by Brenda Huber
“No one’s ever going to hurt her again,” Sebastian vowed.
Chapter Sixteen
Sïnsobar eased right up to the edge of the clearing. He peered through the foliage at the trio, the two males standing off in the distance talking, the female—his target—on her knees by the statue. So close he could snatch her away before Vengeance even knew he was there.
Phoebe carefully cleared debris from the base of the statue. He could sense the energy sizzling all around her now, and it gave him pause.
How was this possible? He’d not felt this from her when he’d taken her from the airport. Had she been under a masking spell of some kind? Had her abilities been bound?
He’d been told before that she was a Guardian right before his first attempted kidnapping. Not even when he’d touched her before had he felt anything. Not until Sïnsobar had replaced the camp cook yesterday.
Now?
Well, he’d have to be blind, deaf, and dead not to sense the power coming from her.
Stolas hadn’t been happy to learn she was still out here, still digging away. Happy? Hell, he’d been furious. Sïnsobar had barely managed to talk him into one more chance.
And so Stolas had sent Sïnsobar after her one last time, to either capture her or kill her. He hadn’t been specific on the why, just demanded she be taken out of the picture, one way or another. “Get her away from those damned ruins,” had been his orders. And that was awfully curious, considering the demon prince usually preferred to add to his collection of female prisoners every chance he got. Yet Stolas seemed bent on this one’s death. Sïnsobar’s eyes narrowed, considering.
Why?
He felt the punch in the gut as a fresh wave of energy rolled from her without warning, and his focus shot back to her. What had caused this change in her? It was as if a veil had been lifted. A shield burned away. Nothing one moment, and then in-your-face power the next. If she’d been merely bound before, he should still have been able to sense something in her, no matter how miniscule. Bound, she just wouldn’t have been able to use whatever that something was. It had to have been a masking spell. Or a powerful combination of the two.
He watched as she moved a small wooden box out of her way with a great deal of care. Then, after a moment more of study, she began tracing intricate symbols with her fingertips. Her lips were moving, as if she were reading to herself. He cocked his head, studying her a bit closer. There was just something about her…something familiar.
The energy buzzing from her steadily built. Pulsing and throbbing. He eased forward, drawn like a magnet, pulled by something else, something that grew by the moment deep in his gut. Something that had nothing to do with her power, but something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Yet.
Excitement bubbled up inside him. There was nothing he liked better than a good puzzle. And Phoebe was fast proving to be a wonderful riddle. The more he was around her, the stronger the pull. Unable to help himself, he crept closer, careful to shield his own abilities. It wouldn’t do to be discovered, not just yet. Too many interesting things going on around here to put everyone’s guard up. Starting with the question that begged nearly as much attention as Phoebe herself. Why was Stolas so concerned about her digging around in some old rocks?
What’s he so worried she might find?
Sïnsobar’s brows drew together. He watched as she sat back on her heels, reached her arm straight out, and laid her palm flat upon the ancient, crumbling statue. He glanced over to see if Vengeance and the human had noticed. They were still deep in conversation, so Sïnsobar turned back to her.
She tipped her head forward and squinted at the writing on the stone monolith. And then she began to speak. Urgent words, her tone soft and low. If he hadn’t been so close, he wouldn’t have been able to hear her at all. As it was, he could only make out a few words here and there. And the hair on the back of his neck lifted. Chills skittered down his spine, and his skin began to itch.
Sïnsobar’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a sharp breath. She was speaking Angelic. How—where—had she learned to read Angelic? But what truly shocked him was the fact that her short, buffed nails had just morphed into small black claws. Her fingertips had turned red…and not a flushed, human red. This was a deep crimson pigmentation—strikingly similar to his own natural color. The change had already overtaken her whole hand and was, even now, slowly working its way up her forearm. A defensive reaction common for a Carpathï.
Her eyes flew open, and for one startling moment, he thought she’d seen him. He stood there, poised on the verge of shimmering away, when he realized she wasn’t actually looking at him. She appeared to be in some kind of trance. And her eyes were completely engulfed in black. She continued to speak and, as her lips moved, he caught a peek at tiny fangs.
Was it possible? Was she Carpathï, like him?
A Carpathï demoness.
Holy hell!
There hadn’t been one of those since—
He sucked in a sharp breath and staggered back a step.
Danika.
His head swam. Before he could react, stone scraped stone, and something fell from a hidden compartment in the statue. Phoebe blinked as the item hit her lap, as if woken from a deep slumber. Frowning, she reached to scoop up the oddly shaped stone, only to drop it with a sharp cry.
Phoebe thrust her hand up before her and peered in wide-eyed shock at her appendage. She turned it over and gaped first at the back of her hand, then at her palm. At the sound, Vengeance and the human came rushing over. Sïnsobar melted back into the jungle, but he stayed close enough to keep an eye on the female. And he frowned. She’d looked…he wasn’t sure. Stunned? Surprised? Maybe horrified? As if she couldn’t believe her eyes.
But the moment the two males got close, Phoebe bounced to her feet and spun to face then, thrusting her morphed hand behind her. Right where he could see it, clear as day.
