Provoked dp-5

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Glancing toward the living room, she gave a short laugh. “Kirk and Worf, get off the sofa.”

  The two battered but now healthy black labs didn’t even stop snoring. She’d rescued the dogs from an abusive situation a year ago, and they’d quickly taken over the house.

  “Whatever,” she muttered. There was no sense shoving them off as they’d just jump back on the second she went upstairs. “Do you want to go outside?”

  They didn’t even open an eye.

  She shrugged. Someone from their small community had probably let the dogs out earlier. “Fine. See you in the morning.”

  An ache set up in her back that traveled to her neck as she climbed the stairs toward her bedroom. Two bedrooms shared the second floor with a bathroom between them. Old, clean, and comfortable, the house had been Amber’s home for nearly twenty years, since they’d settled in the eco-village.

  But the farmhouse didn’t seem like a home without Grandma Hilde.

  Amber trudged into her bedroom, flipping on the light. Papers spread over the wedding-band quilt Hilde had sewn for Amber from her old baby blankets. With a sigh, Amber sat and shoved the college admission papers to the side.

  The community college had open enrollment, so even though she’d only earned the GED, she’d get in. But how would she fare in the classes?

  Sure, her grandma and their small community had homeschooled her, teaching her everything from math to germ warfare. But it still wasn’t a public education. Had she learned everything the other people had? At least since it was a community college, she’d be among other twenty-five-year-olds and not a bunch of teens.

  She blinked, wincing at the dust on the hand-carved dresser across the room. A member of her community had given the stunning piece to her on her sixteenth birthday, and even the dust didn’t take away from its beauty. The house definitely needed a good cleaning before Hilde came home.

  The old-fashioned green phone on her nightstand rang.

  She grabbed the receiver, her heart racing to life. “Hello?”

  “Hi, baby girl. I got your note,” her grandmother said.

  Tears sprang to Amber’s eyes. “You’re awake.” She’d known her grandma would wake up and had left a note that she was to call immediately, regardless of the time. “The doctors said your concussion was really bad.”

  “What do they know?” Hilde coughed. “Though, whatever they gave me, I’m groggy as heck. There’s something I know I need to tell you, but my brain won’t kick into gear. What happened, anyway?”

  “Jonsie went crazy and kicked you.” Amber shook her head. The mild old horse had never even snorted loudly before.

  “Oh no. Is he okay?”

  Amber smiled. Leave it to her grandma to be worried about the horse. “Jonsie is fine. After he kicked you, he smacked his nose into the wall and needed stitches. We think he must’ve been drugged.”

  “By Hanson,” Hilde breathed.

  “Probably. But we don’t have proof, and the sheriff is Hanson’s brother-in-law, so . . .”

  “I’ll figure out something when my brain starts working again. Darn drugs.” Hilde slurred the last part.

  “Okay—I’ll come down there right now.”

  Hilde sighed. “No, you get some rest. I’m really tired.”

  Amber nodded, relief making her voice husky. “Okay. I’ll come visit you in a few hours.”

  “Visit? Come get me in a few hours. I’m coming home. ’Night.”

  Amber hung up the phone and blinked away tears. Thank goodness. Hilde was the healthiest person she knew, never even getting a cold. As usual, she’d gone down to the community barn to feed the horses. When Jonsie had knocked her out, she’d looked so fragile and suddenly old, lying on the ground.

  Picard jumped on the bed, purring as he settled into Amber’s side. She leaned over and flipped off the light, then curled around the rumbling cat. “Everything will be all right, baby.” Finally, she closed her eyes and slipped into sleep.

  Morning came far too early. A hot shower erased the aches of the previous night before Amber threw on old jeans and a sweatshirt. After she fetched her grandmother from the hospital later in the morning, she would finally register for those college classes. Hopping downstairs, she let the dogs and cat out.

  Winding into the kitchen, she glanced at the canning jars lined up on the counter. Maybe she’d take huckleberries from the freezer and make jam after retrieving her grandmother.

  A knock sounded on the door, and she paused in place. “Come on in.”

