Deadly Game

by Christine Feehan

  If he couldn't make it, he wouldn't get back to Hannah and he hadn't once told her he loved her. Not once. Not even when she sat by his hospital bed giving up her strength for him to recover had he actually said the words. He'd thought them, dreamt of saying them--once he'd even started to--but he didn't want to chance losing her, so he'd remained silent.

  He protected people--it was what he did, who he was. Above all, he protected Hannah--even from himself. His emotions were always intense: his beserker rages, his need of her, the stark desire he felt when he thought of her. He had learned to shield his emotions from her almost from the time he was a boy, when he'd realized she was an empath and it hurt her to read people all the time. He'd been hiding his feelings for so long it was second nature to him, and no matter the opportunity, he always fell back on the old excuse that his job would put her in danger.

  It seemed pretty stupid now--especially when he called on her for help. He pulled his hand away from his side and looked at the thick blood covering his palm. Not bothering to answer Jackson, Jonas took a breath and leapt, the wind behind him, pushing hard so that his body was flung onto the other roof. He couldn't keep his feet or even attempt to land gracefully. He went down hard, facefirst, the air driven from his lungs and pain burning through his body like a hot brand.

  The dark closed in, fighting for supremacy, trying to drag him under. He wanted it--the peace of oblivion--but the wind whipped around him carrying a feminine voice, soft, entreating, enticing. She whispered to him as the wind ruffled his hair and caressed his nape. Come home to me. Come home.

  His gut clenched and he fought his way to his knees, his stomach heaving again. Jackson hooked a hand under his arm. "I'll carry you."

  Off the roof. Down to the street. Jackson would do it too, but Jonas wasn't going to take any more chances with his best friend's life. He shook his head and forced his body to the edge. He had nothing left but survival instinct and sheer will. He found the fire escape ladder and began his descent, every step jarring, his body screaming. The waves of dizziness and nausea began to blend together until he couldn't really tell them apart. His head felt light and the ground seemed far away, reality distancing itself farther and farther away until he simply let go and floated.

  Somewhere far away he thought he heard a woman's cry. Jackson echoed it and a hand caught the back of his shirt roughly, the sudden jar sending him right over the edge into the darkness. The last thing he heard was the sound of the wind rushing at him.

  Hannah Drake stood on the captain's walk overlooking the dark, churning sea, arms raised as she drew the wind to her, channeled it, and sent it racing across the night to Jonas Harrington. Fear and anger mixed together, two powerful emotions thundering through her heart, racing through her bloodstream to make a high-octane brew, adding fuel to the power of the wind. Tiny pinpoints of light lit up the sky around her fingers as she continued to gather and direct the force to her bidding.

  Far below her, sea spray rose into the air as waves crashed against rocks. The ocean heaved and rocked, spawning small cyclones, twisters racing across the surface, twin columns of whirling water raging right along with her.

  Hannah.

  She heard Jonas's voice in her head, the sound a caress, a soft brushing note that both warmed her and sent a chill through her body. It sounded too close to good-bye. Sheer terror swept through her. She couldn't imagine life without Jonas. What was wrong? She'd woken up with her heart pounding and his name on her lips. She'd known something terrible was happening, that his life was in danger. Sometimes it seemed to her that his life was always in danger. "Oh, Jonas," she whispered aloud, "why do you feel the need to do these things?"

  The wind snatched her question and flung it out over the sea. Her hands trembled and she bit her lip hard to maintain control. She had to get him home in one piece. Whatever he was up to, it was terrible. When he opened his mind to hers, when they connected, she only caught brief glimpses inside, as if he had compartmentalized his feelings and memories as hastily as possible. She saw pain and blood and felt his rage in a brief cataclysmic flash that he cut off abruptly.

  She needed direction to keep him safe and she found and maintained it through Jackson. He was more open to a psychic connection when Jonas was too worried about her using her energy up. Jackson let her see the layout of the alley, the condition Jonas was in, the building they had to climb.

  She sent a small acknowledgment, using warmth and color, knowing Jackson would understand, and once again lifted her arms. She commanded the five elements: Earth, the most physical of all elements; fire, both powerful and frightening; air, always moving, her favorite, her constant companion and guide, providing visualization, concentration, and the power of the four winds; water, the psychic mind; and of course spirit, the binding force of the universe itself.

  Hannah, baby, it's now or never.

  Hannah took a deep, cleansing breath and harnessed the power of the wind, aiming and focusing, using her mind to draw the elements to aid her. She whispered a small prayer of thanks and opened herself to the universe and all the potential force she could gather to aid Jonas. The air above her thickened and darkened, clouds beginning to boil and bubble in an angry brew. Electricity flashed and sizzled along the edges of the heaviest clouds and the wind began to pick up even more, so that the cyclones out at sea grew taller and spun faster across the water.

  Terror squeezed her heart and knotted her stomach. She couldn't imagine her life without Jonas in it. He was arrogant and bossy and always wanted his way, but he was also the most protective and caring man she'd ever met. How many years was this going to go on? How many times would he risk his life before it would be one time too many?

  Be safe. She whispered it in her head, sent Jonas the message, wrapped it in soft, warm colors and hoped the simple request would convey so much more. The wind picked up on her fear, on her anger as she received another flash of sight from Jackson. The two men were going up a ladder and Jonas faltered. Her heart stuttered as she saw him go down.

  Hannah. Baby. I don't think I'm going to make it home to you.

  Her heart nearly stopped. For a moment there was a lull in the storm and then fury swept through her and she let it build, that terrible need for retribution that was a well inside of her, bursting open, shattering every restraint she kept so carefully on herself. She built the wind to a ferocious pitch, a shattering fury that raced through the night to crash down like a hungry tornado in that backstreet alley so far away.

  The gale chased hapless men with puny weapons that were useless against the forces of nature. The violent gusts smashed windows and sent glass raining down. Boards were picked up and thrown as if an unruly child throwing a tantrum. Sweet, angelic Hannah directed it all, her flashes of fury sending Jonas's enemies crashing to the ground, helpless under the onslaught of wind and rain and icy hail.

  In the midst of it all, she felt Jonas slip, move farther from her, pain knifing through him--through her, the connection beginning to tear. She sent a steady airstream to lift him, the currents carrying him higher, shoving him up the side of the building to the roof and to freedom. She teased at his face and neck with ruffles of a smaller breeze to try to keep him alert long enough for Jackson to get them both to safety.

  She felt him gathering himself for one last huge effort and she sent one final blast of wind to coil around him and take him across one rooftop to the other. She felt the burst of tearing pain, an agony knocking her to her knees. She gasped, tears blurring her vision, running freely down her face. Come home to me. Come home to me. The plea was edged in reds and golds, blazing with light and need.

  She felt his reaction, the struggle to his feet, the fight to keep dizziness from taking over--the determination that he would make it back in one piece. There was another burst of pain and he slipped even more, darkness edging her vision. Desperate, she sent the wind, a rush of air to wrap around him and then the darkness took her too.

 

  Christine Feehan, Deadly Game

  (Series: GhostWalkers # 5)