by Mina Carter
That meant her only option was to get to the village, get answers, and get out before he was free to pursue her.
Sweat trickled down her temple despite the cold air, sweat that had nothing to do with heat and everything to do with her nervousness about putting herself so close to the man who'd been hunting her, the man who seemed to call to her so desperately that she'd almost given up her camouflage because she'd needed to touch him so badly.
She let out a deep breath and touched the silver locket she'd fastened around her throat while she'd been watching the men try to bait her. The cool metal acted as a constant reminder of what was at stake if she lost control or failed in her quest. Ryland might be a threat she didn't fully understand, but by telling her about the village he'd also given her a clue that directed her toward another chance to find her daughter.
For that, she owed him.
Maybe she would send him a thank you note.
Laughing softly, she released the charm and broke into a loping run, knowing that the clock was ticking with each passing moment: the clock that had Ryland distracted by his team, and the clock that gave her daughter life.
"Come on, Catherine. You've got to get this right. Lucy's counting on you." Then there was no time for talking. There was only time for running as if the devil himself was on her tail.
Which, she had a feeling, wasn't that far from the truth.
Chapter Four
THE TOWN SMELLED the same as it had a thousand years ago. Ryland was shocked by the scents that assaulted him as he led his team around the outskirts of the village, amazed at how familiar they all were, as if he'd been there yesterday. He'd shut the town from his memory until today, and he couldn't have recalled a single scent of the area even to save his own life. Now that he was here, however, everything seemed to be coming back, flooding his senses. He remembered the hill to the south. The small spring on the north side. The well in the village center.
He inhaled deeply, letting the reminiscent odors of those first memorable breaths drift through him. How could a town smell the same after a thousand years? But it did. It smelled of cow manure and pig slop, of freshly cut hay and day-old fish, of thatched roofs and slow-cooking meat.
The scent was as beautiful as it had been before, maybe even more so. Because it was the scent of freedom.
"Where is everyone?" Thano asked quietly, his voice strained. "It's not that late."
"Most people don't venture out in the darkness," Ryland said. "Not around here."
"Talraks?"
"And others." Ryland reached back into the memories ingrained in his mind, trying to remember which way to go. The roads felt different, beaten down by cars and tainted by exhaust, but the layout was the same. "Right here." He ducked between two buildings and made his way down a narrow passageway, urgency compelling him onward. He slipped between two more slumped wooden buildings, then down a narrow staircase to a door so small that it looked like it was built for a child, not a man.
Adrenaline pushed through him. "It's still here." He knocked on the door as Thano reined in Apollo at the top of the stairs. Two quick knocks, just as Dante had done so many centuries before.
There was no response, and Ryland counted silently. Three. Two. One. Then he knocked again, two quick raps. "By Dante's grace," he said softly, referencing the one who had showed him the way, just as Dante had recited another's name so long ago.
This time, the door swung open with a loud creak, as if the hinges hadn't been asked to twist in a hundred years. Beyond the door was darkness, an impenetrable cavern of mystery. Ryland had no memory of what had happened within those walls, which Dante had said was the way it always was. It was the only way to safeguard whatever it was that lay within. "I have friends," he said into the abyss. "They were attacked by talraks. They're almost out of time. I need you to save them."
There was no response from within the room, no sound except for the swish of Apollo's tail.
Ry? What's up? Thano's voice touched his mind. We don't have time for this crap.
Ryland glanced over his shoulder and swore when he saw an orange glow emanating from beneath Zach's eyelashes, his eyes closed now as death began to take him. Adrenaline rushed through him and he whirled back toward the room. "I need help now," he shouted. "These are Dante's men! Help them!"
"Ryland Samuels." The voice was gravelly and rough, just as he remembered it when it had spoken to Dante. The voice was so powerful that Ryland had to fight not to drop to his knees and genuflect. "You were warned not to return, were you not?"
Jesus. Like he had time for that shit. "My friends are dying! Help them!" He turned. "Thano! Get down here!"
Thano immediately spun Apollo to the top of the stairs, and somehow the enormous animal managed to ease down the staircase that was too narrow for him, as if the very building itself had stretched to accommodate him.
Ryland knew he couldn't cross the threshold, but he gestured to Thano. "Go in. He's waiting for you." Dear Jesus, he hoped he was.
Thano peered into the darkness. "You're sure?"
Ryland stayed his hand as Thano began to call out his weapon. "Go unarmed. Just go!"
Zach coughed, a hack that turned into a low groan. Thano met his gaze, and Ryland saw the moment the younger warrior decided to trust him. He urged Apollo forward, and the horse leapt through the doorway that was ten times too small for him and yet had granted him access.
As they disappeared into the darkness, Ryland tensed. His brands burned with the need to arm himself, to leap in there and defend his team. Ten seconds passed and they didn't reappear. Then twenty. Then thirty.
When a full minute had passed, Ryland knew they'd been accepted for treatment. "Jesus." He slumped back against the wall, suddenly drained. Zach had made it there with seconds to spare. Son of a bitch. He'd done it. His team would live. Dante's legacy would live to see another day, at least for now.
