Slayde, Book 2 (Chaos Time Serial)

by Marie Hall

  “Forgive me the intrusion, sire,” Patros’ voice was the cold of a wind howling across frozen tundra. “But a Lord has been compromised, sir.”

  He narrowed his eyes. One of his seven sources, no one knew about the Lord’s save himself, Patros, and her.

  “And?” Anger burned bright, igniting the old passion, the old flame of destruction within. His fingers flexed.

  “He lives, sir.” Patros bowed his head, resting a clasped hand against his heart.

  “Go away,” he ordered. The bull snorted his agreement, turned sharply on his heel and exited his chamber.

  Dragden licked his front teeth, whoever had done this had done it with purpose and foresight knowing he was readying to enter his god sleep, leaving him unable to defend his sources.

  Who would know of the Lords? She was dead. His nostrils flared.

  Errol was phoenix, in essence immortal. He shouldn’t be surprised. But she’d not been a time jumper. He thought of the rag tag posse that’d dared to try and defy his rule, the healer with her pitiful attempts at staving off death, the foul mouthed, arrogant prick who thought he’d been strong enough to fight him—the same bastard who dared to lie with his bird, to touch her, to love her.

  And one other. The enigma. He’d never seen the face, always covered within the folds of a cloak, but the shadowy figure always hovered by their sides. Until one day the enigma had vanished. He’d thought perhaps it’d been killed.

  Was it possible the enigma had survived?

  Only a jumper could travel back. Only a jumper could have found her again. Dragden had searched for years. But finding her was like finding a needle in a haystack. Never knowing what she’d look like from one life to another it’d been an impossible task.

  His heart thrilled, his blood pounded like the forceful blow of a fist to his gut at the thought, the idea, that she’d been found. And she must have been, because only she had the key to the sources. It was why he’d shoved a spear through her side when she’d dropped to the ground like a fallen angel. She’d betrayed his trust. He’d had no choice.

  He licked his lips as need, lust, violence, and madness surged like a tidal wave inside him. He’d find her. Kill the rest. Take her. Bed her and then bring her back here, this time he’d do it right. This time he’d give her no reason to betray him. He could be kind. He could be loving. She’d loved him once. He knew it. She’d love him again.

  The thought alone made him ache, made him need, made him crazed to have her back. She was power equal to his own. With her by his side they could discover new worlds, tame them to their will. There’d be no stopping them.

  The annoying tingle returned. He brushed his fingers harder against his neck.

  He thought of his sources and his Lords. Powerful entities in their own right, but whoever was tracking them made a mistake. A costly one. If they thought Dragden entering god sleep would prevent him from guarding his treasures they couldn’t be more wrong.He walked back to the window with his hands clasped behind his back and studied the landscape through different eyes. No longer did it seem so bitter. No longer void of color and life. It was his. Always. By right. And might.

  He rubbed the spot in his neck that still continued to demand attention.

  “Patros,” he yelled and dropped his hand.

  The beast entered a half second later. “Sir.”

  Dragden turned. “Release the monster.”

  Patros didn’t blink, smile, or acknowledge that what he’d been ordered to do was anything outside of the norm. He nodded. “As my sire wills.”

  Once Dragden was sure that Patros was well and truly gone he finally gave himself permission to scratch the itch at the base of his skull. He scratched and scratched, finding no relief from the irksome pain until his nails dug deep and droplets of blood leaked through the welts. When he pulled his hand away a sheaf of skin the length of his palm came away with it, only then did he finally sigh with relief.

  He stared at the closed doors with a satisfied smirk. Could a leopard change its spots?

  Never.

  Chapter 7: Tibet

  “Back off!” Synnergy snapped at Sable as she leaned over the healer’s shoulder for like the gazillionth time.

  Worrying her bottom lip, she asked again if this was gonna work.

  “Sable!”

