The plane dropped, and her internal altimeter said it was over a thousand feet in a few seconds. The plane leveled out, then gained altitude. She glanced out the window, noting the clear skies. Turbulence could happen at any time, from heat, storms, and a thousand other reasons. But something said it wasn’t turbulence.
The plane nosedived. There were no screams, or gasps, or scrambling for safety. Of the seven sisters on board, six were quiet, and the seventh looked at Boone with a question on her face.
“I can survive,” was all he said.
Iroida nodded and kicked the seat of Nobilis in front of her. The younger sister turned, her auburn hair falling from its bun. “Billy, it’s going to crash. We need precautions, and notifications completed. Tell Regiis auto.”
Nobilis offered a single nod before leaving her seat and walking to the front. She tapped the shoulders of every woman, saying a single word, “Praesemino.” Prepare.
“We’re going to crash. It’s going to be a hard one, but not far from home base. If you go unconscious, we’ll ensure you get everything you need.” She lay her hand over his and squeezed before standing.
The plane screeched upward, and Iroida held her position. Boone was where he should be, easiest to find. She and her sisters were immortal, and while it would hurt, short of a woodchipper, they’d survive. Nobilis returned from the front, shaking her head. Her hair fell out of the bun, and Iroida smiled at her grunt of frustration.
She looked out the windows and watched as the plane struggled to fly over the mountains. She hated mountain crashes. The snow was cold, and while it helped numb the pain as they regenerated, it wasn’t fun to freeze one’s assets off.
Her sisters stood in the aisle, holding the seats. While it wasn’t exactly conventional wisdom, they’d learned their lessons from man’s earliest attempts to fly. And for the women, standing worked out best, enabling each unique ability to kick in as physics took over.
Iroida looked at Boone, “Are you ready? This is going to hurt.”
Boone lifted one side of his mouth, “Honey, for you, I’ll take some broken bones.”
She glanced out the window, “Oh, handsome, it’ll be more than some.”
Chapter Eleven
Boone
Iroida hadn’t been lying. He noted all the women were related, with similar builds, though at varying heights. They all had the exact brown eye color, the same mouth, the same hands. They’d all been trained the same, as they moved with similar grace and confidence.
Damn, where had these women been when he’d first joined the Iudex? He’d likely never have done it, instead make it his life’s mission to settle down and have beautiful children. But they hadn’t been near, and he’d done what all the men in his family with ability were discovered – jumped into the void of Iudex, pledging their lives and souls to the network. Offering their abilities to the old men in a hidden office, who decided which to save, and which to forget.
Sometimes he really hated his job.
Iroida took his hand, and squeezed, offering a small smile. The pilot tried to bring the nose up, but the plane continued the alarming descent, a slight screaming of the engines infiltrating the cabin.
He squeezed, fought against the G’s holding him in the seat, making his way to the back of the cabin, and bracing for impact. He’d been in airplane crashes before, often taking months to recover. But this time he had his ability, and no need to hide it.
Letting the adrenaline kick in, watching the women fall into their knees, heads down, and a language he’d never heard floating through the cabin. As he became lost to the rage, he felt the power of the women, as it circled him and left. He wasn’t what it sought.
A fog coated his mind, and he lost time.
He woke, ribs sore, and face in a bed of pine needles. In slow order, each of his senses came online. He smelled the fresh snow of mountains, the pines and aspens of the west, the lack of pollution. The sounds of nature, and the crackle of a fire? Was he camping?
A moan escaped his lips as he tried to lever himself onto hands and knees. His entire body hurt, and he stilled, attempting to keep the nausea at bay.
Opening his eyes, it took a few moments for them to focus.
Reality slammed into him, nearly bowling him over. The plane lay in several sections, with pieces of metal and interior scattered around. Concentrating, he stood, taking a few minutes to find and keep his balance. Looking around, he could see the women, injured, but nothing that would take out an immortal. He searched for one in particular. She lay against a tree, one leg in the wrong position, and her back at a weird angle. She was pale, but a hand twitched, and he released a relieved breath.
