by Anne Hope
“Regan?”
“Over here.”
He found her curled at the base of a moss-covered oak, pale and spent, perspiration beading on her forehead. Concern tangled his gut as he plowed toward her and dropped to his knees. “You all right?” He raised his palm to her cheek, cradling her cool, clammy face.
She leaned into his touch, soothed by it. “I am now.”
“What happened back there, Regan? How’d we get here?”
Her honeyed gaze latched on to his, making an odd warmth pool in his chest. “I folded space, brought you all with me. Now I’m so damn weak, I could probably sleep for a month.”
His hand fell away. She couldn’t have jolted him more had she physically struck him. “How? You’ve never managed to do that before.” When he’d first trained her, he’d spent weeks trying to get her to extend her skill to others. Not once had she succeeded in taking someone with her when she’d folded space. What had changed?
“Guess I never had the right incentive.” She pushed herself up with the heels of her palms and surveyed the forest behind him. “Where’s Ben?”
Worry made his fingers fist around the hilt of his dagger. “I was hoping he was with you.”
Chapter Thirteen
All weakness forgotten, Regan shot to her feet. “Oh, God, what if I left him behind?”
Could she have failed so miserably? What had ever possessed her to think she could move three individuals at once? Insanity, that’s what. Insanity and desperation.
“He’s out here somewhere,” Marcus reassured her. “We’ll find him.”
She took in the sight of the untamed forest, the tightly interwoven branches, the thick snarls of weeds carpeting the ground, and her lungs deflated in defeat.
Marcus placed a supporting arm around her waist. Strength instantly poured through her, as did a lick of heat. She touched her head to his arm, marveled at the firm steadiness of it. Regan had always prided herself on her independence, her unwillingness to rely on anyone. She was surprised at how good it felt to let someone else shoulder the burden with her for once. Marcus was rock solid, dependable to a fault and always willing to put his life on the line for something he believed in. She couldn’t have asked for a better partner…or friend.
“He could be anywhere. What if he’s hurt? What if the Watchers got him?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
He guided her through the woods. On either side of them, shadows danced in eerie warning. The rich smell of vegetation peppered the air, only amplified by the scent of damp earth.
“Ben?” she called out. “Where are you?” The answering silence was deep enough to be suffocating.
Above them, a broad-winged hawk sliced the sky, traveling from tree to tree while scanning the woods below in search of its next meal. Then stillness descended again, a heavy blanket falling to swathe them in gloom.
Something snagged her foot and she stumbled, grabbing hold of Marcus to keep from losing her balance. His arm looped around her again, drawing her tightly against his powerful body in an attempt to steady her.
The strong feel of him against her, the supporting grip of his hand on her waist, conspired with fear and worry to unsettle her and exacerbate her weakness. With a cleansing breath, she disengaged herself from the circle of his arm.
“Ben?” she called again. “Talk to me, kiddo.” When no reply came, she closed her eyes and swallowed to wash away the sour taste in her mouth. The cleansing breath had turned rancid. “What have I done?”
“Stop beating yourself up. You did what you had to do. Probably saved our lives.”
A few yards away, a ball of brilliant light expanded to blast away the shadows. Instantly, a wide assortment of birds abandoned their hideouts to beat frantic wings against the sky. All around, various animals escaped from their burrows to scamper through dirt and brush. The fragile aura of tranquility that had hovered over the woods shattered like glass on stone.
Marcus and Regan took off at a run, heading toward the explosion. That was the only way Regan could describe it. Bursting through the trees, they finally came to a small clearing, where Ben kneeled beside a fallen buck. Blood oozed from the animal’s tawny pelt, its throat mangled. Forming a sinister circle around them, three coyotes lay as still as death, their eye sockets empty, their bodies mummified nearly beyond recognition. Only their brownish-gray fur and canine-shaped heads gave them away.
Ben looked up at them, his gaze dark and troubled. “They were eating it.” His voice trembled, bordering on hysteria. “I had to stop them.”
