Number of the Beast (Paladin Cycle, Book One)

by Lita Stone

  “I can’t hit this sonuvabitch!” Shane bellowed.

  “We cannot harm one another,” the guy said. “It is impossible.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Shane stood, fists at his side.

  The psycho extended his arm out. “Take my hand.”

  Shane clenched his teeth. “My pleasure, asshole.” Shane clasped the outstretched hand.

  Multi-colored sparks exploded inside his head, showering his mind with a billion rapid images; and a sensation like a thousand tiny tendrils of lava rooted through his brain, down his spine, igniting his blood.

  Atticus let go of his hand.

  Atticus...his Twin warrior.

  “What the fuck is a ‘twin warrior’?” Shane roared. “And how the fuck do I know your name?”

  “Because the stars have chosen us to slay the Beasts together.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The low wailing of a siren grew closer.

  Atticus bore unblinking eyes into Shane’s, causing Shane a moment of uneasiness. “It is imperative that Amy returns with me. And you as well.”

  Shane shook his head and took a step back. This is some straight up freaky bullshit here.

  “I don’t know who—or what—you are, but I ain’t goin’ anywhere with you and Amy sure-in-the-hell ain’t goin’ anywhere with you.”

  First the headlights beamed through the darkness before the black and white squad car parked behind Amy’s sedan where Amy rested in the backseat.

  “You boys break it up,” Sheriff Bowden hollered. The broad man shuffled in front of his cruiser before he advanced on them with steady strides. “Put your hands up and step away from one another.” His fingers flexed around the holstered .357. ”We don’t want this to get nasty.”

  Shane glanced at the Atticus, Carmen and Birch then at the Sheriff. “C’mon Rodney, just shoot this fucking asshole...goddamn, man, he messed Amy up. Fucker hurt her. Just fucking shoot him, Rodney!”

  “Son, from the vantage point I got here you better start addressing me as Sheriff Bowden.”

  Shane laughed in hysteria. Bent over, hands braced on his knees, he cackled like a drunk maniac. “Fuck all of you! Fuck!”

  He’d always prided himself on being rational, practical even, but sanity and reality were sadly slipping away. He thought of asking Bowden for a ride to the nuthouse. A rage like nothing he’d felt before seethed inside him. A feeling so overwhelming, so intense, almost a tangible barrel of force bloating in his gut. Why couldn’t he touch that freak?

  An ambulance raced toward them, lights flashing, siren howling.

  Shane stopped laughing, and he snapped his attention toward the car.

  Birch cautiously approached him. “You want to go to jail or to the hospital with Amy?”

  Sheriff Bowden shambled around the shoulder of the road. “Somebody ‘round here is gonna explain to me what the devil is going on. All you kids smoking dope?”

  Carmen pointed at Atticus. “He might know.”

  Shane snatched the pistol from the waist band of Birch’s jeans, and leveled the gun at the bastard.

  The noise around him muted. Nothing existed at that moment. Nothing and nobody.

  Except Shane.

  A loaded gun.

  And the freak he was going to blow away.

  The gun bucked in his hands. One bullet. Two bullet. Three bullets. Clean through Atticus’ face, obliterating his skull, showering teeth onto the ground.

  Sheriff Bowden’s .357 thundered.

  Once.

  And Shane slammed face first into the dirt.

  Shane shook his head, he was still standing...Atticus stood before him.

  “Put the gun down, Baker!” Sheriff Bowden shouted.

  Fingers trembling, Shane dropped it.

  He sobbed as Birch and Carmen cradled him from either side.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Denial will consume you.

  The river flows one way. Dare you swim upstream? But perhaps if you swim against the current, it will take you to a paradise the naysayers lacked the foresight to envision.

  And if you bend to the will of others, the consequences may eat you alive. Be wary of the barracudas that will chase you down stream.

  For if you swim with the rest of the fish, you may very well live to see another day and be revered by your fellow swim mates, but at what cost?

  Ignore the masses who command you to act within the confines of societal acceptance. For their reasons are selfish and without common sense.

