He’d escaped into the forest, moving like the wind across the mountain terrain. The scent of earth mingled with the fertile green of the leaves and the decay of yesterday’s life. Wildlife skulked. He could smell the fear of those hiding, and the hungry power of those lurking to kill smaller prey. He could also sense their awareness of him, and with growing satisfaction, their fear of him. No other predator could match his prowess.
Too late, he realized the mistake of running into the wild and giving free rein to the poison. The deeper he delved into the recesses of the forest, into the primal heart of savage rule, the darker the night became, and the more his soul fed upon the feral air. His vision sharpened, his hearing heightened, his incisors cut into his lip, and he savored the taste of even his own blood.
He howled as his blood pumped through his veins so forcefully that every fiber within him throbbed painfully at the pressure. He gasped for air, his body trembling, shivering. He ran harder, forcing himself to the very edge of his abilities. His mind was consumed with the need to give in to the darkness and taste Erin’s Chosen blood. He ran until his lungs could stand no more, and when he came to a stop beneath the light of the moon, he stared in horror at his body.
His Blood Hunters cloak had appeared, but the pure silver of it was gone, faded to a dirty gray-white, a ghastly, twisted caricature of his once sleek coat. He was no longer pure and true of heart.
Within him grew a hunger for any blood to temporarily stave his overwhelming desire for Chosen blood. As he crossed over a ridge, the scent of roasting meat on a campfire curled up from the valley. The laughter of mortals grated in his ears even as the scent of humans and of blood filled him with a lust he had to satisfy. He howled as he hurled himself toward them, his primordial cry sending creatures fleeing from their hollows, obliterating all instincts but flight.
The wolf’s ravenous howl, carried by an evil, icy wind, ripped through the Blood Hunters gathered on the mountainside. Silver moonlight bathed their glittering cloaks that bristled with horror at the torment of one who could no longer be called their own, but whom they couldn’t turn their back upon. The blood-lust in the wolf’s howl ripped at Aragon’s soul.
“His pain is mine,” Aragon said harshly. “I chose wrongly, and he’s suffering a slow death that no warrior should ever face.”
Sven paced. “You’re giving up too soon. His soul isn’t damned yet. He hasn’t given in to his lust for Chosen blood.”
“He’s close,” Aragon whispered, lowering his head. “The Tsara poison is too potent for him to ever redeem himself.”
“You may be right,” Navarre said angrily. “Other forces are working against Jared as well. The presence of the Vladarian Order and this search for Jared by both mortals and the damned is a grave concern. We have to consider that Pathos is trying to get Jared, to force Jared to join the Vladarians.”
Aragon raised his head. “The damned are searching as we speak, and Jared is running wild—he can’t even hear me above his bloodlust.”
“Then we run with him,” Sven said, stepping forward.
“I will run as well,” said York. “We’ll surround Jared and slay any demon who tries to capture him.”
Navarre paused. “The plan has merit.”
Aragon wanted to tear the world apart with his pain. He’d already risked too much on the possibility of Jared’s salvation, and as leader of the Blood Hunters, he didn’t dare risk more. The consequences within the mortal world could be devastating if Jared were to become as Pathos. Having another Blood Hunter in the Vladarian Order as strong or stronger than Pathos would likely bring hell to reign upon the mortal ground. “Let us find Jared and then we’ll see.” The dawn was too far away for Jared to survive the forces of evil, and Aragon knew he would have to be strong enough to kill Jared this time. A human scream echoed through the forest as the Blood Hunters ran, telling them that they might be too late.
After Jared left, Erin churned, at odds with herself and him. His behavior had been strange. He’d abruptly left, and she felt the void. The television held no interest for her, so she went to the computer, thinking she’d check her personal e-mail; her parents were going to try and let her know how they were by e-mail.