Regan hastened forward and drew Ben away from the gruesome scene, edging toward the woods, where a curtain of trees fell to hide the chilling image from her view.
Quickly recovering, Marcus joined them at the rim of the forest. “We need to get out of here. If we saw that blast, chances are so did the others.”
Regan nodded her agreement, moving aside as Marcus lifted Ben in his arms.
“Can you run?” he asked her.
“Yeah.” Folding space, on the heels of the stab wound she’d suffered yesterday, had taken a lot out of her, but she wasn’t completely helpless.
Together they vaulted through the woods. Dark energy closed in on them, alerting them that the Watchers were near. It wouldn’t be long before they came upon the deathly scene in the clearing, and when they did, they would know who was at the root of it.
Regan wasn’t exactly dressed for a sprint through the wilderness. Branches snagged her dress, slapped her bare arms and clawed repeatedly at her legs, but they failed to leave any abrasions behind. No object, natural or otherwise, could damage her unless it was first dipped in angel’s blood. Ben, however, was far more vulnerable, and she kept angling furtive glances his way to make sure he was all right.
Marcus did a phenomenal job screening the boy from the forest’s relentless blows, and a new wave of admiration and respect crested within her. As guilty as she felt to see him hunted by the very men he’d recruited and trained, she had to admit it felt good to have him by her side.
Sunlight flickered through the interwoven trees, dappling the mud-drenched ground. The damp earth sucked at her shoes, issuing a phlegmatic complaint each time she pried them free. Behind them the forest hissed as the Watchers cut a determined path toward them.
Marcus stopped long enough to will two tall Douglas firs to the ground. The trees’ roots tore free and the evergreens toppled with a thunderous crash, drowning out Ben’s startled scream.
The makeshift barrier wouldn’t stop their pursuers, but hopefully it would delay them.
“They’ve picked up our trail,” Marcus told her. “There’s no way to lose them on foot.”
“There has to be. We’ve come too far to give up now.”
They passed through a canopy of redwoods to find themselves on the rocky bank of a river. On either side of the spit of land upon which they stood, the water curled, forming a U. Turning back wasn’t an option—they could hear the Watchers blasting the fallen firs out of their way, picking up speed again.
Regan tamped down an oath. “I should’ve seen this coming.” If she’d tunneled her vision, they wouldn’t have ended up trapped this way.
“I did.” Marcus’s assertion stunned her. He pointed to a distant corner on their left, where a line of kayaks bobbed, tethered to a small pier. A wooden shed boasted a sign that read: Kayak Rentals. At the moment, the shed appeared to be unoccupied. “There’s our ride out of here.”
It took a second for his words to register, then their meaning hit her full force. “You’re not serious.”
“The river is the only place they won’t follow us.”
She stared at the vast expanse of water, its soft waves glinting like a sheet of rippling ice, and fear frosted her veins. “I can’t.” She would’ve preferred to swim naked in a pit of writhing snakes.
Footsteps squished beyond the trees. Branches continued to make sibilant sounds as the Watchers slashed throug
h them. Time was running out.
Marcus seized her hand. “Sure you can. I’ve seen you brave far worse.” The belief she caught in his eyes, the unabashed show of faith, humbled her.
With a tremulous sigh, she swallowed her bitter unease and approached one of the kayaks. The hull yawned like a bottomless well, deep and hungry. “Maybe I can try folding space again.”
“It took too much out of you the first time. Think you’ve got enough juice left to move all three of us?”
No, she didn’t. If only she hadn’t gotten stabbed yesterday. Folding space was as natural to her as breathing, but since the angel’s blood had penetrated her bloodstream, she couldn’t so much as travel from one room to another without feeling dry-mouthed and dizzy.
“This way,” a distant voice rang out, and the crunch of boots grew louder.
“We have to go, Regan. Now.” The urgency in Marcus’s tone spurred her into action.
Ignoring the greasy roil of her stomach, she picked a kayak large enough to accommodate three people and slid into it. The small craft pitched at the intrusion, and she stifled a girlish scream. “If we tip over, we’re dead.”
