by Lora Leigh
amn it. There wasn’t enough time to get through the door.”
“Bright fucking idea blowing the lights,” another snapped.
The other didn’t speak.
Where was he?
Liza stared around her, heart racing, terrified to make the move to sprint for the connecting door and the exit leading into the hallway.
With her hands planted against the floor, her body ready to vault across the distance, she considered her chances—
The chair went flying.
Screaming out Stygian’s name, Liza sprinted for the connecting door as hard hands gripped her arm and a growl echoed through her senses.
Turning in the grip and kicking her leg out to connect with her assailant’s knee, she was gripped with rage. The heavy padding over the vulnerable area minimized the force of the blow, bringing no more than a guttural grunt as his grip tightened.
As he brought his other arm up to grab her neck, his fingers only brushed her flesh before she knocked them away, twisted again and dropped, screaming at the wrench in her arm a second before he released her.
Her foot slammed into his shin.
Padded.
Throttled rage escaped her at the triumphant laugh that echoed around her as another suddenly grabbed her other arm and within seconds she found her arms twisted behind her.
“Hurry, damn it, we don’t have all day.” The order was harsh, a sudden, ear-splitting automated shriek began blaring through the halls outside.
Throwing all her weight against the grip the two men had on her, Liza kicked both her feet out, connecting with the third’s chest and sending him stumbling back as the other two lost their grip on her.
Crashing to the floor, she ignored the bite of pain that drove into her flesh through the denim of her jeans and her undefended hands as she hit the shards of glass below.
Kicking out again, she tripped another while grabbing the heavy base of a lamp that had fallen from the table next to her. Swinging out, she let a satisfied snarl leave her lips as it connected with the face shield of the assailant who had been giving the orders. The crack of the sensitive shield sent a thrill of pleasure racing through her mind as she ducked from the other before twisting around, gripping the shield and tearing it from his face.
Let them join her in the fucking dark.
“Fuck. Get that little hellion. She just tore off my shield!”
“We have Breeds in the hall! We have Breeds in the hall!” another yelled.
“Move out!”
Liza twisted around in time to see three dark figures jump from the shattered window, arms outspread. A breath later, three shadows seemed to streak through the air as flares of light erupted outside.
The door to the suite exploded inward and in a blinding, horrified flash, Liza watched as a dozen Breeds rushed the room.
It had happened before…
Soldiers had rushed the room, forcing Honor, Fawn and Judd to begin firing. They couldn’t use caution not to kill.
They had to kill or be killed.
Rushing into the night, a vehicle screaming to a stop as the door was thrown open and Judd rushed them into it.
The rest was a flicker of a memory. The race through the desert, the Navajo warriors who were trying to explain their plan.
Two girls were dying an hour away from a crash into a canyon. The daughters of two highly trusted members of the Navajo Nation. No one would ever question their identity. No one would know who they were, or what had happened if the ritual worked.
A ritual that would cause Honor and Fawn’s spirits to sleep while the knowledge, partial memories, and the identity of the other girls became theirs instead.
Not their spirits. There was no magic that could hold their spirits, and those who loved them would never countenance it. But memories, knowledge—that was different.
But they had to hurry.
Time slowed.
Candles flickered as she and Fawn were drawn inside the rough sweat lodge. Six Navajo medicine men were seated in a semi-circle around the glowing fire.
On one side of the burning embers, lying on two beds of folded blankets, were two young girls, so broken, so close to death that she felt agony tearing through her.
These were the girls whose places they would take.
The explanations had been made hastily an hour before as they raced through the desert with Terran Martinez, the son of one of the spiritual elders now sitting across from her.
The two girls had crashed into a canyon hours before. Their spirits had been taken, they’d been told, having already moved beyond life, but a part of them remained. Enough that an ancient ritual could be performed before the bodies took their last breath.
That ritual would give Honor and Fawn the lives that had been taken in a remote canyon when the girls’ car had exploded and thrown them free.
Too much speed, the confidence of youth and inexperience behind the wheel had resulted in the crash.
Fate, Terran had whispered, his niece and her best friend had met fate, and provided Honor and Fawn the means of escape.
Orrin Martinez waved his hand to the two makeshift beds that lay beside each girl. “Take your place,” his voice rasped through the hastily erected sweat lodge. “The sand is falling through the glass of life, and time is running low.”
