Echo Into Darkness: Book 2 in The Echo Saga (Teen Paranormal Romance)

by Skye Genaro

"We'll levitate for buoyancy, okay? And we can paddle across. It's not so far." But it looked so very, very far. The dark water was freezing cold and moving fast. Mud sucked at our shoes. His leg dragged. I scanned the waves for passing traffic. Barges and fishing vessels navigated the Columbia River constantly, but there wasn't a boat in sight.

  Two cars raced from Feller Tower toward the river.

  Connor's body suddenly took on more weight. "Connor, wake up." I splashed water on his face. He opened his eyes. "Please don't leave me," I whispered.

  The vehicles sprayed gravel on the waterfront. Keenan and his men scrambled out.

  "Someone get the boat!" he yelled. Then, "Echo, come back to shore."

  "I'll get her." Jaxon jogged to the waterline, peeling off his shirt and shoes. A well of anger pumped into my forearm. I took the last of my reserves, raised my palm and blasted him in the chest. He fell to the sand, struggled to get up and fell again. He moaned and a part of me wished I had the strength to finish him off. They strove to turn me into a monster with little regard for life; they had finally created one.

  My breaths came in short gasps. The attack took more out of me than I anticipated but I did not want to stop. I shot at Keenan's head. The bolt was weak and poorly aimed. It nicked his thigh, sending sparks into his men. He shrieked. His team marched backward.

  "Go after her!" he yelled.

  The soldiers took tentative steps toward us. I pulled us deeper into the river. We'd have to swim for the other side. Connor stumbled and fell to his knees, and the water flowed over his shoulders.

  I heard a motorboat's engine buzz across the water. Over the cresting waves, I saw a watercraft headed in our direction. A Mutila boat. Carrying Mutila people.

  My teeth chattered violently. "Get up!" I screamed. Connor sank deeper.

  "You'll never make it across," Keenan called from the bank. "You don't have to end things this way." His soldiers waded in up to their knees.

  "Stay away from us!" The freezing water licked at my chin. A wave curled over us and we went under. I kicked to the surface and coughed water.

  Connor gave one last push. His eyes went glassy.

  "Connor! Connor!" He didn't respond.

  "Bring them in," Keenan ordered.

  I cradled Connor's face above the water. "Wake up!" I cried. "Please wake up."

  The boat steered next to us and the soldier looped a rope around my midsection. A spiny current clawed at the top of my head. I fought against it, flailing my free arm at the force that now took over my body. An electric sensation buzzed down my spine, into my arms, and into Connor. His beautiful, lifeless face glowed with pale white light. He began to fade.

  Chapter 40

  Angels surrounded me. They swooped in to wipe my brow and soothe my fever. They bathed me in warm light. When my breath halted, angels sighed life into my starving lungs. When I screamed from visions of demons, angels held me tenderly and chased the evil away.

  One of them, plump and with a crooked face, was a constant at my side. His hand stayed wrapped around mine, his touch always gentle, reassuring.

  I sank into my newfound peace on the way to my next life. The transition brought on by my death was much easier than I imagined. I had a vague sense of the hell I had endured, of events gone wrong that I had failed to fix. But the horror and fire, the fear and blood, were behind me.

  I lost connection with any physical sensation. The pain that once ripped through my body was absent. In fact, I had no sense of humanness at all. I was graced into oneness with everything around me, cocooned in an overwhelming sense of beauty and love. Connor was there. Though I couldn't see him, I felt him, pure and beautiful, merging with me in his afterlife form.

  This must be what it was like to be fully consumed by someone from the inside out, to have your vacantness filled. This must be what it was like to finally be with your soulmate.

  My eyelids fluttered.

  If I were dead, surely I wouldn't feel my eyelids. Or air warming my throat and expanding my ribs. What if I was reborn already? Was I prepared for this?

  Once I passed through the other side and was birthed into human form again, would I know I was looking for my long lost love? I'd have to depend on luck or fate or intuition to bring us together because once reborn, we'd be in different bodies. There would be no scanning the crowd for a raven-haired boy with tropical green eyes. The search for each other would start all over again.

