Theta Waves Box Set: The Complete Trilogy (Books 1-3) (Theta Waves Trilogy)

by Thea Atkinson

  That was the moment the Pale Rider chose to intervene. "Back off, Kat, before your gun goes off again." He was close enough now Theda could catch a whiff of his cologne. She went reeling back to Bridget's apartment and a warm tub of water, a soft mattress. She couldn't help a whimper. She told herself it was the feel of metal in her nostril that made her leak the pathetic sound, but she knew better.

  "My gun never just 'went off'," Kat said without pulling the barrel away. "You kill your way; I'll kill mine."

  "Well, you've killed enough today. We need her alive." He towered over Theda with a glare that burned through the dark. She couldn't understand how Kat could ignore it. Fearing the gun would discharge into her skull was the only thing that kept Theda from moving so much as an eyelash to blink.

  "Alive," Kat said. "Is a state of degree." She shuffled to her feet, leaning over as though she needed leverage. The feel of metal left Theda's skin for one second before blinding pain shot through her temple.

  For a paralyzing instant, she thought she was dead. Everything had lit up like a halo, behind her eyes, but the way the pain lingered, forcing her hands to her head told her she'd been struck, not shot. The next thing she registered was Ezekiel's voice, cold and quiet, and terrifying in its supreme calm.

  "Back off, Kat."

  As if by some miracle, Kat holstered her gun beneath the leather coat and stepped away. Ezekiel's hands went beneath Theda's legs, scooping her from the mattress and hoisting her into his arms. She pressed her aching head against his chest, expecting the muscles to be rigid and unyielding to a disgusting mung such as she. Indeed, it was hard, as she'd expected, but the heart within raced against her ear in a peculiar way, like a bird's heart held in trembling hands. Theda reached up to touch the spot with her palm, testing. It answered her probe with a lurch.

  Kat ran her hand through her short, boyish hair, making it stick up on end. "Seriously, Eazy? She's just a spitter. A fucken mung." Kat again, her hand on a tossed out hip.

  "She might be just a spitter and a fucken mung," Ezekiel said, his voice still somber, dead cold. "But the Beast wants her. Are you going to face him and tell him you killed her?"

  "I wasn't gonna--"Kat's tone had changed. Pleading. Afraid. Theda's mind kept trying to work out whether the fear was of the Beast or Ezekiel.

  "Save it," Ezekiel said, striding for the door. "We have work to do."

  "But she stinks, Eazy. We can't bring her like that. You know how he is."

  "So, we'll clean her up first."

  Kat looked like she'd protest but Theda could feel by the way Ezekiel kept his rigid, no-nonsense stance that she thought better of it.

  "Get my bag," he told Kat and the woman strode to the door where he'd dropped it, hefted it into her fingers and tested its weight before shrugging.

  She gave Theda a hard look as she lay cradled in Ezekiel's arms. "What's in here anyway; your delicate unmentionables?"

  "If by unmentionables you mean severed middle fingers, then yes."

  "You are one sick puppy," Kat said to him, and Theda felt him shrug as though it should be common knowledge.

  They were at the door now, and though Theda could make out shapes in the glare, she had to work at focusing. Her eyes burned as they adjusted. Several bodies lay on the floor, slumped, bleeding. So it had been Kat who had sounded all the gunfire earlier. It hadn't been Theda's imagination after all. She should have known it wasn't Ezekiel. He didn't kill with a gun. He used... he used... Sweet shit, was that the kind young man who had helped her hide from the doctor? She lifted her head off Ezekiel's chest to see better.

  "No," she said as she took in the tousled hair and the earnest chin, unable to stop the protest as she realized it was.

  Kat, a blazing redhead, Theda could see now, followed Theda's gaze and stuffed her toe into the belly of the man who'd helped Theda find the room to hide. "Teach him to be helpful," she said and chuckled. She pinned Theda with a daring gaze.

  Anger flashed behind Theda's eyelids, sparking a fire of hate in her belly. He'd been kind. He'd given her his shirt, gone to find help. That this witch would kill him for his kindness... that she would murder half a dozen other innocents... it was too much. She struggled in Ezekiel's arms, trying to get out, put her feet on the floor, push him away. She wanted vengeance.

