Yes, Emma Grant’s subconscious had to be working in overdrive. How else would she be capable of achieving an exact likeness of Io’s nemesis? If Emma chose Venn as her subject without knowing the man, then the bond between them must be incredibly strong. It was only a matter of time before she discovered the truth about their shared past.
Golden Grain, came next. He delighted in the way his stomach burned as it hit bottom. With a stretch of his neck, he opened and closed his mouth, feeling as if he’d spew fire out like a fucking dragon if he exhaled properly.
Io forced his thoughts back to the issues…he believed in making things happen, not leaving the future to fate. Relying on fate was akin to being a drug addict. Who knew if the next fix would even be there? He needed to ensure Emma adhered to his plan for the dedication ceremony. He needed her to handle the support stakes prior to setting them in the ground. Only then would they be poisonous to the tree.
The Bruichladdich X4 Quadrupled whiskey, he’d saved the best for last. He admired the crystal tumbler adorned with diamond shaped spikes encircling the tumbler. This time he consumed the drink slowly, mmm, tasted like rocket fuel.
If Venn figured out his real purpose was to use Emma to kill the tree, then the Guardian would stop him. Too much sweet talk from Venn might just convince her of the dangers to the tree and therefore to him.
The nagging possibility she would remember her past life was a problem. One he had little power to deal with.
So what if they had another distraction, one that would take their attention away from the real reason she was called to Tyler? Something to do with say…old lady Grant.
Yes…yes, that could work…
Io stood, giving his minion orders to fix leg of lamb for dinner.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A short while later, Io watched over the Grant estate in his owl form, looking for an opportunity to throw Emma off guard. The sun had not quite shown itself in the full light of day, and the morning fog still clung to the trees and blanketed the ground. Possibilities churned through his head. But he kept returning to the grandmother. An accident perhaps…
The side door swung open, and Claire Grant exited with her silly dog. She carried two blue rugs and hung them on the line to dry. Man, the old lady was always working on something, but even so, she dressed spiffy, as if she were forty instead of eighty-five.
A good ways from Claire, Fido did his business and sniffed a tree.
The stroke of genius came to him immediately. He would take the dog.
He swooped down, flexing his talons. The little mutt ran but was no match for his speed. He sank his talons into the dog, and the thing yelped and then yipped as he became airborne.
Grandma gasped. “Stop. Let him go,” she yelled, staggering forward, shaking her fist.
Io circled as the terrier furiously kicked his legs.
The woman took off for the house, ducked inside, and emerged mere seconds later with shotgun in hand. She fired in his direction, but not at him. How foolish she thought him. No. The gun posed no threat since it also would mean disaster for her pup.
He dipped closer, dangling the bait, then flew away from the house. She focused on him, tripping over roots and logs. Cocking the shotgun, she hitched several steps and fell forward. The gun fired upward, and the leaves of a nearby tree rustled, falling to the ground.
Too bad she hadn’t blown a hand off or something. That’d do the trick, wouldn’t it?
Io scanned the terrain below. He swooped for uneven, sloped ground, hoping she’d take a serious tumble, maybe even slam into the base of a tree. He envisioned the horrendous car accidents he’d instigated when he was bored, the victims left with broken bones and twisted bodies.
He flew higher, swung around, and dove between trees. Grandma shook her fist, obviously no worse from the fall. Pity.
“Izzy!” She launched into a hobbling run. “Put him down, you damned horned bastard.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle inside. Deep in the woods, there were a multitude of things that could go wrong, ways that dear old grandma could get injured. He needed only one.
Light flashed, a slice of sunlight peeking from between the clouds, hitting Izzy’s dog tag and winking a bright reflection. She shook the gun at him again. The dog went berserk, trying to break free. Could the dog survive a fall from this height?
Mrs. Grant fell again, then got up and kept running. Then a snap, crack, and scream split the quiet forest morning. The old woman had disappeared. One second she was standing on the leaf-strewn ground, the next she’d dropped out of sight.
Io circled back to discover a fissure in the earth half-covered by rotted boards. An old well.
He swooped low and let go of the dog. Then he perched at the well’s edge and looked down the dark shaft.
Mrs. Grant lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom, unconscious.
Perfect.
* * *
Emma stopped by the drug store on her way back to her grandmother’s. She picked up deodorant and mascara that she’d left at home and some shortbread cookies for Grams, her favorite. Still distracted by the events at the warehouse, she walked off without receiving her change until the clerk advised her of the error. “Oops. Sorry, I don’t know where my head is at today.”
Actually, her thoughts worried over Venn. On top of the attraction she felt for the man, now she had the statue-identity issue to contend with. Plus the concept of reincarnation. What if he didn’t believe in it? What should she share with him when they met for lunch?
Frustration set in as she drove with little attention given to her surroundings or the route.
As she approached the house, the side door stood wide-open in silent invitation. Grams did that on occasion to air out the house, but it seemed too cold for that today. A quick trip through the house found it empty, and apprehension niggled her. She went into the backyard.
“Grams?” she called.
Nothing. She shouted several more times. It seemed that no one was home, but the car remained in the driveway. “Strange.”
