She wondered how he managed to project the image and what would happen once he exited through the Paris Gate. Could she maintain the mirage in his absence? Would she even need to? God knew she didn’t want to face the big vacant again, but he’d need enough time to retrieve his weapons.
Though bound by Delphine’s physical limitations, she could feel Luciana’s demon powers surge. Anger raged blowtorch hot in a swirl on the other side of the walls she’d erected. It would take all her will to keep her core calm and hold back the demon’s need to dominate.
How had her mother managed all those years?
Out of nothing, a sleek fiberglass speedboat tethered to a long wooden dock materialized on the lake’s surface. The orange and black eyesore with neon green flames airbrushed along the sides offended her visually and spiritually.
Not Zane’s doing by any long shot.
But necessary to keep up. That is, as long as they didn’t overtake him.
“Nice,” the demon complimented herself and started picking her way down the slope through the high grass. “I don’t know what your cowboy is trying to prove by running. He can’t try to save you if he hides, and he can’t keep the ring if he doesn’t. But he won’t be at it for long. Hell is my home turf, not his.”
In short order they boarded the boat. Luciana revved the engine, and they took off, bolting down the middle of the lake at a speed unachievable in a vehicle crafted by man.
The cuddy cabin lost the head start in short order.
Too damn fast.
She’d no idea how far or how long the journey was to the Paris Gate, but it wouldn’t matter if the whole deal went down on the water. She prayed Zane had the sense to discard the illusion.
“Get ready to use your gift, Oracle.” Luciana shifted gears and swerved far left. “You cowboy can’t swim in imaginary water.”
What was she going to do?
Mountains and trees and sky blurred in her peripheral vision until the landscape became nothing more than a paint swash layered in hunter green, charcoal, and bright blue. Wet air blistered her cheeks, and wind battered her eyes. Another sharp turn and the boats faced north to south.
Luciana had circled the speedboat for a head-on collision with the cuddy. A crash Zane certainly wouldn’t survive.
“No!” Delphine screeched, breaking through the barrier she’d constructed. “Don’t, Luciana. Don’t. I’ll talk to him. I’ll convince him—”
“Too late for that.” The demon pushed all the levers forward. “I’m getting my goddamn ring from his dead hand. Like he suggested.”
As they barreled toward the fishing boat, she felt her own mouth curve into a smile. A sickening roil filled her gut. If Zane died—
Unthinkable.
She wouldn’t allow the thought, let alone his death.
From the depths of her being, she tried to force her hand off the wheel and onto the accelerator to pull it back. Her hand wouldn’t budge. Not even lift a finger.
“Oh, Oracle.” The demon whined out her admonishment. “Relax and enjoy the show. Death is amazing. Powerful, which you are not. You’re too weak to control me. Or your thoughts.” She chuckled, the forced laugh of someone intending to goad. “Your cowboy will never retrieve his silly guns, let alone see the sun shine on his ranch again.”
She’d let down her walls, and the demon learned everything she knew, which wasn’t significant, but any information proved too much to share. The plan wouldn’t work if Zane couldn’t carry out his side.
As intended, the demon’s derisions of her character pissed her off. Pissed her off to the point of frustration. She thrashed around as if her spirit could compel the demon to obey her.
The bow of the cuddy drew closer. Her mind reeled. What was the saying—the best way to hide was in plain view? Plain view in this case meant talking. She projected dialogue toward Luciana.
“Weak? Incapable? That’s how the Society perceived my mother. How you initially perceived her. Talk about laughable.” She snorted, and miraculously her body reacted. “Like every other fool, you underestimated a Claudel.” She gained a little more control of her movements and leaned her torso against the steering wheel for support.
“You’re underestimating me,” Luciana countered.
“Am I? A human kept you prisoner. A human with the power to see the future bartered a deal to overthrow your father. You’re not exactly what I call powerful. In fact, you’re weak and willful.”
