Beyond the Darkness

by Jaime Rush

  “Pack? Like for a trip, an absence?”

  “Exactly.”

  She had to push out the words. “I live—”

  He turned right without hearing her directions. He knew where she lived, had to, because he drove unerringly to her townhouse on one of the narrow roads in the downtown area. Buildings were stacked up right next to one another, two and three stories. He pulled into the narrow brick alley between buildings, past the two alabaster dog statues, and parked behind the white gate where they kept the garbage cans. The bike’s engine echoed in the small space, and then suddenly it was quiet as he killed the engine.

  “Get your keys ready. This has to be in and out. And pack light.”

  He was already scanning the area, simultaneously pushing her toward the door. She had the key ready as she always did. Stairs went directly up to her residence, the walls adorned with Wizard of Oz memorabilia.

  She ascended, feeling him behind her.

  “Is Pope all right? Who was that man at the restaurant?”

  He steered her right to her bedroom. “Pope’s at my place. He has limited power to teletransport. He’s not sure how often he can actually do it. But my place is in the middle of nowhere, so he’s got room to run if he needs to.”

  He glanced around her bedroom, the four-poster bed draped with gauzy material for the canopy, pink and yellow washed walls. It was startling having him in her sanctuary, his dark masculinity in her feminine space.

  She faced him, gripping his leather sleeve. “Tell me what’s going on. Because I’m only guessing that you didn’t storm in on my date out of, say, wild jealousy. Though if you did . . .”

  He walked to her closet and pulled a duffel bag from the top shelf. “I had a vision of you and your boyfriend getting flayed by Yurek, the guy who’s after Pope.”

  “F-Flayed?”

  “Tonight, after you left the restaurant.”

  A chill prickled over her skin. “The man who followed us out.”

  “That’s what he looks like tonight.” Because he could change his looks, that’s what Pope had said.

  “What about Greg? Will he hurt him?”

  “I doubt it. He wants you.”

  “M-Me? Why?”

  “I don’t know. Right now I’m only concerned with getting you out of here.”

  He was starting to pull down clothing. That had to stop. She stepped up beside him and took her clothes out of his hands. “I’ll pack.”

  “Be practical. You may be running. Literally.”

  No, not again! She kicked off her heels and took in the array of clothing jammed in her closet. She had enough trouble choosing something when she didn’t have a deadline and Cheveyo sending waves of urgency.

  She started pulling things off hangers. “I saw a man in the parking lot earlier. Not the same guy—or maybe it was. He was just standing there looking at me. It didn’t feel right, and I waited for him to leave. Then I left out the back way, so if he was waiting for me, I might have lost him. That was when I was on my way to meet you.”

  “Good job on trusting your instincts.” He was taking the clothes from her and stuffing them into the bag, not even rolling them up to prevent wrinkles. “If he’d followed you to the warehouse, we’d probably be dead. So he picked up your trail again later. He probably knows where you live, which means we have to roll.”

  The tightness in her chest worsened with each word he spoke. This couldn’t be happening again. But it was, and she didn’t have time to wig out. She threw in pants and long-sleeved tops and two pairs of sneakers. He took out one pair with a roll of his eyes.

  She ran to her dresser and grabbed a handful of lingerie. No time to be embarrassed at him seeing all of her lacy things. He closed up her duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder.

  She ducked into the bathroom to scoop up some cosmetics, but he grabbed her hand and yanked her back out again.

  “Forget all of that girly stuff. Deodorant is as fancy as you’re going to have time to get.”

  She snatched up her deodorant. “Where are we going?”

  “My place, to meet up with Pope.” He took her in. “Our plan was for him to teletransport from one place to another to stay one step ahead of Yurek. I’d be right on his tail looking for an ambush opportunity. I hope Pope can take you with him.”

  “Wouldn’t it be best if we all stick together? It worked for us before; the Rogues, I mean.”

  “Not this time.” He stopped at the top of the steps, his body going rigid. “Hell. Get back, lock yourself in your bedroom,” he whispered.

