by Angel Payne
We sprinted from the shelter.
Raced a storm.
Hoped like hell we made it in time to a riverfront that was, by now, very likely a lakefront—where a pair of six-year-olds had wandered, filled with impossible dreams.
Holy Mary, full of grace…
This time, I prayed it sincerely.
Please, please, don’t let us be too late.
Chapter Eleven
‡
Some experiences you couldn’t compare to anything in a movie.
Not that I could even think of movies right now. Or a single thing beyond surviving the next moment. Hopefully. Then the one after that. Hopefully.
God, I wished how the mental italics weren’t necessary. But they were. A layer of boldface would have been appropriate too.
As we drove—hydro glided?—our way through Sancti’s near-empty streets, I contemplated yet another Hail Mary reprise. Forget air turbulence; careening through a hurricane took home the award for best holy-shit-am-I-going-to-live moment from this trip. Or any other.
Despite the insane conditions, Captain Storm—yes, that was really Shai’s last name, and no, I didn’t go one inch near the snarky possibilities for it—handled the big SUV with the same quiet focus he directed at everything else, especially Crista. No time for playing matchmaker right now, though. Had I just called the conditions insane? No. Impossible fit so much better. Beyond the front windshield, the wind had turned the rain into sideways slashes, and water wasn’t the only thing getting hurled. Items like wood crates, whole bushes, and a pair of bicycles blew past the car. Jayd, Crista and I were death-gripping each other by the time Shai braked the vehicle on a rise overlooking tempestuous waters.
I did not want to get out.
The river looked like the Nile in The Ten Commandments—the epic Cecil B. Demille version, not the lame remake. The violent currents, filled with enough construction debris to confirm part of the Bridge construction had indeed given out, were bisected by rows of trees and structures that must’ve lined the river’s shore a few hours ago. Now, the trees resembled decorative parsley and the roofs poked from the flood like broken teeth of a giant zipper—or so it seemed when I could see anything through the sheet-like rain.
Shit was officially insane.
A standpoint Crista clearly argued—and put her money where her mouth was too.
We’d barely stopped before the woman clicked free from her seat belt, scrambled for the door, then tumbled out. Jayd was right behind her. At once, a huge gust slammed them back against the car, and they gripped the car handles for purchase. While I gasped, gaping like a numb dork, Jagger and Shai went into action. With powerful efficiency, they swooped out. Jagger flattened himself against Jayd, and Shai imitated the move for Crista—though she sure as hell wasn’t happy about it. Instantly she fought the confinement, flailing like crazy, but Shai tucked his head against her neck, barking forceful orders into her ear. I couldn’t understand the Arcadian but I understood the tone. He wasn’t going to be disobeyed. Luckily, she came to the same conclusion, and stilled.
Poor Jagger wasn’t having such an easy go with the princess. She gave back the yells as swiftly as he bellowed them, and batted away the rain poncho he offered with a few words I could make out, like “bossy ape”, “useless poncho”, and “not a little girl anymore”. Even under the circumstances, I almost broke out giggling. After this whole thing was over, Jagger was either going to murder her or screw her silly. After watching the way that warrior moved, I hoped Jayd was in for the latter.
They all turned, obviously preparing to descend the slope.
And I was still sitting in here, creating the mental Vegas odds pool about a Jagger-Jayd hookup.
My ass had to move, no matter how freaking scared that made me.
“Cheese and rice,” I berated in a mutter. “Come on, Luce. You’ve got this, dammit.” For the sake of helping two innocents out on their own in this shit without a Shai or Jagger of their own.
Right now, I was damn glad for the ones we had—explaining why I crawled across the seat and exited the SUV through the same door Crista and Jayd had used. The two of them would have to be happy sharing the guys for human anchor services.
Nothing could have been more true, as soon as I was hit by the barrage.
It seemed the only appropriate word for everything that hit me next—literally. The rain stung like BB pellets. The wind threatened to scalp me. The combined noise from both had me wondering where Mother Nature had hidden her subwoofers. The whomp against my ears was more deafening than the newest superhero movie in equally super stereo.
