Terrors. I’m making sure of it. Only this time, there won’t be a handful.” He shook his head. “No, this time an army of monsters is heading out through that wide-open door.”

  Helena wished she would wake up. If the door was open anyway, then she didn’t want to be here with him, facing his offer once more. Frankly, she was afraid that she’d make a different choice this time.

  Just to be certain nothing else had changed, she attempted to use her powers on him. As she stood there in the middle of the hallway and he circled her like a shark, she tried to blast him telekinetically. She attempted to lift him up and throw him down the hall. But as usual, it didn’t work. It never worked, not on him.

  He stopped and tilted his head, his expression one of mock sympathy. “You’re feeling frustrated. I understand. But you really should save your strength.” He closed the distance between them, and Helena found herself backing into the hallway wall. She reached for the gun at her back and remembered it wasn’t there. In the waking world, Liam Slate had taken it from her. The way things worked with the Night Terror world, that meant Helena was unarmed here as well. She gritted her teeth and vowed to punch Liam in the face too – if she ever made it back alive.

  “You’ll need it soon enough,” Cain told her frankly and with a whole lot of innuendo.

  Helena turned and ran.

  It was her only option. He wasn’t going to chase after her. He never did. It wasn’t his style. If she could make it to the end of the hall where the darkness was deepest, she could make it back through the door herself.

  Yes, things would follow her back through. They always did. And something about this particular trip felt different, more potent. But the sooner she made it back through to the other side, the sooner she could get help closing that door again. Then she would track down and destroy whatever had come through.

  One step at a time. First things first.

  Item one on the agenda: Escape Cain.

  Helena’s boots echoed loudly on the damp cement as she pounded it out beneath her. She didn’t hold back, sprinting at full speed. For a split second, it occurred to her that something else might have changed this time around. What if the door wasn’t there? What if when she reached the end, instead of going right back through, she hit a brick wall?

  Willing to take that chance.

  She put her head down, raised her arms, and plowed through the shadows. But she came to a full, scraping, jarring halt when Cain stepped out of those shadows, blocking her path.

  Okay, I was wrong, she thought with burgeoning panic. Apparently he would chase after her. There was a first for everything.

  “You really shouldn’t be in such a hurry to wake up, Helena,” he told her seriously. “For a couple of reasons.”

  Helena’s heart felt as though it would rip right out of her chest Meatloaf style. It hurt. This kind of fear hurt physically.

  “For one, things work different between us in your world. You won’t be protected against me the way you are here. You were made for me, Helena. You won’t be able to deny me the way you are now.” He moved toward her. As usual, she moved back. And he grinned at the fact that she was proving his point. “You sure you want that? That lack of freedom?” He shook his head and looked her slowly up and down. “Doesn’t seem like your thing.”

  Freedom? Was that what his twisted mind thought this was? “I wasn’t made for anyone,” she told him, though she barely heard her own words over the roar of blood in her ears. “Well, except maybe Richard Armitage or Michael Fassbender, but barring that rather exclusive group, nope.” She shook her head, exceedingly proud of herself for once again acting through the fear and anger and managing a flippant if utterly pointless façade. “There’s just me. And you aren’t on the list.”

  Cain raised his head, his blue eyes flashing with illuminating power. But the light was gone as quickly as it had come, and he smiled again, just a slow curl of his lips. She had yet to see him sport fangs. She had a feeling he was keeping them at bay for her benefit.

  He said, “Okay, then there’s reason number two. Those boys out there?” He turned and gestured with a nod to the darkness behind him before turning back around to pin her with his blue eyes. “They haven’t finished their spell on you, Helena. There’s a reason you were put to sleep for the last part. Believe me,” he came forward. Again she stepped back. This time, he seemed slightly annoyed, as if it had scraped the bottom of his store of patience. But he shook his head and took it in stride. “You don’t want to wake up right now.”