He swallowed, shook his head. Could it be possible? The odds were astronomical. And yet—
“What happened?” Vengeance demanded.
The male reached up and cupped her cheek, scanning her pale features. Protective instincts stabbed at Sïnsobar. He just barely managed to bite back the growl. He didn’t know why, he certainly felt no physical attraction for her—which, given his own reputation was a puzzle, but he did know he didn’t like seeing Vengeance touch her with such easy familiarity. Because of this startling discovery, he melted further back and gave himself a moment to regroup.
He’d just been surprised to learn she was Carpathï, that was probably all it was. She should be with her own kind. Not with one of the Fallen.
Feeling his system leveling out, Sïnsobar began slinking toward their camp. He sent wisps of energy to his bones, his muscles, his skin, his hair—not so much so fast that it might alert Phoebe or Vengeance to his presence, but enough to get the job done—morphing as he moved through the jungle. Within the space of a few more steps, he’d taken on the appearance of a human. One familiar to Phoebe. One she wouldn’t think twice about getting close to. Marco, the camp cook.
And here he’d thought he’d be bored with his latest assignment. A demoness? A Carpathï demoness.
His grin grew.
Well how about that?
* * * * *
Sebastian stared at Phoebe, eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. She was pale, white as a sheet. And her gaze kept darting around, like a cornered rabbit. Perspiration beaded on her forehead.
“What did you find?” Ricardo asked, frowning.
“This,” she blurted, thrusting a strange looking rock up in the space separating them with her left hand. “The inscription on that monolith was in Dad’s code. I read it aloud, and a hidden compartment opened and this fell out.”
Sebastian scowled, thinking the heat, the lack of food, and the stress had finally gotten to her. “Sweetheart,
it’s just a rock.”
“No,” Ricardo said, taking the stone from her. “Look at the tool marks. It’s been shaped.”
Sebastian peered closer at the rock. He didn’t see it. The damned thing was just a rock. What were they playing at? And why was she being so careful to keep her right hand tucked behind her back?
“Turn it over,” Phoebe said.
Ricardo did as she asked, and made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. The surface of the stone was studded with tiny bits of jewels. Chips of red and green and clear stones. They formed a pattern. And below the pattern, a strange groove was dug in deep. The whole thing was shaped like…like an arrowhead. A fist sized arrowhead.
Frowning, Sebastian held his hand out. Ricardo shot a glance at Phoebe. When she nodded, he passed the stone to Sebastian. The moment the old rock came in contact with his skin, Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath. Unpleasant jolts of power zapped him, shooting up his arm, vibrating with a shocking intensity, reminding him of how it felt when he’d tried to cross one of Kyanna’s enchantments. It stood to reason that Phoebe’s father, as another Guardian, would also be in possession of powerful angelic enchantments and have knowledge of protective stones, just as Xander’s wife did.
“Look at the design, and the pattern. That was carved. The stones were arranged and set with some kind of adhesive. It was deliberately shaped that way.”
Sebastian glanced from the rock in his hand to Phoebe. “What does it mean?”
She caught her lip. “I’m not sure.”
Well, Sebastian was sure of something. She still hadn’t brought that hand out from behind her back. What was she hiding?
“Here,” she said, holding her left hand out. Yet another oddity, since he knew she was right-handed. “I’m going to take it back to camp. I want to examine it, compare these stones with my reference guide.”
Sebastian handed back the stone, frowning. It couldn’t be much past four in the afternoon. She’d never wanted to leave the excavation site so early before, regardless of what relic they’d found.
She cradled the stone against her stomach and scurried off. Sebastian looked to Ricardo. He seemed just as puzzled by Phoebe’s behavior. And then Sebastian noticed the box near the foot of the statue.
For her to leave this behind? Now he knew something was going on.
He scooped the box up and shot another glance to Ricardo. Phoebe had already disappeared into the verdant undergrowth.
“Go after her,” Ricardo instructed with a frown. “I’ll gather the rest and follow behind.”
Sebastian didn’t need any further encouragement. He shot down the path after her. Panic hit him like a wrecking ball. He should have found her by now. He raced on, leaves and vines whizzing by, roots tripping him.
Around a bend in the path, he almost crashed into her. She stood in the middle of the trail, shoulders hunched, head tipped down, her back to him.
“Phoebe.” He panted, more winded by worry and fear than by his mad, headlong dash. “What’s wrong?”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her around. She held the ancient stone in one hand and in the other…nothing. She held her hand, fingers splayed, at eye level.
Phoebe blinked up at him as if in a daze. And then she seemed to recall herself. A swift smile flashed at him. One so fake he couldn’t believe she’d even think for a minute he’d fall for it.
“Wrong?” She shook her head and shrugged. Phoebe looked to her hand, and her smile slipped, just for a split second, as if she’d never seen that hand before. But then she held it up, wiggled her fingers for his perusal. “Nothing’s wrong. See? I, ah, I just thought I’d chipped a nail. But nope. It’s fine. My hand is just fine.”
Sebastian frowned at her. He hadn’t seen so much as a scratch on her. Yet he got the very real impression something had shaken her.