  "You bitch," she said and worked her body so that it twisted enough in Ezekiel's arms that he had to tighten his grip, pulling her tighter against his chest.

  Kat ignored her, choosing instead to toe the inert form at her feet.

  "Leave him alone," Theda said, finally twisting enough that she put Ezekiel off-step. He had to shake her back against his chest.

  Kat gave her reluctant study. "What was that?" she asked, preoccupied. "What did she call you, Eazy?"

  "Not him, you bitch. You," Theda said and Ezekiel shushed her.

  "Fuck you, Eazy," Theda said, mocking his name the way Kat used it so intimately, hoping it would infuriate him. "She killed him."

  She felt him shrug, but he looked away at the wall as he did so.

  Kat's glance returned to the body at her feet. "Something's not right," she said and leaned down. She pulled her gun out and used it to lift the man's lab coat.

  "Forget him," Ezekiel said. "We have to--"

  "Yeah, yeah. I know." Kat pushed back to a stand. "We have a package to deliver." She looked to Theda with bald disgust.

  The fire in her belly was already flaming up to Theda's throat. "I'll give you a package," she spat. "You demonic little bitch, you."

  Kat quirked her brow unconcerned, almost playfully as Theda struggled in Ezekiel's arms. "Now you're getting it," she said.

  Ezekiel squeezed Theda closer. "Shut up, both of you." He used the force of his stride and the solid wall of Theda's shoulders to push past Kat, making her stumble against the wall. As if assuming she would tag along, Ezekiel pressed forward, toward the pedway, heading for the lab. Just watching the doors go by in the Hall, made Theda feel sick. She knew they were in the pedway above the parking lot because of the multitude of windows lining the walls, letting the light in. There was an odd sort of chanting going on from outside, the raucous noise of it filtering up through the floor and into the windows. If she craned her neck, she could catch sight of a crowd stretching out into the parking lot and toward the chain-link fence. They were shouting. Raising their hands in fists to the heavens.

  "Damn promo," Kat said. "Has its uses, but gets in the way just as often."

  A short flare of hope rose in the back of Theda's mind. She'd been on the promo. Ezekiel had threatened to create a martyr of her on the promo.

  "Are they here to protest? Do they want to save me?" she said.

  Kat snorted. "Save you?" She stopped in the middle of the pedway, putting her hands to the glass as she looked out. "You stupid mung. They want you dead."

  Chapter 11

  Dead.

  Of course. What else could Theda have expected in a world that believed in nothing but self-service. She cringed in Ezekiel's arms, letting herself feel his warmth even if it was just going to be for a short while. Even if he betrayed her, she would enjoy it while it lasted. Besides, she was far too exhausted to fight anymore. That last little bit of fury she'd shown Kat, back there in the hallway, had cost her. She'd begun to tremble as her body struggled to replace all of the adrenaline she'd wasted.

  Kat pushed away from the window, leaving a streak of grease to taunt the crowd outside. Theda counted the doors as they passed them, wondering how many she had tested on her flight from the lab and found locked. She vaguely remembered twisting two or three knobs before realizing that this section of the complex was virtually abandoned. What better place to experiment with people's very lives than in a place no one cared about? Before she could count to a dozen, she recognized the door to the lab. The trembling began in earnest then.

  "Get the door," Ezekiel commanded and Kat twisted it open, pushing it to a full yawn. It smelled the same as when she'd been in it la
st: antiseptic and hot, with a trace of something coppery. Blood, perhaps. Theda found herself wondering if they'd cleaned up the blood that had spilled from her nose when the doctor's orderly had punched her, or the blood she had spilled from Blanche's. She buried her face in Ezekiel's chest, trying to smother the images that twisted about in her mind.

  "Well, I didn't think anything could stink as much as that spitter you've got there," Kat said, clomping onto the tiles and scuffing as she found her place somewhere in the middle of the room, off toward Theda's left. "But I do stand corrected."

  "Put my bag down over there," Ezekiel said, ignoring the insult.