  Helena considered his words. Will had said something very similar. Now she wanted to damn well know why. “Okay, what the hell is the last part of the spell? Do they have to chop off a finger or something?”

  “They’re going to brand you,” he told her plainly. His tone was cold. There was emotion in it, held in check, but it was so restrained Helena couldn’t even tell what that emotion was. His eyes flashed like blue flame again. There one second, and gone so fast. “They’re going to bathe metal in fire until it’s red hot and press it into your flesh until the air smells like cooked meat.” His brow arched, and his face remained neutral. “Call me crazy, but that doesn’t seem like it would be your thing either.”

  Silence. It stretched in the hallway, like a mirrored reflection of the hallway itself.

  Helena’s skin began to hurt. She looked down at her arm and pushed up her sleeve. There was nothing there. As soon as she saw that, the pain left.

  He was toying with her.

  “Some friends, huh?” Cain asked softly.

  She looked back up at him. But again, she couldn’t decipher his emotions. He seemed to look upon her with concern and sympathy and kindness, but she knew it was all fake. His true thoughts were actually unreadable. So rather than try, she allowed her instinct to take over.

  He was still trapped somewhere in a prison realm by the Storyteller. So he wasn’t at full strength. Vampires were so strong, they could lift semis and so fast, they blurred. But he was only partly here. He wasn’t at full speed. He wouldn’t be himself until he managed to make his way through that door he said was still open.

  She was counting on that.

  Helena lunged to the right, knowing he would try to stop her. He did. And just as he did, she spun, ducking down to the left to elbow him hard in the kidney. He made a pain-filled sound and stumbled just enough for her to get by. She took her opening and sped full-tilt toward the shadowed darkness ahead of her.

  As she reached it, she felt the familiar pull of the waking world. It slowed her progress, warped time around her the way she sometimes warped it, and made her body feel heavy. She closed her eyes; she was sleeping, after all.

  And when she opened them again, she was sitting up on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, alone.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Will ran a hand through his thick, dark brown hair and pinched the bridge of his nose. For the last five minutes, Ash had been filling them in on what Night Terrors – capital “N,” capital “T,” – were and why Helena had called out to him because of them. Now Will understood why she’d wanted the beer. According to Ashrim, alcohol kept her up. Caffeine put her down. Ash knew a lot about Helena.

  Will had to admit that made him uneasy. Ash and the Promised One had been friends for years. The sentinel knew she experienced synesthesia, that she loved classic rock and classic cars but also loved practically every other kind of music under the sun, and owned a Jeep because life was bumpy. She read copious amounts of time-travel sci-fi and mystery, but also poetry, and her favorite author was Mark Twain. She was a die-hard Trekkie and had a bigger than average crush on a whole slew of television bad guys. He knew she played Bob Seger songs on the guitar, but also Oscar Isaac and Neil Diamond. He knew that she’d gone to school for everything from journalism to dance to law, and that she actually had two advanced degrees, despite the fact that she’d chosen to live her life as a wa
rden. Of all things.

  There was a reason for that, too. Through Ash, Will had learned that Helena’s father had died when she was only seven years old – fighting off one of her own Night Terrors.

  That terrible moment in time had been the deciding factor in her life’s choices. It was why she was knocked out right now on Liam’s bed rather than preparing a lecture at some Ivy League school like Columbia or Cornell.

  With every fact he shared about Helena Dawn, Ash tied Will down harder. Every word made him weaker. He had this strange feeling inside him, unfamiliar and heavy, and he honestly wasn’t sure he liked it. Because there was no way for this to end well. He didn’t have happy endings, especially where women were concerned. He was a warden and it was a cop’s life, but with the added danger of supernatural threat thrown in.

  He just needed to keep Helena away from Cain. That was all. It was his job. Nothing more.

