Tieryn's Fury

by Abigail Owen

  Tieryn fell into the darkness of oblivion. The echo of her cries followed her down the rabbit hole.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Before Tieryn went limp, Shane pictured New Orleans and sent up a prayer that they landed somewhere safe. He didn’t have time to be specific.

  This was the second time Tieryn had pulled him with her to land somewhere far away. He couldn’t say he was thrilled with the experience. The sharp sensation of being yanked by the scruff of his neck was followed by a total loss of sight, sound, or any sense of his body, though he remained conscious. Why he stayed aware when Tieryn passed out was a complete mystery.

  Landing was more like jumping off a cliff only to slam into solid ground rather than splash down into water. His vision and hearing would return in an unsettling whoosh—blinding light, roar of sound, and then it would settle to normal.

  This time, he lost his grip on Tieryn as they touched down. They flew in opposite directions. He bumped back on his ass, but a loud crack told him she hadn’t been quite as lucky. As soon as his vision cleared, he realized immediately that they’d landed in a cemetery.

  This had to be New Orleans because the graves were the aboveground kind you found there. Not only that, but the smell was immediate—a combination of fried chicken, smoke, piss, and mossy trees—a smell unique to the city that he remembered from his one and only visit years before.

  Tieryn lay in a heap a few feet away. Blood oozed from a gash at her hairline. She’d probably cracked her head on the cement slab of a grave.

  He crawled over to her body and gave her a shake. “Tieryn.”

  No response. Then again, she’d been out cold and unresponsive for hours after the last leap and that had been without a head wound. It had worried him then, now he had to push down the bile of fear that churned in his stomach.

  Shane froze at the sound of a cleared throat. He jerked his gaze toward the sound and found an older gentleman dressed in black with a large drum strapped to his chest. Beyond him, thankfully hidden by his bulky instrument, a crowd was gathered.

  Shane frowned and then realization struck. Shit. They’d managed to arrive in the middle of a traditional New Orleans-style funeral.

  Buck-friggin-naked.

  They’d gotten lucky though. Only the jazz musician staring at him could see them. A few folks might see the top of Tieryn’s head if they looked around. With a small wave, the drummer indicated Shane should scoot them both out of view. Shane gave him a rueful grin and a nod.

  The man shrugged as if to say, “This is New Orleans. I’ve seen stranger.”

  Once he tucked out them of sight, Shane ran his hands over Tieryn’s limbs to check for injuries. He did his best to keep his eyes away from the private bits and ignore the way his body stirred at the feel of her supple skin beneath his fingertips. A check of the wound at her temple revealed a long but shallow cut. No stitches needed, and the bleeding was already slowing.

  Satisfied she didn’t need immediate medical attention, Shane pulled their clothes out of the bag. He covered Tieryn with hers for modesty then hustled to dress himself. Done with that, he turned his attention to her and struggled to stuff her dead weight into her pants and shirt. It helped that the shirt was a button-down He didn’t bother to attempt the bra. He could take them off fine but put them on? Not so much.

  Once they were both decent, he took out the few first aid items in the pack and cleaned up her head. When he was done, he dropped to the ground and leaned back against the closest tomb. He lifted Tieryn’s head and rested it in his lap. They had to wait for the funeral goers to clear out before they could leave. And he needed a plan.

  He cast Tieryn’s sleeping form a helpless look. What the hell do I do now?

  Granted, dusk was falling. Carting an unconscious woman around might not draw much attention on Bourbon Street at night. Emerging from a graveyard with a woman who had a fresh head wound didn’t sound like such a good idea, though. Did he wait for her to wake up?

  Surrounded by the dead was a creepy place to linger, but it should also hopefully be private. The weather was on the balmy side, maybe in the low eighties, which meant nighttime wouldn’t be too bad. He slapped a hand on his neck and grimaced. Except for the damn mosquitoes the size of large birds.

  Minutes later, the jazz band started up. He thought he recognized Just a Closer Walk with Thee but the rendition here was both poignant and joyful. The notes lingered in the air, as if floating to heaven or settling over the deceased. Maybe a bit of both, he smiled to himself fancifully.

  Shane pushed up to peek over the top of the grave, careful not to jostle Tieryn in the process. The funeral gathering was proceeding toward the exit.

  Good. One less problem for him to deal with.

  He settled back to his previous position. Tieryn continued in blissful slumber. Shane brushed a strand of her inky black hair out of her face with gentle fingers. At the silky feel of the strands, he couldn’t resist running his fingers through her hair in an action meant to sooth her, but an unwanted connection stirred down deep in his gut.

  The rightness of touching her this way settled over him. She felt like…

  Shane straightened his spine and jerked his hand away from her. She felt like every other woman. There was nothing special about Tieryn McGraw except that he couldn’t seem to get rid of her.

  “Looks like you could use help.”

  Shane tensed, ready to defend them both should it come to that. He relaxed when the face of the old gentleman, sans drum, appeared at the end of the tomb.

  He gave the man a rueful grimace. “I’m afraid we’re not in great shape here.”

  “She okay?” An unusual cadence laced the man’s words. At a guess, he was Cajun.

