The Watcher (Crossing Realms Book 2)

by Rebecca E. Neely

  “Oh, no I’m not,” she cried. “How do I know what that’s going to do to me?”

  “It won’t hurt you. The Watchers wouldn’t have given it to me otherwise,” he said, his tone cool, efficient. “By the way. I need you to come with me. Now.”

  She jutted her chin out. Insufferable man. “What makes you think I’d go anywhere with some guy I don’t even know? And, who’s broken into my house, beat up my friend, and hacked into my life?”

  He gripped her by the shoulders. “I told you lives depend on it. That includes yours. We have enemies. Betrayers. They’re also as close to human as you can get. They’re after me. And now you, by extension. They want to destroy Keepers. There’ll be no one left to guard humans. Life as you know it will end.”

  Without warning, he spun her, shoved her hair to one side, and knotted the stone securely around her neck, his palms rough and hot on her skin. He flipped her back around to face him. “How’s that for a reason?”

  Her brain reeled with fears, questions. She knew one thing for certain with every fiber of her being—each word he spoke was the absolute truth. His energy conveyed that, loud and clear.

  “Betrayers.” She tried to focus on what she deemed the most immediate danger. “What do they look like?”

  “Like you and me.”

  “How do you know they’re after you?”

  “We feel a sense of foreboding, I’d call it. We also call it cobwebs.”

  “Cobwebs?”

  “Imagine being surrounded by them. They cling to you. Suffocate you.”

  Meda shuddered. “How do you fight them?”

  He pointed to his Vitality stone. “With this. Even though they crave the energy from it like crack, they can’t get too close to it. Normally.”

  “Normally.” Her heart thumped in her ears. “Just what exactly is it you need me to do?”

  “Using your father’s research, I need you to help me figure out how to create this.” Digging into his pocket, he produced a black stone, similar in size and shape to the Vitality stone. “It’s called Similitude. Betrayers have found a way to render this from our Vitality stones.” His face hardened. “The ones they’ve stolen. They use it to drain Keepers of their Vitality energy. To kill them.”

  “Then why would you—”

  “We have to find a way to restore Similitude to Vitality. But we have to know how it became Similitude in the first place.”

  Understanding registered, dark and swift. “That’s where I come in.”

  “That’s where you come in. With your help, I want to know more about your father’s research. See if anything he was working on can help us. The clan is obtaining warehouse space for us to use.” He snapped his fingers. “Supplies,” he said, stabbing the air with a finger. “We’ll have to get those, as soon as you tell me what we need.”

  “Create it. So you can un-create it,” she said thoughtfully, despite all he’d thrown at her. “Reverse engineering. How can you be sure there’s a way?”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t.” He pocketed the black stone. “I know this is a lot for you to accept. I know I’m asking a lot, and that you have questions. I promise I’ll answer all of them. Right now we have to leave. I need you to bring everything you have on your father’s work with you. I have seven days in this realm to figure it out. And I’ve already spent half a day waiting for you.”

  “I can’t . . .” she began, trying to process it all, and failing. “Seven days?” she echoed. The swift kick of regret baffled her. She shook her head to clear it. “That’s the first piece of good news I’ve heard so far.” She considered her options. “I don’t have a choice, do I? If I stay, I could be putting my friends in danger. Musko.” She glanced across the room. “Butchy.”

  “Oh, you have a choice. But not coming with me isn’t one of them.”

  Slanting a look at him, she imagined his head as her punching bag in the basement. This morning, feeling that cataclysmic energy—his, it turned out—had been the beginning of the end. She could see that now. He’d obliterated any shred of the life she’d so carefully built, stripped her of the most basic of privacy. And expected her to share, carte blanche, her father’s work. That he was completely unapologetic about it infuriated her. But some part of her respected, on a gut level, that he spoke the truth. No matter how terrifying.

  Still, she’d test the boundaries. “What if I simply refuse to go?”