He could carry her, but leaving her sisters wasn’t an option either. He’d have to fashion something to get them to a road. Question was, where the hell was he?
An hour later, as his body healed in slow degrees, he’d created a cart of sorts, using the wheels of the plane and a large section that had sheered off during the crash.
He’d have nightmares over the fate of the pilot and copilot. They’d been human. But he’d noted their expertise had kept the crash from being worse than it was. They’d kept the nose up, trying to land flat bellied in a thick forest.
Ignoring the pain of his injuries, Boone managed to arrange all the sisters onto the cart, and putting the harness over his chest, made of the seatbelts he could find and sever with his hunting knife, he braced for a lot of pain. Lifting the handles, and deciding to pull rather than push, he leaned into the harness, and moved.
The fabric cut into him, but he ignored it. The women moaned, and while he didn’t like causing pain, it told him they were going to survive.
Nothing electronic survived, except the plane’s black box, and he had to take a guess to their location. Heading north, he hoped to find a road before nightfall, or it was going to become one long, ugly night for him and the sisters.
He pulled the cart until nightfall. He didn’t know distance, or time. He’d concentrated on one foot in front of the other, exhaustion making it hard, the need to recover holding him hostage. But the thought of Iroida stranded, without someone to watch over her, enabled him to continue his slow pace.
Using the harness and the other straps he’d taken, he managed to tie the section to trees, keeping it from tipping. He’d pulled blankets, all smelling of fuel and soot, but dry, from the plane and covered them. He checked their injuries, shuffling from one side to the other, doing his best to keep from waking them. Iroida’s back had straightened, her color returning in slow degrees. Leaving them to rest, he found dried wood, and created a campsite. He’d learned how to from childhood, when hunting for supper with his father in the heat and bugs of Louisiana.
As the moon rose, he made a bed for himself, the fire enough to keep wild animals at bay, and heat the air around himself and the women. As sleep pulled him from reality, he wondered if he’d wake in the morning.
The sound of chopper blades, and boots crashing through the woods helped him open one eye. In time to see someone in a white hazmat suit kneel beside him and start to take his vitals.
“Descendent. Alive, internal injuries, ride in the ambulance,” the voice was disconnected and distant.
Boone grunted, and wanted to speak. But with the women obviously in good hands, he fell into the oblivion of recovery.
The smell of Pine-Sol and clean sheets filled his senses first. The bed mattress hugged his body, keeping it perfectly aligned, making the mattress one of the best he’d had the privilege to lay on. A gentle light filled the room, and as he opened his eyes, he noted it wasn’t a hospital room but someone’s private home. The room had French gray walls and white trim, the curtains black and sunlight only sneaking around the edges. Blinking he rolled to his side and released a light moan. His ribs were wrapped and painful, his wrists swollen, along with his shoulders and knees. Basically, he was a throbbing mass of descendent and wished to return to the peace of sleep.
“If I
can’t sleep, neither can you.” Iroida’s husky voice whispered through the room.
He searched for her, and found her on crutches, in a big blue t-shirt and basketball shorts. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun high on the back of her head, her skin had not yet returned to it’s normal warm tan, her eyes appeared as if someone had sucker punched her. Though he recognized her voice, it sounded … hoarse and hollow.
Meeting her gaze, his heart skipped a beat in his chest. She hurt, and badly. He didn’t like it, not one bit.
“You need to lay down,” he glared at her, as he tried to get out of bed, failing when his legs refused to hold him.
“What are you going to do bout it, Sparky? I can walk, the best you can do is slide on the floor,” she raised an eyebrow in challenge.
He opened his mouth, paused, and shut it with a snap. He couldn’t argue, she was right. He was helpless.
“That was worse than a sucker punch, Iroida.” Blinking through the pain, he managed to crawl onto the bed. He patted the open side. “Come sit.”
