by Jaime Rush
Wayne’s face, wracked by sadness. Son. It is as I saw. It is her fault—
No, it’s not. Can you save her?
I cannot intercede, cannot affect the physical world anymore.
You saved me once. Save me now so I can get her.
I had help then, help I do not have access to now. You will join me soon.
The disappointment in his father’s voice was deeper than his grief. Wayne’s face faded away.
No, I can’t abandon her.
Cheveyo tried to move, but his body was too weak. He couldn’t even connect to Petra. It took more energy than he had. He would die and leave her in the hands of the enemy. For the first time, he was afraid of dying.
Chapter 19
The numbness that had frozen Petra cracked apart into tiny, glasslike shards. Baal leaned closer, and his gross breath washed over her. “Humans kiss each other. I’ve seen it many times, sometimes a quick kiss”—he gave her a peck, his lips soft and mushy—“and sometimes a longer one, like what you and the hunter did. It went on for so looong,” he said, drawing out the last word.
Her stomach curled even before his mouth touched hers again, rubbing back and forth against her lips. Thank God he didn’t seem to know about French kissing. She would throw up if his tongue touched her mouth. He moved down her neck, leaving a smelly, wet line of saliva. His canineness came through as he lapped at her skin with a flat long tongue, down to her collarbone and the hollow of her throat.
Everything he’d seen her and Cheveyo do.
“He pulled up your sweater and removed the thing that binds these.” He squeezed her breasts.
Her body was as stiff as a sheet of metal, muscles tensed so hard they hurt. She hardly breathed.
He yanked her shirt above her head, though it wouldn’t go farther than her bound hands. He left it there and studied the bra clasp. “He did something with his fingers. How does it work?”
“I can’t explain it to you. When you do something every day, it becomes such a habit, you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”
It didn’t deter him. He narrowed his eyes, tugging at the plastic clasp, twisting it, and finally tore the bra. A whimper escaped her throat at the bare vulnerability that ripped through her.
“Yes, I like the sounds you made. Make them with me.”
“What you hear from me is terror and disgust. With him it was pleasure. You can’t make me feel pleasure or desire.”
He didn’t seem put off. “I can and I will.”
He leaned down. She could only see his bushy brown hair, and then his mouth clamped over her nipple. She screamed. He didn’t stop, only left his slimy trail all over her, moving from one breast to the other. Tears slid down the sides of her face, the violation, the loss, everything. Cheveyo was in the trunk of the car, dying, or already—
No, don’t think it.
He shook her. “Make more noises. And smile.”
He moved his mouth across her stomach and down, and then she felt him fumbling with the button on her pants. He hadn’t seen them make love. They’d done that in a private suite far from prying eyes.
“I can’t,” she said, her words a whimper.
Maybe he realized he couldn’t remove her pants or spread her legs with her feet bound together.
He stripped off his shirt, revealing a mat of dark fur across his chest. “Kiss me, lick me like you did with the hunter.”
His name is Cheveyo, dammit. But she didn’t want to hear his name coming from this creature’s lips. Bad enough that Yurek had looked like him.
“Do everything to me that you did with him,” he said, his voice guttural.
“I can’t, not when I’m tied up like this.”
He leaned over her face, pressing his mouth on hers. Her eyes were squeezed shut, trying to close him out. She felt his nipple against her lips, surrounded by coarse fur. She curled her lips inward.
“Put your mouth on me!” His breath washed over her with his harsh words.
“I told you, you can’t force what you saw between us!”
Frustration tinted his face red as he sat back. She could see his mind working, trying to figure out how to force her into submission.
An odd calmness stole through her, and with it, an idea. It was crazy, insane, but it was all she had. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll . . . cooperate, the way you want, if you let me go out to see the hunter. I need to say goodbye to him. If I can do that, it will ease my pain.”
He considered that, probably weighing the risks.
“You can keep me tied up,” she added. “Carry me out.”
“So you can’t run away.”