  “I’ll haul you out of here kicking and screaming, and I don’t think you want to do that.”

  He would, too. She blew out a defeated breath. “Where is it we’d be going?”

  “Pittsburgh. In a neighborhood called Kinship. That’s where the Keepers’ network is. Our energy creates a protective barrier. We’ll be safe there.” His mouth curved in a grin.

  And damned if his face didn’t light up like an angel’s. She forced herself to focus. “The bar.” Her throat tightened. “Tan.”

  At the sound of his name, her dog padded over and pushed his head against her thigh.

  “I’m sorry for this. I am prepared to pay you.” From his pocket, he withdrew a wad of bills banded together with a gum band.

  She was many things. ‘Fool’ wasn’t one of them. “I’ll take this as a down payment,” she said, snatching it from his hand.

  His brows drew together for a moment. “Fine.”

  “How’ll we get there?”

  “On my bike.”

  “It’s going to storm.”

  “We’ll go as far as we can tonight.”

  Damn fate. And damn Dev. Along with what she recognized as her own bone-deep curiosity, something she thought she’d buried along with her father. Her heart thudding, she moved to autopilot. And commanded herself to walk to her dresser, to pack as she’d done many times as a child, pulling up stakes at a moment’s notice to follow another of Jon Gabriel’s theories.

  “Do you have your father’s research here?” he asked.

  Saying nothing, she knelt beside her bed. Gone was her final privacy. Her heart squeezing, she prayed to her father, both for his help, and to beg his forgiveness. In one swift motion, she pushed on the floorboard closest to her dresser, popping it open. She lifted a fireproof safe from the space, buzzed through the combination, and cracked it open. The journals and flash drives it contained she sealed in a gallon Ziploc bag. She placed it, along with a few toiletries and a change of clothes, into a backpack and snapped it shut. Whatever else she needed, she’d get on the road.

  Hastily, she scrawled a note to Musko, omitting her destination. It sickened her to worry him. She also thanked God he wasn’t here. She’d call him in the morning, praying she could tell him she was safe. Kneeling, she wrapped her arms around Tan’s neck, hugged him close, comforted by his scent, his fur, basking in dog love impressions.

  He whimpered.

  “I’m coming back, do you hear me?” she whispered in his ear, willing it to be the truth. “Be good for Musko.”

  Dev had stayed within a foot of her the entire time. The floorboards creaked under his shifting weight. “We need to go.”

  She glared. “Pushy, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “Arrogant too.”

  “Some say.”

  She grasped the stone at the base of her neck. “How did you know I’d find this at all? Or that I wouldn’t just throw it away?”

  “I knew. And if you had, I’d have found it.”

  She saw the truth of that in his eyes. “Why did you leave it for me? Why didn’t you bring it with you? I assume you knew earlier you were going to break into my apartment.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “So you would remember me. Humans conveniently forget their interaction with us. It helps us to get our work done efficiently. Because you have it, it’ll
keep us connected.”

  “You’re saying I’d forget you, if—”

  “If you didn’t have the Vitality stone. Yes.”

  Meda said nothing. Surely it wasn’t possible to forget this man. Even if she wanted to.

  And she wanted to, she assured herself quickly.

  Though she wasn’t chilled, she rubbed her arms. In less than seven days this would be over, and she could go back to her life as she’d known it, with no memory of any of it. But somehow she didn’t think she’d ever be the same, even if she couldn’t remember.

  “And Butchy?”

  “The only thing he’ll remember is his hangover.” Dev stood mere inches from her. “I’m not going to lie to you. What we’re doing is dangerous.” He held her captive with those emerald eyes. “I’m going to protect you. That’s what I do.”

  The quiet timbre of his voice cut through the room and straight to her blood, her bones. She shivered, fear and knowledge piercing her soul, his words a promise if she’d ever heard one. And woe be unto him who tried to stand in the way of that promise.