  My heart swelled, shrank, and beat steadily. My lids fell open.

  A room came into focus. The low railing on my bed was my first clue that I had not been reborn. I was in a hospital, but unlike any I'd seen before. Blue walls hummed with the delicate, silvery music of wind chimes. Cinnamon and vanilla played with the scent of marigolds.

  Something prompted me to look at my wrist. It was wrapped in gauze and throbbed when I bent it.

  Jigsaw thoughts came rushing back: I had escaped. I must have been caught again. I had to get away, fast.

  I slipped out of bed onto woozy legs. A draft ran up my light nightgown, sending goose bumps skittering up my back. I went to the window and was struck with a sense of déjà vu. Hadn't I recently escaped through a window? No matter. I'd do it again.

  Warm sunlight flooded into the room. I was a couple of stories up this time. A garden below was in full bloom. That should offer me a soft landing.

  Confusion nudged away my desire to flee. Gardens? The last thing I remembered was trying to cross a cold river in the dead of winter. Had I slept all through spring and into summer? Or had Keenan taken me somewhere else?

  My answer came in the most astounding way. The mass of flower heads opened and closed in a deliberate pattern, spelling the word "Welcome" in red. Below it, "Echo" bloomed in yellow. They closed and opened again with a new message: "Thank you, Butterfly."

  A mix of relief and joy spilled over me. There was only one place where this kind of beauty and magic existed, but if I was in West Region, where was Connor?

  I dragged my legs toward the door. After a few steps, I bent over, winded. Manny found me swaying in the middle of the room.

  "Butterfly! I sensed you'd woken up. You shouldn't be walking yet." He ushered me back to bed.

  Manny was one of the region's super-gifted individuals. I'd watched him create dresses out of thin air and read minds and project the future. He was the one who told me that Connor and I had a future together, and that we had to be patient about it. When I had pressed him for details, he didn't give me the answers I wanted to hear, but I respected and adored him just the same.

  That's what I wanted now—answers. Before I could barrage him with questions, a dark-haired wisp of a man levitated into the room.

  "Echo, this is Devon, our best healer," Manny said.

  "The one responsible for your astounding recovery." Devon ran his palms over my hair, smoothing it and sending calming waves into my head. "We've all been waiting impatiently for you to wake up and fill in the details of what happened."

  Oh no. If Connor were okay, he would have explained everything. For a passing moment, I wondered if he was the one who died and what I'd experienced while I was unconscious was our souls mingling for one last golden kiss before he went on to another life. Without me.

  Devon pushed me back onto my pillow. "You need to rest. Whatever you've been through completely drained your vital organs. We're practically recharging you from the inside out."

  "We put you in an induced sleep so Devon could perform intensive healing," Manny said. "Your heart stopped when you went through the portal."

  Manny, I whispered to him in my mind, because no way could I ask my greatest fear out loud. Where is Connor?

  Telepathic communication was a one-way street though.

  "He will be okay," he answered out loud.

  "But he's not now?" I gripped his plump hand.

  "His injuries were far more extensive," Devon said. "Lacerations, internal bleeding, molecular breakdown due to his extended journey into your
time…"

  I winced. Manny waved him off. "Connor will heal completely. We put him into a deep sleep, too, to expedite his healing. He hasn't woken up yet, but I can tell he's dreaming about you constantly."

  Devon circled his hands a few inches above my body, as though measuring the heat coming off me. "Her vitals are soaring. Give her more news like that, Manny, and we'll have this girl flying loops in no time."

  I offered a frail smile. "I want to see him."

  "I'd rather you stay here and rest," Devon said.

  "But I'll get better faster if I'm with Connor. Right, Manny?"

  Manny smiled crookedly. "She's right. I don't think President McCabe would mind."

  "Mind what?" Mr. McCabe said as he entered the room.

  Connor's father spoke at a hospital-acceptable level, yet his commanding voice made me sit upright. The last time I was in West Region, I had tried to make a case for how his son and I should be allowed to stay together. Mr. McCabe hadn't cared for me one bit then. I doubted he'd warmed up any after his son had been nearly killed because of me.