“Exactly.” She felt her energy rise as her hopes did. “I love him. I just need to say goodbye, to touch him one last time.”
What if he was already . . .
No, don’t go there now. No way could she go through with the deal if he was. It wouldn’t matter, none of this would matter.
Or maybe his father had healed him, and Cheveyo would leap out when the trunk was opened.
“Afterward, you’ll make pleasurable noises, and kiss me? You’ll do everything I saw. And more?”
“Yes, everything.” Whatever more meant. She shuddered.
“All right. But I will kill you if you try anything.”
He began to untie her hands from the headboard.
“I won’t. You’ve won. There’s nothing more I can do.”
His mouth turned up at that. He wound the rope around her wrists again, pulled her to the edge of the bed, and slung her over his shoulder.
He opened the door and looked outside, leaning to the side to make sure the trunk was still closed probably. Nothing had changed.
She watched the ground bob up and down as he walked. He used the key to unlock the trunk and popped the lid.
Blood. So much blood. It pooled in the bottom of the trunk, but wasn’t flowing anymore. She noticed that before the heat that billowed out. Cheveyo was still lying on his side. Was he breathing? Dammit, she couldn’t tell.
Baal set her on the rim, his hands tight on her shoulders. “Do what you came to do.”
She twisted around, trying to reach Cheveyo with her hands tied in front of her. Her fingers strained and then touched the fabric of his shirt. She leaned farther in, though Baal was gripping her waist to keep her from falling into the trunk. She was able to touch Cheveyo’s face. He was still warm, but that could be because of the hot trunk. His hand was splayed over his wound. His skin was damp with sweat, though, which meant he was alive. Alive!
“Cheveyo,” she whispered.
His eyes opened, glassy and unfocused. It took a moment for them to shift toward her. He was cognizant! She laughed and cried at the same time.
“Time to go,” Baal growled.
“I’ll give you all the time you want. Just give me a couple more minutes.”
Without waiting for his response, she closed her eyes and let her energy flow into Cheveyo. Pain seared her chest, in the same place where he had been shot. It didn’t hurt as much as seeing him dying had.
Through the pain she pushed out the words, “Goodbye, sweetheart. I love you. Please forgive me. And don’t be mad at me. I love you, I love you, I love you. . . .” She kept whispering the words, buying time.
“That’s enough.” Baal pulled her back and slammed the trunk lid shut. She stumbled at the sudden movement, but his hands clamped around her waist to keep her steady. He flung her over his shoulder and walked to the house. “Now you do your part.”
Had it worked? She felt the pain, and was so tired. Good signs.
“Finally, a smile,” he growled when he laid her on the bed.
She was smiling, even through the excruciating pain. Her body went limp, melting into the bed. She could see him leaning over her to retie her hands to the headboard, but he was getting fuzzy. Then she couldn’t see anything because she couldn’t keep her eyes open. His hand grasped her jaw and rocked her head back and forth.
; “Hey. You’re not going to sleep now, bitch.”
She tried to say something but her mouth would barely move. Her words came out a mumble. She wasn’t even sure what she was saying. She saw Cheveyo, his image floating in the darkness beyond her eyes.
You’re okay now, she told him. You have a chance to make this right.
From a long distance she heard shouting, and felt her body being shaken. But it wasn’t her body anymore. She floated out of it.
Pope’s phone rang. He had just stopped for nourishment and was about to get back on the road. Petra’s number showed on the screen. “How did it go?” he answered.
“Not as well as you’d hoped.”
Yurek’s voice. He let his words, and what they meant, sink in for a horrifying moment.
“The hunter is dead. I have your daughter.”
He felt the fluids in his body go cold. “My . . .” Yurek thought Petra was his daughter, probably the reason he’d targeted her. Yurek no doubt had picked up on her Callorian essence, and it was a logical reason for her existence. “I don’t believe you.”
“I thought you might like proof. I will send you pictures and call back momentarily.”