Rage erupted in a white flash across Delphine’s brain. Intense pain shot down her spine and into the length of all her limbs. Her knees turned to jelly and her hands to liquid. Her body dropped, the steering wheel turning as she fell onto the polished wood floor.
She rolled onto her back, relieved to have stopped the crash.
“Stupid bitch!” Luciana’s wail filled her head as sharp as a knife cutting into her flesh. A gush of cold slapped her senses as if a door opened in a snowstorm. The demon continued to fume, and the sweet glow of success warmed her center.
The boat wafted sideways, yawed in its own wake, and tossed her like loose change behind the captain’s seat.
But the alteration of course proved not enough.
The thrust of collision jolted Delphine into domination over her body. Luciana disappeared into the back of her consciousness. Panic surged from her gut to her head in a wave as tangible as the water rushing into the tipped vessel.
Shock froze all her reactions as she sank into the lake. The overturned speedboat obliterated any light from overhead.
Hell. She was going to die.
In. Hell.
A noose of fear tightened around her throat.
Her lungs ached to contract, to release the used air and suck in fresh. She glanced above and then closed her eyes against the icy water. As far as she could tell, the surface loomed more than ten feet directly overhead where the boat formed a shallow bubble. Farther away than her lungs could withstand.
Luciana’s anxiety matched her own, and the demon shriveled into a dark ball at her core.
Against all good judgment, she begged the demon to push them up. To energize her legs.
Nothing. No response. No snarky retorts.
With the demon terrified, salvation for her and Zane meant doing everything on her own.
Her mother’s nearly thirty years of suffering wouldn’t be in vain.
Delphine kicked her legs and reached overhead with her arms, a weak effort against the mass of water that seemed to suck her farther down. Her chest hurt, every beat of her heart discernable against her breastbone and lungs. A burst of air bubbles escaped her mouth and nose. Lungs a little flatter, she longed to inhale.
She flapped her sneakered feet and stretched both arms over her head.
Pain forced another eruption of air out. Fighting the urge to suck in took all of her will. The black behind her eyes deepened.
Mere feet lay between death and life.
But people drowned in less.
As if the water thickened, her limbs suspended. Bubbles tickled her nose.
The great void would return soon, only this time forever.
Her mind whirled. Her thoughts scattered like dry leaves in a tornado.
She tumbled as if downhill.
Rolling and rolling.
Falling and falling.
Abruptly she stopped, slamming into a stone wall.
“Oracle.” The face she’d not thought about in more than a week filled her sights. “You’ve finally come.”
Delphine gasped a sip of water, amazed to meet Wilder Swift.
Chapter Thirty-Five
To Savard’s distress, Jesse Thorne surfaced beside the fishing boat without the oracle in tow. His wife Prudence had conjured a hydroplane for their intense scramble across the lake, and the instant the speedboat tipped, the young man dove into the murky water.
Much as he disliked the Americans, this time he’d felt a modicum of gratitude for Thorne’s knee-jerk heroics. Until he turned up empty-h
anded.
Suddenly light-headed, Savard squatted on the flat runner of the hydroplane and bit into his lower lip to keep from voicing his grief.
Thorne skimmed the water off his face with his hands and shouted up to the shade manning the fishing vessel. “For fuck’s sake, Niall. You should have gone right to Zane when we smashed into the speedboat. Go now. Tell him to turn off all this Montana bullshit. I can’t see a thing down there.”
“My apologies. I thought the oracle would have surfaced immediately.” A second later, the shade vanished.
So did the lake. The mountains. The beautiful blue sky.
The hydroplane on which Savard had been crouching.
He tumbled face forward onto the ground. He took most of the shock on his hands and knees, but his nose kissed the surface before he could scramble to his feet.
“Dumbass shade.” Thorne removed his T-shirt and twisted it until water stopped pouring from the fabric. His massive chest flexed. Savard hoped he wasn’t going to shed his cargo shorts as well.
“Stop. Niall was only following Zane’s orders.” Prudence dropped to a kneeling position beside the unconscious oracle and shed her backpack. A bed of swirling fog floated low all around them. “The longer the mirage lingered, the more time allotted for Zane to reach the Paris Gate.”