  Question the motives of those who ask you to abandon your tendencies. Trust in who you are and in those who revere you as you are. Be wary of those who ask you to alter your thinking or behavior.

  Or...

  Denial will consume you.

  ~Rourn

  #

  Atticus had found his twin. And his twin tried to kill him.

  He couldn’t blame Shane for not recognizing their cosmic connection, since until now he hadn’t known of it either. Nobody had.

  Not even the Templars.

  The cosmic forces must have a sense of humor.

  Atticus sat in the backseat of the sheriff’s car. Blue lights flashed against the dark sky. Healers—paramedics, he corrected—carefully removed Amy’s unconscious body from the back of the car, placed her on a gurney and rolled her away.

  With his head hung, Atticus had surrendered. The Beast had fled. Amy had been injured. And Shane almost got himself killed by the sheriff. There was no reason to put up any resistance. He would cooperate with the authorities as much as he could.

  Something else weighed heavy on his mind. There had been a dead woman at the feet of the Beast. Had it been the female Geminus? Why had she been slain?

  Where is the Beast now? In a burst of flames the Geminus had fled into the woodlands, but Atticus’ instinct told him the Geminus was far from defeated.

  Where had that fireball come from? Amy herself? Perhaps she’d drawn from the incredible power stored inside the babe in her very own womb.

  Or maybe the hideous dark man that was adorned with heads and bones conjured forth the flaming skull. But who are what was that being?

  Something had protected Amy; that was all Atticus knew for certain.

  The sheriff entered the vehicle. He shifted to drive. “Son, I don’t know what in tarnation happened out here tonight, but we’re gonna have to take you down to the station for questioning.”

  The vehicle pulled away from the scene.

  “Did you find a burnt body?” Atticus asked.

  The man glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “No. Will we find one?”

  “The Beast,” Atticus said, “he was set aflame.”

  “You’d do well to be forthcoming with whatever information and involvement you had.”

  The dark woods blurred past the window. “There is also a woman’s body in the woods,” Atticus said. “She is the missing female from the recent murdered family.”

  #

  “Slow down,” Birch said, gripping the dashboard. “Or we’re gonna need an ambulance to come pick us up.”

  Shane’s foot remained hard on the gas pedal, and he barely let up when making turns.

  His phone dinged, indicating he had a text. A message from Scooter.

  What time will u be home? Can u pick up pizza? And can I have the truck tomorrow?

  Shane stifled a groan. He tossed a look to Carmen sandwiched between him and Birch. “You mind catching Scooter up on everything?” Shane said, dropping the phone in Carmen’s lap.

  “Can he stay at the Vallez plantation tonight?” The plantation was two hundred acres surrounding a four-story plantation home where fifteen of Carmen’s closest relatives lived and worked the family farm. “I just don’t want him being alone.”

  “I need a lift to Roxy’s to get my car.” Carmen rested her head on Shane’s shoulder. “Whatever you and Amy need, I’m here for you guys. I’ll even forgive your recent assholeness.”

&nbs
p; Shane nodded, swallowing a lump rising in his throat.

  Town lights shined. Paved streets weaved through downtown Buckeye.

  Buckeye Memorial Hospital sprawled over a few dozen grassy acres. A circle drive led to the emergency entrance where the ambulance unloaded Amy and rushed her into the building.

  Shane reached the sliding glass doors right as the gurney vanished around a corner. Inside, his boots thudded down the tiled hallway. Birch and Carmen trailed closely behind.

  A man in a white coat blocked Shane’s path. “Hold it, mister.” He held a hand up.

  Shane stepped to the side. “Move.”

  The man moved to block Shane. “You’re not permitted beyond this area. We will notify you when we know anything.”

  Birch tugged on his shoulder “Come on, dude. I’ll wait with you.”

  Shane shoved his hand away. In the waiting room, he paced back and forth. “What did that punk do to her? She was unresponsive, but she didn’t look beat up. And what was that fucking stone? This is some messed up shit.”