  The sound of fire hissing drew his attention to Darryl, who stood about ten feet away, bent over a portable fire pit in the safe house “dungeon.” It was just a room with warded walls and chains, a few uncomfortable chairs, and even a bed where unsavories were kept until their kings or leaders or whatever could come pick them up and dole out their own brand of justice – and Will and Liam could get paid. In short, the room had been made for the bounty hunter aspect of the warden job.

  Will was leaning against the table on the other side of the foreboding room, Liam and Ash nearby. But when Will saw what was making the hissing sound, he rose and straightened, and his heart sank into his gut, where it was pretty much digested by a churning stomach.

  Darryl held up the metal brand, which glowed bright orange at one end. The smoldering metal had been intricately and carefully carved into the symbol necessary to complete Darryl’s spell and effectively protect Helena from Cain’s influence. It was supposed to be her salvation, and since it was hers, it was theirs too. But all Will saw when he looked at it was pain.

  Red hot, glowing pain.

  “What’s the matter, Will? Getting cold feet?” asked Darryl softly. His tone was laced with a touch of apathetic acid, and his eyes said he knew damn well Will didn’t want to do this. He just enjoyed rubbing it in.

  “I’ll do it, Will,” said Liam. He walked over to Will and shot Darryl a dirty look. But Will could see the color had drained from Liam’s face too.

  “Neither of you should have to do it,” said Ash, who joined them. “I will do it. And then I will heal her.”

  But Darryl lifted the metal brand and wagged his finger at them. “Ah-ah,” he chided. “No healing. You’ll need to let it work its magic. I’m afraid this is something she’ll have to tough out.” He lowered it again when all three of them must have donned appalled expressions. “Oh please,” he said. “Tell me you at least stock some decent pain killers in this glorified pillow fort.”

  “I’ll do it myself.”

  The three of them turned toward the room’s entrance where Helena now stood, and Will’s heart momentarily stopped in his chest. Literally stopped. When it started back up again, it hurt.

  Helena was a deliriously beautiful woman. But right now, she looked haunted. There was a darkness under her luminous eyes, a pale hue to her smooth skin, and she was clenching and unclenching her fists in pure, hard fear. Her eyes skirted quickly from him to Liam to Darryl. And then to the fire pit.

  She was lunging forward before he could stop her. She was good. He had to give her that. She used their surprise to her advantage. But his entire life passed before his eyes when she expertly wrenched the branding iron from Darryl’s grip and held it out in front of her like a weapon. He and Liam skidded to a halt a few short feet away. They’d come that far at least.

  The cousins held up their hands. “You don’t want to do this, Helena,” Will said, shaking his head.

  “Let us help you,” Liam added.

  “You’ve done enough,” she told them. And with that, she lifted her left arm so her sleeve slid back. Like lightning, she spun the iron in her hand until it was face-down, then pressed it into her forearm with merciless accuracy.

  The sound was God-awful. Nausea rose in Will’s gut as the iron scorched through her flesh, burning away the layers with immense and terrible speed. He was behind her, wrapping his arms around her before he knew what he was doing. Acting on pure instinct, pure horror, he caught her when she sank to her knees from the pain. The branding iron dropped to the ground, its job more than well done, and Will absorbed the sound of her scream.

  “Get the first aid kit!” he commanded.

  But Liam had already left the room, and Ash had dropped to his knees beside them. The sentinel took Helena’s face in his hands and lifted it, trying to make eye contact. Helena’s eyes met his, but they were glazed and unfocused. “It hurts,” she hissed, teeth clasped tight together. “Too much.”

  The mark was blood red and black, outlined by the still-burning orange of skin that hadn’t yet quit searing. But worse, lines of insidious red magic spread from the brand, sinking under the skin of her arm to infiltrate the rest of her body.

  Ashrim noted this and looked up at Darryl with deadly accusation. “It’s the spell, isn’t it? Causing her pain?”

  Darryl honestly looked helpless. And Will honestly wanted to kill him. Especially when the warlock finally shrugged and said, “It’s powerful magic. It’s meant to keep Cain away; it can’t be an easy pill to swallow, now can it?” He stepped forward as if he wanted to help in some way and had no idea how. “This is why you couldn’t heal it. It takes time to work completely.”

