Fallen Star

by Cyndi Friberg

  “They started with twenty, but they’re down to fourteen or fifteen. There is one we’re not sure about. He ran from a fight, so it’s unlikely his companions allowed him to live.”

  In an instant the warmth in his eyes was gone and she caught a glimpse of the ruthless soldier. She shivered, suddenly glad they were on the same side. “What happened to the other five?”

  “We took them home for interrogation and punishment. Our system of justice is more streamlined than yours, but those accused of a crime still have their day in court.”

  “I’m glad. It sounds like these guys deserve punishment, but assassination on the spot seems a little extreme.”

  “It would also be foolish.” His smile was nearly as cold as his gaze. “Each hunter we catch has information about the others. Shooting them where they stand would prevent us from accessing that information. This retrieval mission has already dragged on longer than we’d hoped. We want this mess cleaned up as quickly as possible.”

  “And that’s where I come in?” She scooted back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Have I finally uncovered the reason you agreed to heal me?”

  He shook his head, clearly frustrated by her conclusion. “You are in a position to assist us, but your participation will be strictly voluntary. I will heal you either way.”

  “All right, so it’s not strictly quid pro quo. Your motivation is still hoping that I’ll help you.”

  “Helping us is in your best interest. Nazerel will come after you with or without our support. The real question is, do you want to take him on by yourself?” He pushed back from the table and stood. “I’m going to meditate before we begin again. Would you rather remain here or go back to the living room.”

  Tension made his voice sound brittle and his fingers gripped the back of his chair much harder than necessary. “Here is fine.” She wasn’t sure how she kept pissing him off, but he was obviously angry. He’d taken two steps toward the hallway when she added, “Thank you.”

  He muttered something she didn’t understand and kept right on walking.

  * * * * *

  “Must you be so damn mysterious?”

  Sevrin smiled at the impatience in Nazerel’s tone. She still hoped to seduce him at some point, but annoying him was nearly as much fun. “I’m not being mysterious. I just don’t see the point in explaining my every action when everything will become clear as we go along.”

  He snarled, a sound that never failed to curl her toes. The less civilized he acted, the more excited she became. She couldn’t explain the phenomenon, but it was consistent and powerful.

  “If you’d simply explain where we’re going, I could flash us there. I despise these primitive vehicles.” He motioned toward the car surrounding them.

  “Your motorcycle is a primitive vehicle. How is it any different than riding in this car?”

  “I’m in control of the motorcycle. You are driving this car.”

  “Ah,” she chuckled. “Then it’s your lack of control that frightens you and not the car.”

  “I’m not frightened,” he snapped. “Merely impatient. If you’d let me teleport, we could have been there long before now.”

  “And what happens if someone sees you as you materialize. Didn’t your fight with Blayne teach you anything?” The incident had been caught by a surveillance camera and ended up on the internet. If the Mystic Militia hadn’t managed to convince everyone that it had been a publicity stunt by a fledgling film crew, Nazerel might have found out how much fun it was to be a celebrity in America.

  “I never repeat a mistake.” His jaw clenched as he stared out the windshield.

  “How can you be certain if you insist on teleporting everywhere?”

  “I am able to scan ahead. If there is anyone nearby, I manifest an invisibility shield as I materialize. No one will catch me unaware again.”

  “What about the others? Can everyone maintain that level of control?”

  He glared at her, his impatience obvious. “Those who can’t shield themselves as they arrive have been instructed not to teleport. I understand the need for discretion.”

  “Good. I’m not sure when it happened, but the Mystic Militia has definitely networked with some sort of human taskforce. Either that or they’ve received reinforcements from home.”

  She had his undivided attention now. He pivoted slightly in his seat, staring intently at her. “Wouldn’t your ship’s sensors have detected another team’s arrival?”

  “Yes, which is why my money is on human intervention.”

  Curiosity overtook his annoyance, smoothing his expression. “What makes you think they have help?”

  “According to my informant back on Ontariese, there are currently six members assigned to the Mystic Militia and that includes Lor. Three are Mystics, the other three are soldiers. Yet reports of investigators are coming in from all over the city. It made me curious, so I mapped out the sightings last night and there were fourteen separate locations reported at about the same time. Teleportation could account for some of the overlap, but I think it’s more likely that they’ve teamed up with someone here on Earth.”

  Nazerel accepted the information with a nod though he didn’t offer a comment.

  She pulled into the parking lot at one end of a large public park and turned off the car. She always met Gerrod in a different public place. His participation was more or less coerced and he never let her forget it. Gerrod had been her father’s lackey, faithfully serving the crown for decades. But after her father’s death, Gerrod had insisted that his obligation to Rodymia was met. For the most part she left him alone to wallow in anonymity. Still, Gerrod had been on Earth longer than she’d been alive and his network of contacts was invaluable. It was the only reason he was still alive.

  “Are we going to have a picnic?” Nazerel grumbled as he swung his door open.

  Without responding to his sarcasm, she got out of the car and triggered the door locks with her remote. She headed toward the benches surrounding the playground without pausing to see if Nazerel followed. There was much he could learn if he listened closely. If he chose to sulk, then he’d miss out on the opportunity. She didn’t particularly care one way or the other.