For a long moment, he didn't move, recalling too clearly that day when Dante had delivered him to that same door. That day when everything had changed. No way would he betray what Dante had given him. No way would he fail to be the man Dante had believed he could be.
Thano and Zach were safe for now, and they wouldn't be released for a few hours.
Which meant it was time for hunting an angel of death.
Ryland leapt up the stairs and took a deep breath, inhaling the stillness of the night.
He caught Catherine's scent almost immediately and smiled, realizing that she had followed their lead and come to the village.
She'd delivered herself right into his hands. The chase would soon be over. He would have her, and Dante's legacy would be sealed forever.
Brimming with triumph, Ryland began to jog down the silent street, knowing full well that there were no graveyards in this town.
Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. He was coming for her.
* * *
Catherine pulled her black cap low over her head as she hunched in the shadows of the bar, using the wide brim to hide her face. Men and a few women were moving about, talking in hushed tones. It wasn't the raucous atmosphere of a bar where people were releasing a week's tension and having fun. It was the grim setting of a place on the edge of hell, and her body knew that there were too many vulnerable souls surrounding her. The temptation was great. Sleep gnawed at her weary body, trying to convince her to let her barriers down and fade into the respite of oblivion, as if she would dare let down her guard with so many people around and the thickness of night heavy upon them.
No, not tonight. Tonight there would be no harvesting by her. She rubbed the locket between her thumb and index finger as she took a deep breath, trying to inhale energy into her beleaguered body.
She couldn't afford to waste time. Ryland's trail had deviated to the south when they'd entered the city, but his scent was everywhere, as if he'd been in this room before. Knowing he was near was both terrifying and galvanizing. Even though she knew he was dangerous, every time the door opened, her h
eart jumped in anticipation of seeing the man who was so compelling.
The walls of the bar were dark wood, and the ceiling was low, as if the room itself was trying to hide from view. The air was thick with a musty scent that wasn't cigarette or cigar smoke. It was something richer and deeper, as if it were emanating from the earth itself. It almost seemed like the soil beneath the building was breathing tainted air and exhaling it into the room.
She leaned forward as she carefully scanned each occupant of the room. She needed someone old, someone grisly, someone who looked like they'd been in this town for five hundred years and seen all there was to see. Someone with one foot in the grave would be ideal, an old-timer who wanted to share their legacy of information before they died. No one else was likely to talk to a stranger drifting through town and asking questions. Not about the kinds of things she needed to know.
She ignored the younger, robust patrons, scanning the room until she found a man sitting at the far end of the bar. His shoulders were hunched, his skin weathered with a thousand years of life, his jeans worn from many experiences. But his eyes were bright, and he watched everyone in the room with avid clarity. He turned his head sharply and looked right at Catherine, as if he'd been aware of her long before she'd noticed him.
Yes, he was a good choice. He would know. She started to stand up, then stopped as fear trickled through her. No, no, no, he wasn't right. She wanted a woman. A woman would help another woman. A man was different. A man would have agendas that could drive him to do things...terrible things.
Catherine jerked her gaze off him and scanned the rest of the room. The only women were young and fresh, women who probably had been born long after the stone had been stolen. Grimacing to herself, she finally decided on a woman sitting alone in the corner. Unlike the others, she wasn't flirting with men or dressed to impress. She was wearing an old denim jacket, and her brown hair was pulled back in a distracted ponytail. There was no beer or wine in front of her, just the remains of a sandwich and an empty bottle of water. She was young, maybe Catherine's age, but there was a grittiness about the set of her jaw that intrigued Catherine.
It was a start. And she had to get going.
Catherine quickly stood up and worked her way past the half-empty tables. As she walked, she caught the faint scent of death, Ryland's scent. She quickly glanced at the door, but no one was there. He was near, though. Very near.
Her heart pounding, Catherine hurried across the well-worn planks to the woman in the corner. The woman looked up as Catherine approached. In her blue eyes, Catherine saw the burdens of a thousand years.
Yes, this was the person she needed. "May I join you?"
The woman's eyebrows went up, but she nodded.
With another glance toward the front door, Catherine slid into one of the empty chairs, facing the room so she could watch it. Her heart was pounding, and her skin was prickling. Ryland was coming for her, and coming fast. "My name is Catherine," she said.
The woman watched her. "Annie."
Catherine tried to manage a smile, but she was too tense. "I need help."
Annie raised her eyebrows. "I can tell."
She leaned forward, unable to keep the urgency out of her voice. "I need to find the pyre of flames. Do you know where it is?" She left the question hanging in the air, praying that Annie would know what she was talking about.
Annie stared at her, then slowly shook her head. "You don't want to find that," she said.
Relief coursed through Catherine. Annie knew what it was. "I do want to find it," she said. "My daughter was kidnapped. I have to find her." It wasn't the pyre of flames that was her ultimate destination. Her ultimate goal was so much worse.