Heading to check the detached garage, a frightened Izzy came barreling out of the woods, barking frantically. Emma knelt, and the dog hustled to her, wedging its tiny body beneath her bent legs, practically clinging to her ankles. The poor thing shook convulsively.
Alarm skipped within her chest. The hair across the dog’s shoulders was matted with something. She reached to feel his fur, and when she pulled her hand back, blood covered her fingers. “What happened?”
As soon as she released the dog, he padded in a back-and-forth pattern, yipping.
He wants me to follow him.
With her grandmother nowhere to be found, Emma trailed after the dog. He led her a good ways from the house, and she was about to give up the chase and go back when she saw the broken earth. On closer inspection, she realized it was an old well. Someone had recently broken through the boards, and based on the footprints in the wet red clay, that someone may have fallen in. Panic formed in her chest and spread throughout her body like food coloring hitting water.
She hurried over to the chillingly silent crypt, dropped to her hands and knees, and inched forward to the edge. The wood framing the hole jutted out, jagged and half covered with clay, so it was difficult to tell where it began and how sturdy it was. A thick splintery board wobbled under the weight of her hand. She yelled for her grandmother, and Izzy began barking wildly.
Oh God.
“Grams! Are you okay?”
Nothing. Not a sound.
Why didn’t Grams answer? What if she was already dead?
“Can you hear me?” she tried again. Darkness had a new sound, a deep empty echo. “Hang tight! I’ll be right back.” Distressed at the thought that her grandmother could be at the bottom of the abandoned well and hurt, she stood, moving too quickly, and her foot slipped in the mud. As if she were ice-skating, she tried to recover but to no avail. Her feet couldn’t find purchase. She rolled and tried to grab hold of the g
round, but still she slid over the edge and down, down into the well. And even though she reached out and strained to cling to something—anything—nothing held. Her breath caught in her throat, waiting to hit bottom, and expelled in a whoosh when she landed against her grandmother’s legs.
Oh. God. No.
Slowly, the shock of what had just happened sunk in.
She needed a flashlight…and help. But first she had to see how Grams was.
“Okay,” she said with more calm than she felt.
Setting her feet in the deep muck, she positioned herself standing over her grandmother. Grams didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Emma dug her cell phone from her pocket, thankful it was still there and hadn’t fallen out during her tumble.
She thumbed it on. No signal.
Shit. Another of the drawbacks of living in rural Georgia. But she could still use the flashlight function. With a knot in her stomach, she fanned the light around them, taking in the situation. The dim glow revealed Grams’s crumpled form half-covered with water. Emma pressed the back of her free hand to her mouth. A wave of fear sliced through her as she realized that even the presence of the light didn’t elicit a response. Holding the phone in her teeth, being extra careful not to let it slip and fall into the standing water at the bottom of the well, she leaned down toward her grandmother and touched her cheeks. “Hold on, Grams. I’ll get help.”
What to do now? She circled the light, taking stock of the interior. The clay walls appeared firm, surprisingly smooth and vertical, and glistened with moisture. But she didn’t think she could climb back up them.
With shaking hands, she examined Grams. Luckily, she had landed with her head up and somewhat propped against the inner wall, because with the water and muck, she could have easily drowned otherwise. There was a big gash from her brow to hairline, though, as if she’d struck the planks when she’d fallen. Emma was most concerned by her pale coloring, which, given the poor light source, she suspected wasn’t accurate. Could it actually be worse? She checked her pulse. Faint. Very faint.
Emma took a stuttering, nervous breath. Hypothermia was one of the biggest concerns down here. The walls emitted frosty air like a refrigerator. With judicious movements, careful not to allow herself to sink deeper, she peeled off her coat and wrapped it as best she could around Grams’s shoulders and torso.
Venn.
Call me when you're done. I'll be waiting. His words had sounded so prophetic at the time.
Even though she didn’t have any bars indicating service, she decided to try texting him anyway. Sometimes that got through when a regular call didn’t.
Help! Grams and I are in danger. Fell into an old well in woods northeast of her home.
Laying her free hand on her forehead, she thumbed “Send.” If anyone could help her, he would. She just knew it.
If he gets the message.
Unfortunately, she didn’t know how long she could just wait to be rescued. Her favorite person in the world could be dying. And if nighttime fell and the temperature dropped…well, Emma herself may not survive, either.
Refusing to believe they wouldn’t be found and rescued, Emma tucked her arms around herself, hugging in every bit of warmth she could. She glanced up to the mouth of the well where light filtered in. The glow barely reached the bottom where they were, and as the sun descended, she knew it would soon be gone entirely.
She glanced at her phone to see if the message had gone through. It hadn’t. What’s more, she needed to quit checking the status in order to conserve her only light source.
Izzy barked from up top, another reminder of the horrible situation she was in. “We’re okay, Izzy. Go get help.” The dog had brought her to Grams; maybe he’d find someone else. Maybe Venn.
She waited for what seemed like hours as the darkness within the well increased. She checked her iPhone. Only thirty minutes had passed. And the message still had not sent.
Time to try to climb up. She had to at least try.