Honor lay down, her heart racing, her throat tightened, as the blond man she’d been told was Audi Johnson and his wife, Jane, took their seats on the other side of the fire.
One of the medicine men whispered something; a second later, Audi and Jane reached out and dropped what appeared to be a handful of dried plants on the burning embers and rocks in the center of the shelter.
Sparks flew up, showering the air with pinpoints of red as the acrid then sweet smell that suddenly filled the air swept through her senses.
“Do you know, young children, the decision you have made this night?”
It was a scene from the oldest western movie they had ever watched. Not that they had ever been allowed to watch much television where they had spent most of their lives.
But she knew, as her eyes met Fawn’s, that this was the only decision they could make.
The steam that rose from the center pit, the hiss of water trickling upon the red-hot stones and the acrid scent of the pungent dried herbs that wafted thick and heavy in the air, all added to the sense of disbelief that swirled through her head.
“I know the decision I’ve made,” she answered, though her voice cracked with fear, and with tears.
Wizened, his lined face and deep, dark gaze reflecting his sympathy, the chief of the Six Tribes nodded slowly.
She turned her head to watch her friend. As always, stoicism defined her. Staring at the ceiling above, her gaze resigned, her expression still. It was more than courage that filled her. There was no fear, no panic—nothing but that resignation that tore at her heart.
Fawn had known no peace, no lack of pain, both physical or emotional, for nearly the whole of her life.
Even here, amidst these whose only concern was that of her safety and her comfort, she knew no peace.
But then, neither of them ever had, not really. The reasons for it had merely been different, the years of being so ill, of knowing such pain, were now too much a part of them.
“Know you, that when it is over, strength will be yours. There will be no fears, no nightmares to combat. You will be the child you have whispered to the Almighty that you wish to be,” he whispered to Fawn, his expression so gentle, so filled with tenderness that even she felt a part of her calm at the sound of it.
Watching Fawn, she saw the shame that filled her friend. The fear she always felt shamed her, made her feel weak. She wouldn’t listen when they tried to tell her it only made her stronger.
“Ah child, such heart and compassion you hold within your small body,” the chief seemed to understand each of those fears, to the point that as Fawn finally turned her head and stared into his dark gaze, her lips had tr
embled and Honor had watched her eyes fill with such hope.
The sense of pure peace and certainty that filled her expression left Honor suddenly thankful that Judd had convinced them to take this only path they could find to safety.
“Child.” He turned to her then, holding out his other hand to her.
She wasn’t afraid.
She had faced her fears and knew the monsters that lurked in the dark. The unknown wasn’t nearly as terrifying as all the terrors her past held.
“See you these four?” She followed as Orrin reached out a hand and gestured to the warriors, their faces streaked with war paint, their dark eyes flinty in the light of the burning embers of the fire. “They will guide you on your journey. You know not their faces, but their strength will ease your way and help you keep the secrets you have hidden for so very long.”
She nodded. It wasn’t the pain she would ever fear. She had known pain. Pain that seared her insides and wrapped around her mind until she prayed to God to die.
No, pain was the least of her fears, because she had learned how to conquer it.
“There will be no fear, there will be no pain,” he promised Fawn then, grief tearing at his voice. Fawn was trembling and a single tear slid from the corner of her eyes. “It will be just peace.”
A trembling smile, one of hope, quivered about her lips.
“It is time then.” Orrin sat back, his head lifting, his palms turned up as a low chant began to fill the lodge.
Honor eased her hand to Fawn’s and gripped it, knowing how alone her friend often felt since they had lost Gideon. How frightened she felt now, knowing that even though they wouldn’t remember him, they were also losing Judd as well.
“I won’t see him again,” Fawn whispered. “I won’t know him.”
She knew who Fawn spoke of and breathed out softly.
From what Judd had said, Gideon would kill them all now if he could.
“It’s for the best. It will keep you safe. He’ll kill you if he can.”
The younger girl’s breathing hitched as she fought to hold back a sob. “He wouldn’t kill me, Honor. I know he wouldn’t.”