  She heard a growling noise at the bottom of the steps and leaned around his shoulder. An ugly dog crouched between the base of the stairs and her door. Not a regular dog. It was bigger than a wolf but bulkier. Its narrowed eyes glowed red as it took them in, its teeth bared in what looked like a macabre smile, gums black and red. Those teeth were like sickles, curved inward to hook its prey, the tips going down to a needle point. And its eerie gaze shifted to her, its eyes glowing brighter, a string of drool dripping from its mouth.

  “Is . . . that . . . Yurek?” she whispered, her hand tensing on his back.

  “No. Its name is Baal. And it’s not much fun either.”

  “There’s another one?”

  “Get in your room.”

  His body vibrated and heated so fast, she jerked her hand back and stepped away as he morphed into the black panther. She didn’t need any more warning. She ran.

  Could this really be happening? Her feet pounded into the plush carpet and slid as she turned into her bedroom and slammed the door shut. She pressed her back against it, listening to unholy growling sounds. She could barely pull a breath from her lungs. Fear pulsed in her chest.

  She pinched herself, and oh, yeah, it hurt. Real, not a nightmare. Cheveyo, out there, fighting that creature, morphing into one himself. What if . . . what if he died? If that thing won, she’d be alone with it. The way it had looked at her, the predatory hunger in its eyes . . . oh, yeah, it would come for her. She needed to help Cheveyo.

  She opened the door. The sound of claws scratching the wall electrified her spine. With a grimace, she pushed on, down the hall and to the kitchen. She yanked a knife from her butcher block set and followed the sound of a dog’s high-pitched yelp of pain. Dog, not cat.

  She slid along the wall to the entrance of the stairwell and peered around. Blood smeared the walls of the stairwell. Her Wizard of Oz memorabilia littered the stairs, picture glass in shards, a porcelain sculpture broken. Whatever Cheveyo had done to hurt the dog hadn’t deterred it. Beast and beast crouched face-to-face, poised to kill, Cheveyo three stairs higher. His sleek black body was coiled tight, muscles defined beneath the shiny fur. Faint spots stood out in the blackness. His tail twitched.

  Baal looked at her, its pointed ears flicking. Cheveyo took a second to look back, and that’s when Baal moved. It flew past Cheveyo in a dark gray blur—right at her.

  Cheveyo clawed the dog as it passed, a roar splitting the air. Blood and fur flew, but that didn’t stop Baal. She gripped the knife in her hand and thrust it out. Baal ducked to the right, averting the knife and knocking her shoulder so hard she fell to the floor. The knife bounced on the carpet.

  The hell dog leaped at her. She groped blindly for the knife. A black blur slammed the dog from the side, shooting it across the living room. It bounced against the wall and fell to the floor. Cheveyo flew through the air at it like a thrown knife. Baal rolled out of the way with a half second to spare.

  Her fingers felt like an empty rubber glove, trying to grip the handle. She finally grabbed the knife and moved toward Baal, who was facing off with Cheveyo. It felt like slow motion, the blade coming down, I’m about to stab a living creature, oh, God, Baal snarling at Cheveyo, his back to her. The blade sank into the flesh of Baal’s thigh and hit bone with a jarring thud. Blood squirted over her hand, stinging her nostrils with its coppery smell. Baal howled, and she screamed, jerking the knife out. A maw full of fan
gs slashed forward, closing in on her throat.

  A second before those fangs would tear at her skin, Baal jerked back, its bloodred eyes wide in surprise. The panther’s fangs clamped onto the back of its neck, pulling it back. Baal threw himself backward into Cheveyo. The two beasts rolled across the floor in a flurry of claws. The heavy white chair tipped to the side, blood smearing the leather.

  She watched, breathless, frozen. She was in hell with two demons.

  The dog broke free, gasping for breath, and tore toward her—too fast to pull up the knife she gripped so hard her knuckles hurt. It knocked her to the side and ran down the stairs. The door flew open. The panther followed, pausing three steps down. She ran to the top of the stairs, breaths heaving from her chest, staring at the open door. No dog.

