At least now she had an idea of why she wouldn’t have wanted to be found. Maybe she’d erased her own memories, on purpose.
A resonant hum filled her head as that idea struck a chord. She held her breath, tentatively poking at the idea.
The blank wall that had always stood there seemed to bulge inward, like someone pressing on a balloon. It was no longer rock hard and unyielding. She’d found a soft spot—one that said that whatever had caused her amnesia had been self-inflicted.
No. That couldn’t be right. She’d never do this to herself. She’d never take away something so precious as her memories. Those were the things that made a person who they were. Past actions defined people. How could she have willingly given up her identity without a fight?
She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. And yet it seemed to fit.
A pounding headache broke out behind her eyes as she began to question the kind of person she’d come to think of herself as. She wasn’t the kind to give up, even when things were hard. She fought.
She’d fought for years to make a place for herself. A name for herself. She’d struggled for everything she had and would do so until the day she died. She created. She didn’t destroy.
And yet, given the chance, she’d rip apart the man who’d taken her friend. She wasn’t afraid of violence. She’d been taught how to deal with it.
Hope stilled as that single thought broke free. She didn’t remember a single lesson in fighting and yet the knowledge was there, as sure and solid as if it were part of her bones.
Someone had taught her the ways of violence, but she couldn’t remember who, which led her to believe that it had happened in her past.
She pressed on that thought, being careful not to push too hard. She didn’t want it to slip away. Not now. Not when she might well be given a reason to draw on those lessons in violence.
Nothing came to her. No new thoughts. No images. No ideas. Her mind kept whirling around the question of what kind of life would she have led that would have trained her to fight and then allowed her to wipe the slate clean?
She couldn’t think of a single thing that made sense, and with every second that passed by, that soft spot seemed to harden again, thwarting her.
“Jodi’s ahead,” said Logan, breaking her concentration. “So is the Dorjan.”
The front windshield shattered as bullets hit it, and they went sliding off the road in a violent spin.
Logan leaned to the left, ensuring that any bullet that hit Hope would at least be slowed down by going through his body first.
Nicholas made quick work of correcting their spin, then gunned the engine, charging the car from which the shot had been fired.
“Don’t hit him,” warned Logan. “Jodi is probably in the trunk, unprotected.”
“Shit,” spat Nicholas; then he unbuckled his seat belt. The SUV skidded to a halt, and as soon as it was in park, Nicholas jumped out and drew his sword.
“Stay here,” said Logan. “Keep low.”
He slid from his seat, using the front of the SUV as cover. Another gunshot rang out and Nicholas jerked back.
He’d been shot.
A scream of rage bellowed out of Nicholas as he lifted his sword and closed the distance.
Logan feared for Nicholas’s life, but even more he worried about what would happen to Hope if she no longer had his sword to fight off this Dorjan and any other Synestryn who would be drawn to the scent of Nicholas’s blood.
Logan darted across the frozen ground, using a burst of power to speed him. He arrived at the car only a split second before Nicholas.
Blood seeped from the Theronai’s arm where the bullet had penetrated. The metallic scent of it filled his nose, making his mouth water. As rich as Nicholas’s blood was, it wouldn’t take long for nearby Synestryn to sense it and come running.
The Dorjan fired again, right into Nicholas’s chest. The Theronai jerked back from the blow, snarling in pain. He brought his sword down, aiming for the man’s hands poking out of the open window. The man jerked back at the last moment, but the blade knocked the gun from his hands.
Nicholas grabbed the man by his shirt and ripped him out through the window. His blade was in his fist, which he pulled back and struck the Dorjan with the butt of his sword. The blow landed, rattling the Dorjan’s teeth. Nicholas’s eyes opened wide in shock. He dropped the man and stumbled back to reveal the hilt of a knife protruding from his chest.
Logan closed the last few feet of distance as the Dorjan crumpled unconscious to the ground.
Nicholas slid down, barely catching himself on all fours. He reached for the knife.
“No!” shouted Logan, shoving a strong compulsion into his words. “Don’t pull it out.”
The Theronai could bleed to death before he could prevent it if that blade was removed. He knelt beside Nicholas and helped ease him to the ground.
The warrior’s breathing was shallow and uneven. The sound of his heart was all wrong, telling Logan that there was a good chance the knife had hit it.
Logan was vaguely aware of a car door slamming shut. He heard footfalls quickly approaching. Hope.
He didn’t dare look up at her. The horror that would surely show on her face would be too much of a distraction and right now he needed to keep his wits about him.
“Jodi’s in the trunk. Free her. There should be duct tape in our vehicle. Restrain the Dorjan.” He didn’t check to see if she complied. He trusted she’d do what was necessary.
Logan gathered his power and sought out the worst of Nicholas’s injuries. The knife had indeed nicked his heart, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He grabbed the knife and slowly retracted it as he healed the wound shut from the inside out.
He blocked out the raw sounds of pain coming from Nicholas, shoving his consciousness into the other man’s mind enough to hold him still while he worked. One inadvertent twitch and the damage could be fatal.
Strength fled his body as he worked. The knife was now out and the bleeding stopped, but he had two bullet wounds left to mend before he could rest.
