Unleashing the Storm

by Sydney Croft

  “About what?”

  “Everything. The bad guys. Derek. You said you wouldn’t hurt me, and that you’d keep me safe. You have. Thank you.”

  His entire body went rigid, and then he slipped away. Outside, the birds stopped chirping as though there was a predator in their midst.

  It took her a moment to realize the predator was Tom.

  FRIDAY 8 P.M. EST

  Something was in the house.

  Dev got to the bottom of the stairs without incident, tripped over his own feet as he walked into the den, where he spent most of his time when he was home. It was the place he felt the safest. Unbeatable.

  Standing, he kept his back firmly against the wall to avoid any unwanted touches, and a burst of cool air brushed his cheek. He put his palms over his face and the touch ran up his bare forearms. He wondered how something could feel so comforting and eerie at the same time.

  “Are you prepared to help me this time?” he demanded finally, yelled it to the ceiling as he pushed off the wall and walked to the middle of the room. He stood stock-still, fists clenched, body poised in fight-or-flight mode. Except he wasn’t going anywhere. “Answer me!”

  “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

  Dev turned toward the voice even as the sound slid down his spine in that achingly familiar way and he cursed himself for not being able to drive certain weaknesses out of his body. Even though he’d been expecting Oz, he hated that he was never able to figure out where or when he’d show up.

  “Fuck off,” he growled.

  “Always a fighter. Can’t just shut up and give in, can you? Not even once.”

  Dev stood his ground even as his world shifted beneath him and he breathed in the familiar scent of musk and whiskey as Oz moved in closer. Too close.

  He’d bet his last dollar that Oz still looked exactly the same. Devastatingly handsome. Butch as hell.

  “It’s been a while,” Oz said.

  Over three years. But he’d be damned if he’d let Oz know he’d been counting. “This was a mistake. You need to leave.”

  “You send Creed to find me, drag me here, and now you want to kick me out before things get interesting?”

  “I didn’t ask you here for things to get interesting,” he said, hating to note that the spirit had fled now that Oz was here.

  “Yeah, you did.” Oz’s hand tightened around Dev’s shoulder, and warm, sweet breath brushed his ear. “Ask for it again.”

  Dev jerked away. “No.”

  “Still pissed at me?”

  Silence stretched until Dev finally sighed. “This isn’t about the past. It’s about saving ACRO.”

  Oz was standing in front of him, his face inches away from Dev’s. As the angry tension dissipated, a new one built, and Dev couldn’t help it, reached his hands up to touch Oz’s face, the way he’d been taught to do when he lost his sight. He let his fingers wander over the sharp cheekbones, the patrician nose, the full mouth he’d kissed more times than he could count.

  Oz took the opportunity to move in closer. Sensual promise oozed from him, thick and hot. Dev’s body answered, hardened, a split second before warning bells rang in his brain, because he was not going to let this happen. He’d been down that road before, and it was bumpy as hell.

  Oz chuckled and Dev wheeled away. He moved in a circle, working off both the heat Oz’s body emitted and pure instinct, and he knew Oz was doing the same.

  “Are you here alone?” Dev asked, even though he knew the answer.

  “I’m alone. So are you, by the way. At least for now. I’ll make myself comfortable on the third floor. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “Bullshit.” He’d know if Oz was in the same county, let alone the same house.

  “What? You want me to stay in your room? It’s a better idea, because I don’t think you should be alone.”

  Dev halted, tempted to peg Oz to the far wall. “Don’t push it.”

  “I was serious, Dev. No ulterior motives. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to help.” When Dev didn’t respond because he wasn’t sure how to, Oz muttered a mild curse. “Want to show me that writing on your back before I go upstairs?”

  “Why? You know exactly what it says.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Dev heard Oz’s heavy footsteps leave the room and travel up the two flights of stairs and he realized he hadn’t even bothered to use his second sight from the minute Oz entered the den. Like it knew he didn’t want to see Oz, or maybe the spirit haunting him wouldn’t let him see Oz.

  Either way, he was grateful for the moment.

  SATURDAY EVENING

  Ender heard the bloodcurdling screams before he realized they were his, woke to find himself collapsed over his hands and knees like he’d been trying to pray and fell forward instead. The screams continued even though his eyes were open, wouldn’t stop until the images that flashed in front of his eyes were replaced by the soft grass and dirt he’d been lying against.

  He’d crawled out of the tent and out across the cool earth as if looking for an escape—from the nightmare. From himself.

  “Tommy.” Kira’s soft hands were on his face, his cheeks, trying to turn his head to look at her. “Tommy, please, tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt?”

  Finally, the images faded completely, and he was looking into those deep pools of amber, saw himself reflected there instead of blood and death and destruction. There was no rifle in his hand, just his fingers clawing palm-deep into the cold dirt, but he could still smell the residue of gunpowder and fire beneath the surface of her honey and cloves scent.

  “I’m fine,” he said, his voice hoarse. He turned and took a deep breath, hoped he didn’t vomit right here in front of her, because his stomach still twisted and ached with a knowledge no man should ever have.