  “But...but,” she glanced at Hunter, pleading silently for help. “I’ll shut up, I promise. I just don’t understand how you can grow his arm back. Are you sure—”

  “Hunter, so help me,” Synnergy growled, pinning him with her hard black glare. “Take her out of here, or I won’t be able to heal him at all. I need quiet. Now!” she snapped, when he didn’t seem to budge quick enough from the wall he was resting against.

  With a heavy sigh, he got up and walked over to Sable placing his arms around her shoulders and led her out of the abandoned two-room clinic in the middle of an impossibly frigid landscape. He’d said they were in Tibet. Honestly, Sable didn’t know or much care, all she knew was that she wanted to be next to Slayde and it wasn’t fair that she couldn’t be in there with him. It was freezing and he needed her warmth.

  Plus, well... truth was, she felt like he wanted her there just as much. Even though he hadn’t spoken or opened his eyes in the two days since they’d arrived.

  “You need to rest, Sable. You look dead on your feet and I know you haven’t eaten in two days...”

  “Not hungry,” she grumbled.

  “And you could definitely use a shower.”

  She whirled on him. “Are you telling me I stink?”

  He shrugged, a tiny curl of his lip the only indicator of how he felt. She punched him in the arm, which he deflected with a light slap. She didn’t even have enough energy to really be mad at him. She was tired and it sucked to admit it, but he was right, she did smell.

  “Fine. Shower. Food. And then...”

  He nodded, as he guided her behind their temporary home/clinic to the natural fresh water hot spring a couple dozen yards back. Which was a great thing, because it was December and crazy, stupid cold out here. The snow had stopped falling the moment they’d arrived, but it was a thick crust to walk in and she was shivering. The pleather jacket she wore hardly brought her any warmth and she really hated the cold. Already her fingertips were going numb.

  She’d always hated the cold, from the moment she could remember, she’d never been the kind of kid to go play in the snow or beg her parents to take her ice-skating.

  “And then you can go back. By that point Synn should be done. I don’t know if you noticed, she can be pretty neurotic when she’s healing,” he said it with a low chuckle, but he seemed distracted by something.

  Sable snorted. “I’m sorry, only when she’s healing? How about all the freaking time. She wasn’t like this when she first got with us. Something’s up with her.” She glanced at Hunter out of the corner of her eye and noticed him glowering. Obviously he’d noticed the same thing, but clearly if the set of his jaw said anything about it, he didn’t want to talk about Synnergy.

  Fine whatever, she really didn’t either. She was only trying to fill the silence and the agonizing worry gnawing at her stomach that maybe she shouldn’t be this far away from Slayde. He might wake up and need her.

  The snow crunched under foot and a couple times gave out, burying her thigh deep until Hunter could pull her out. She huffed and patted the snowflakes off before they melted on her, but it was useless, she was soaked.

  “Can you please tell me why you choose to go from crazy hot to frigid cold, Hunter?” A shiver zinged through her body so violently that her front teeth clacked.

  “Slayde’s arm is regenerating, his cut is open in so many places, and anyplace too hot could cause massive infection. I don’t want to tax Synn with a healing that keeps getting infected. The cold should keep that worry at bay. Which is why you’ve really got to stop touching him so much. It’s not helping.”

  “I know,” she inhaled, bone deep weary, “I want
to help, and this place is just so freaking cold. I know he’s got to feel it.”

  He patted her shoulder. “Sometimes healing hurts, Sable.”

  She shook her head, not because she disagreed, but because she felt so helpless. Her gaze fell on the vague blue etching of a mountain far off in the distance.

  She’d always thought Tibet might be a place of impossible beauty. Grand temples with golden domes surrounded by green moats. Monasteries and their monks and obviously the Himalaya’s, a bucket list must. While it was all here, it was really hard to appreciate any of it when she was freezing her ass off and everything was caked in white.

  But then she was at the water’s edge, and steam was curling deliciously into the air. She groaned, already imagining what the water would feel like on her needle sensitive skin. Hiking up one leg while hopping on the other, she tore off her boots with a sharp yank. Her socks got soaked, but she didn’t care. Soon those came off too, followed quickly by her jacket.