  The panther shimmered. In a surreal moment the man stood before her again, though his eyes were still black for a few more seconds. He only looked at her when they were blue-gray again. With the heat, the adrenaline, the blood zinging through her body, she felt the oddest sensation: arousal. Are you flippin’ crazy?

  “You’re bleeding,” she said, the only words she could manage to utter.

  His arms were scratched, skin torn. Their gazes locked, and she swore she saw a flare of the same desire in his eyes.

  “We go. Now,” he said.

  She nodded, only just then realizing she still held the knife. She stared at the blood sliding down the blade, gathering in a drop at the tip.

  “Petra!”

  The knife fell with a soft thud. She grabbed her bag and purse and followed him down the stairs. On the way she scooped up the stuffed Toto that had somehow ended up halfway down the stairs.

  We’re not in the real world anymore, Toto. God help me.

  Cheveyo stepped out the door, looking both ways and even up before looking at her. She followed him to the bike, grabbed the helmet, and straddled the seat. He strapped the bag to the bike, made sure the helmet was snug, then got on. The sound of the engine exploded in the alleyway, and they were off. She held on tight to him. He was all man now, the only wild thing about him his loose hair in the wind.

  He was different. Deadly. As much as she had longed to see him again, now . . . she wasn’t so sure.

  Yurek had used logic to track the woman to her abode, and he now stood in the narrow passage outside her open door. He sensed the lingering energy of conflict, though the blood splashed on the stairs and bricks would have clued him in that something violent had occurred here. Who was the man who had barged in and taken her from the restaurant? She had gone willingly with him.

  He sensed a presence nearby, the Essence of a being from his own dimension. He followed a trail of blood toward where the alley came to a dead end. Something furry crouched behind a large urn where the light didn’t quite reach. The dog rose to its paws and shuddered at the sight of him. In a blur, it became a man, lean and wiry, hair ragged and coarse. Blood glistened on his arm, and he held it tight against his side.

  “You’re a Glouk,” Yurek said.

  The man’s eyes widened. “And you . . . you are not human either.” He sniffed, his nostrils flaring. “Callorian.” Fear darkened his eyes, especially when his gaze dropped to the diamond-shaped ring on Yurek’s finger. His authority. Pride. And for the Glouk, a reason to fear, since the creature was there illegally. “I have no quarrel with you. Are you after the woman?”

  “No, the hunter. I tracked him here. I have not seen the woman until today.” He flicked his glance to the door. “He was protective of her. But she fought with him, even as I sensed her fear. He had no fear.”

  “Who is he? What is he?” Yurek didn’t like surprises, and the hunter, as this creature called him, was an unpleasant one. He sensed Callorian Essence in him, but like the girl, not wholly.

  “I do not know. He tracked me in the woods north of here a few days ago. We have been hunter and prey since. I decided I must switch roles. I picked up his scent and followed him here, intending to put an end to his tyranny.” A string of saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth. He swiped it away. “I would eat him. He is mine.” His humanistic eyes, brown as dirt, glowed briefly.

  Glouks were territorial, vicious, adept hunters. And perhaps useful. “As long as the hunter dies. And the woman. You can eat them both, for all I care. My prey is a Callorian named Pope. Do you know of him?”

  “No.”

  “He was once an Extractor, someone who would have hunted you down.” With three adversaries, Yurek was outnumbered. Not outpowered, but outnumbered. “We can help each other. You can track, yes?”

  The man’s nostrils flared again. “It is my nature.”

  Yurek nodded. “I will help you kill the hunter. And you can help me with my prey. Does this partnership interest you?”

  His eyes glittered. “Yes.”

  “This hunter . . . why does he want to kill you?”

  “I eat humans. The hunter does not seem to like that.”

  Chapter 4

  “You okay back there?” Cheveyo called as they rode west.

  “Fine.”

  She reached up to brush a piece of hair that was tickling her chin but pulled back at the sight of blood crusted in the creases of her hands and nails. Her stomach lurched and she stared at the back of his head again. He’d secured his hair into a low ponytail when they stopped at a light.