“Child.” Orrin Martinez gripped her hand, drawing her from Fawn’s tear-filled gaze. “Neither destiny, fate, nor the battle you are to fight on this earth can be avoided. It can only be delayed. To each of you—” He drew back as the chanting began once again. “To each of you, a protector will be sent. When it is time, when the memories must surface to guide the battle you must fight, your protector shall appear. One in the form of chaos, and one—” He looked to Fawn with gentle eyes. “One, my dear, in the form of death.”
A brilliant arc of light filled the room at Fawn’s throttled cry of fear, and another herb was tossed on the burning fire, the wicked red stones that the water hissed upon sending a rush of steam to fill the sweat lodge as the chanting increased.
Light flared. The winds roared outside. There were cries, both startled and filled with anger, from outside the lodge. She swore she heard gunfire—
Honor turned her gaze from Fawn’s and stared up at the crisscross of wood that made up the low ceiling and watched as the droplets of steam seemed to come to the point of the ceiling before feathering down, landing on her face, her arms, her legs.
Whatever upheaval gathered outside, inside she was safe.
She would have thought it would be hot in the lodge, but it was cool. Moisture washed over her overheated flesh and soothed it, then seemed to fill her lungs with a slightly sweet, slightly bitter taste.
With each swallow, the taste of the moisture comforted her, sent lethargy stealing through her and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn’t wonder what tomorrow would bring.
She knew what it would bring.
They had explained it to her.
They had told her how the nothingness would be a comfort. How the years of pain and sorrow would slowly ease and who and what she had been would be but memories for others.
Who and what she had been would be no more until chaos filled the night.
Tonight, Honor Roberts and Fawn Corrigan would die.
The six chiefs of the People, the old men who came together from more than one tribe of Native Americans, to help them, to save them, filled Fawn with awe.
It wasn’t awe Honor felt, though. It was gratitude.
Finally, the fight to live, to survive, was a fight others could struggle through. Perhaps now, she and Fawn would have the chance to just live.
At least, for a little while.
What had taken hours to actually happen flashed through her senses in a matter of minutes. It was there, like a cascade of frightening images clicking into place, pulling in those odd, half-formed memories that had tormented her over the years and rebuilding her from the soul out.
But as it did, a sense of overwhelming pain shuddered through her.
She was Honor Roberts—without family, without a past, a heritage or a true place in the world.
“Chaos,” she whispered as she stared back at Stygian where he crouched in front of her. “A night of chaos, Stygian.”
Concern and a hint of gathering strength flashed in his eyes.
She knew what he was doing—he knew what had happened in those few flashing moments that she had only stared up at them, neither hearing nor seeing whatever was happening around her.
“Stygian—”
His fingers pressed against her lips to shush her. “Let’s get you out of here, get those cuts bandaged.” Lifting her into his arms, Stygian had every intention of getting her the hell out of there before Jonas arrived and caught the scent Stygian had the moment he approached Liza.
The scent of knowledge.
It was the scent of resignation, truth and the awareness that Liza’s scent had drastically changed. Changed more than mating heat could ever be responsible for.
As though a stopper had been pulled free, allowing some physical part of her loose, as well as the subconscious, her entire scent had suddenly changed, and Stygian knew why.
She wasn’t hiding any longer.
Whatever had happened, however she had managed to avoid the three forms that had been seen flying into the room, it had done more than cause a few scratches on her knees, palms and cheek.
It had done far more.
“Stygian,” Jonas was moving into the room, his tone dark and demanding
Too fucking late.
Staring down at his mate, he saw the knowledge in her gaze that the reckoning was here.
“Later, Jonas!” Striding into their bedroom, he placed her on their bed, turning and meeting Jonas before he could push his way into the room.
“Later,” he repeated, stepping past the threshold and holding the door open only inches to ensure he heard if Liza were in danger again.
God, he wouldn’t be able to leave her alone for a second for years—for a lifetime.
Terror was still tearing through him, cramping his guts and burning through his mind.
The knowledge that the attack on the hotel was designed to take his mate had come the moment the signal to his security had vibrated in the watch he wore.
The explosion of the windows had set off the alarm and given him the precious seconds he needed to turn from the elevator and race back to her.
If he had actually been faster and caught the doors before they closed on the cubicle, then he would have been too far away from her.
If the Breeds heading down to the bar had been seconds slower and hadn’t been in such a hurry, then it would have been all over and his mate would have been gone.