  Dev’s eyes dipped to study the right side of her jaw, and the scar etching its curve. He lifted a hand, held her chin, the gesture rough and possessive, his touch, his fingers, achingly tender. “What happened?” He asked, his voice gruff.

  It’s none of your damn business. The retort died on her tongue as his warmth flooded her. She longed to turn into him, to feel his hands all over her. And that was as crazy as the rest of this. She shoved the thought, and him, away.

  “Ah, something your friends couldn’t find out, huh?” Stuffing her feet into her Timberlands, she tugged on a jacket. She glanced at the cat clock in the kitchen, its eyes watching, its tail wagging, back and forth. “Guess we’ll see what they can dig up in the next six days.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Minutes after midnight, fat raindrops hit them near Allentown, Pennsylvania, slapping Dev in the face. The storm slashed open the sky, all its pent-up frustrations matching his own. He slowed to a crawl.

  Meda tightened her grip around his waist, the vee of her inner thighs molded next to him.

  And Dev could only thank Mother Nature.

  “There’s an underpass up ahead. I’ll get us there. You okay?” he tossed over his shoulder. Though he doubted she’d tell him even if she weren’t.

  “Fine,” she said, her breath tickling his ear lobe. He took her at her word for the moment. Turning on his hazards, he eased the bike through water ponding on the interstate, to beneath the underpass.

  “We’re not going to keep going, are we?” Wind and rain gusted and echoed around them, nearly swallowing her voice.

  “No. I think we better stop for the night. As soon as there’s a lull, I’m getting off at the next exit.” In the last two hours, they’d come almost a hundred miles, with nearly another two-seventy to go. He removed his glasses that’d fogged up and wiped them off. His rain gear wasn’t worth a damn now. They were both soaked to the skin, and despite the fact it was summer, she’d be freezing soon if she wasn’t already. Even though the bike’s engine would keep him warm, he wouldn’t be far behind.

  The bigger issue was the storm itself. Days in the making, it’d only begin to unleash its fury. They wouldn’t get far before they’d be dealing with more of the same. Any way he looked at it, it would be a miserable, dangerous ride. On a good day, motorists didn’t see motorcycles. They sure as hell weren’t going to in this weather.

  As if to underscore that logic, lightning blazed a trail through the sky, illuminating the night in shades of purple, metallic and wicked. Thunder took its turn and the ground shook.

  He yanked his raincoat from one of the saddlebags. “Here,” he said. “Put this on. Little late, but it’ll keep some of the wind off you.”

  “Thank you.” She shrugged into the coat, her eyes hidden behind the shield of the half helmet, her hair plastered to her neck and shoulders.

  “You’re welcome,” he mumbled. She’d impressed him at her apartment, this human woman, taking him and his in-your-face M.O. in stride, though time didn’t really permit him to be any other way. Where another woman would’ve fallen to pieces, Meda bit back with intelligence, sarcasm, and more acceptance than he had a right to.

  Clearly the Watchers’ money was on her, and now, so was his. Going with him, upending her life, wouldn’t be easy on anyone, and probably worse for her. She’d gone to great lengths to live pretty much off the grid, even so far as to change her name. He vowed he would find out why, just as he would find out about her scar. It screamed one thing to him.

  Survivor.

  Tough, levelheaded, determined, she’d surprised him, and he wasn’t easily surprised. By being unable to read her Vista, and crushing his charms like a bug under her shoe, she’d forced him to rely on his instincts and his wits, along with a healthy dose of the direct approach.

  Because of it, he had a grudging respect for Meda Gabriel, shivering next to him on his bike. And he ached with the need to touch her, taste her.

  Dammit, I’m here to guard her. That’s all.

  But her delicate form and long muscled legs, packaged in skintight jeans, called to him like a siren’s song. She was all sex, her eyes dark with mystery and fortunes to be told; a tigress, aloof, wary, and watchful.

  He growled, low in his throat. As he had other humans, he would protect her. But this wasn’t all business. And to pretend otherwise was bullshit.