  Gerrod stood behind one of the benches, hands lightly clasping the back support rail. The late-afternoon breeze ruffled his longish blond hair, occasionally sweeping a lock across his piercing blue eyes. He ignored the irritant and focused entirely on her.

  “You summoned. I’m here.” Resentment rang through each syllable. “Make it quick. I have things to do.”

  She laughed. “Am I keeping you from your game shows or is it late enough for Judge Judy?” His gaze shifted to somewhere behind her and her smile turned calculating. She hadn’t heard Nazerel approach, but Gerrod’s shocked expression made it obvious he was looking at the Shadow Assassin. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “He can’t be…” He came around the bench but didn’t approach the other man. “Who are you?”

  “Nazerel of—Nazerel Southmor.”

  Her smile broadened. It had taken months of prompting for Nazerel to drop his tribe affiliation in favor of a last name. This was the first time he’d done so without a reminder.

  “Gerrod Reynolds.” The two shook hands, likely using the physical contact to disguise their light scans. “You look very much like someone I used to know.”

  “He’s the spitting image of his father,” Sevrin told Gerrod with a secretive smile. “That’s why I asked him to tag along today. Thought you might enjoy meeting him.”

  “This is the first son of South?”

  Gerrod sounded suitably star struck, but Nazerel just looked annoyed.

  “You were not part of the world below. How could you have known my father?” Nazerel stood statue still, hands clenched at his sides.

  Severn laid her hand on his tense forearm and waited until he looked at her. “Unlike most of his men, your father wasn’t held captive within the Sh
adow Maze. South came and went as he pleased and interacted with whomever he chose. My father arranged for Gerrod to be trained by South in exchange for his participation in our program.”

  “He is one of the Dirty Dozen?”

  Gerrod chuckled. “Wow. It’s been a long time since I heard that name.”

  “I thought you came up with it,” she countered.

  “I did, but that seems like another lifetime or even someone else’s life.”

  Nazerel snapped his head around and looked into her eyes. “Is it possible that this man is Jillian’s father?”

  “There’s a one in twelve chance,” she explained. “I only have DNA samples of four of the men and about half of the daughters. I haven’t tried to match any of them with Gerrod because he keeps refusing to give me a sample. So far Jillian hasn’t been a positive match with anyone, so now her chances are more like one in eight.”

  “If that’s why you summoned me here,” Gerrod warned, “you’re wasting your time. I don’t want to know how many times I succeeded. Those years are the biggest regret of my life.”

  “You don’t need to know, but I do.” She sighed. “Give me a sample of your DNA or I’ll have no choice but to take it from you.”

  Gerrod laughed, head tilting to an arrogant angle. “Go for it, princess. This should be amusing.”

  Rather than attack him herself, she turned to Nazerel and said, “Break his nose.”

  For once in his life, Nazerel didn’t argue or hesitate. He closed the distance between him and Gerrod with one long stride and punched him squarely in the face.

  Gerrod’s shocked cry ended in a vile curse as he raised his hand to his gushing nose.

  Sevrin was half a step behind Nazerel. She shoved Gerrod’s hand out of the way and pressed a cloth to his nose, soaking up some of the blood. Then she turned back to Nazerel and said, “Flash us out of here now!”

  Nazerel swept her into his arms and teleported away from the park. She enjoyed the strength of his embrace for only a moment before they materialized in a vacant lot on the outskirts of Las Vegas. His smirk made her shove off his chest and step back despite how much she was enjoying the embrace.

  “Are you sure no one saw us flash out of sight?” he challenged.

  “We were the only ones in the park.” Her heart lurched in her chest as she realized she hadn’t even bothered to check.

  “Are you sure.”

  She tensed. Was he just jerking her around or had she overlooked a spectator? “You’re aware of everything that goes on around you. Was someone there?”

  “No, but you didn’t assess the situation before you told me to go.”

  “This was important.” She carefully folded the cloth, securing the blood sample on the inside of the wad. “If it’s safe to do so, take me back to my ship and arrange for someone to go pick up my car.”

  “All of this would have been much simpler if you’d just told me where we were headed in the first place.”

  “If I’d told you what I intended to do, Gerrod would have sensed it when you shook hands. I wasn’t being mysterious just to piss you off. Anything you knew, he would have found out.”

  He accepted the point after a moment of contemplative silence. “I’ll forgive you if you tell me why my father would have agreed to help a Rodyte.”

  She smiled. Working with Nazerel was definitely easier than struggling against him. “Let me get the DNA sequencer running and I’ll explain it all over dinner.”

  Chapter Three

  Jillian squirmed on the kitchen chair, wishing she had her cell phone so she could call Tori. Even Angie, with her unusual take on life in general, would be better than trying to sort through these chaotic thoughts and feelings alone. Jillian pulled out another chair and propped her leg on it, but her thigh started throbbing again. That she could move it at all was a miracle undeniably attributable to Odintar.

  Her mind was still reeling from all the things Odintar had told her. It was hard to believe that half of what he’d said was true, yet everything she’d experienced since meeting him pointed toward fact not fiction. Aliens had come to Earth and she, along with two of her closest friends, were caught in the middle of their conflict.