“Uh-huh.” She was a piss poor liar. Something was wrong. And he would figure it out. “You left this behind,” he said, holding the box up.
Her eyes flared wide, and her mouth fell open. “Oh my goodness!” She snatched the box from him. “I can’t believe I just… How could I have—”
She cut herself off, shook her head. Phoebe clutched the box to her chest and visibly forced herself to calm down.
“Thank you,” she finally said. “Would you mind letting Ricardo know we’re done for the day? I know the way back.”
Without another word, she spun back to the trail and bolted before he could ask her any questions. Frowning, Sebastian stared after her for a moment, his eyes narrowed.
If she thought that was the end of this discussion, she was sorely mistaken. He followed her back to camp.
Once there, he reclined quietly on the couch, biding his time, watching as she poured over the journal she’d pried from the box, another book her father had encoded.
Raymond Mackenzie. The man was a puzzle. Ricardo’s candid conversation sat heavy on his shoulders, shredding his conscience.
Tell her?
Don’t tell her?
Sebastian conjured a bag of Doritos and a bottle of beer. The first crunch of a chip drew an irritated glance from her, but she made no comment.
What was the right thing to do? He worked his way through the bag as he tried to reason it out.
She deserved to know the truth. That her father had known what she was. Known and sought to cover it up, even from her. In all honesty, as her mate, didn’t he owe it to her? The unvarnished truth? No matter what it was?
But, as her mate, wasn’t it also his job to protect her? To see that she was happy?
And wouldn’t the truth make her miserable? Knowing that her father knew what she was and yet hid it from her? But would not knowing the truth make her happy either? Always fighting her very nature because she didn’t truly believe?
This mating business was more difficult that it should be.
Phoebe caught her lower lip between her teeth, and her brow drew together. She bent closer to the book, tracing the symbols over and over with her fingertip. She sat back and blinked, as if she thought maybe she hadn’t read something correctly, or the passage didn’t make sense.
He crunched another chip, and she shot him the stink eye. “Do you mind?”
Arching a brow, he vanished the chip bag and dusted his hands dramatically.
“I’m sorry,” she said, letting out a long, tired breath. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that. This latest journal and the rock from the monolith has me on overload.”
Sebastian watched as she rubbed at her temple, stretched her neck a little to the side. He frowned as she picked up the rock, studied it for a moment, and then, still clutching the stone, leaned over the book once more.
So what if Raymond knew what his wife and daughter were? Knew, but wouldn’t acknowledge it?
Does it even matter now?
Phoebe pushed the fingers of her free hand beneath her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. She blinked a couple times, resettled her glasses, and went back to her reading.
Sebastian stood and went to her, dropped his hands on her shoulders and set to rubbing. She jolted at first, but then relaxed with a groan. She put the stone back down on the corner of the desk and hung her head.
“You need to take a break.”
“I think I’m on to something.” She shook her head and leaned forward, angling over the journal again. “I think this rock is a key of some kind. I just have to figure out where it goes.”
Sebastian reached around her and closed the book.
“Hey!”
“I wasn’t asking. You need a break.”
He captured her wrist, drew her to her feet and turned her to face him.
“Close your eyes.”
“Close my— Oh, no. We can’t just shimmer off somewhere and leave Dad’s journal and the key laying around where anyone coul
d— Hey!” Her eyes rounded in alarm. “What happened to them?”
“Trust me?”
She pressed her lips together, then nodded grudgingly. “Yes.”
Barely a breath of time, the thinnest bit of hesitation. But he smiled. It wasn’t an unconditional, instant yes—not like it should be. But they were getting closer and closer all the time. In fact, if he had to guess, he’d say that pause had more to do with irritation than with doubt.
“The journal and the key are safe. And they will remain so. I’ll conjure them back when we return, and you can pick up right where you left off, yeah?”
He took her little huff of breath as consent.
“Now,” he said, drawing her into his arms. Sebastian pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “Close your eyes and relax.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Where are we?” Phoebe glanced around, frowning. Maple, oak, and lilac bushes didn’t grow in the Rio Bec. Nor did this cheerful mix of wildflowers.
Sebastian turned her, pressing his chest to her back, and pointed up the hill. “That farmhouse up there? That’s my place.”
She couldn’t miss the way his voice rang with pride. She’d been here before, of course. But she’d only seen the inside of his home, and not in great detail. She’d been too sick in the beginning, and then, there at the end, in too much of a rush to get back to the jungle.
Now she took a moment to let it all sink in. The house, white, two stories with clapboard siding, stood on a hill in the distance. A thin strip of a porch ran along the back of the house, no railing, but a couple of rockers sat at one end.
No fuss. No frills.
But…comforting.
A monster of a barn stood sentinel just to the east and back of the house. Red paint had weathered and peeled until almost more aged wood showed than paint. Shake shingles had warped and slivered, giving the distinctive gambrel style roof character. Weeds and tufts of stubborn grass shot up around the perimeter of the barn and what appeared to be the mangled remains of a rusty old tractor, spilling into the meadow behind it until they were overtaken by the wildflowers.