  The door opened and her friend Mason stomped inside, followed by two elderly ladies, Mildred and June.

  “We heard you ran into some trouble on the road.” Irritation darkened Mason’s faded blue eyes as he hurried into the kitchen. He rubbed the gray whiskers on his chin, a sure sign of his agitation.

  Darn Butch. The overprotective bear must’ve called when she’d had to borrow his Suburban. He, of course, had made her tell him the entire story before handing over the keys.

  “I’m fine. Though we really need to talk about Hanson because he isn’t going away,” Amber said. In fact, Hanson had upped his campaign with those drunk morons to get their property significantly. The jerk wanted the land to build a high-end golf course community by the northern rocks.

  Amber gently removed Mildred Mallosee’s coat from her frail body and helped the elderly woman to a chair at the table. “Grandma is awake and thinks she can come home today.”

  Mason dropped into a seat with a sigh of relief. “That’s good news. The doctors weren’t hopeful she’d wake up, but I knew she’d make it.”

  Yeah. The doctors had no clue how strong Hilde could be. Amber soothed her palm along the table. Hand-carved and long enough to seat their entire village of twenty people, the table bore grooves and scars showcasing family gatherings. For two decades, since Grandma Hilde and Amber had relocated to the small community farm, every community meeting had taken place at the table.

  The scent of Hilde’s natural and homemade lemon cleanser hung comfortably in the air.

  Matching oak cabinets held an eclectic mix of homemade tableware for the group. They had more than a couple of skilled potters in the community. Amber eyed the ancient coffeepot near the stove. “Anybody want coffee? I just bought organic beans.”

  June Parrymore leaned forward from her place at the table, her unruly gray hair tucked somewhat up in a hat. She tapped a huge syringe filled with a golden liquid against her large hand. “I knew Hilde would be all right—I’ll go with you to pick her up later. But forget coffee. We need to talk about the guy who kidnapped you. Was he one of Hanson’s men?”

  Kane. The mysterious, sexy-as-hell, unfortunately crazy Kane. “I don’t think so.” Amber dropped into a seat, her legs softening in relief after being on them all night. “He helped me get away from the two guys and seemed to be another lost soul. I’m sure he’s long gone at this point.”

  “What if he isn’t?” June’s lips firmed into a white line. Where Mildred barely took space, June dominated it.

  Amber blew out air. “If he isn’t, we’re in a world of trouble.”

  “Meaning what?” Mason asked.

  “Meaning, Kane didn’t seem like a guy who loses often. But I really don’t think he was with Hanson.”

  June pursed her wrinkled lips. “I don’t like the sound of him.”

  Yeah, but the guy could kiss. Amber shook her head. Where was her brain? She pointed to the syringe. “What’s in the vial?”

  June shrugged. “Tranq. We were heading down to the southern barn to knock Jonsie out so we could take a look at his stitches.”

  Amber nodded. The group all shared a love for animals. Ages mostly over forty . . . six men and fourteen women, a community who’d gathered to live together and take care of the land as much as possible. They lived off the land, protecting it.

  More than ever, Amber needed Grandma Hilde home since Hanson had picked up his campaign of terror in an effort to get th
e northern rocks.

  Mason cleared his throat. About sixty years old and honorably discharged from the military, he’d somehow become the unofficial leader of the group. Even with his gray hair to his shoulders, his bearing confirmed his military background, which was as far as he’d go in talking about his past. Everyone had learned not to ask.

  He rested calloused hands on the table. “Did you call the sheriff about last night?”

  “No.” Amber shook her head. Butch had argued they should call the police. “But I’ll head over there later in the morning and give some type of a report, though considering he’s related to Hanson, I don’t know what good it’ll do.” Besides, she couldn’t prove that Hanson’s men had messed with her car, so the trip didn’t seem worth the effort. Also, Kane hadn’t really kidnapped her, so why bother filing a complaint about him? But she’d promised Butch, so she’d go.

  Mason nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

  A tingle warmed the back of Amber’s scalp. A slight pain, more of a tickle, but something strong enough to catch the breath in her throat.