  She thought back to the first time she’d seen Lor. Tori had spotted him in a casino and their attraction had been immediate, but no one would deny he was physically striking. Then later in the hotel bar, he’d performed a “magic trick”, causing a flame to jump from candle to candle. Now she suspected the trick hadn’t been a trick at all but legitimate magic. Legitimate magic? The phrase made her shake her head. Until today she would have considered it an oxymoron.

  Unable to sit idly by while Odintar meditated, she carefully stood and turned her chair around so she could use it like a makeshift walker. Her leg felt solid as she positioned it, yet as soon as she put weight on it, pain radiated from ankle to hip. Ignoring the discomfort, she hobbled to the window over the sink. All she could see was an average-sized backyard with a wooden privacy fence. She could be almost anywhere.

  The back door was locked and she couldn’t figure out how to unlock it. There was no deadbolt to rotate or lever to shift. The door handle just refused to move. Even though she suspected she would find the same in the front room, she slowly made her way to the main entrance. It was also locked with no obvious way to release it. It didn’t really matter. Her mobility was still so limited, escape wasn’t really an option.

  She parted the drapes obscuring the front window and looked out at a residential street like any other. The house wasn’t large or luxurious. The neighborhood, what little she could see of it, seemed well maintained, yet somewhat mature. Were they even in Nevada any longer? They could be on a different planet for all she knew. She had no idea the scope of Odintar’s abilities.

  Her leg protested each movement, so she limped over to the couch and reclined, stretching out her legs across the seat cushions. It was pretty obvious the Ontarians hoped to use her as bait once her injury was mended. Was Odintar right? Would Nazerel come after her even if she refused to align with his enemies? Angie frequently followed her heart into danger, but Tori was logical. If Tori allowed herself to become involved in this cause, it had to be important. At the very least, Jillian needed to find out more about the Mystic Militia in general and Odintar in particular.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Odintar strolled into the living room. She was struck again by the graceful strength that defined his every movement. He had the fluidity of a dancer, yet the overt purpose of a Navy Seal. The contrast was fascinating.

  “Feel better?” she asked with a tentative smile.

  “I’ve recovered enough to continue.”

  He sounded so stiff and formal that she cringed. “Are you still angry with me?”

  “I was frustrated not angry, but either way it wasn’t your fault. I keep forgetting Mystic abilities are basically nonexistent on Earth. With all that you’ve endured, you’re skepticism is understandable. I’ll try to be more patient.”

  She propped herself up against the armrest, making room for him at the other end of the couch. “How many sessions will it take to heal my leg?”

  “That depends on you.” He sat and pivoted slightly toward her. “If you relax and allow me to work unhindered, we’ll progress much faster than if we wrestle the entire time.”

  Wrestling with Odintar held a certain appeal, but restoring her leg was her top priority. “I’m not intentionally fighting you. Everything about this feels strange and threatening.”

  He placed his hand on her ankle, his touch light and casual. “I would never hurt you and I would attack anyone who attempted to harm you. There’s no reason for your fear.”

  “Consciously I know you’re trying to help me, but something inside me resists the intrusion.”

  For a long moment he just looked at her, his eyes narrowed, lips compressed. “I’d intended to assess your latent abilities after your leg had been restored. Maybe you’ll feel less vulnerable if they
’re active.”

  Here was another piece of the puzzle, another clue to his true motivation. She knew his agenda wasn’t self-serving, but neither was it as selfless as he pretended. “What makes you think I have latent abilities?”

  “Nazerel wouldn’t have targeted you unless your potential was extraordinary.”

  “I thought my connection to Tori and Angie was why he targeted me.” She lowered her gaze, breaking the mesmerizing pull of his dark eyes. He wasn’t coming on to her, so why did she long to crawl onto his lap and bury her face against his neck?

  “Your friendship with the Logan sisters brought you to Nazerel’s attention, but your potential is what motivated him to act.”

  Challenge calmed her enough to lift her gaze. Ever since the accident she’d felt devastated, her life so disrupted she barely recognized her own reality. If Odintar could heal her—and it was looking more and more like he could—she would be able to shape her future into whatever she wanted it to be. But first they had to deal with Nazerel. “What does he look like? Maybe I’ve seen him hanging around backstage or something?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  No sooner had her lids drifted shut than an image formed within her mind. Nazerel had short dark hair and piercing eyes. His features were rugged, very masculine. He looked hard, even brutal, with a body easily capable of enacting every ruthless impulse. She shivered, very glad she was no longer alone.

  “He might have made subtle changes, but that’s his basic appearance.”

  She opened her eyes, glad to be rid of that penetrating stare. “I’ve never seen him before. I would have remembered those eyes. Still, he hasn’t actually done anything yet. Why are you so sure he will?”

  “When we raided one of their hideouts, we discovered a binder, a collection of dossiers with detailed information about human females. You’re one of the women featured in the notebook.”

  Her recent surge of confidence shuddered as she absorbed the implications. For there to be detailed information about her in the notebook, she had to have been watched, followed, investigated. “Who collected the information? How long have I been under surveillance?”