  "I asked to see Connor." My voice wavered.

  Mr. McCabe sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand. "And so you should."

  The skin around his eyes was wrinkled and dark. Deep lines ran from the outside of his nose to the corners of his mouth. The hardened man that I'd met a few months ago smiled with paternal warmth. In that smile, I finally saw the family resemblance to the boy I loved.

  "The only time President McCabe left his son's side was to check on you," Manny said.

  I didn't understand Mr. McCabe's show of affection, but I wasn't about to turn it away. They helped me to Connor's room and sat me in a chair next to his bed. His complexion was healthy and his lips were flushed. He slept soundly.

  I scooted the chair as close as I could and laid my hand along his neck. Electricity buzzed beneath his skin. To me, this tingling was as good as a fountain life.

  "Can you hear me, Connor?" I asked.

  His breath drew in and out, steady and reassuring.

  "I'm here. I'm okay. I love you," I whispered

  I nestled my head onto his shoulder and drifted to sleep.

  Chapter 41

  I woke up in my own hospital bed, but now I was in Connor's room.

  "There she is." My soulmate's voice was gravelly. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

  I blinked back tears. "You're awake."

  I climbed onto his bed, curling my legs under the nightgown. I stroked his cheek with the backs of my fingers. His eyes were bright but the memory of his battered body was too fresh. Gingerly, I laid a hand on his shoulder.

  "You don't have to be so careful. I'm nearly healed." He eased a hand around my neck and stroked my hair. Then he guided me closer until we could feel the breath coming out of each other's mouths. I lowered my lips onto his. Slowly, with more self-control than I knew I had, I kissed him.

  "Was that okay?" I asked.

  "You're not going to break me."

  My mouth closed over his curved lips and pressed into them, hard. I slid my tongue over his. Tasted sweetness. Citrus. I let my tongue roam some more. Connor took a lengthy inhale, struck by my intensity.

  When I finally came up for air, he was grinning. "Wow. Been saving that up?"

  "I thought I'd lost you," I said.

  His thumb intercepted a tear as it left my eye. "Don't cry," he whispered. "We made it. We're safe. Everything's going to be okay."

  I nodded and ran my fingertip along his lip. There was a scar there, and one along his cheekbone. A few faint slashes marred his beautiful neck.

  "Manny will take care of the scars once I'm fully healed," he said. "Has he done yours yet? I know you had at least the one." Connor carefully rolled back the bandage on my wrist. The skin was no longer raw and oozing, but a wide, black scab covered the gouge where the chip had burned through.

  "My God…"

  "Sssh…" I covered his mouth with mine again. His fingers swept into my hair. He let out a moan, a good one, this time.

  We both jumped when we heard someone clearing his throat. Mr. McCabe stood in the doorway, looking a little sheepish, if that was possible from such a domineering man. "It's good to see you're both up."

  My face heated to a deep shade of red. I edged off the bed and back onto mine. "Sorry."

  "You were fine where you were," Mr. McCabe said. He tucked the blanket around my bare legs and gave them a pat.

  My eyebrows steepled in confusion. Connor's dad was happy to see me alive, sure, but my relationship with his son had always been in the forbidden zone.

  Mr. McCabe saw the uncertainty on my face. He responded with a kind smile.

  "We still have many questions about what happened to you two, but Manny was able to decipher from your molecular memory that you saved Connor's life." His voice cracked and he gave us the back of his head while he composed himself. "When Connor is stronger, I'll get a report from him. You, too, if you're willing."

  The thought of revisiting those days provoked a rush of heat. I nodded anyway.

  "I saw the flower gardens with my name in them. That was really sweet," I told him.

  "I wanted you to feel at home after everything you've been through."

  Home. I'd been so out of it since I woke up, so preoccupied with Connor's recovery, I'd actually forgotten about home. Now, the mention of it made my chest ache.

  "How long have I been here?"

  "Just a few days," Mr. McCabe replied. "You healed faster than any of us expected."