  "Your wish is my command."

  "Not there," he said. "Over there." Theda could feel him using the elbow beneath her head to point.

  Kat made a disgruntled sound. "I'm not some stupid lackey."

  "You're also not much of a help, but you don't see me complaining."

  Two or three steps and Theda felt herself being lowered. He was pulling his hands from beneath her when she realized he'd put her in the same chair that the doctor had forced her into, where her tear duct had been assaulted with a lobotomizing ice pick. She struggled to sit up, to resist, but Ezekiel's firm palm pressed her back into the seat. He caught her eye with his and held it for a long moment before he spoke. She couldn't read the thoughts behind those eyes, but the look of them turned her bowels to water.

  "We have to get her cleaned up," he said to the woman behind him, but his eyes never left Theda's. There was a warning in them, as though he was putting his finger against her lips to keep her quiet. Theda's heart raced as she stared into the chunks of green and swallowed hard, knowing she had better heed the warning in his expression.

  "I'm not touching her," Kat said.

  "Then, go get me something and I'll do it. And clothes. We'll need clean clothes."

  Theda could hear the suspicion in Kat's voice when she spoke. "You're not getting rid of me so you can kill her yourself, are you? Because if you are--"

  "Do as I say."

  The woman sucked at the back of her teeth but she threaded her way back through the lab and out the door. Ezekiel didn't speak again until the door clicked closed, and when he did, the words came in such a rush that Theda's traumatized mind had a hard time putting the words together into something coherent.

  "He's got Bridget," was what she thought he said, but it didn't make sense. Bridget was dead. He himself had told her so. He strode to the door that Kat had gone through and twisted it locked, then he rushed back across the room, hovering over Theda, gripping her shoulders almost painfully.

  "Did you hear me?" he asked. "Theda? Minou?" The hand that had rested so forcefully on her shoulders, moved to cup beneath her chin. The touch was so delicate, so gentle, she barely felt it. "Wake up."

  "I'm not sleeping," she said, but now that Kat left, she had the distinct impression that she actually had gone to sleep, that she was dreaming this strange turn of events.

  Everything in his body seemed to slump then. Even his face went slack, his eyes dropping to her mouth, then roaming the rest of her face, taking in the swollen cheeks. "What in the fuck did he do to you?" His hands began a sort of probing inquiry. With deft fingers, his touch whispered across her skin, trailing down her forearms, then onto her ribs. His inspection was methodical, putting her in mind of the night he had bathed her; she felt tears prick her eyes. His thumbs traced the bones while his fingertips tapped out a wordless count. She winced without meaning to when his touch met the bruise left by one of the doctor's orderlies. When he saw it, he cursed.

  "I'm going to kill him," he said without a trace of emotion.

  "Which him?" Theda asked, thinking of the good doctor and his cronies. They'd all hurt her. She tried to roll off the chair to her feet. She wasn't sure exactly where this was going, but she'd be damned if she'd lie here and wait for Kat to get back and decide to pull her gun out again. She didn't manage more than an inch before his hands were back on her shoulders, twisting her toward him. He searched her face, those gorgeous green eyes probing into her own, then dropping again as he released her and took a step backward. She had the peculiar sense that he was afraid of her.

  "We don't have much time," he said, and it was as though he couldn't force himself to meet her eye again, as though doing so in the first place had been a mistake. She watched him reach into his boot and her mouth went dry as he lifted his monstrous knife and pointed it toward her. She was just about to protest when the blade descended, cutting into the friendly orderly's shirt and then snicking through the johnny ties. The material fell apart, leaving her body exposed to his scrutiny. She could feel the goose bumps rise on her skin, and even though she was as vulnerable as she could be, the only thought that entered her mind was: finally. She'd grown tired of waiting for death. Tired of fighting the fight.

  He sucked in a sharp breath when his gaze fell to her rib cage. She didn't have to look to know that there was a fist sized bruise there. She watched almost in a daze as he lowered his head and brushed his lips against the tender spot. He let his lips linger and then he turned his cheek toward her skin, hovering just above, tickling the fine hairs. His cheek felt rough as the day old whiskers channeled his breath down to her navel, making her shiver.