  “Relax, buddy. At least Sheriff Bowden let you come to the hospital instead of locking you up. Let’s be optimistic here.”

  In the corner of the waiting room, he heard Carmen on the phone giving Scooter the run down.

  Pausing, Shane clasped his hands on top of his head. “I wanted to kill that freak.” He remembered the invisible wall, soft and spongy. And how his fist was diverted. “But I couldn’t touch him. Something wouldn’t let me touch him. It was seriously fucked up.”

  The kid acted strange, and like he knew him, like they were long lost friends. Something about him didn’t sit well with Shane. And his demeanor. Cool, calm, and collected. Wasn’t too often Shane met someone, especially young, that weren’t afraid of him. Shane had seen that same behavior in hardened soldiers in the Middle East—guys who’d lived through IEDs and ambushes, men who weren’t afraid to grab a bull by its horns and spit in its face when it snorted.

  Who is that punk and where the hell did he come from? Did he have some sort of twisted crush on her? Had he been stalking her and for how long? And what’d he mean by calling me his ‘twin warrior’? That fucking freaky mind-trip he gave me when we touched...

  Carmen closed her cell and hurried over to him and Birch. “Any word? Is she alright?”

  Birch frowned and shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

  Carmen folded her arms around Shane and patted his back. Shane fought the urge to recoil from her touch. He didn’t want to be comforted. He just wanted to be pissed off.

  But she squeezed him tighter and he found himself wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, hiding the anguish and tears threatening to overcome him.

  “Amy Rae Wintry.” A doctor with salt and pepper speckled hair and a five o’clock shadow called from in front of the double doors.

  Shane released Carmen and rushed toward the doctor. “Is she okay?”

  “Yes.” The doctor smiled. “She’s perfectly fine. All vitals are good but she’s in a catatonic state and we’re not sure why. It may be psychological, her body’s way of defending her mind from a traumatic event.”

  “Will she wake up soon?” Shane asked.

  The doctor’s smile faded. “I cannot say for certain. But in most cases like this, it only last a few hours.”

  Shane sighed. “Okay. Everything’s going to be okay. She’ll recover. She’s a tough cookie.”

  “There is one thing,” the doctor said. “There’s a stone embedded in her chest. We attempted to remove it but it caused too much biological stress and induced a seizure.”

  “What is it?”

  The doctor tilted his head. “I’m not sure, but my guess is that it’s organic. I scraped a sample off the surface of the stone and sent it to the lab for testing.” The doctor shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It seems to be surgically embedded into her skin.” A concerned expression panned the doctor’s face, and he lowered his voice. “I realize this is going to sound strange, but the only thing that comes to mind when I see that stone is that’s is like some sort of satanic ritual.”

  An uncontrollable shudder took Shane from head to toe. “When can I see her?”

  Carmen pushed herself in front of Shane. She eyed the doctor. “What about the baby?”

  The doctor lifted a brow. “What baby?”

  #

  Isaac clawed at the soil, dragging his burnt hide over the bramble littered ground. He sucked in a painful gulp of hot air. His hand, his arm, his whole damn body was blackened. His lungs struggled to inflate. Legs, charred to the bone, scraped painfully across the dirt. Sloughs of flesh fell away with every inch he crawled.

  And what about his genitals? A shiver slithered through him.

  He collapsed. The Narkush faded from its vibrant crimson color to a pathetic translucent pink. Isaac pressed his bleeding lips against the cool soil. A few yards away he heard shuffling feet and voices.

  Humans. They were scouring the woods. What would they do if they found him?

  Even in his current state Isaac readied his brittle claws, believing he could kill at least one or two of the humans before they delivered death onto him.

  Or would they transport him to a hospital to attend to his wounds? A sneer pulled at his split and blistered lips. He’d certainly prefer death before allowing human mortals to save him.

  He only needed to get back to the mansion.

  Isaac grunted and instantly regretted doing so when his throat, chest and abdomen imploded with excruciating tightness, and what felt like one of his internal organs burst.