  “Put your head back down,” she urged. “Deep breaths—in through your mouth, out through your nose. That helps the nausea.”

  He didn’t argue, because being told what to do right now seemed to be helping. Some of the mess lifted off his shoulders and he just breathed, letting the night air replace the odors of blood, burning flesh and oily smoke.

  You’re on the job. And safe, relatively speaking. He’d taken them another full day closer to their destination near Butte, Montana, and he’d woken with the nightmare to see dusk. Which meant it was time to move out again, not break down.

  “Water,” he croaked finally.

  “Do you think you’ll keep it down?” she asked.

  “We’ll find out.” He leaned back onto his knees and drank a few tentative sips from the bottle she’d handed him. His stomach didn’t protest, and within minutes he’d drained the bottle. “More,” he said, and she complied.

  “You’re burning up,” she observed, wiping a hand across his forehead, and he almost laughed.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “We’re not going to go through this again, are we? You’re not fine. What happened?”

  He shook his head like he had no idea, but he knew exactly. Dev was having nightmares again. When that happened, they somehow transferred themselves into Ender’s subconscious, and he’d wake up screaming at the images Dev saw in his mind.

  How Dev knew what happened on the ground around Ender and his team at the same time Dev was busy crashing his goddamned C-130 was something Ender never bothered to ask his boss. Somehow, every single horrific detail, right down to that very last moment, was imprinted in both their brains.

  The worst had been when Ender had first gone to prison. They’d been keeping Dev drugged up until then, but as he improved, they’d lightened up on everything and Dev’s mind kept reliving the crash over and over. Sometimes it was as often as every single hour. Ender would wake himself and the entire cell block, yelling so loudly he’d lose his voice. Finally, they’d had to put him into solitary confinement, in a cell that was soundproofed. All the way in the basement. Padded walls. Throw the crazy man down there and throw away the key.r />
  Eventually, Dev’s mind had eased up, but by then Ender hadn’t cared. Had protested when they’d opened the cell door and told him that he could leave—two years, fourteen days and twelve hours later. His hair was down to his shoulders, as was his beard, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken advantage of his one hour of daily freedom or the last time he’d bathed. After a while, the guards would usually just poke a hose through the bars and wash everything down.

  And still, Ender’s excedo skills had remained intact. Had grown stronger, even, as though responding to the underuse by puffing themselves up in preparation, a fact the good people at ACRO had discovered once they tried to strap him down to clean him up.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Kira said when he didn’t answer her. She dragged him to his feet and urged him over to the water. “You’ll feel better once you’re cooler.”

  He pulled off his clothes as he walked toward the stream they’d continued to follow. He waded in until he could dunk his head and he stayed under the cool water for as long as he could, until his lungs begged for air, until Kira was pulling him to the surface.

  He couldn’t pretend that what she’d told him about the jail, about what she’d had to do in order to survive, hadn’t ripped at his gut. She was just as much of a survivor as he was, and braver than he was. She’d faced up to her past. He had yet to do so, and until he did, he’d be tied to Dev’s nightmares.

  For a few minutes, they just stared at each other, and he knew another wall in his personal security system had been breached. Vulnerability was something he did not do, especially not in front of other people.

  “Maybe if you tell me, if you talk about it, it’ll go away,” she said finally.

  He laughed, a short, harsh bark. “Did telling me about all the men who took advantage of you every year make it better for you?”

  “Is that what this is about—you’re worried about me?”

  “No,” he said gruffly, pissed that he hadn’t even thought about that as a possible trigger for the damned nightmare. It had always been Dev, mainly because Dev was the person he was closest to. But after spending all this time with Kira…

  Shit.

  “If you talk about the nightmare—”

  “It was just a dream,” he cut her off, aware of how ridiculous he sounded. But she didn’t call him on it, just continued like she was a seasoned professional.

  “Talking about your dream will never take all the pain away. But it helps to tell someone who gets it—who understands how different we are. It helped me.” She touched his arm and he jerked away. Completely undeterred, she reached out for him.

  He couldn’t bring himself to yank away from her hand again.

  “I know you’re not normal. I’ve seen what you can do,” she said softly.

  “I can kill. Doesn’t make me any different than any murderer sitting in jail.”

  “I was talking about your speed. You killed to protect me,” she said, and he didn’t bother to deny it or elaborate on the many times before that he’d taken lives under the order of defend and protect. And the times he’d done it when there were no orders…

  He shook his head, took another dive under the water made murky by the fast-moving darkness ready to take over the dusk, in hopes that when he surfaced she’d be done talking.

  Of course, there was no chance of that. When he broke through the smooth, glassy expanse, she was sitting on the edge of the stream, waiting for him.

  “When did you know you were different?” she asked, and he cursed this job again. This wasn’t what he’d signed on for—none of this—and he was going to make sure Dev got that. Or he was out of this life, out of ACRO.

  “We call them special-ability types. Stops people from feeling sorry for themselves.” He ran both hands through his wet hair. “I was four the first time I was called on it.”

  He remembered the day clearly. The sheep were scattering, thanks to a thunderstorm that threatened the plains within seconds, without warning. Tornadoes couldn’t have been far behind, and his mother had sent their dog, Boss, out to round up the scared animals and corral them to safety.