Without shame, I accepted the poncho Jayd had dissed. Somehow, I managed to get the thing over my shoulders, and my arms stabbed into the draping holes. Instantly, I understood the princess’s disdain. This thing was freaking useless. I was soaked in seconds.
Jagger inched toward the SUV’s hood, using the car for cover, his massive thighs bunching beneath his wet black combat pants. He angled one arm back, stabbing that forefinger toward the ground, and Shai backed up the order, yelling, “Get down! Stay low!”
Not a problem, buddy.
Unbelievably, Jayd joined me in complying with that—though the direction was as good as a flip-the-bird for Crista. She inched forward in Jagger’s wake, pushing up next to him, peering over the SUV’s hood. I made out the shadow of his glare as he looked down to her intent profile.
“Do you see anything?” she yelled—though the tempest already provided the answer. Well, lack of one. As far as we could see, the landscape was the same. Water. Mud. Rubble. Water.
Lots and lots and lots of water.
And nothing else—except for brief lulls in the wind allowing for glimpses up the river, where the higher banks existed. Flashes of lightning helped illuminate the skeletons of scaffolding that were still standing, battered over and over by the waves until relenting another chunk into the drink, making my own gut plummet with a strange, drowning foreboding.
No. No, dammit.
The kids had to be alive.
Children were resourceful—and a lot smarter than people usually gave them credit for. I wasn’t a mom but had vast experience with the subject, having thwarted thousands of little hands swiping at wedding cakes, chocolate fountains, and gift tables over the years. If the intelligence of their big sister was any clue, those twins would have found a way to stay safe. Somehow…
“There!” Shai shouted, pointing at a roof a little taller than the others. “That’s the top of the Parryss Boathouse. To the right of that is where the dock usually begins. Those poles, painted white at the top—”
“Are the pilings securing the end of the dock.” Jayd pressed a hand to the base of her throat as her gaze extended across the white-capped waves. “Where the twins might have gone to get a better view of the storm.”
“Yes,” Shai said with quiet finality.
“Shit,” Jayd and I muttered at the same time. Jagger layered another oath atop them, in gritted Arcadian.
Our reactions were like fingers on a trigger—on a gun named Crista. She bolted from the truck, spraying mud in her wake, manic with fear. “No! They are safe. I can feel it. I know it!”
“Crista!” Jayd and I screamed it together—before sprinting out as well. But while Jayd was yanked short, caught around the waist by a cursing Jagger, I went over the side of the hill—where my foot hit a slick spot of mud at once. I went down for the count, careening down the slope on my butt.
“Lucina!” Jayd again.
“Fuck.” A snarling Jagger.
But not a single sound from Shai—fully explained the next second, as he vaulted past me, chasing after Crista.
“Thank God,” I rasped, drenched in relieved warmth, replaced nearly at once by an overall chill. The rain and mud had started seeping under my clothes in force. The storm was by no means a chilled front, but I was a thin-skinned California girl down to the helix of my DNA. Mud in the cooch was not my gig. On the other ha
nd, my brain’s frantic orders to move were wholly ignored by my quivering body. My limbs felt dipped in chilled glue. I was frozen in place, terrified for Crista but even more fearful of following her.
I managed to lurch to my feet and stumble back up the hill, helped the last few feet by an equally muddy Jayd. Once we struggled back to the truck, the wind had a temper tantrum again, and we had to grip the truck’s wheel well to stay upright. I turned my head, trying to locate Crista and Shai, but the world had turned into a Jackson Pollock painting. The mud, the hill, the river, and the sky were splattered everywhere, mashing into a wild palette of brown, gray, green, and black. I yearned to close my eyes just to right my balance but didn’t dare. What if another bicycle materialized from the mist—or worse? And what the hell would “worse” look like?
And wasn’t that enough to take my mind on a new horror ride of possibilities?
Especially as I spotted Crista and Shai again.
Jayd’s cry of shock joined my own.