She froze with her finger on the enter button. When she’d come to work for Cinatas, she’d been astounded at the employee benefits, insurance, discounts on living accommodations and cellular phones, free Internet through the Sno-Med system, and worldwide travel opportunities. When the job offer had been passed to her through her nursing supervisor at the hospital, Erin decided it was time to see more of the world. The Sno-Med Corporation, touted as the leader of bioscience, had been generous to a fault with its benefits. She’d overlooked it those months ago, but she couldn’t ignore it now.
If she logged in, Sno-Med could trace her IP address. She hit the delete button, then decided to Google Dr. Anthony Cinatas and the Sno-Med clinic. Avoiding the corporations official sites, she looked for anything associated with his name, the clinic, and the name of every patient she recalled helping treat.
She found noteworthy American Medical Association articles regarding his studies on blood proteins, international interviews, and articles about Dr. Cinatas’s life. She was surprised to learn that he’d been considered a Frankenstein early in his career because of his radical ideas about using large quantities of treated blood to cure disease. He’d had an accident ten years ago. His car had gone off a bridge into icy waters and he’d nearly drowned but been revived. After that his career skyrocketed, and he was now touted as a hero for his fight to preserve the sanctity of life.
Articles about the Sno-Med Research and Development Center in Arcadia, near the very place his car had gone off the bridge, heralded Dr. Cinatas as the economic savior of the town. Grabbing a pen and paper, Erin started jotting down notes.
Then she made a list of the men she’d given blood transfusions to over the past few months and the basic facts about them she could gather off the computer. There were eleven, twelve if she counted Shashur’s—all rich, influential, and from different areas of the world.
But nowhere in any of the material did she find a reference to the word Chosen, or special blood. And she also looked for anything that would label blood as being white or pure. She did find articles about Dr. Batista’s sister Stefanie Batista, who’d simply vanished from the Sacred Stones on Spirit Wind Mountain. Or had she? What if she’d discovered something she shouldn’t have in the lab? Could she have met the same fate as the four people in Manhattan?
She stared at the page, wondering if there were more people in and around Dr. Cinatas’s world that had “disappeared.”
The howling of a wolf outside startled her.
Her scalped tingled, and the hair on the back of her neck rose, just as it had when she’d walked into the Sno-Med clinic Friday morning.
Jared was out there alone, and her sixth sense told her something was wrong. She glanced at the time on the computer screen. Hours had passed since he’d left.
Worry itched its way through her. What if he was in trouble? What if the wolves they’d seen last night were after him? What if he needed her?
Rising, she left the bedroom where the computer was housed and went to the front door. She started to unlock it and call for Jared, but remembered Jared’s words. Lock the doors, and whatever you do, do not leave the cabin.
What did he know that she didn’t know?
His behavior all day had been different, as if he’d known there was something wrong. What if those creatures from last night were back? What if Jared had left to protect her? It was the only explanation she could see that fit. He’d practically glued himself to her side for almost forty-eight hours, and then he’d suddenly left.
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she felt the yawning void of his absence with every part of her.
Glancing at the window, she could only see black outside. But the sensation that something was out there, that something predatory was watching her,
suddenly screamed at her. She killed the lights and moved to the kitchen, looking for a knife, anything to hold in her hand that would be useful to protect herself.
Had Cinatas found her? Was he out there?
Knife in hand, she tiptoed from the kitchen, listening intently to every sound, listening so hard that when a blood-curdling howl cut through the night, she jumped. Chilling fear stabbed right through her.
Something hit the door hard less than ten feet from where she stood.
“You were right, Aragon,” Sven yelled from where they stood on the mountainside, not far from Jared. “I failed in my duty, and now many are paying for my misdeed.”
“We all chose. And I am the leader,” Aragon shouted, his spirit sickened at the violence of Jared’s craze. “The Tsara’s poison is stronger than ever before. I thought there would be more time.” Aragon gritted his teeth in frustration. “He’s tasted mortal blood and is determined to reach Chosen blood. I must end it.”