  Twenty minutes into the ride her body started shaking. She wanted to cry and scream. She held those back but couldn’t stop the shaking.

  “Do you need to stop for a minute?” He obviously felt her.

  “No.”

  His body, solid and real, made her feel safe while they flew down the highway at speeds she didn’t want to contemplate. She’d tucked her hair beneath the leather jacket he insisted she wear. It smelled of him, a sweet smell she couldn’t place, and his own essence, and that made her feel safe, too. Safer, anyway. Questions and fears buffeted her more than the wind did.

  He pulled down a gravel road that led into the woods, and a couple of minutes later they came upon an RV sitting in a small clearing. The back door flipped down to become a ramp that he rode up on and into a space that looked like a trailer. Tools, cabinets, and another helmet hung on the walls.

  They got off, and he took her helmet and hung it on a hook. His expression was grim, his eyes still that smoky color that spoke to how close he was to his cat. Or at least she guessed that’s what it meant. Even scarier was the fact that the edge was somehow arousing.

  He turned the bike to face the rear door, ready for a quick exit, all in a practiced way. He unhooked her bag and speared her with those spooky eyes. “What the hell were you thinking back there, jumping into the fight? You could have been killed.”

  His sharp words were like a slap in the face. “What, I was supposed to hide in my room while you got chewed to death?”

  He made a grunting sound as he secured the bike. “You were supposed to keep yourself safe. I have no intention of dying.” He pulled the leather holder out of his hair and shook out dark waves that fell just past his shoulders. Like the way he’d positioned his bike for escape, it was a gesture so practiced, he probably did it without thinking.

  “Good to know. But in my group, when one of us is in trouble, we help each other.”

  “I’m not part of your group.”

  “Believe me, you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

  He hit a button and the door slid closed, pitching them into darkness. She could smell the heat of him and something faintly musky. Cat.

  “There’s one thing you need to know when you pick up a knife: you’re in it to kill, not fight.”

  “I was in it to disable that thing.”

  A door opened, sending light slicing into the space. He held it open for her.

  “I’ve never seen an RV with a garage before.” She ducked past him into what looked more like a normal RV: a narrow hallway, and two captains’ seats at the front.

  “It’s called a toy hauler. The onl
y downfall is that the bedroom doesn’t have a lot of head room.”

  He took a few steps up and set her bag on the floor of a loft area above the garage. The mattress was on the floor, bed rumpled. She shrugged out of his jacket, and he took it from her and hung it over the short railing that separated the loft from the rest of the area. She passed a small bathroom and walked into the combined living area and kitchen, which was impeccably neat. He came up beside her and made to pass by.

  She touched his arm, and he turned so fast, she instinctively snatched her hand back. “You’re jumpy.”

  “I’m alert. On edge.”

  She put her hand on his arm again, only an inch from several gashes. “Let me heal these.”

  He pulled away. “I don’t want you using your energy to heal superficial abrasions. Or anything more. I warned you about healing mortal wounds for awhile.”

  “I couldn’t let Lucas or my brother die.”

  “Or Nicholas. Don’t forget about him.”

  “If you’d seen him . . .” She shuddered at the memory, then narrowed her eyes. “I guess you did see him. A vision?”

  He nodded. “You nearly died that time. I could barely feel your essence.” His mouth tightened. “No more, at least a year.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “And you’re my boss now?”

  His gaze sharpened, but at least his eyes didn’t go dark. “Yes, I am, when it comes to this stuff. It’s simple, Petra. Heal another mortal wound, your soul will fizzle out.” He snapped his finger in front of her face.

  “How do you know?”

  “You’re going to have to trust me. And obey me. I can’t have you flying off the edge of your emotions. That will get you killed, too.”

  “And will you use that influence thing on me if I don’t ‘obey’ you?”

  His eyes sparked at her insolence. “If I have to.”

  “But you said it wouldn’t work if you wanted me to do something that was against my will.”