He saw the pictures, and he felt . . . felt sadness, devastation. The wound in Cheveyo’s chest was mortal. Petra was tied up, Baal leering in the picture with her. The phone rang again. He pressed the button but words failed to come out of his mouth.
“I will take the hunter’s body back with me. The girl, though, I could let her go. She means nothing to me. You, however, are an outlaw, Pope. An outlaw with secrets. I suspect your secrets are more than this girl. It is my duty, as a Collaborate Shine, to apprehend you. Of course, you understand this, having been one yourself. Do the right thing and turn yourself in. I will go beyond the right thing and release the girl.”
Those words weighed heavily on Pope. It had bothered him to not be part of Cheveyo and Petra’s plan. He had never felt so helpless before, not even when he faced the C. “You have told the C about her, though.”
“Yes, but she might have fallen into a crevice out in those treacherous mountains. I couldn’t retrieve her body and so decimated her remains from a distance. She is no threat to our dimension, so I see no true crime in altering the truth slightly.”
His mind sorted through his options as his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. He would not let Petra die. Cheveyo . . . it was too late for him. He closed his eyes, saw that horrible image of him. He recognized the Sinthe’s wound pattern. Yurek had brought a weapon with him. He obviously hadn’t left his mercenary ways behind.
“How will I know that the girl is free and safe?” he asked.
“Baal will take her near a populated place, and when you arrive at the roadside in the Zion Park area, he will bring her into town. You may speak to her. Then you will come with me with your last scrap of honor.” As though there was honor in handing himself over to Yurek. “If you try to fight me, the girl will die anyway. Baal must hear from me once I’ve delivered you or he will recapture her.”
Despair. Yes, he could feel that, too. An Elgin would sacrifice the safety of one to protect others. Petra would opt for that, too. Sentencing her to death, though, sickened him. She felt like a daughter to him, or what he thought a daughter might feel like.
He heard Suza’s voice in his head, telling him with sincerity in her blue eyes that he had a good soul. A man with a good soul would not let his daughter die.
He could save Petra and take care of the biggest threat to the Offspring: himself. Once Petra was safe, he would go willingly with Yurek. Before they reached the finestra, he would bluff Yurek by showing him he could teletransport by moving several yards away. Then he would hold out his hand as though to blast him. Yurek would respond instinctively, using the Sinthe on him. To ensure it was immediately fatal, Pope knew he would have to lunge at Yurek.
“When do I meet you there?”
“In one hour.”
“I will need two to get there.”
“Oh, that’s right. You can’t teletransport, can you? A shame to be impotent, isn’t it?”
Pope gritted his teeth at the taunt. “I trust that when you joined the C, you promised to uphold its values. Like keeping your word.”
“Yes. Attaining your position is something I have wanted for a long time. Bringing in the former Elgin turned Scarlett will be my biggest triumph. But only the first of many.”
“I will see you at four.”
Pope disconnected. Dying was the only way out, and he should welcome the relief from an existence that included little that meant much to him. He couldn’t get involved in the Offsprings’ lives, couldn’t start a life here. That he was responsible for Cheveyo’s death added to his load. Death should be welcoming, but it wasn’t. And should he fail and be taken back to Surfacia, he would know that his responsibility for deaths would become much heavier. He would have to succeed in dying here.
Baal poked at Petra’s shoulder. “Do not pretend to sleep. You promised you would cooperate.”
He took in her limp body. Before, she’d been stiff, her mouth in a grimace. Now she looked . . . dead. He shoved her sweater up over her head again, but this time he was watching her chest for the rise and fall. He saw the faintest of movement. She could be pretending. He leaned down and licked her neck. No stiffening at all. He put his mouth over her breast, something that had gotten the most response from her. Not even a twitch. He clamped his teeth down on the fleshy part of her breast.
Still nothing, even as red teeth marks formed on her pale skin. He pulled her sweater down, panic rising in his throat. Something had happened when she went out to the hunter. He pushed up from the bed and slammed his fist against the wall, denting the drywall. She had cheated him.