“Take what you need,” said Nicholas through gritted teeth. “We have to get the women out of here. My blood . . .”
Logan didn’t ask if he was sure. He simply pulled Nicholas’s head to the side and bit deep, drawing strength from the other man to heal his wounds.
The rush of power filled his head for a moment before he could control it and focus. He shoved the bullets out and used the quickest, most effective method of healing he could. It was also the most painful, making Nicholas’s body bow off the ground in an arc of agony.
Logan hated the other man’s suffering. He would have preferred more time to ease the healing process along, but they had none. His only remaining choice was to will Nicholas to sleep, which he did with a harsh, unyielding command.
He finished the healing process, then stripped all the bloody clothing from Nicholas’s body, leaving him bare from the waist up. He eased Nicholas’s heavy body to the passenger’s seat of the SUV. With the power the Theronai’s blood had given him, it was no effort.
Jodi was lying in back, unconscious. Logan laid his hand on her head and closed the wound on her hand. Her blood wasn’t powerful enough to draw demons unless they were close, but he used a paper napkin to wipe away what he could.
Hope was back near the Dorjan. His car door hung open and she’d taped his hands to the interior handle. Logan grabbed Nicholas’s sword from the ground and handed it to her. “Please take this back to the others and wait for me in the car.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to stop this man from hurting you again.”
“You’re going to kill him?”
Logan was riding along a thin edge, barely staying in control of the rage he wanted to let loose. He kept his voice even through a sheer act of will. “This man tried to hurt you. He abducted Jodi. He shot and stabbed Nicholas. Death is too good for him. Now go! We don’t have much time bef
ore demons find us.”
Hope nodded and stepped back.
Now there was no one standing between him and the man who’d attacked Hope.
He pressed his hand to the man’s head and then touched his thoughts.
The taint of Synestryn hit his senses, making him gag. He stomped on that reflex, forcing himself to ignore the vile touch of evil. Without any grace, he shoved his way into the other man’s mind, searching it for the motivation for his attack.
His name was Leonard, but he’d taken on the nickname Hacksaw as a teen. His past had been plagued by drugs and violence. He had no education to speak of, but what he lacked in schooling he made up for in dedication.
Leonard would do anything for the Synestryn named Krag, the one he referred to as the master.
The face of a Synestryn lord hovered over Leonard’s thoughts, motivating every facet of his life. Krag’s skin was hairless and scaly in places. His lips were so thin they were almost nonexistent, unable to hide his pointed teeth.
And despite all of that, Krag’s resemblance to a human was unsettling. Like the Synestryn lord, Zillah, Krag would have been able to walk among humans in the dark and likely go unnoticed.
The fact that another creature like Zillah existed was proof of just how far Synestryn kind had gone to blend in with their prey.
Logan let the import of that news pass him by. He’d consider it later, but for now he needed to finish this job and be out of this puppet’s mind as fast as possible.
He passed images of other people who were in Krag’s thrall. The stream of faces was impressive. The latest was a young woman with hot pink – tipped hair and matching high-tops.
Rory. Hope’s missing friend.
That was not a coincidence. Logan was certain of that. Krag was somehow tied to the missing people. Maybe all of them. He couldn’t be sure without descriptions, so he filed away those memories of Leonard’s to ask Hope about later.
The man’s vile thoughts twisted in Logan’s mind, urging him to hurry.
He homed in on Leonard’s thoughts of Hope. He’d been sent to fetch her. He’d known what she looked like, where she lived.
Which meant only one thing: So did Krag.
If Hope was being hunted, she was in deep danger. She couldn’t stay here in the city. He had to get her to safety. Now, while he still could.
He shoved deep into Leonard’s mind, erasing from it Nicholas’s blow to his head. In its place he planted a false memory of another battle, one in which Leonard shot them all down. Hope died trying to free Jodi from the trunk, and their bodies were left alongside the road.
Creating the vivid details of the scene made Logan’s stomach turn and his head pound. He could barely think of Hope in those terms—dead and rotting in a ditch—but he did what was necessary to protect her, no matter how disturbing he found it.
Chapter 22
Hacksaw’s head pounded. He was barely able to stay on the road long enough to drive home. His eyes kept losing focus. His arms felt weak and heavy.
He walked into the master’s home, ashamed that he’d failed.
Hacksaw fell to his knees before the master’s throne. He bowed his head in shame. He didn’t dare look up. “The woman and her friend are dead.”
“You failed.”
“I’m sorry, Master.”
“How did they die?”
“I . . . shot them. They tried to escape. I had no choice.”
“Where are their bodies?”
Hacksaw looked up, startled that he hadn’t considered to at least bring that much of an offering. “I . . .” He couldn’t think of a single excuse for why he’d forgotten such an obvious thing.
The master’s tongue flicked out over his teeth. “You didn’t bring them?”
His head pounded. He was weaving on his knees, barely able to stay upright. His failure was making him sick, but he deserved every bit of suffering. “No, Master. But I’ll go back and get them now.”
“Come here,” ordered the master.