Thorne heaved a sigh. “I want to be mad at somebody, and I’m used to being mad at Niall. He can take it.”
Thank goodness, Savard thought. He’d not like the hulking American to aim his anger at him. As he moved cautiously toward the oracle, Savard chanced a look around. Not that there was much to look at.
Hell—as he’d never experienced it before—engulfed them in nothing short of a dirty snowdrift. Blank and cold without anything to offer perspective, his mind warped along where a horizon should have been. The lack of differentiation between up and down induced a sensation of vertigo.
Christ. He preferred the sappy vignettes created from the damned’s memories over complete absence.
The oracle sputtered and spouted some gibberish.
“Come on. Wake up. Be Delphine,” Prudence rasped. “You’re stronger than the demon. The lake wasn’t real. The water wasn’t real.”
“Not. Real.” The oracle repeated a half dozen times before petering out.
“Why isn’t she waking up?” Thorne barked. “The shock should have—”
“Give her a minute, will ya?” Prudence looked up with eyes so crystalline blue, they cut lasers into the damning void. “Let her brain catch up to her body.” She bent forward, and the thin T-shirt worked up her back, leaving a swath of pale skin visible above the waistband of her shorts. With tenderness, she stroked the oracle’s forehead. “Come on, Delphine. We’re here to help. Let go of Luciana.”
“Let go,” the oracle repeated.
Please don’t, Savard thought.
Prudence glanced up at her husband. “She may not be conscious, but by the way she talks in her sleep, I think the demon’s gone.”
“I guarantee, we ain’t that fuckin’ lucky.” Thorne ruffled his wet hair. “But maybe Delphine’s in charge now.”
“Probably right.” She nodded. “I’m gonna check.”
“What? Do a read on her? Absolutely not.” He sliced the air with a level hand. “Too dangerous and—”
“We’ve talked about this, Thorne. You’ve got to stop second guessing or trying to protecting me. I burn demons, ya know?”
“I know.” He sounded contrite, but his stony jaw expressed the opposite. “But you haven’t worked up a sweat, so you’ve got no ammo.”
“Wouldn’t work with the demon inside Delphine anyway.” She looked up at him and smiled, those vivid eyes shining brighter and warmer than before. “And nothing’s too dangerous as long as I’ve got you.”
Tough and sentimental. Savard fought back the urge to yack.
Thorne bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Good argument.”
“While I’m busy,” she swiveled a finger in the air, “think you could construct something?”
“Swift.” The oracle’s eyelashes fluttered.
Thorne dropped to a squat, and Savard stooped as well to hover over the oracle.
“Swift.” The oracle spoke softly like voicing a dream. “Don’t go. Don’t…” Her voice trailed off.
“You see him?” Prudence stroked the oracle’s cheek. “Where?”
The oracle licked her lips and swallowed. “He’s coming. She’s scared.”
“Scared? A demon?”
“Maybe not Luciana,” Savard said and glanced across the body to see Thorne frowning at him. “We don’t know which one of them has been babbling. Remember who had control when they entered Hell.”
“Reasonable point,” Jesse said, the hard downturn of his mouth relenting.
“Then I’m going in.” Prudence leaned forward and placed her fingertips on the oracle’s forehead. Eyes closed and humming softly, presumably she performed an empathic read.
Thorne skirted the oracle to crouch beside Savard. He whispered, “You said you’ve got a history with this demon. That’s why Jack allowed you to tag along. If Delphine can’t let go, can’t force it out, can you help? Lure it free? It has to be free so Zane’s weapons are effective.”
“Her,” he corrected through compressed lips. “Lure her free.”
Fury at Thorne’s disrespect to Luciana, for intending to destroy his beloved, set his fingers curling into his palm. How he longed to punch the arrogance off Thorne’s smug face, even if he wound up bloodied and broken in the process.