“Jared hasn’t taken a soul yet,” Navarre said, placing his hand on Aragon’s shoulder. “He is not wholly damned yet.”
Aragon shook off Navarre’s hold. “Are you asking me to wait until that happens, damning us all?”
Navarre stepped back, shaking his head.
Aragon didn’t ask for unity from them as he swirled from his Blood Hunter’s cloak to his human form and held up his sword. He could tell, read it in their eyes, that the brethren were no longer one. He wasn’t fit to lead.
“Give him another day,” York shouted.
Aragon turned his back and ran after Jared. The wind whirled with the force of his blade. Thunder crashed through the heavens at his war cry, and a bright blue bolt of lightning cut across the sky. He landed onto the mortal ground next to Jared.
Jared turned. The feral gleam lighting his eyes stabbed a fissure of pain deep into Aragon’s gut. Aragon lifted his sword, remembering all that had passed between them. The battles they had fought side by side in. The time when Jared had spent the last of his strength to bring Aragon from certain death.
Instead of strikingthe killing blow, Aragon flung his sword aside and returned to his Blood Hunter’s cloak. He tackled Jared with his bare claws. Jared’s first full blow knocked Aragon back twenty feet, slamming him into the hard wood of a thick tree trunk. The combined strength of mortal and Fallen shocked Aragon. The oak cracked and splintered in half. Dazed, Aragon stumbled for balance, determined to keep Jared away from mortals. Dawn wasn’t too far away—if they managed not to kill each other, maybe one more day might make the difference.
Chapter Sixteen
Jared arched back in pain as reason and the morning light stabbed his conscience like bolts of lightning. He sucked in gulps of dewy air scented with blood and sweat, hissing at the agony. He opened his eyes to find that he stood in a wide circle of destruction. Churned ground along with twisted and broken trees surrounded him, as if a tornado had touched down there and nowhere else.
He smelled his own blood and, with heart-stopping realization, that of a mortal. He could smell it on him. Not Chosen blood, but just as damning. Nauseated, he spat until the point of being ill, but had nothing within him but dry heaves.
Horrific images of people, blood, a campfire, a storm, and a black wolf flashed painfully at him, all too vague in detail to be anything more than a cloudy blur.
Erin. He had to see her. Finding a cold mountain stream, he stepped into the foot-deep water, which hissed and bubbled at contact with the heat of his body. He went to the center and lay down, letting the water rush over him. He bathed himself three times and still didn’t feel clean, though no traces of blood remained. Had he killed someone? He searched his mind but couldn’t remember anything but a red haze. If he had killed, wouldn’t he know it?
The darkness was in his soul, and nothing could save him now, but he had to save Erin. And the only way to do that would be to determine if the mortals they were with, Emerald, Sam, and Dr. Batista, had the resources and the will to help Erin. He’d given Erin’s story about the doctor she worked for a lot of thought, and finding the little girl with Chosen blood at the fair had verified his suspicions. Dr. Cinatas was likely connected to the Vladarian Order.
Rising, he went looking for Erin. He had nothing but darkness and despair to offer her. He was damned. The cabin was locked tight, and Erin didn’t answer his knock. He decided to let her have a few more minutes of innocent sleep before burdening her doorstep. He went to the hammock on the deck and watched the sun crest the misty mountain peaks.
He longed for Erin. He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her close, as he’d done yesterday, but he couldn’t, for deep in his soul, he knew what he wanted with her could never be. He had to leave her before he killed her. He had to destroy himself before he joined the forces of the damned.
The bright lights of the lab were blinding, burning her eyes. All she could see was a blur of white ceiling and white walls. Erin tried to move and couldn’t. Pain punctured her chest. Her hands, feet, and head were tied to a stretcher. Squinting, she looked down at her arms and saw blood-filled tubes running from her limbs to the side of the stretcher. She forced herself to writhe against the leather bindings, knowing that every movement she made pumped more of her blood from her body into the blood bags labeled for the king of Kassim. But she didn’t have a choice; she couldn’t just lie there and watch her life ebb a drop at a time as her blood was drained from her.