“What the hell?” The shout came from Jagger—as he sloshed down the hill toward them, apparently to help Shai out with a still-struggling Crista. Not that it was going to do any good. The men, bigger and stronger than the fairy-sized woman, were also bogged down by heavier clothing and holsters full of equipment. Shai also had a loop of heavy rope draped across his torso. Crista rocked nothing but skinny jeans, a T-shirt, and a hard finger on the giant panic button.
“By the Creator,” Jayd blurted. “The little imbezak is going to get herself into serious trouble.”
I nodded agreement but finished the action with bobbing my head toward the river. Correction. The freaking lake. “We have to help somehow!”
“Agreed,” she answered, to my relief. But no sooner had we pushed away from the SUV and started down the hill than we skidded and stopped, stunned by a new object rushing from the storm mists.
No. Not an object.
A sight that did answer the question about what “worse” would look like.
Like a soaked, stalking, glowering, Shiraz Cimarron.
Who, as he stomped closer, sure as fuck took care of the chill in my bones. And heated up a whole lot of everything else from his bad-ass presence.
Who, despite looking like he yearned to tear my head off, ripped me with the longing to kiss his face off.
Who, despite the glory of his dripping hair, search and rescue uniform, and combat boots, rocked banners of bloodshot in his eyes rivaling the neon orange of his jacket. His steps were mighty but heavy. The weight of a thousand kingdoms dragged on his shoulders.
“What the fuck are you doing out here?”
“Lovely to see you too, brother.”
“I still know where you keep your favorite shoes, Jayd.”
“Ass,” she groused.
“Get back in the truck,” he countered. “And while doing so, tell Fox a temporary insanity plea isn’t going to work this time.”
Jayd’s feet made slurping plops as she planted them and folded her arms. “I will do nothing of the sort.”
In solidarity, I braced next to her. “Neither will I.”
Shiraz scrubbed a hand up his face. Continued it all the way over his head. Like that prevented more water and mud from streaming back down. “I have not even started with you yet.” As he glared at me—through me—a sole refrain beat through my system as an appropriate riposte.
Oh, please start with me. Then on me. Then inside me.
Instead I managed, “Nice to see you too.”
“Nice is not a term you want to bring up with me right now, Miss Fava.”
And just like that, the darker glare. The prowling, possessive, addiction-worthy energy—just like the shit he’d pulled last night before jumping on me, only amplified by one hell of an insane situation.
Sheeez-usss.
Between the adrenaline from the storm and the adrenaline from him, it was a miracle I didn’t suffer a coronary there in the mud.
No time for coronaries now. First—and much more important—things first.
“Have you eaten at all?” I demanded him. “Or even rested?” A lot of hours had passed since he’d taken Crista and me to the shelter. Dawn had to be near, though I highly doubted the sky would look much different than now.
“Questions are not your privilege right now either, Lucina.”
“How convenient for you,” Jayd sneered. “Just as it shall be so convenient when you drop over from exhaustion.”
His jaw steeled. I hoped to hell Jayd didn’t notice how my breath snagged. Couldn’t be helped. His ticked-off look was seriously one of his sexiest. “We have had just a few items on the task list tonight.”
His dry irony didn’t go unnoticed, and I would’ve shown a little more appreciation, except that some subjects needed to be front burner right now. “Like finding a pair of runaway twins?”
His brows crashed down. “Not yet.” He snapped his gaze to where Crista and Shai still grappled. “We are doing everything we can.”
Again, he latched a breath right out of my throat—as he melted my heart a little more. He cared about those kids—because he cared deeply for the woman who worked for him. But there was more. He was a prince deeply connected to his country, beyond just the required royal patriotism.
“Crista thought the twins would have come here,” Jayd stated.
Shiraz nodded. “Logical.” His comment sealed another speculation as fact. Parryss Landing was to the Sancti kids what Santa Monica had been to my friends and me. Water, sun, and adventure, though on a smaller and safer scale. Just not today. Just not now.