But practicality dictated he seize the chance to steal the oracle’s body for his wife. He stretched out his fingers and nodded. “Oui. I’ve lured her before.”
“Never pegged you for the adventurous type. I want to hear that story later.” The younger man nodded as if warming up to him. “But what if luring doesn’t work, then what?”
“Then I will demand her obedience.”
Thorne raised his eyebrows. “Obedience?”
“Unlike you,” Savard bent his lips into a smile, “I command authority.”
“Well.” The American slapped him on the back. “For all our sakes, I hope you’re right.”
Savard intended to prove the truth in his statement at his first opportunity. If he possessed the ring given to the cowboy, he wouldn’t waste another second. He glanced at Prudence mentally roaming the inner sanctum of the oracle.
Maybe he could chance moving forward without the ring.
In the oracle’s vulnerable state, he’d stand a better chance to pull Luciana to the surface again.
To restore her control.
Of course that meant exposing the truth, and being exposed meant running from the self-righteous Thornes. He needed that lake back, speedboat and all.
“Didn’t your wife request you to recreate the landscape?” He rubbed his arms as if cold. “All this white makes me…uncomfortable.”
“Agree with you there, but I think something more familiar’s in order.”
And just like that, the great, white void transformed into the First Ring Savard remembered. Cobblestoned road wide enough for two cars with a sparse woods of bare trees on either side.
Not what he wanted, but good enough.
The Empath moaned, and her brows drew together in concentration.
Weakness.
He leaped into action.
“Luciana. Make yourself known.”
“Hey. Not now. Not with Prudence in there.”
Instead of replying, he pleaded with all his heart. “Come to me, my darling. I’ve been waiting.”
“W-what? Darling?” The big man clamped his hand around Savard’s biceps and hauled him to his feet. “What kind of relationship did you have with the demon? Exactly.”
No time to sweet talk his beloved. The hand squeezing his arm cut off his circulation, and his muscles raged in pain.
“Appear to me. Now!”
“Prudence. Get out of there!” Thorne
jerked him around and then wadded the front of Savard’s shirt in both his big fists. “You’re done, asshole. Don’t say another word.”
“I command you, daughter of Baalberith. Take control of this body.”
“I told you to shut up!” Thorne glared with eyes like fire and a red face to match.
“I demand your presence. As. Your. Husband.”
“Husband? You sneaky son of a bitch.” The grip on the front of his shirt tightened, and Thorne drew him in close. Mouth distorted in a snarl, he spewed more anger. “You’ve got your own agenda.” He rattled his fists, shaking Savard. “What about your oath, man? What about your eternal soul?”
“Eternal is exactly what I’m aiming to be. You, on the other hand, will die. Probably today.”
With spring-loaded reflexes, Thorne pushed his balled hands into Savard’s chest and sent him sailing backward.
As if hit by a train, air separated him from the ground for what seemed like an eternity. He landed on the stone road, shoulders first and then spine to ass. The wind rushed from his lungs, and pain sang through every muscle and bone. Sores the size of cannonballs throbbed on his chest.
He bit off the urge to wail. Not in front of his wife.
Instead he rolled to his side and propped up on a sore elbow.
Thorne came at him again. “You little weasel. You used us. Used—”
“Jesse.”
The call from Prudence stopped Thorne in his tracks. He turned sideways, and Savard saw straight to the oracle.
She was sitting up, her left cheek resting on the shoulder of Prudence.
All his hopes disintegrated.
But for only a second.
“He’s coming.” At last she raised her head, and her wide brown eyes latched onto his. “He’s coming. Now.” Her generous mouth set in a line. “We have to get that ring.”
“Because Swift’s with Baalberith?” Prudence asked. “Can we use it to barter?”
“No.” Her harsh reply took on the haunting din of his beloved’s voice. “It belongs to me.” Suddenly, she jutted her arm in a cross-body punch, slamming into Prudence’s shoulder.
The petite Hell Runner rolled and skidded over the surface of the stone road.
Dream Breakers, Oath Takers Page 29