But fear loomed bigger than his anger. Yurek was going to be furious.
Yurek was pleased with the way things were going. He called Baal. “Everything is set for two hours from now. I will find the best place to take the girl. She must not be harmed, as she is to assure Pope that she is free and fine.”
“Uh, there’s a problem. The girl is dying.”
“I hope you are developing, or trying to develop, a sense of humor.”
He heard the reluctance in Baal’s voice, though. It wasn’t a joke.
“I don’t know what happened to her,” Baal said. “She was fine, and then she pleaded with me to take her out to the hunter.”
“You didn’t.”
“I saw no way she could gain a weapon or escape. She was tied up. I carried her out and stood beside her the few minutes I allowed her to say goodbye to her lover. She touched him for no more than a few seconds, and right after I brought her back into the house, she passed out. She is barely breathing now.”
Yurek gritted his teeth. “You idiot!” He held in the other words that threatened to spill out. It was done. “She didn’t ingest anything or grab a hidden weapon and stab herself?”
“No. I watched her. She only touched him.”
“She has to be faking it.”
“I don’t think so. I bit her hard, and she had no reaction.”
“She’s no good to us if she’s not awake.” He stood next to the hunter’s bike, a fine machine. “Pope is going to meet me near the finestra. Once he learns I cannot produce proof of the girl’s release, he will resist. But he will be close to the finestra. I will injure him and get him through.”
“See, everything will work out after all. What should I do with the girl if she does not revive?”
Yurek considered whether he needed to bring her body back to Surfacia. No, the hunter’s body would be enough. “Eat her. Leave no evidence behind.” He heard the Glouk’s intake of breath. “Is the hunter dead?”
“He was hardly alive.”
“Make sure he’s dead and bring his body to the finestra. Meet me there in two hours.” He disconnected, feeling his human body tighten. As soon as he completed his mission, he would return for the Glouk.
Once back
in Surfacia, he would be revered—three beings in addition to his quarry. That it wasn’t easy should prove his fortitude. The C would know he was more than capable—and deserving of the accolades Pope had once garnered. He was on his way to becoming an Elgin.
Cheveyo didn’t know how long he lay there, feeling the perspiration drip down his sides and the pain thrum through him. He didn’t hear the footsteps, but suddenly the lid opened, infusing the trunk with fresh air and light. And the sight of Petra, being carried by the Glouk, her hands bound. It was a struggle to open his eyes. Seeing her was heaven and hell. She reached out with bound hands and placed them on his face. She whispered words of love and apology, and he felt her energy flow into him.
No, dammit! Don’t kill yourself. You need all the energy you can get. You can still get out of this alive.
If she heard him, she didn’t respond. She stared at him, and everything she’d said glowed in her eyes. She loved him. He couldn’t say it back, couldn’t will his body to obey him. The pain lessened by degrees, as though she were vacuuming it out of him. Baal said something to her, and the lid shut again.
He flexed his fingers and felt the torn edges of his shirt, the dried blood . . . but no gaping hole in his chest. His body needed to recuperate. It protested when he tried to move in the confining space. No time for rest. He had to get Petra.
He reached up and felt the inside of the lid for a release pull. It glowed slightly, and he pulled at it. Damn, he was so weak. It took two yanks to release it. He was ready for anything, but only baby-blue sky greeted him. He climbed out of the trunk and felt for his knife: gone, along with his keys. All he had was his phone. He needed to be cat. He closed his eyes.
Nothing happened.
Only the tingle, and then it fizzled out. He’d lost his powers because she’d healed him. He had no weapon, no abilities. You have anger and a fierce hunger to save her. He peered around the open lid of the trunk, seeing the house. He took the cat position and crept to the front window, becoming one with the brush that grew there.
The living room was pristine, and empty. He moved to the next window, and what he saw seemed to slam his heart right out of his chest. Petra tied to a bed, Baal pulling her sweater up over her head, gazing at her naked chest.