Definitely not in the next moment, exploding with Crista’s hysterical scream. Then her fight against Shai’s grip, resembling a panicked cat clawing its captor. Once I tracked the line of her attention, out into then across the water, I deciphered her insta-tigress mode.
Weirdly—miraculously—one buoy in the river hadn’t been torn off its moorings. It bobbed wildly on the waves, clinging to position despite the force of the wind and the beating of the water—
And the two figures huddled together atop its base.
A small boy and a small girl.
“Forryst!” Crista shrieked. “Fawna! Hang on! Hang on!”
“Holy hell,” I rasped. Next to me, Shiraz voiced the same thought in a guttural Arcadian oath.
“Crista!” he bellowed. “You are ordered to stand down. Stay. There.” He bounded toward her and Shai, each step sending up a powerful splash. “Captain Storm,”—I assumed that was really Shai’s last name, but more irony, anyone?—“keep her secured!”
“Trying!” Shai gritted—only to join his filthy Arcadian to Shiraz’s, grabbing at the eye Crista had nearly scratched out, and the balls to which she’d landed a solid knee. With a loud moan, the soldier sank to his knees—
As Crista tore free, and ran like a madwoman into the river.
A madwoman with a damn death wish.
Chapter Twelve
‡
“Creator’s fucking mercy.”
It spewed from Shiraz as he chased Crista. Jagger yelled the same thing while sprinting down the hill. He quickly bypassed Shiraz, who halted to snap a walkie-talkie off his belt then yell into it. By then, Jayd and I had caught up with him. Since most of his orders were in fluent Arcadian, I only discerned every fourth or fifth word. The important stuff was noticeable, like kod rouge (“code red”), priorlik (“priority”), and chenklars.
Children.
I watched his profile, ashamed to admit how every other heartbeat in my chest—and there were a lot of those, considering the adrenaline had really kicked in—was still dedicated to utter fascination with his profile. Meshing the dirt-spattered warrior before me now with the sleek corporate machine of a man I’d met yesterday…“head trip” was getting a fun mental rewrite.
As if I wasn’t preoccupied enough, trying to keep the man out of any wet dreams he hadn’t infiltrated. There were very few left. Only the hot ‘n’ sweaty tattooed guy ones. If
the man had tatts, I didn’t want to know about—
Shit.
One second of distraction and fate gleefully kicked me in the ass for it.
Forcing me to watch, my mouth parting like a hooked fish, as he stripped away his jacket, utility belt, and T-shirt—down to the splendor of his muscle-upon-muscle torso.
And the pair of stunning tattoos dominating the planes of his chest.
There was one on each huge pectoral, both in black with red shading: a hawk across the left, a dove taking flight on the right. They were beautiful and so was he—a wonderfully shallow thought, one I should have grabbed with all my might as he shoved his clothes and the radio into my arms—but instead, I let my mind plummet to deeper places. Scarier shadows.
He was going to join Jagger and Shai—and jump in after Crista.
And he might never get back out alive.
The conclusions collided, launching a shrill cry from my throat.
“Shiraz!”
He was already two strides into the drink. He halted, sending up a bigger spray, and hurried back to stand in front of me. Tall. Magnificent. Strong. But would the river be stronger?
Enough selfishness. Unbelievably, Crista was already halfway to the buoy, Shai and Jagger right behind her, but that meant nothing. Anything could still happen. That knowledge was stamped across Shiraz’s face—and now, in my agonized heart.
An agony I fully showed him while twisting a hand into his hair, desperately pulling him down. Our lips crashed clumsily but passionately. Close enough for a code red. I wasted no time jamming my tongue against his, needing to mark his taste, his scent, and his heat on me, inside me. Well, as much as the situation allowed.
In three seconds, it was over.
But I greedily grabbed three more. Through them, I kept him close. Speared him with the urgent grit of my gaze before stabbing him with you-will-listen-to-me syllables.
“Be. Careful.”
He nodded. Once. There was no time for sap, as much as I longed for it. I could only watch, blistered I couldn’t do anything more than stand there with his sister, watching him dive into the teeming shit-fest.