  He kept motionless for several long hours listening to the humans trampling through the woods, and praying to Galmoria not to die. Nightfall shielded him and the path he’d left behind when he drug himself the last few yards. A few times a spotlight glided by but never caught him directly in the beam.

  His smoldered remains blended well with the soil and darkness. Even if they had found him, they’d probably mistake him for a charred log.

  Fading in and out of consciousness, he struggled to keep his moans silent. When the humans finally disappeared, the sounds of the forest echoed. Hissing insects. Chirping crickets. An owl hooted.

  So he moaned. Loud and desperate.

  He listened to that owl for a long while. Then the bird burst through the canopy and left in a flurry of hoots.

  Crunching noise.

  The noise got closer. A growl followed, like that of a bull or a boar.

  Two eyes, like shards of red-hot diamonds, peeked through the dark trees. The pungent scent of brimstone followed.

  A black dog, larger than a truck, approached him. Its head lowered and it picked Isaac up in its massive maw. He felt the warmth of its breath and tongue beneath him. The comforting firmness of its teeth gently cradled his burnt body. And its warm jellied saliva anointed his burnt flesh.

  As the hound carried him out of the woods, Isaac closed his eyes and thought peaceful thoughts, knowing that the hound was his offspring, spawned as a result of his dominating of Galmoria. A gift from his mother.

  And the pup would save his life.

  Chapter Fifty

  Shane paced within the tight confines of the snack room that featured nothing more than a Coca-Cola machine with a dimmed light, and a tiny table with a grease-coated microwave. Doctor Midgard said he could see Amy soon. Her room number was 156. She was just a short walk away.

  The doc also promised to do a pregnancy test.

  Shane had shook his head at the doctor, silently telling him the test was a waste of time. Amy wasn’t pregnant. Crazy? Maybe. After all, she had conversations with his sister’s ghost and imaginary men.

  But she wasn’t pregnant.

  Was she?

  Dr. Midgard told him they’d run the test just to be certain because the doctor himself needed to know if he was caring for one or two lives.

  Walking a ditch into the beige tiles of the tight room wasn’t much better than sit
ting in one of the hard chairs in the waiting room. But at least he was moving and, his blood was pumping, hot and fast.

  The face of the freaky fuck in the green leather pants flashed in his mind. Who the hell was he? Had he made the lights bounce in his mind? Or was Shane suffering from PTSD?

  Too much shit!

  Amy missing.

  Amy hurt.

  A strange jewel stuck in her skin.

  Satanic ritual?

  And a boy that seemed so familiar to Shane…more like a brother than Scooter, his own blood.

  More like a brother than the soldiers he fought beside in Iraq.

  Some seriously fucked up shit.

  Birch and Carmen followed him like baby birds following their mother, or hunters trailing a rabid dog, readying to put it out of its fuckin’ misery. “I should’ve never took that job in Pecos.” His fists clenched tight by his side. “I should’ve found a job here. Could’ve been a mechanic...or something. Anything. Could’ve worked for the highway. I could’ve picked up dead chickens at the Vallez farms.” He sighed. “Should’ve been around more often...”

  Birch snorted. “Don’t do this. Don’t take the path of self-blame. Not of this was your fault.”

  “She needed me here and I wasn’t around.” Shane stared blankly at the dimmed Coca-Cola machine, fingers flexing. “Who was that crazy sunuvabitch guy? I want to know who the hell he was and why the fuck he was stalking her.”

  Standing in the threshold between the snack room and waiting room, Carmen cleared her throat. “I’m going to play devil’s advocate and suggest that maybe that guy wasn’t talking all bullshit. He did bring Amy out of the woods and I...”

  With large strides, Shane crossed the room. He peered down at her. “Was Atticus a good fuck, sweetheart?”

  Carmen grimaced. “I didn’t fuck him! But I was with him and we saw some freaky shit—hundreds of birds started dropping snakes and turtles—and Atticus—”

  Shane punched the Coke machine. The glass cracked diagonally from bottom to top. “Fuck Atticus! Don’t even use that name in front of me.”