Hacksaw pushed himself to his feet. He shuffled forward, his legs too heavy to lift.
“You smell of deception. Why is that?”
“I’d never lie to you, Master.”
The master grabbed him by the throat and dragged him forward, forcing him to look into his eyes. Hacksaw couldn’t breathe, but he accepted his punishment, refusing to struggle. His life belonged to the master and he could do with it as he willed.
The master’s hand pressed to the side of Hacksaw’s head. He had only three fingers, but each one burned like fire. It felt like they were gouging into Hacksaw’s skull, drilling into his brain.
What little light there was in the throne room began to fade. A sense of failure weighed down on Hacksaw, driving tears from his eyes.
He’d displeased the master. He’d been chosen and he’d failed.
His legs went numb. Blood dripped down the side of his head. Images exploded in his mind only to be pulled from him.
The master shoved him away. Blood coated his fingers as if they’d been dipped in it.
Hacksaw lay crumpled on his side, unable to move.
The edges of his vision were fading, but he saw the master give a wave of permission to the demons beside him. “Eat him.”
The demons approached, their yellow saliva glowing as it dripped from their jaws.
Hacksaw craned his neck to see past them. He wanted the master’s face to be the last thing he saw before he died.
The mess Krag’s minions had made of Hacksaw was impressive in its enthusiasm. Not that he minded. They’d clean it up before they were finished feeding on his remains, licking every last drop of blood from the concrete floor.
Maybe he needed a rug to cover the stain. Of course that would last only until the next human failed him.
Though Hacksaw’s failure hadn’t been complete. The memory of the girl’s death had been planted by a fucking Sanguinar, but after rummaging through Hacksaw’s mind, the means to find her was also now clear.
The Sentinels would have no doubt hidden her already. Krag would have done the same thing. The trick was going to be drawing her out of hiding so he could find out what made her special—why she appeared, glowing in his mind as if calling to him. Thanks to Hacksaw, he knew just how to do it.
Hope held on to Jodi’s hand while Logan drove like a bat out of hell. Both Nicholas and Jodi were still unconscious, though Jodi had been making some noises that indicated she might start coming around. Nicholas wasn’t so lucky. He was pale and way too still.
Hope tried to keep Jodi’s head from sloshing around as Logan took the next hard turn. “Where are we going?”
“A Gerai house. We’ll be safe here for now. We need a place to rest. And we need a place to talk.”
“About what?”
His pale eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. “Not now.”
Because he was focusing on not sending them flying off the road, Hope let it go. A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of a pristine home well off the main road. It was surrounded by trees, with so much land between it and every other home she couldn’t even see any neighbors.
“I’ll unlock the house and carry them inside. If you could see to lighting a fire, that would be nice.”
“Are you cold?”
“I used quite a bit of power tonight.” He said it as if that answered her question.
“Sure. I’ll make some coffee, too.”
“Thank you.”
Logan slipped out of the car and had the front door open in a few seconds. Hope waited until he came back for Jodi before she slipped inside and lit the fire. Everything was already laid out, ready to go. All she had to do was light the newspapers crumpled under some kindling.
By the time she had coffee brewing, Logan had settled Nicholas and Jodi in separate beds and was warming his hands by the fire.
Hope found the thermostat and kicked it up a couple of degrees, then went and sat on the couch. “You said we needed to talk.”
He didn’t turn around when he spoke, but she could see by the rigid set of his shoulders that he wasn’t pleased. “I touched that man’s mind. I saw what he’s seen. I think I know where your friend Rory is. It’s not good news.”
Hope held back her worry, refusing to let it loose until she heard him out. “Where?”
“That man, Leonard, is controlled by a Synestryn. I don’t know where his nest is, but what I do know is that Leonard had recently seen a woman with dyed pink hair and bright pink high-tops. It could be someone else, but that seems a bit of a stretch.”
Shock shielded Hope from that news, insulating her from the fear she knew would settle in at any moment. “You think he saw Rory?”
“It’s likely.”
“Do you think he was taking Jodi to wherever she is?”
“Also likely.”
For a second, she wished Logan hadn’t interfered. If he hadn’t, maybe they would have found Rory. Maybe. Then again, they could all have died, too.
Logan frowned as if reading her thoughts. “We’ll find her. Nicholas and I will go after her as soon as possible.”
“I want to help.”
“That’s out of the question. Your safety is too important to risk.”
“And yours isn’t?”
He lifted a black brow. “I have superpowers, and apart from your sudden bursts of strength, I’m not aware of you having the same. Do you?”
Hope almost mentioned her ability to see auras, but she wondered if Logan and his kind would want to study her or something. She couldn’t afford to be locked away, kept from stopping whomever was stealing souls from the street. No one else seemed worried enough to look for them. She had to do it herself. She didn’t have time for all the questions her ability would raise.
“Of course not,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing. “Don’t be silly.”
Logan pulled in a deep breath through his nose and eyed her skeptically. “You’re hiding something from me.”
“No, I’m not.”
He tilted his head, scrutinizing her. “You are. Which makes me intensely curious.”
Blood Hunt (Sentinel Wars Book 5) Page 24