She stared, and he waited. Either she would, or she wouldn’t. Nothing he could say or do would influence a decision right now. Best to just remain quiet.
She made slow progress and gingerly sat on the bed. She was stiff and unyielding, and it was best to let her decide when to relax. On his back, he rested both hands across his middle.
She snorted, turned and lay next to him, lifting her leg onto the bed, giving him an eyeful of a cast. She laid on her back, mimicking his position.
“You have a broken leg?” he frowned. He needed to revisit his paramedic credentials apparently.
“Not from the crash,” she whispered.
He wasn’t going to ask. Best to leave it alone, if the tone of her voice meant anything. He wanted to know and ground his teeth to keep the question from being aired.
She chuckled, “I woke up and didn’t recognize where I was. Tried to fight my way out and run to safety. I kind of tripped and fell, landed wrong.”
“Thank you for telling me, it was all I had not to ask,” he grinned.
The tension eased.
“Where are we, Iroida?” he turned to look at her, meeting her brown eyes, face close.
“My apartment. This is my spare room,” she shrugged.
“Am I to be allowed contact with my friends or family?” he wasn’t fooled, not a bit. He could be a hostage, considering the Iudex and Praesidio had been warring factions for millennia.
“They know who you are, Boone. It’s up to my parents to decide the next course of action. Until then you are… a guest,” she took his hand and squeezed. “Held hostage just as I am.”
It made him feel a little better. Until he realized what she meant. The last woman he’d lived with had died in 1832, trying to give birth to his daughter. He’d been recruited not long after, as word of his “rampage” hit the ears of the old men. His lineage had been lost in the records hundreds of years earlier, and as he’d learned, his family worked to keep it that way. Until he’d lost his mind, and two weeks.
Shaking off the memories, he wondered what it would be like, to live with a woman again, after one hundred eighty-six years. It was going to be interesting.
Chapter Twelve
Iroida
He smelled like the forest surrounding Showtime, a slight masculine spice within it. It was imprinted on her brain. He didn’t know that he’d been in a coma-like state for nearly two weeks. They’d woken him to take care of needs, but he likely didn’t remember. Each time he’d been out of his head, asking for someone named Naomi.
She suspected he’d used his ability to survive the plane crash, then used the last of his reserves to get her and her sisters to safety. He’d been within a half mile. His fire had helped the ground crews find all of them.
And despite all this, her parents were suspicious. Her sisters thought he was the best thing ever, and Iroida wasn’t sure what to think. No man had ever done something without expectations. She’d only been around her father and the men she’d been assigned to save. Men weren’t born into the Praesidio, she’d never been to a wedding because none of the sisters had ever had a relationship. Mextli, her father, and Nasi, her mother, had forbidden it. And nobody went against the god of war. And he didn’t dare to cross Nasi. She might be the forgotten early goddess, but she’d never lost any of her abilities and powers, making her extremely dangerous.
She’d told part of the story about her broken leg – she’d fallen, but it was when she’d gone hunting for Heather on her own. Nasi and Mextli were furious with her at the moment. She’d come damn close, too. Veritatis had her, and she’d traced them to Denver, not far. But during the chase, she’d tried to jump over the alley between two tall buildings, losing her footing. The drop had broken her leg in three places as she’d landed.
Embarrassed, she wasn’t going to tell him all of that. Especially the part where she’d lost the bastard who had Heather.
“Are you hungry? What do you eat if you do?” she sat up, releasing his hand.
“I’m starving, and at this point just wheel the fridge in here, I can eat it all.” He grinned up at her.
Shaking her head, she grabbed the phone next to the bed, dialed the concierge, “Hey, Jeremy, Iroida. Listen, he’s awake, broth, toast, bananas, rice, jello, water, tea. If he keeps it down, I’ll call down for more.” She hung up the handset.