Cinatas appeared, his suave smile and gleaming silver eyes cold and dead. “Did you really think that you could run from me, Erin? Did you think that you could bring me down?” He shook his head. “Tisk, tisk. You’re a fool for even trying, and now you’ll die a fool’s death.”
She struggled against the bindings.
“You’ve no more second chances, Erin. You’re dead. Life is over. I win.”
Erin woke from her nightmare and sat up, screaming. The vision of watching her blood being drained had seemed so real that she ran her hands over her body just to assure herself it wasn’t. She sat on the couch in the cabin where she’d fallen asleep waiting for Jared to return. The storm had lashed the night for hours. On the coffee table in front of her lay the knife.
Erin had decided the slam against the door had been the wind blowing a tree limb against it.
How long had she slept? Rising, she hurried to the kitchen, then nearly groaned at the clock’s digital reading. Six in the morning.
What if he’d tried to get in, and she hadn’t heard him? She ran to the front door and unlatched the locks.
“Jared!” she called into the shadows and swirling mists, still hovering despite the dawn. She moved to the edge of the porch, calling again, and the sensation that something lurked just beyond the mist grew. She went down the steps, thinking she heard a groan, but before she reached the ground, she caught sight of the hammock on the cabin’s deck. There was no mistaking Jared s long, dark hair or the naked contours of his six-ten power punch. Moving closer, she saw with growing dread the bleeding cuts and scratches covering his body. He writhed in the hammock as if he were in pain.
She ran to him and set her hand on his shoulder. Twigs and leaves were tangled in his long hair, and heat poured from him. Erin was sure he had to be hotter than ever before. Had she been wrong about him needing the medicine Dr. Batista had left? “Jared?”
He groaned. “Erin?” His voice sounded ragged.
She sighed in relief. “What happened to you? You’re hurt again.”
“I’ll heal,” he said in a tone of voice she’d never heard him use before. It held such self-disgust that it almost made her take a step back from him.
“Come on,” she said, urging him up. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Were you having a nightmare? You looked as if you were in a lot of pain.”
“It is no less than I deserve,” he said starkly, easing away from her touch. His body trembled as if hit with a stronger wave of pain. The stubble darkening his face made him look dangerous, and the clear iridescent
blue of his eyes had dulled to a muddy gray.
“Jared?” She reached for him, and he stepped away from her touch, leaving her no choice but to close her hand tightly, making her feel as if her own heart lay painfully in her fist.
“I can shower myself,” he said, and walked away.
Erin followed slowly. Just before she shut and locked the cabin door, she wondered what Jared had gone through during the night. What had brought him to such a desolate edge that she feared even she couldn’t reach him?
She had to try. She could hear him in the shower as she paced back and forth at the door. As she listened to his groans of pain, she couldn’t stand it any longer. He needed her now, whether he admitted it or not, and she needed to go to him. Her sixth sense told her that later might just be too late.
She opened the bathroom door and stepped into the steam swirling through the room. Undressing, she went to the shower door and drew a deep breath before joining him. She had a feeling she was in over her head, and she wasn’t sure if either of them would survive.
That only forty-eight hours had passed was almost inconceivable. Oddly, she wondered if the true measure of time travel wasn’t in fast-forwarding a clock, but in fast-forwarding the human experience to the point normal barriers no longer existed.
Jared was no stranger, and her emotions were far beyond what she had ever imagined they could be. She slid open the shower door, and Jared turned to face her.
“Erin, you mustn’t. You don’t understand.”
“No. I don’t.” She set her hand over his heart, over the scar branding his chest. The scratches on his body had already healed. “But I know you need me. I must help. I cannot leave you, Jared. Please, let me.” The last came as a whisper she was sure the fearful pounding of her heart had drowned out. “Please.”
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