  Shane glanced down at a peaceful Tieryn. “Yes. I’m waiting for her to wake up.”

  The old man shook his head. “No good, sitting with the defan.”

  Shane’s confusion must’ve showed on his face, because the man waved around the graveyard. “With the dead.”

  “Oh.” Shane glanced around. Was he going to have to try to move her?

  “You no worry. T-Sam’s gonna help.”

  The man, who apparently went by the name T-Sam, disappeared.

  Shane listened but couldn’t hear anything of concern. He waited long enough that he thought perhaps T-Sam wasn’t going to return with whatever help he’d devised. Despite the fact that it was night and early spring, the humidity in the air had his shirt plastered to his skin. A check revealed a faint sheen of moisture covering Tieryn’s face.

  Help would be appreciated about now.

  “Can you carry her?” T-Sam appeared out of nowhere. Humans didn’t move in silence like that. They were usually loud and bumbling. Suspicion warred with the knowledge that he needed to get them some place safer.

  Seeing his expression, a grin lit the face of the man in front of him. “You trust ol’ T-Sam. I no make the misère.”

  Shane supposed that meant the man wouldn’t give him any trouble. He considered his options for another moment. Right. Getting out of here was necessary. He’d have to accept the help and be on his guard.

  Without a word, Shane shifted Tieryn’s head to the ground. He stood up and put the backpack on, which was tricky given the thing was sized for polar bears. Then he squatted beside her inert form. More efficient than gentle, he slung her over his shoulder, barely missing one of the mausoleums with her head. It would be just his luck if he hurt her worse than she already was. “Let’s go.”

  He followed his new friend through the labyrinth of aboveground graves. Some were elaborate family tombs, more like buildings than burial sites. Most were like coffins cemented above the ground. An eerie quiet settled over the place, only the sound of his heavy footsteps under the burden of Tieryn’s weight could be heard.

  He followed T-Sam through an ornate wrought-iron gate and into the street. Luckily, the street was quiet, no passing traffic or pedestrians around to witness or try to step in. A ta
xicab waited at the curb, the passenger door open. The driver stood there in curious watchfulness. Shane eyed it, misgiving a weight in his belly.

  T-Sam waved toward it. “Get in.”

  “Right,” Shane muttered.

  He poured Tieryn into the cab, careful not to knock her head into the door, and strapped a seatbelt around her prone form as best he could.

  He backed out of the seat to deal with the two men watching. “This my boy,” T-Sam said. “He take ya wherever ya wanna go.”

  Shane could see the similarity between the two men. He relaxed, though only slightly. He’d feel better when he and Tieryn were safely back among their people. Until then, no one could ever earn his full trust.

  However, the old man had kept quiet at the funeral and seemed honest. Shane held out a hand to shake. “Thank you, T-Sam.”

  “Helpin’ people never hurt no one.”

  Despite his reservations, Shane liked the man. With a nod, he moved around the car to get in the front passenger seat. When T-Sam’s son, whose name he hadn’t caught, got in, Shane said, “Take us to a hotel—cheap, quiet, but not isolated.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The first thing to pierce the veil of Tieryn’s consciousness was the muffled sound of music.

  “Cal—” she tried, but choked on her dry tongue and scratchy throat. She swallowed and tried again. “Callahan?” she mumbled with a mouth that felt full of sand and cotton.

  “Here.”

  Something warm and solid wrapped around her hand, and suddenly she could feel her body. She was lying on something soft, and she was cozy.

  Tieryn struggled to peel open eyelids held down by lead weights.

  “Why do I hear a jazz band?” she wondered through the syrup that was slowing her mind and body.

  She must’ve said it aloud, because Shane chuckled. “Maybe because we’re in New Orleans.”

  Her first goofy thought was, “I’ve always wanted to go there.” Followed quickly by, “At least that’s better than the middle of nowhere.”

  The filter between her brain and her mouth was not functioning, because Shane’s deep chuckle reached her again. “Help is on the way.”

  She managed to nod and finally pried her eyes open to find him seated beside the bed. His face was close enough that she could see a faint rim of blue, darker than the surrounding gray, around his pupils.

  “Welcome back,” he murmured.

  Rather than answer, Tieryn groaned. She reached up with ginger fingers to touch the source of shooting pain in her head. She encountered a bandage.

  “You banged your head when we arrived,” Shane explained. “It’s not deep, but it bled pretty good.”

  Tieryn grimaced. He reached out, circling her wrist with his long fingers to pull her hand gently back. “Sorry,” he muttered gruffly. “I didn’t manage to hold on to you when we landed this time.” He gave her hand a squeeze before placing it across her stomach.

  She sighed. She’d come away with bumps and bruises the few other times she transported. Now she knew the reason. “Why is it I pass out, but you don’t?” she wondered.

  He cocked his head. “No idea, but it’s damned inconvenient.”

  She pursed her lips to hide her smile at the brief type of response she was beginning to expect from this man. With reluctant determination, she pushed herself to sitting and glanced around what appeared to be a rather shabby motel room—a single room with fading carpet that may have once been brown and curtains from the seventies made to look like bamboo with huge orange flowers.

  Okay?