  Anyway, she would forget him as soon as he was gone.

  Fine by me.

  But it didn’t ring true.

  No matter. He’d blur the lines, take an opportunity if it presented itself.

  Same as he would for his revenge.

  For the next ten minutes, they were at nature’s mercy, wind and rain flagellating the earth and everything man had erected upon its surface. Once the storm slowed, he checked his mirrors. Keeping his hazards on, he eased the bike from the shoulder of the interstate.

  And felt the familiar glow of warmth at his neck.

  Seriously? Now? His thoughts raced. Was it a trick? The way it’d been, three months ago? Instantly, anger filled him at second-guessing himself.

  No. He hadn’t felt any tremors since they’d left New York. Betrayers weren’t using Similitude. As far as they knew. Even if they were, he would take the risk. It was his duty to respond to Compulsions.

  Slowing, he cupped his hand around his stone so Meda wouldn’t see it. In seconds, the images formed fully in his mind. He hadn’t told her any specifics about Compulsions and he sure as hell wasn’t going to now.

  Easing onto the highway, he stayed well below the speed limit for the next few miles. He guided the bike onto the exit ramp and glanced at the road sign, knowing exactly where they needed to go.

  The rain picked up its pace. He drove another half mile and pulled into the gravel parking lot of The Golden Anchor, its vacancy sign flickering dull yellow like a beacon in the night. The motel boasted about fifteen rooms, all one story and arranged in a U shape, separated by a breezeway and what appeared to be an office in its center. Three cars occupied the lot. Quickly, he weighed his options, then parked two rooms away from the office on the right side of the U.

  He wanted to go into the office alone, but he couldn’t very well ask Meda to sit outside in a thunderstorm. More importantly, he refused to leave her by herself, unprotected. But going with him could be putting her life in danger.

  They climbed off the bike. She’d been tough, accepting, and capable at the apartment. Hadn’t complained or uttered a word. And he’d revisit that later.

  Right now, the only thing he had time for was the direct approach. “Meda, there’s a situation inside. You let me handle it, understand?”

  “Like a Compulsion situation?”

  “Exactly. Th
ere’s no time to explain. Let’s go. And keep your helmet on. We might have to leave in a hurry.”

  “Fine.”

  They hotfooted it to the office, the air muggy and cloying from a storm that’d only thickened the humidity. As they ran, he formed a loose set of plans. Curtains were drawn over the door and bay window of the office. They’d be going in blind.

  “You stay behind me, understand?” he whispered fiercely.

  Fear flickered in her eyes for a moment, then she nodded.

  Pushing Meda behind him, he cracked open the office door and stepped inside, prepared to shove her to the floor if necessary.

  A man, rail thin, a streak of silver hair pasted over the top of his otherwise bald head, stood behind the counter, his Oxford shirt buttoned all the way to the top. His gaze shifted from Dev to Meda. “Not a good night to be out on a motorcycle,” he said, his hands shaking.

  Dev smiled. “You got that one right. One room, please.”

  Fluorescent light bounced off the beads of perspiration dotting the old man’s forehead. “That’ll be fifty-four-fifty, with tax.”

  Dev produced bills from his pocket and laid them on the counter.

  A window air conditioner unit gave its all, the red plastic ribbons tied to its grill fluttering in its manufactured breeze. Chilled, Dev surveyed the room. About ten by ten. One door they’d just come through, the room’s single entrance and exit. Another door in the rear. Probably leading to a closet or bathroom. Two windows. From a cheap dollar-store frame on the counter, an aging newspaper article proclaimed ‘Walt and Phyllis Kennedy Celebrate 30 Years at The Golden Anchor.’

  And some bastard had Phyllis tied up in the back room that was a closet or bathroom. Another trained a gun on Walt. Under the desk. A foot from where he and Meda stood.

  They were being robbed. The Kennedys, who didn’t have a nickel to spare to buy a decent frame for the accolades they’d earned.