“Why?” Ben asked as Marcus lowered him into the opening at the front of the kayak. “All you gotta do is swim.”
A panicked laugh gripped her throat. How could she explain to a seven-year-old human boy that her kind avoided water like the plague, that none of them knew how to swim, and that even if they did, the river would incapacitate them the moment its wet, greedy mouth closed around them.
Inhaling a few shallow breaths, she clutched the sides of the wobbly craft and shrank into the hull as Marcus cut them free. Without a beat of hesitation, he positioned himself between them and used a double-bladed paddle to propel them downstream.
As soon as the river veered and a tangle of trees rose to conceal the bank, she released a thin stream of air. “How do you do it?” She studied Marcus’s profile, the marble smoothness of it, the strong, bold curve of his jaw. “How do you stay so cool and collected all the time?”
“By not giving in to my fears. If you don’t succumb to fear, it can’t rule you.”
He paddled harder, his muscular arms flexing and unbending in a fluid motion that was appealing to watch. His was a body built for hard labor, but it was as pleasing to the eye as a fine work of art.
“Don’t you feel anything? Ever?” He insisted he was numb inside, his emotions muted, but every now and then she caught a flash of something in his gaze that made her wonder.
His shoulders stiffened, the muscles in his back rippling like the river. “I feel enough.”
She wanted to ask him if he felt anything now, trapped between her and Ben, paddling away from the stone-littered bank where the Watchers stood, trying to dredge up the courage to follow them. But something held her back. Maybe it was the square set of his shoulders or the hard slant of his cheekbone. Maybe it was the tension coiling in his muscles. Or maybe it was the uncontrollable flood of her own emotions that robbed her of speech. Whatever it was, it warned her that delving too deep could reveal things neither of them was ready to admit.
“Do you think they’ll come after us?” she asked instead.
“I doubt it. They’re all new recruits. The sight of water will paralyze them.”
Judging from the weakness in her knees, she believed him.
“How long are we going to float around in this death trap?”
“Until I’m convinced they can’t track us anymore.”
Ben trailed his fingers over the small waves, and a chill slid down Regan’s spine. The kid actually looked like he was enjoying himself. In that moment she envied him, envied his humanity, his ability to find pleasure in something as simple as a cruise down a meandering waterway.
She rarely dwelled on the past, but now and again longing sprouted within her. What had life been like before her transformation, back when she could feel intense pleasure and sharp pain, shed tears of joy and anguish, and enjoy the silky feel of water against her skin?
She almost touched the tip of her finger to the river’s glittering surface, but an irrational shiver of dread stopped her. Those days were gone. Never again could they be recaptured.
As for the future, it unfurled before her, as murky and treacherous as the stream swiftly carrying them forward, toward a destination still unknown.
Chapter Fourteen
Kyros stood at one of the lookout points, obsessively scanning the surrounding woods for signs of an intruder. Ever since the Watchers had instigated the collapse of the catacombs, the Kleptopsychs had become nomads, a traveling circus of freaks, constantly on the move in a futile endeavor to keep the Watchers from locating them.
For the time being, an old World War II bunker buried in Oregon’s mountainside served as home. Strategically positioned at the end of a hiking trail that was obscured by wild flora and brushwood, the bunker boasted several cement posts similar to the one Kyros now stood upon. Its vast web of underground chambers mirrored the catacombs and offered a temporary refuge.
Despite his best efforts, Kyros feared that sooner or later Cal and his faithful brethren would uncover and raid this location as they had all the others, so he spent countless hours up here, scanning the forest.
He’d erected some shields around the bunker. These shields were effective at keeping most intruders out, but he knew Cal had the power to dismantle them. Without Athanatos here to cloak them, the Kleptopsychs were sitting ducks. Their only hope was to stay alert and band together. A little angel’s blood wouldn’t hurt, either.