  “I didn’t want him to go alone,” he said. “So I ran out after him, before anyone could stop me.” He remembered the wind picking up, his mother’s yells, Boss’s barking as Tom stubbornly pushed forward and outran them all—the sheep, the dog, the truck zooming along the dirt road carrying his father and uncle home from town. It had felt so good, like his muscles finally got the long, burning stretch they’d needed since he’d been born. It was as if he’d finally fit into his own skin.

  “I saw the funnel cloud forming, yelled to warn everyone. I didn’t know, at the time, that the thing was one hundred and fifty miles away. Saw it clear as day.”

  “The original early-warning system,” she teased lightly. “So you weren’t lying when you said you had farm experience.”

  “Did I seem like I was faking it?” he growled, embarrassed that he’d shared anything with her. Mainly because she was looking at him like he was fucking cute or something, and Jesus, Dev was definitely going to hear about this one.

  CHAPTER

  Fifteen

  SATURDAY AFTERNOON

  Creed hadn’t left his house all day.

  Once he’d called on Oz for Dev, he’d planned on staying at Dev’s house until Oz’s arrival. But Kat had other plans, had made it impossible for him to stay there—she screeched at such high decibels in his ears that he couldn’t stand the pain and Dev had ordered him out. But not before the ghost had cornered him, held him down and tried to finish what it had started last fall at Dev’s mansion.

  Still, Creed had waited outside the house, slept in his car and made certain that Oz arrived at ACRO and gained access to Dev’s house in secret. Then he’d locked himself inside his own home, turned the lights down and lit a white candle, like his parents had taught him, and tried to decompress.

  No, the ghost hadn’t followed him home, but no matter how many showers he took, he couldn’t wipe that snaking sensation off his skin. Kat had been unusually quiet as well. Respectful, even when his thoughts and dreams turned to Annika, but Kat wouldn’t answer any of his questions about the spirit currently at residence at Dev’s.

  He’d just come out of a hot bath, had planned on putting himself to bed, where he knew he’d just toss and turn, when he heard the urgent knocking on his front door.

  He rarely had visitors. His house was ten miles away from the main ACRO compound, up a winding hill so he had a full view of the valley below him. His closest neighbors were miles and miles away, his house was shrouded in full green foliage now that the last bits of snow had finally melted. But even though the day was sunny and warm outside, he’d still had to turn on the heat. And he’d lit a fire as well.

  He’d checked his temperature in the hopes that he simply had the flu, but it remained normal.

  The pounding was getting more persistent, as if someone was actually getting ready to knock down the door. Which was a lot like something Oz would do.

  But when he finally answered the door, he found Annika there instead. And he had no doubt she would have kicked the door down.

  She stared up at him, still on the threshold of the porch, as if stepping over that invisible line would be crossing into dangerous territory.

  They hadn’t spoken or seen each other since he’d walked out of the bar Tuesday night, and she was still royally pissed. But she didn’t start right in on him, was actually restrained—it had to be because he didn’t look well. On glancing in the mirror, his normally golden skin had been pale and there were circles under his eyes.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m better now,” he said, and that was the truth. “Come on in.”

  She hesitated, then put a foot, clad in spring sandals and showing off prettily painted toenails—his favorite color, Vixen, a cross between black and purple—onto the hardwood floor in his foyer.

  He did
n’t push it, turned and headed back into his living room. After a minute, he heard her close the door and her firm footsteps echoed on the floor as she crossed into the main part of his house to see him.

  He’d sunk into the couch, a fresh chill washing over him.

  “You’re not all right, because people who are all right don’t have a roaring fire when it’s seventy degrees outside,” she said. She put a warm hand on his forehead and frowned. “You’re cool.”

  “I’m not sick.” He paused, looked her over for any fresh bruises or scrapes and saw nothing. “How was your assignment?”

  “Mission complete, as always.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I’ve heard you were on a mission too,” she said, and he knew she was lying. She was on a hunt for information, probably wanted to know more about Dev than him and he felt the anger rise inside of him. That, at least, warmed him briefly.

  “You heard correctly.”

  “With Dev?” she asked, and he didn’t answer. Kat had skittered out long before Annika arrived—sulking because Creed resisted her touch as well.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” she demanded.

  “I can’t.”

  “You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?”

  “Not everything is about you, Annika.”

  “I know that—and I don’t need a lecture from you too. But you walked out on me the other night, so I have a right to be pissed at you.”

  “Getting you pissed off is the only way to get you to come to my house? Who knew?” he muttered, pulled the blanket tighter around him and wondered if another bath would help.

  “Something’s wrong with you. I want to know where you were and what happened to make you feel like this.”

  “Are you checking up on me now? Because I didn’t think you really gave a shit about anyone but yourself. And Dev.”

  Another cheap shot, and her eyes glittered with anger. As much as he wanted to tell her that, yes, he thought her precious Dev was in trouble, he’d been sworn to secrecy. His body still tingled with an unpleasant zing whenever he thought about the spirit’s unwanted touch.