She used some of her precious phone light to check on Grams first. Her breathing came in shallow, uneven breaths. Emma held on to the fact that her grandmother was still alive.
She secured her phone tightly in a pocket, then felt the walls. They were made of slick, packed Georgia clay. She tried to brace her feet on one side of the well and her back against the other, thinking she might be able to inch her way to the top. But it was immediately evident that approach wouldn’t work. The inside was too large and she wasn’t tall enough to reach both sides at the same time. Her other concern was that if she fell—and she predicted she would in her first attempts—she might land on Grams and injure her further.
Taking deep breaths, she gathered her courage. This time she rotated, placed her hands on one side, her feet on the other, using resistance to hold. Her fingers sunk into the wet clay, but she pushed harder, tightening her muscles. She moved a hand and the corresponding leg ever so slightly. Left hand, left foot, right hand, right foot.
She had accomplished four steps, her breathing growing labored, the muscles in her back complaining. And then the inevitable happened. Her foot lost its grip and slipped, taking her down. Working hard to control how she landed, she hugged one of the well walls with her hands and feet.
As she rested, her breathing came out harsh and labored, so loud in her ears she barely heard the swish of her phone delivering a text. Hoping beyond hope that she heard the sound she’d thought, she checked.
Yes! The message had been sent.
Of course, that didn’t mean he’d see it. But she noted the time. It was thirty minutes past when they had agreed to meet for lunch. She trusted Venn was interested enough to inquire about her absence. But still, if he didn’t see the message, it’d be hours before anyone would realize they were even missing.
CHAPTER NINE
For the first fifteen minutes, he thought Emma was merely running late. But after that, he grew seriously worried and paced outside the little Italian restaurant where they’d agree to meet. Located at one end of Main Street, it was a good location to begin taking in the local art festival happening this weekend. His plan to share a meal and then use her interest in art as a means to get to know each other better seemed to be fading with every minute that passed. After twenty minutes, he phoned her, only to get her answering machine. By thirty minutes, he jumped in his SUV, heading to her grandmother’s place. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it. He stepped on the gas.
A text pulsed on his cell phone. He tapped it and read, glancing between his phone and the road.
The muscles in his neck and chest constricted with fear. How on earth did they end up in an abandoned well? And worse, the Grant property was huge. The well could be anywhere. No, the text had given him a clue. Northeast. At least that narrowed it to a hundred acres or so.
He cursed. Honestly, he may have been able to shift and run or fly there faster, so when he arrived at the Grant’s place he launched out of the vehicle and stopped dead in the yard. He called to his wolf and the change was almost instant.
He lifted his nose with a long sniff. He sorted through the scents of pine and earth until he found hers. Emma smelled fearful and confused. He took off running, pausing to take a whiff every hundred yards or so. Her scent lingered on the trees she’d passed along the way. It was getting stronger, too, so he must be getting closer.
The abandoned well was in the middle of a clearing. Izzy was stretched out alongside it, his chin resting on his front legs, standing guard. Running in long strides, Venn changed into his human form.
“Emma!” he called out.
“Venn?” Her shaky voice seemed far off. “Venn! We’re down here.”
He hastened toward the opening of the well, toward the sound of her voice. When he peered down, she lit her phone. At the sight of her deep within the hole, his stomach clenched. She stood plastered against the wall, her hair wet and dripping, and Mrs. Grant lay on the bottom, propped up but surrounded by more water than he expected in an
old abandoned well.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Grams is hurt badly. She’s still unconscious, but she’s breathing.”
Venn could tell her grandmother was in poor shape even without the update. In the same way animals sensed when other animals were in distress and made easy prey. With his extremely acute hearing, he picked up her very faint, very slow heartbeat.
“Thank God you saw my message,” she said. “We could have been out here for days otherwise.”
Yes, thank God. Because had he not… He hated to think of the outcome. “What are the well walls like?”
“Clay, slippery but firm. I tried climbing them, but I could only make it a few feet.”
He took in the information, calculated the size and the depth of the well. Maybe he should go for help, contact the fire department. His gaze snagged on a bloody piece of wood. One of them had collided with it. The thought of Emma down there for a second longer than necessary tore at him.
Her grandmother’s breathing hitched. “Something’s happening with Grams,” Emma said. “I…I don’t know, her breathing is becoming erratic.”
He watched Emma’s slumped shoulders move as she swiped the heel of her hand over her eyes.
No. He could get them out, by sheer determination and grit if need be. But he would have to change forms to do it. He needed his hawk to lift them out, but his wingspan would be too wide. It would have to be his wolf. He should be able to maneuver the clay walls in that form. He closed his eyes and palmed his hand across the back of his neck. This was not what he wanted to do on their third meeting. She might be frightened away before she ever got to know him. Damn.
But there was no time for second-guessing.
“Listen to me. I’m coming down to get you both out.” He shrugged out of his coat, collected it into a ball. “I’m dropping my coat down.” He let it go, and Emma caught it.
“See if you can tie the sleeves around your grandmother’s torso.”
Awakening Fire: The Divine Tree Guardians (The Divine Tree Guardians Series Book 1) Page 9