  She returned her gaze to the man at her side. “So. New Orleans? Whose idea was that? Yours or mine?” She couldn’t remember actually thinking of a destination when they’d leapt.

  “Mine.”

  She raised her eyebrows in question.

  He shrugged. “It’s populated. We can contact our people. It’s far from the last place we were found. Plus, even we can blend in here.”

  “You worked through of all that in the seconds we had before—”

  Those last moments in Canada…

  She gasped. Her hands flew to cover her mouth and tears filled her eyes. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “Shane. All those people in the helicopter.”

  He said nothing, simply gathered her into his arms, and let her cry out her grief.

  People didn’t die for her. At least, not that she knew of, and never in front of her face. “How are you not upset?” she sniffed when she had better control of herself.

  He tensed beneath her. “I am.”

  She leaned back slightly, to see his eyes better, and searched his expression for several heartbeats. Behind his stoic, get-things-done attitude, true pain welled. “Yes. I believe you are.” She lay her head back on his chest. “How do you deal so well?”

  He ruffled her hair with his hand. “Practice,” he muttered.’

  He was such a set of contradictions. His soothing action and dark words were at such a juxtaposition to each other that Tieryn smiled a little. For some unknown reason, he made her feel better just being who he was.

  She plucked at his t-shirt. “Do you think George made it at least?”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment, then, “I’m honestly not sure. He almost—”

  “What?”

  Shane ran a hand over his face. “He almost seemed to disappear,” he admitted.

  She thought about that. “Like my mother?”

  “Yeah. Kinda.”

  There wasn’t much else to say. “I see.”

  They lay there giving and receiving comfort for a while when something else occurred to Tieryn. A mortifying thought.

  “What?” Shane asked, though she was sure she hadn’t so much as breathed different.

  She sat back, too embarrassed to have this conversation while touching him. “We were naked when we transported here,” she wailed.

  “Yes. We were.” Amusement was rife in those words. His eyes crinkled with what was possibly the first genuine grin she’d ever seen from him.

  She lifted her hands and buried her burning face in them. “I can’t even begin to think…” She jerked her gaze back to his. “Where exactly did we end up? Please tell me somewhere private,” she asked urgently.

  “Sort of.” She could tell he was having way too much fun with her discomfort.

  She scrunched up her face. “What does that mean?”

  He cleared his throat. “We landed in a cemetery.”

  Weird, but good. Not a ton of people in cemeteries usually, right?

  “A funeral was going on close by.”

  “Oh no,” she squeaked.

  “Luckily we were mostly hidden by one of those large above-ground tombs.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “I managed to get us both dressed before anyone else saw.”

  “Oh.” Terrific. Which meant he’d seen everything. Nothing she could do about it now. Except turn permanently red. “That mental image is going to haunt me.”

  He raised a single eyebrow. “Tell me about it.”

  Tieryn choked out a reluctant laugh but held up a hand. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Okay.” But that teasing light didn’t leave his eyes. “That’s a mighty interesting birthmark on your—”

  “I’m well aware of it,” she gritted. Was it possible to spontaneously combust from humiliation?

  “And I never figured you to have a tattoo.”

  “Yeah…well.”

  “What made you get a flower?”

  She shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not buying that.”

  “Stupid moment of rebellion when I went to college?”

  “Uh-uh.” He shook his head at her.

  To anyone else, she’d have said, “That’s all you’re going to get.” But a strange compunction overrode her normal reserve. This was Shane, and in a matter of days, he had become…to be honest she couldn’t put a defini
tion on their relationship. However, he was someone she’d trust her life with, so why not her secrets? Her tattoo was a minor secret anyway, though she’d never shared this with anyone else.

  She pursed her lips. “I got it as a reminder of my mother.”

  He raised both eyebrows at that and she caught the question in the gesture.

  “I don’t have many memories of her, but I always remembered her smelling like flowers.” She honestly still didn’t know herself why she’d needed to feel that connection when she’d been so angry at her mom for so long.

  He gave her a thoughtful look. “And then she gave us spring,” he murmured.

  Not where she’d expected his mind to go, but it mirrored her own thoughts. “We don’t know what that was.”

  He hummed a non-committal response, and she didn’t blame him. The strange weather in Canada had been too much of coincidence given Neah’s words. Maybe someday, she’d get a chance to ask her mother about it.

  “So…what’s our plan?” she asked, ready to let all these topics drop.

  “Zac and Sarai are figuring out how to get us.”

  She blinked at that news. “You called Zac? Not Andie? Or my father?” One of their Alphas seemed the more appropriate route.

  He grimaced. “We don’t know who to trust right now.”

  “True, but…”

  “But what?”

  “It was Zac’s bunker that was attacked.”

  His mouth settled in a grim line. “That was not Zac’s fault.”

  “I’m just as certain it was not Andie’s or my father’s either,” she stated with similar conviction.

  “I know.”

  “You…do?”

  He cast his gaze skyward. “Andie got me out of the dare, got me to Zac, and then helped me fake my own death. Of course I know it wasn’t Andie.”

  “I see.” But really, she didn’t.

  “Zac needed to know about George and his people in the helicopter,” he murmured softly.