  Hunter turned. “Jeez, Sable, a little warning please.”

  She laughed, maybe she should be more careful about undressing around others but really nudity had never been an issue for her. Fairfield had drilled it out of her, forcing her to shower out in the open in case anyone had any weapons on them and tried to shank somebody else. Whatever. More like the guards were sick perverted freaks who liked to see the goods, didn’t matter that half the people in there were mentally deranged and damaged and a good portion of them minors. So much bad shit had happened at that place she hated revisiting it, even in her head. It was a ghost she’d prefer to leave dead and buried.

  She peeled her jeans down her legs, kicked them behind her, tore off her panties and shirt and then jumped in. A big wave splashed up.

  “Guess I’ll leave you to it then.” Hunter swiped his hand into the air, stepped inside his blue tunnel and disappeared.

  She floated spread eagle, letting the water trickle over her body and through her hair. Her top half began to freeze, but her bottom half was toasty warm. She wiggled her toes, enjoying the sensation. The blue glow reappeared and Hunter with it, carrying her bag of soaps and a fresh change of clothes they’d nabbed last night in a market district.

  “Thought you might want these,” he said, and pitched it without looking at her. She caught it mid-air and held it over her head to prevent it from getting wet, then tossed it onto the snow bank next to her discarded pile of clothing. She resumed her floating position, but not for long. Wind brushed against her navel like a paint stroke, with one last shiver, she decided she’d had enough of floating and sank in up to her shoulders. Trying to cover as much of herself as possible.

  She thought of Mexico. How they’d found Slayde. What he’d looked like, and she sighed. It had been so close. Terrifyingly close. She shook her head thinking about it.

  The arm that had been missing only two days ago was now a longer stump, and he even had the beginnings of an elbow. It was actually disgusting to witness the regeneration process, and a couple times when she heard bone popping back into place, she’d grimaced and squeezed her ears shut to tune out the groans he’d make. He hadn’t woken, but it seemed he did at least still feel the pain.

  She ran her fingertips over the calm water, swirling a random pattern into it. Why had he done what he’d done? They barely knew each other. There wasn’t a person alive she’d ever felt close to, and yet... something about Eric made her want to protect him. But why?

  Rolling her eyes, she shook off the pointless thoughts and questions and waded over to her bag. Unzipping it, she reached in and grabbed her shampoo, pouring a generous amount into her palm. She scraped her scalp with nails that were finally starting to grow in. The stinging pain grounded her.

  Was he conscious at all? Did he know what was going on with him? What was he thinking about? And why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

  Chapter 8: Danielle

  “Eric! Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” Danielle grabbed Eric’s hand and dragged him to the ring toss booth. She pointed at the plush purple monkey hanging from its tail pinned to the wall. Since the moment they’d arrived at the Tennessee State Fair six long hours ago, she’d dragged him from one ride to another and from tent to tent, pointing out things she desperately had to have to show off to her friends at school tomorrow.

  “Danny, aren’t you tired yet?” He laughed weakly as his stomach growled for the hundredth time. The fried scent of corndogs and oreo’s teased his nose. “I know I’m starving, we haven’t eaten since this morning.”

  She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, he knew she had to be hungry, their good for nothing, drunk of a loser father usually only had enough money for his booze and maybe a loaf of bread. If they were lucky, they got one slice of cheese each. That’d been all he’d eaten today, and normally corndogs and oreo’s were a splurge neither sibling could afford, but Eric was celebrating his first paycheck by treating his twelve year old sister to the best day of her life. Which was probably why she didn’t want to eat, this was sensory overload on a massive scale.

  Kids screamed behind them as the whirling cages of a ride began its dizzying twirl. The sun had set about an hour ago, but the flash and buzz of neon was everywhere. Loudspeakers rang with the hard rocking sounds of a live band playing a few tents down. He was ready to eat and go home, he had so much homework left to do and a quiz tomorrow, but it was only eight. Meaning, not enough time for his pop to be wasted. Maybe staying out a little longer wouldn’t hurt, just to make sure.