  Will held Helena fast, though she writhed in his grasp, and he felt every corded muscle that housed the suffering in her body. He was twice as big and twice as strong as her, and that was his one advantage. So he used it. “What is it doing to her?!” he demanded through clenched teeth of his own.

  “It’s working its way through her system,” said Darryl. “Once it does and can protect her fully, the pain will subside.” He nodded at the mark. “The burn itself will hurt for a while, naturally.”

  Ashrim looked deeply troubled. Will could imagine how hard it was for the sentinel to watch a warden suffer like she was but be unable to do anything about it even though he was so close.

  “How much longer?” Ash asked.

  “Not long now,” Darryl assured them. “I think.”

  “You think?” Will growled.

  Darryl held up his hands. “This is un-tried magic!”

  Ash looked toward the door, where Liam had already reappeared. Ash released Helena to meet him in the doorway. Over the top of Helena’s head, Will saw Liam hand Ashrim several items. One of them was yet another syringe.

  Oh hell, thought Will.

  But it made sense. Helena wouldn’t be able to get any kind of pill down right now, and a pill would take forever to work anyway. An injection of something strong was their best bet. And with the way she was thrashing, it would take more than one of them to administer it, or the damn needle would break off inside her.

  “Chloroform!” he commanded, hoping they hadn’t used the last of it in one of their previous jobs without re-stocking. But it was as he’d feared when Liam shook his head. They were out.

  “This is all we have,” said Ash. He knelt beside them again and attempted to straddle her, but she was strong, and he was holding a needle.

  Will acted quickly. He moved a knee on either side of her body and pulled her back against his chest, minimizing the movement of her legs with his. He held her tight, securing her arms to her sides. Her head thrashed, so he had to turn his face away for fear of earning a broken nose.

  Now Ashrim swung a leg over her to straddle her, looked Will in the eyes, and grabbed Helena’s right wrist, choosing her uninjured arm. She fought him mindlessly, her body overrun with magic that went against the very fabric of what she was. But Ashrim’s grip was hard. He turned her arm over and inserted the needle at her vein.

  He pressed the plunger steadily, emptying th
e syringe’s contents into her just as Liam had done.

  Will watched the clear liquid disappear before Ash pulled the needle back out, and like a magic of its own, the medicine began working at once. Within seconds, the tension was leaving Helena’s body. In his arms, she slowly stopped fighting, gradually relaxing against him. Her eyes blinked open and then shut again, her teeth unclenched. She moaned low, a sound that spoke of soreness and misery, but of sweet relief as well. Her head turned against his chest, and he had the desperate urge to gently kiss it.

  But his gaze slid to the bright red mark on her left forearm and reality slammed into him cold and hard. He glanced at the now-empty syringe on the ground beside Ash’s leg.

  “Do you have enough of that stuff for another load?” he asked without looking up.

  “Yes,” Ashrim replied.

  Helena spoke up. Her voice was so soft, it was nearly a whisper, but it stopped everyone dead. “He’s coming,” she told them. Silence echoed her words. She opened her eyes again and tilted her head back to look up, meeting Will’s gaze. “Cain was right behind me,” she said. “And the door….” She swallowed and shook her head, just once. “It was wide open. For too long. We… have to shut it.”

  Ashrim was the only one of them who seemed to fully understand the weight of what Helena was telling them, because he rose to his feet, then bent over to take Helena by the arm.

  “Can you walk?”

  She nodded and used his leverage to rise. But when she was vertical, she wobbled, and Ash gave her his shoulder to wrap her arm around for stability. “What the heck did you give me?” she asked, her words still very soft.

  “A healthy dose of morphine and sodium amytal,” replied Liam as he picked up the syringe and moved around her to help steady her with an arm around her waist. “Feel better?”