  She started to turn just as the front door ripped from the hinges and flew hard into the stairs. Splinters cascaded in all directions. Leaping to her feet, she pivoted to put her body between June and the threat. Mason was faster, reaching the end of the table and settling his stance.

  The wind threw snow to cover the wooden floor.

  Two men stomped inside. Huge men, they wore black uniforms with an odd silver insignia across the left breast. White-blond hair and deep black eyes made them almost twins, but their faces lacked similarity. Large and trim, their shoulders drew back as if at attention. The one in the lead lifted his head and sniffed the air. Seconds later he zeroed in on her, sharp canines flashing in a smile. “Destroyer.”

  The tingle exploded in her head. She staggered back. Sparks flashed so hard behind her eyes her eyelashes singed. Pain, internal and complete, compressed her lungs.

  She shook her head with a whimper.

  Mason leapt for the guy, one hand going to the jugular, the other punching to the gut. The guy growled, slamming a fist on Mason’s head. Her friend went down hard.

  June screamed, and Mildred clutched her chest.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Amber crept toward Mason and dropped to one knee. A sigh of relief escaped her as she checked for the pulse in his neck, even as agony spurted behind her eyes. She glanced up at the guy in front. “Who are you?”

  His eyes morphed to yellow and then back to black.

  She gasped, leaning over Mason to shield him. Shaking her head, she shoved down bile. Okay. Something was going on with her head and eyes. Some sort of extreme migraine. Grandma Hilde had migraines. Maybe the condition was hereditary, and Amber’s escape of them had ended.

  The guy grabbed her arm, yanking her up. “We have orders to take you, Destroyer, but killing you is permissible.” Rough and gravelly, his voice passed beyond hoarse.

  Permissible? Who talked like that? What the hell? She swallowed. “What am I, some sort of prize in a nutso scavenger hunt?” Kane had called her a demon destroyer. “What is really going on?”

  The long fingers around her arm tightened, and she bit her lip to keep from wincing. No way would she give the jackass the satisfaction. His fingers chilled her flesh even through the shirt.

  He leaned down, breath somehow cold against her ear. “Leave with us now, or we kill everyone here. With great pleasure.”

  Amber stilled and glanced at her family. Mason was unconscious, and not one of the elderly ladies could take on two huge guys. A vibration uncoiled in her gut—fear. She’d never truly felt terror until that moment. She forced her face into calm lines and whispered back, “What do you want with me?”

  “We’re going to kill you.” His soft tone matched hers. “At some point. But first, we will figure out your gifts.”

  A shiver shook her shoulders. “I don’t have gifts.” Besides having the greenest green thumb around, she had no true talents, or the last job she’d take to pay Grandma Hilde’s hospital bills wouldn’t have been in a Western bar.

  “Let’s kill them anyway.” The other guy ground out his words as if gravel lodged in his throat. “They’ve seen us.”

  Okay. There didn’t seem to be any way to reason with them. She was a pacifist, but she’d protect her family with any means necessary. If she kicked the guy holding her and he went down, did she have enough strength to take down his buddy?

  She’d left her ballpoint pen in the car.

  Her thoughts crawled through her brain as if mud had been inserted in her skull. What was wrong with her? She shook her head and focused. If nothing else, she needed to get the guys away from her friends. “Let’s go now, and I won’t fight you.” For now. Once she was away from June and the others, she’d figure something out.

  The one holding her nodded and jerked her toward the open doorway. “I’ll take her out, and you get rid of these people.”

  The other guy purred and pleasure lit his dark eyes.

  Heated air spiraled down Amber’s throat. “No.” She wrenched away from the brute, yet he held tight, tugging her toward the doorway.

  Dawn light glinted off the snowy entryway, peaceful and serene, even with the freezing air riding its beams. Amber folded at the stomach, her butt out, struggling in his grasp. “I’m not leaving them to die.”

  “Yes, you are,” he said in a hoarse monotone, pulling her into the morning.