So far, Kyros had succeeded in assembling a few hundred soldiers. Getting them to follow him hadn’t been easy, especially since they’d viewed Athanatos’s death as a liberation of sorts. For centuries, they’d feared Kyros’s father’s retaliation, so they’d remained true to him, despite the tight demands he’d placed on them. Kyros had had no choice but to loosen the reins a bit, and that implied an increased number of feedings, the freedom to mate at will and the occasional night out on the town, where his troops could satisfy their dark urges.
Kyros considered himself a fair leader. He couldn’t offer the protection his father had, but he could make certain allowances. High on the souls they’d ingested, the Kleptopsychs were stronger and more content than they’d ever been under his father’s rule.
Tendrils of mist curled around him, an unavoidable side effect when a significant number of them gathered in one location. The fog glowed blue in the late afternoon light as it wafted toward the sky.
The world was a beautiful place. A beauty that was sadly wasted on the humans. Kyros had great plans for the future, had already put them in motion. If you asked him, the ancient ways should never have been abandoned. The Kleptopsychs were at the top of the food chain. They deserved to own the world, not hide away from it. Humans were merely animals, placed on this earth to sustain them, and like animals they were meant to be farmed.
His father had allowed fear to rule him. As a survivor of the Great Flood, he’d been reluctant to do anything that would rock the boat, so to speak. So he’d chosen to live in the shadows.
Those days were over. The time of the Kleptopsychs had arrived, and Kyros was determined to see them finally claim their day in the sun.
A figure suddenly materialized at the edge of the forested trail, and Kyros snapped to attention. The intruder was dressed in a black suit and a matching black trench coat. His hair, too, was black, and he walked with the air of a king.
How had he gotten past the shields? Kyros would have to remember to reinforce them later. But first, he had to deal with the interloper.
“Turn around. Walk away.”
His suggestion failed to take root, and the foolish man continued to approach the bunker.
Kyros shot down the stairs and disappeared within the bunker, where his troops awaited his orders. “Someone’s headed this way,” he told them. “Get ready.”
When the stranger arrived, Kyros greeted him at the
door like a good host should. “You’ve taken a wrong turn, friend. I suggest you leave immediately. Forget this place and everything you’ve seen here.” Hopefully, now that the stranger was within hearing distance, the suggestion would finally sink in.
The man took a step forward, undaunted. Hawk-like features narrowed on Kyros. “Why would I want to do that, when you are precisely who I’ve come to see?”
Working as one, the Kleptopsychs whipped out their swords. They watched the intruder with predatory stares, waiting hungrily for Kyros to issue his next command.
“You’ve come to see me?” Kyros was both surprised and a little amused. “For what purpose?”
“It seems we have a common enemy—Cal, leader of the Watchers. I need you to help me stop him.”
Cocky son of a bitch, wasn’t he? “And why would I do that?”
The stranger had a disconcerting aura about him, a sense of arrogance and confidence that rubbed Kyros the wrong way. “Because I’m prepared to offer my services in exchange for your full cooperation.”
“I don’t usually make a habit of cooperating with people I don’t know.”
“Perhaps.” The presumptuous bastard came to stand nose to nose with him. Tension crackled through the cave-like chamber. “But in this case, you’ll find it’s in your best interests to make an exception.”
Any amusement Kyros may have experienced vanished. “Are you deaf as well as stupid? I told you, I don’t cooperate with strangers, let alone take orders from them.” With nothing more than a nod of his head, his troops attacked.
Various blades slashed at the intruder, tearing his clothing, lacerating his skin until it bled, but he remained standing. Within seconds of being inflicted, the wounds marring his flesh healed.
The Kleptopsychs backed off, suddenly wary. Kyros’s smug satisfaction morphed to concern. He studied the creature, unsure what to make of him. “What are you?”
With a raise of his hand, the stranger willed a sword from the grasp of one of Kyros’s soldiers. His muscles coiled, then lashed out with snakelike precision, slicing the Kleptopsych nearest him in half. Instantly, black smoke and white light gushed from the carcass to dissipate in the air.