  “Please, Eric,” she pleaded with gripped hands and a hangdog expression.

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Fine.”

  She clapped and then dragged him to the booth. The fat carny looked up, picking at his teeth with a toothpick and wearing grease stains that smelled of sausage and peppers on his red and white striped shirt.

  “Two rings, one buck,” he muttered with a bored expression.

  Eric glanced at Danny who was biting her bottom lip with her chipped front teeth.

  “You know this crap is rigged right, Danny? I’m not gonna win you that monkey so I hope you don’t have your heart set on it.”

  She shushed him with a flick of her scrawny wrist. With a huff, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet that had bulged with over two hundred bucks this morning. It was now down to the last ten. So much for corndogs and oreo’s each. At the rate she was milking him dry they might only have enough to share.

  The carney snatched the dollar out of his hand the second he pulled it out. Eric gripped the hard plastic ring and aimed for the neck of the nearest bottle. With a deft flick, he tossed it. Of course it didn’t land.

  Danielle patted his back. “You can do it, Eric. I know you can.”

  He shook his head, but couldn’t help his small grin. His sister thought he could hang the moon. The thought had his chest puffing out with pride, and this time when he tossed the ring he knew he was going to win her that monkey.

  The ring slid like butter down the brown neck of the bottle.

  “We’ve got a winner,” the carney yelled without much passion, “what’ll it be, kid?”

  Danielle didn’t let him answer, she pointed. “The monkey, please.”

  The carney frowned and walking over, yanked it off the wall and muttered under his breath about being robbed. How he didn’t need the job and then he handed it to her. “Take it, go.” His tone was angry and disgusted.

  Eric narrowed his eyes, ready to verbally rip the man a new one for being so nasty to his sister. But she didn’t notice or care. She hugged the fat toy’s neck and smiled warmly up at him.

  “This has been the best day, Eric,” she told him, and he forgot about being angry.

  “That was the point, right?” He brushed her curly hair off her shoulder and then pointed to the grease stand. “Let’s get some chow though, I’m starving.”

  She nodded. While they ate, she kept one hand always on her toy. The thing was poorly made, already a seam
had popped and the stuffing inside was shifting down in some spots. It made the monkey look like it had a muffin top, but it was the first toy she’d ever gotten, and for that reason it made it special.

  It was nine o’clock when they finally walked up to their double wide. The transformation of his sister from dancing around in front of him, to silent and brooding, was instant.

  Eric grabbed her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “You get inside your room and lock the door, you hear me, Danny?”

  Her lip twisted. “You think, Daddy’s, drunk again?”

  He didn’t say a word. They both knew he was. They only hoped he was in a stupor and not in a rage.

  Eric eased the door open on hinges squeaking for a desperate need of greasing. The green threadbare carpet was tattered and ripped, there were several fist sized holes in the paper thin walls and even one in the floor. Matt had covered it up with a milk crate, as if that did anything other than make it look worse.

  He was lying passed out on the ratty couch. A fat cockroach scuttled over the empty whiskey bottle. Eric curled his nose. He hated this place. Hated that man.

  He jerked his head towards Danielle’s room and mouthed, “go.”

  She nodded and walked off on tiptoe, but no matter how quiet she tried to be, the trailer was in such bad condition that the floorboards squeaked. With a loud snore, Matt blinked open blood shot eyes. The second his gaze landed on Eric they narrowed and filled with burning hate.

  “Where the hell you been!” he slurred, forcing himself to a sit up position. His black hair was matted and poked up all over the place. Several days’ worth of black and silver stubble peppered his jaw, and his sun darkened skin looked flushed and tallow.

  It was pathetic.

  “Out,” Eric growled, walking to the kitchen and kicking several empty beer cans out of his way.

  A large hand grabbed his arm with a strength that was startling, whirled him around and almost made him trip. “You bastard, I told you to stay home and mow the lawn.”