“I want real food,” he frowned at her, and she heard his stomach rumble.
“You’ve been out for two weeks. Haven’t you noticed the weight loss?” She pointed at his stomach.
He looked down, his eyes going wide. “That explains the weakness.”
“Let’s start sensibly and go from there. If you can handle this, I’ll get you a porterhouse.” She patted his belly, the sensation of his muscles and skin imprinted on her hands. The urge to run her hands over his skin at her leisure nearly overwhelmed what little common sense she had left. He hadn’t asked her to, nor had she gotten permission.
Getting the crutches, she moved away from the bed, and the tempting man lying in it. The urge to taste him, to intimately know his scent, his taste, the feel of him beneath her hands …
“I, uh, I’ll go guide Jeremy in with it,” she swallowed hard and got the hell out. Once out of the room, she noted his smell dissipate, and her breathing return to normal. She wanted to ask someone about all these reactions to a man, but who would she go to? The mortals forever tied to Showtime?
She stopped in the living room, leaning into the crutches. Why not? Many of them were married, a few had children. Surely they knew something about these weird… chemical reactions she had every time he was close.
The doorbell rang, and she hobbled to get it. Jeremy, a man who’d been brought to Showtime in the late eighties, stood with a covered silver tray and a smile. He was a nice man, now closing in on fifty. His brown hair was almost completely gray, his dark blue eyes fading a little. Both eyes were surrounded by laugh lines. He’d been brought in because he could hear others’ thoughts, and it had nearly drove him insane. He’d since learned how to block it and had been much happier for it. Though he’d had a good life, she could see the sorrow at the back of his eyes, hidden under the million-watt smile. Once in Showtime, they were never allowed to leave, the price for a freedom from running, from the burden of an ability humans abhorred and killed others for possessing.
“It’s good and hot, Ms. Iroida,” Jeremy’s voice, smooth and not too deep, was quiet. “Is he in the guest room? Nasi wants a report on him.” His eyes had widened, telling her they were being monitored.
She acknowledged with the barest of nods. “Go ahead, he’s awake, and hungry. Be sure to take his vitals as well, Jeremy.” In the real world of humans, Jeremy had been a paramedic. Nasi always sent him for initial check ins, and monitoring. If he reported that Boone was well enough, the descendent would be taken to the main hospital, and out of her sight. She met Jeremy’s gaze, and shook her head. At his gentle smile
, her shoulders dropped in relief.
She moved out of the way, and he went into the guest room. She made out the sound of masculine voices, and it disturbed a part of her. Too many men in her apartment. And on the other side of her brain, she celebrated having so many masculine voices, smells, and testosterone in her apartment. She’d be the envy of her sisters, for certain.
She grabbed the pitcher of filtered water out of the fridge and poured a glass of the cold water. Downing it, she tried not to think about the fact she’d just asked Jeremy to lie to Nasi. The same goddess who gleefully wiped out half of Europe’s population by creating the bubonic plague during a temper tantrum. The same who was thought to eat the souls of those who went against her. Rumor was Iroida wasn’t the oldest, that she, indeed, was the youngest of the first Praesidio. Unfortunately, due to the destruction of the Library of Alexander, the original records of the Praesidio were lost.
Light footsteps caught her attention and she turned to find Jeremy walking into the small galley kitchen and setting the tray on the counter.
“He’s too weak to move at the moment, Iroida. He barely kept down the gentle stuff, so I’m going to recommend three days of it, before trying something more substantial. I will set up for a new tray to be brought up every two hours, and he is to attempt to eat every two. Also, I’ll recommend a nurse to come by every four hours to help him with, ahhh, personal needs. He’s going to get bored quickly, and with that, he’s going to get up when he’s not ready. I want him moved into the living room and will have a TV and gaming system installed to keep him occupied. Show him your library, he’s old, so books are familiar. Any questions? Do you need permanent help while he’s here?” Jeremy raised an eyebrow.
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