  “No, she isn’t.” Strong and dark, Kane stood on the porch, long coat flapping in the wind.

  Her kidnapper halted and released her arm. “Kayrs.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Relief rushed through Amber so quickly she stopped struggling, her eyes widening on Kane. Two seconds later, her brain kicked in, and she shot a kick toward the guy’s knee. Her foot hit to the side and bounced off like she’d attacked a brick wall.

  With a hiss, he took a step forward and swept his hand toward her head.

  She ducked.

  Then Kane was on him, grabbing the guy around the neck and throwing him into the living room. He settled his stance, his back to Amber. “Leave, now.”

  The other guy in black smiled again and dropped into a crouch. “Killing a Kayrs will make me a legend. Hand-to-hand?”

  “No.” Kane yanked out a glowing gun and shot the guy in the chest. Green lasers rippled from the weapon, impacting the man. The jerk stumbled back, blood squirting from the wounds. “You should watch more movies, asshole,” Kane muttered. Three steps had Kane at the end of the stairs, gun pointed at the man rising to his feet. “Where’s my brother?”

  “Dead.” The guy lifted his chin, his lips tipping.

  Kane shot him in the knee.

  The guy fell to his one good knee, a low groan escaping his destroyed voice. “Still dead.”

  Kane’s shoulders vibrated. “We both know that’s not true.” He spoke softly, a promise of death in the low tones. “You know who I am?”

  “Yes. Kane Kayrs . . . the smart one. Useless in a fight.” Grabbing a sofa-end, the man shoved to his feet.

  Kane chuckled, the sound emerging harsh. “Right. I’ve spent centuries learning your anatomy. There’s a reason you sound like a Halloween ghoul, and I know all about making your vocal cords hurt even more. I can keep you alive for months during torture. Maybe years.”

  Yellow swirled in the guy’s eyes again, and his face paled. “Possibly. But I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what your brother goes through on a daily basis. No matter what you do, no matter whom the king sends, you’ll never get the youngest Kayrs back in one piece.”

  Kane’s head jerked up. “Thank you.”

  Surprise had the other guy stilling. “For what?”

  “Confirming he’s alive.” Kane fired three strange green shots into the guy’s neck and sent him sprawling into the old brick fireplace. Turning toward her, Kane’s face lacked the charm from earlier, leaving a hard predator in its place. “Believe me now?”

/>   “No.” She choked, coughing and glancing from the two downed men to Kane. “I don’t understand what’s going on. What is going on?”

  “What’s going on”—Kane tucked the gun in his coat—“is that I have to decapitate these two, and then we need to get on the road. More demons will be coming.”

  Jesus. Maybe she’d taken him too literally. Maybe “demon” meant some sort of weird cult. “So these guys are demons?” Regardless of their affiliations, and death threats, she couldn’t let Kane cut off their heads. They were dead. Someone needed to call the sheriff. Though, what could the two dead guys possibly have wanted with her?

  “Yes, these are demons.” Kane removed an eight-inch double-edged knife from his boot. “Surely you sensed them—your head has to hurt.”

  Actually, her head had stopped hurting the instant Kane shot the second guy. What was up with that? She dropped to the stairs and pressed a hand to her heated forehead. “I’m fine. Though now I’m really hot.” Biting her lip, she barely kept from swaying.

  Kane lifted an eyebrow and glanced at her face. He reached out, placing a cool palm over her forehead. “You’re burning up.” Stepping back, he rubbed his chin. “Interesting.”

  No wonder her head had hurt so badly earlier—she was coming down with the flu. “I don’t see how my being sick interests you.” She needed to get a grip on reality and call the police.

  He shook his head. “No. You’re not sick. You were fighting their powers just like white blood cells fight any infection in your body, resulting in a fever. Damn. I wish I could test your blood right now.”

  His eyes sharpened, his focus solely on her as if he’d forgotten all about the men he’d just killed.

  Mason stirred and shoved to a seated position. His blue eyes took in her, the downed men, and Kane. “What in the hell?”

  Kane eyed him. “You in charge?”