Annie shook her head and leaned forward, her voice urgent. "Listen to me, Catherine. The pyre leads to things, things so horrific they're beyond comprehension. It's the first step into a hell you can't imagine—"
"I can imagine. I do know." How she wished she didn't, but there was no way to reverse time and choose a life that hadn't taken her where hers had. She simply had to deal with it and move forward.
Annie stared at her for a long moment, then leaned back in her chair. "You'll die if you go."
Catherine shrugged. "Will you tell me how to get there? Please." When Annie began to shake her head, desperation coursed through Catherine. She grabbed Annie's hand. "Think of the person you love most. Imagine them being trapped in that hell you mentioned. What if you were the only person in the entire world who could free them?" Her voice burned with tears she couldn't hold back. "What if you lay awake every night, hearing their voice in your head, calling for you, begging you to save them? What if you loved them so much that a piece of your heart broke off with every minute that passed, knowing that they were suffering and waiting for you to help them?"
Empathy flashed in Annie's eyes, and she squeezed Catherine's hand. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so very sorry."
"I don't want sorry. I want directions."
Annie almost smiled. "You're a brave woman, Catherine."
"I'm not brave. I'm a mother. Will you help me?" A man would never understand the drive of a mother to save her child, but she saw in Annie's eyes the compassion she needed. Annie got it, on a level so deep Catherine knew it was only because she had personal experience with it. A mother, a child of her own, someone she loved...Annie had lost them, too.
"There's no way to describe the path," Annie finally said. "It changes constantly. I'll have to take you there."
Elation leapt through Catherine. "You will?"
"I'll take you most of the way," she warned. "I won't go all the way to the end. That is up to you. I need to go get some supplies. I'll meet you in the alley behind here in twenty minutes."
"Oh, thank you!" Catherine threw her arms around Annie. The other woman's arms folded around her instantly, hugging her tight. A friend for life...as long as Catherine didn't accidentally kill her first.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, after having wolfed down a burger and a salad to ease the gnawing hunger in her belly, Catherine was pacing restlessly in the alley behind the bar, waiting for Annie to appear. Not that she could really call it an alley. It was more like a dirt footpath, barely large enough for one small car, and even a compact would probably lose its mirrors on the buildings. It felt cramped and tight, too small, with not enough room to flee if Ryland showed up.
She'd used the time not only to eat, but also to splash her face with water and stand under the light in the bathroom. She'd raised her face to the dingy fluorescent bulb like some downtrodden scavenger, trying to bleed every last bit of energy from it. She'd fed on it until the room had descended into complete darkness, but it still hadn't been enough to make her skin glow even a little bit. Feeling depressingly pathetic, she'd also taken a moment to absorb the emanations from the bulbs in the back hallway, and the spotlight that had illuminated the alley.
The spotlight had been bright enough to take the edge off. She knew she wasn't going to tackle Annie in the next five minutes and drain her soul, but it hadn't gained her enough that she would dare to risk sleep. The relief that Ryland had given her had long worn off. Catherine suspected the respite had been more about her body's intense craving for him as a man, than any actual relief he'd given her, which was just not something she wanted to contemplate. She had not fallen for a man since Simon had betrayed her, and she'd thought she was too smart to even notice one now.
But she'd noticed Ryland. She'd almost given away her hiding place because she'd needed to touch him so badly. What was that all about? Nothing good, she knew that much. But even at the mere thought of feeling his skin beneath her fingertips, a deep yearning rolled through her. She wanted more of him.
"God, just stop it," she whispered to herself. "You know better." Feeling exposed, Catherine finally tucked herself into a doorway. She used the building to cover her back while she warily watched the alley for both Annie and Ryland, praying the woman would arrive first.
It was hard to see through the pitch black, an impenetrable shield of darkness that had descended when Catherine had drained the spotlight. The only light that remained was the dull flicker from the spotlight, reaching barely a yard past where she was standing, hiding the rest of the nearby ally in darkness. Farther away, there were lights, but not nearby. Nearby was just darkness. While she waited, every sound was magnified in the looming silence. Catherine couldn't quite suppress the rising fear, wishing she hadn't made it quite so dark. In the dark, things could come and be upon her before she knew they were there—
A cold breeze rippled across her skin, and she froze. It wasn't just the cool night air, it was something else. A threat. Danger. Something beyond the realm of humanity. Something—
"Catherine." Ryland's voice was right beside her, and she screamed, leaping out of the doorway. "Hey, it's me." He stepped in front of her and grabbed both her arms, his massive bulk blocking her path, his hands an iron grip on her upper arms. "I'm not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you."
She froze, almost overwhelmed by the enormity of his presence. When she'd seen him in the graveyard, she hadn't been so close to him, and she hadn't been locked in his grasp. But now, he was in her space, so tall that she had to crane her neck to see him. His jaw was hard and flexed. Several days' worth of whiskers bristled on his face, and his shoulders seemed to stretch a thousand miles. He was a man strong enough to do anything he wanted to her. He was enormous, a specimen of maleness that every young boy—and adult male—would idolize and dream of becoming. But as a woman, she saw him for what he was: terrifying. "Let me go."
Ryland shook his head. "I have to get back to my friends, then we need to get home."
