THE PHOENIX CODEX (Knights of Manus Sancti Book 1)
Page 31
The wind picked up with an almost human wail, and he cowered, covering his private parts with his freezing hands, utterly bereft of dignity. After a minute, the wind subsided. His feet were bleeding now, and he wanted to lie down and curl up in a ball. That could mean death. He had to keep moving. If he’d had a phone, he could’ve called 911 or a friend.
What friend? He couldn’t think of one. Loneliness and profound abandonment cut through him like another bitter gale.
Light in the distance. Headlights. He broke out into a run, his heart thudding hard in his chest. “Hey!” His voiced sounded strange to his ears, deeper and more growly than he’d expected. “Over here!”
The vehicle came straight at him, bumping over the rocky terrain. He stopped still in his tracks. It pulled up close enough that he took a step back, shielding his eyes with his forearm against the blinding glare of the headlights. Two figures exited the black SUV, leaving the engine running and one of the back doors opened as they advanced.
Both men held guns. Shit. He raised his hands in the air. In the headlights’ beams, he could see them clearly. The one who’d been driving had shoulder-length dark hair and wore a black leather jacket. His face was taut, observant. The other guy was taller, with a buzzcut, his eyes blazing with hostility.
“Hey, easy,” he told the gunmen. It was hard to sound casual with chattering teeth. A woman emerged from the backseat of the vehicle with a few awkward hops. “Just trying to get a little help here.”
The hostile guy’s mouth curled back in a snarl, and he raised the gun. Christos. The leather jacket guy said, “Don’t shoot!” Almost at the same time, the woman shouted, “Read him first! Make sure!”
The hostile guy closed the short gap between them. Disarm him, he thought. He could envision the quick moves it would take, but if he succeeded, would the other man shoot him? The hostile guy grabbed his arm.
Something cracked his skull like a walnut. The pain extracted a guttural cry out of him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The coldness disappeared. I’m dead. No, he was still conscious, because his head still pounded. He opened his eyes again.
They both stood on a city street lined by three-story buildings under a violet twilight sky. Neon signs, no people. The unmistakable, vaguely sexual scent of the ocean. What the hell is going on?
The other man looked wildly around him, his mouth parted, breathing hard. “What…” His eyes glossed over with unshed tears. “How are you here?”
He’s crazy. Maybe we both are. Carefully, he asked, “Where are we?”
“You’re confused. It’s okay.”
Everything dimmed, and cold air surrounded them again. He was back in the other landscape, the guy still gripping his arm. The man in the leather jacket and the woman stood closer to him now. She balanced on one leg, a hand on the hood of the car for support. She had big brown eyes, a prominent nose, and dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, though a few strands had escaped.
The guy who’d somehow ripped him to a different dimension and back shoved the gun back into his belt. “It’s Michael.” His voice came out rough, and he swiped a hand across his eyes. “I don’t know how, but…” Suddenly, the guy threw his arms around him and pulled him close. “Christos, corín. How are you here?”
He stiffened in shock. The man’s breath shuddered against his body. First, he’d threatened him and hurt him, and now he was embracing him like a long-lost friend? While he was naked, no less. The wrong word or move might swing the stranger into violence. He was probably mentally ill.
The man released him partially, still gripping him by the shoulders. “I’m sorry. It was all my fault. I—” A wave of pure amazement washed over his features. “You’re really here.” The guy in the leather jacket had a similar expression, and the woman covered her mouth with her hand, tears standing in her eyes.
They couldn’t all be crazy, could they? He gave an awkward laugh. “Look man, I’m sorry,” he said to the guy who’d hugged him. “I have no idea who you are.”