“I need to know what happened, Stygian,” Jonas growled, his gaze narrowed, his nostrils flaring as though to pick up her scent. “And she’ll need to be debriefed.”
“I fucking said later.” The animal snarl slurred his words, the primal, predatory sound jerking the attention of every Breed that had converged in the room to them.
Stygian could feel their eyes on him, their hack
les raising and their animals preparing for battle.
Eerie silver eyes flashed in a suddenly stony face.
“You take me for a fool,” Jonas growled, though his tone was pitched so low Stygian had to strain to hear him.
“I take you for a Breed that has no idea when to step back and keep your machinations to yourself,” Stygian snapped back. “You will back off. This is my mate they nearly disappeared with, and I’ll be damned if you’ll take her from me before I know she’s unharmed.”
Stepping back, Stygian didn’t give the other man a chance to comment or to argue before closing the heavily reinforced door in his face and locking it.
The sound of the metal bars inside the steel door snapping into place could be heard even in the other room. The implications of what he had done weren’t lost on him.
He could have made Jonas an enemy for life.
His mate’s safety, both physical and emotional, was far more important.
“Liza.” Moving to where she had sat up on the bed, her gaze on the floor, Stygian knelt before her, one hand tucking beneath her chin to lift her gaze to his. “Are you okay, baby?”
She shook her head slowly, the tears contained in her eyes slowly falling.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Cupping her cheek, he felt fear tear through him. “Tell me where it hurts.”
She swallowed tightly, a whimper leaving her lips as more tears fell.
“Come on, Liza, tell me what’s wrong.” Keeping his voice low, he had to fight back a howl of pure rage at the pain he felt radiating through her.
It wasn’t physical pain.
There were no broken bones, no internal injuries, he would know if there were—the scent of them would have hit him within the first second of rushing back into their room.
Her lips trembled more as she parted them.
“Liza’s dead.”
His heart seemed to still in his chest as a sob tore from her.
As she clapped her hand over her lips, he watched as she fought for control, won it, then swallowed again against the pain building in her soul.
“No, sweetheart.” He shook his head.
“She’s dead,” she whispered again, wrapping her arms across her stomach and bending over, her head touching his shoulder as instinct had him wrapping his arms around her. “Oh God, Stygian. She’s dead. She died twelve years ago and now—” A shudder raced through her. “And now, they’ll find me, and she’ll die again.”
Resignation filled her pain-threaded voice, trembled with it and sliced against the emotions he realized she alone was responsible for awakening.
“Look at me. Look at me, mate.” Hardening his voice, he forced her to lift her head and stare back at him once again. “You brought me to life. You showed me all I have to live for, do you imagine for a second, for even a heartbeat that I would allow anyone to take you from me now?”
“You know who I am,” she whispered, her voice so low he was reading her lips more than hearing her. “You know. They knew—” Her eyes flashed with terror. “I can’t hide anymore. If I can’t hide, they’ll find me.”
“Who will find you? Tell me who will find you?” What enemies did she fear that she could ever imagine he wouldn’t destroy?
Her hand reached out, fragile fingers shaking as she laid them against his cheek. “The Genetics Council,” she whispered. “You know who, and you know why.”
“Why?”
“I have a photographic memory, Stygian. I have had it since birth, and the serum I was given only increased its power. That’s why I had to die. That’s why when Liza Johnson died, I was given her life. I know their weaknesses and they’ll never allow me to live now.”
The animal inside him rose, stretched and smiled in anticipation.
“Oh, baby, I promise you, they won’t touch you. Not now, not ever.”
She shook her head. “You can’t stop them.”
“I can’t, but sweetheart, trust me, you can.” He knew she could and he knew exactly how she would do it.
“How? How, Stygian, can I stop them? I couldn’t even escape them.” She was shaking in his arms and he hated it.
He hated her pain.
He hated the bottled rage.
And God help him, he hated the part he had played in it.
CHAPTER 24
The terror chasing inside her was killing him, it was killing her, and he wouldn’t allow it.
“The same way Callan stopped them,” he promised her, his hands cupping her face, drawing her lips to his for a precious, though far too short kiss. “The same way, Honor. But instead of telling the world, you’ll tell the Breed Cabinet. Who