  Although it forced me to look back on events I did not want to remember, I did a fast mental calculation, factoring in the last time Keenan had sent a fake text to Kimber.

  "My parents haven't heard from me in over a week. They're going to kill me," I cringed at my choice of words. "I mean, ground me forever. They probably have search dogs looking for me by now."

  "I've taken care of it," Mr. McCabe said.

  "But my parents think I've been in Seattle this whole time. They're going to know something's up. I haven't texted them in days."

  "My dad's got it covered," Connor said. "If he says it's taken care of, it is. Right, Dad?" The words must have run straight into Mr. McCabe's heart because the hard-bitten President appeared too choked up to answer.

  He patted his son's hand. "Right."

  *******

  A couple more days passed. In that time, Connor met with Mr. McCabe and told him about Keenan. They let me off the hook, claiming my part of the story wouldn't add much. I thought this was odd, but I was grateful for it.

  Manny made me a few sets of clothes so I wouldn't have to sit around in a hospital gown. Then he decided we were strong enough to have our scars removed. I was curious to know how he was going to do this.

  "Are we doing Connor first?" Manny warmed his hands by rubbing them together. A soft orange glow emanated from his palms.

  Connor began to lift his t-shirt and hesitated. "Echo, I don't think you should be here for this."

  "It's okay. I want to watch Manny fix you." To show I meant it, I pulled his shirt over his head.

  My hand flew to my mouth. Connor's chest was covered with lash marks. The puncture wounds from the ceiling left jagged, radiating gouges like huge spiders had been crushed into his skin. There were too many to count. His back was in equally bad shape.

  I buried his shirt into my eyes because after everything else, I didn't want him to see me bawl, but I'd been holding back the tears for too long. Our survival in Keenan's house of horrors had depended on me holding my emotion at bay. Seeing what they had done to Connor was too much. My nerves broke, and I lost it.

  In the history of crying jags—across all the centuries—this was one for the record books. I soaked his t-shirt with tears, and then my own. My sobs came in ragged pants and I began to hyperventilate. Manny rushed out of the room to find Devon and they came back with a sour tea that was meant to calm me down.

  Connor redressed and
held me. It was hours before I stopped crying.

  That afternoon, Manny took Connor to his studio to restore his battered body. They were finished in no time. Connor came back shirtless, his body returned to its flawless state.

  It had been a long time since I'd seen him without a shirt. I hadn't forgotten the perfect sun-kissed color of his skin, the curve of his shoulder muscles, and his strong narrow, waist, but by the way I stared, you'd think I'd never seen his amazing build.

  "Babe, you look like you're about to drool," he said.

  "Uh-huh." That was the second time he'd called me babe. I liked it.

  He laughed. "Are you ready to get yours done?"

  I nodded. Manny joined us and placed his hands over my wrist. After a burst of warmth, all the ugly physical reminders of the implanted chip were gone.

  "What would you like to do about the tattoo?" he asked.

  I'd forgotten all about the monarch butterfly on my shoulder blade. "Get rid of it. It's their symbol. I'd scrape it off myself if I had to."

  "There is an alternative." Manny tapped the pads of his fingers together, the way he did when he had an intriguing idea up his sleeve.

  Connor took my hand. "Echo, remember your first trip here when we went to the Reserve? And the butterfly we saw that had two sets of wings?"

  "I'll never forget it," I smiled.

  "Do you remember why it became our region's symbol?"

  I thought back. "The first set of wings represented who you started out as."

  "Yes. The persecution that the paranormal community suffered while we lived under oppressive rulers," he added.

  "The second set of wings means freedom…and peace for the gifted people," I recalled.

  "It's a symbol of everything we've worked for over the past hundred and sixty years. Manny can remove the tattoo, or he can change it. He can add that second set of wings. It's up to you."

  They watched me with open anticipation, a kind of hopefulness, it seemed. I tried to see my situation from their point of view. Defying a Mutila leader and escaping was a sort of victory for the gifted people. At least that's how I thought Connor and Manny viewed it. How many gifteds before me had succeeded at this? Not many, I guessed.