  "I'm sorry, Minou," he said, and it was like some slow-motion movie she was watching. She couldn't speak because she was so mesmerized by the strangeness of his actions. Even as he abandoned her skin to unzip and dig into the duffel bag, she watched with a sort of fevered detachment, thinking it had to be the strangest martyrdom in the history of mankind.

  She expected the next thing to come from the duffel to be something equally as monstrous as his knife; perhaps a sledgehammer of sorts to drive a stake into her chest. She had a ridiculous vision of clichéd vampire movies and would have chortled at the ludicrousness of it except her throat was tight with fear.

  When he came up again from the bag, it was with a heavy sweatshirt that he shook open. With tenderness she didn't know he possessed, he pulled it over her head and worked her hands into the sleeves.

  "I had to," he was saying. "He's got Bridget. I thought I killed her. He certainly made me think so." The first arm gave him some trouble, the one closest to the sore rib, but as gentle as he was, he was also efficiently fast. She wanted to question him, protest, but he kept talking as he worked, giving her no time to speak. By the time he was working sweatpants onto her feet, pulling them up her legs, he had lost his detached tone and was beginning to mutter to himself. "I can't save her and save you too."

  Information was coming too fast for Theda to process. And there was a sense of urgency as he dressed her despite the gentle and tender way he did so.

  "Bridget's alive?"

  He took some rubber clogs out of his bag and pushed them onto her feet.

  "Ezekiel?" Theda put her hand on his wrists, wrapping her fingers around it. It was the first time she'd willingly touched him since he'd left her here and it got his attention long enough that he stopped digging through the duffel bag and regarded her, still not meeting her eyes, instead watching her mouth. She took the opportunity to ask at least one question.

  "How can she be alive?"

  "She just is. And I need her to stay that way."

  "And to stay that way, you can't save us both," Theda said miserably. "So you're going to kill me."

  "Yes." He went back to digging into his duffel bag, pulling out a cap and sunglasses. "Here." He pushed them both into her hands. "You think you can manage those?" His hands went to his own jacket, patting it down as though he was searching for something.

  "Ezekiel? A smear?" Theda licked her lips. She thought the least she could do was let her go to bliss as he took her life. "I could use one."

  He gave her an annoyed look. "If you want to go back to that shit, you can get it from Ami."

  "Ami?" Now she was really confused. "Ami is dead."

  "Haven't you been listening? No, he's not. He's alive."


  "I have been listening, but you're not making any sense."

  "Stop talking so much. We don't have time."

  "Because you need to kill me before she gets back." Theda was surprised at how bland she sounded at the prospect. He still hadn't offered her a smear to help her through the worst of the flames.

  "Yes," he said at the statement. "And if you don't shut up, I'm not going to get a chance to." He reached beneath her again, scooping her from the chair. She rested perfectly in his arms, fit so nicely into his body. She wanted to stay there.

  He pivoted in place, scanning the room, evidently. He muttered aloud to himself, doing some sort of verbal check, then with the hand beneath her knees, grabbed for the gown he'd left shredded on the chair and wadded it into a ball that he over-handed onto her belly.

  Without another word, he lugged her through the opposite door, the one she remembered the good doctor leaving through after he'd tried to lobotomize her. The Pale Rider looked both ways as he opened it, and then slipped out, pulling it closed without a sound. She felt him inhale deeply and then he was running and she was jostling about in his arms clumsily, trying to keep herself rigid enough that the sore ribs didn't make her cry out.

  Theda watched each door streak by, listened to the way his heart raced in his chest. They were in the pedway, again, before she realized his decision to murder her was not a sanctioned one. Why else would he be abducting her? Why else would he try to distract his comrade? She could hear the screaming and chanting, again, coming from the parking lot and understood he planned to bring her outside, to do the deed in front of the hundreds of vigilantes. She felt the wings of panic flutter against her ribcage.

  "What are you doing, Ezekiel? It's crazy," she said. "You don't have to do this."

  He ignored her, slowing down as he approached the hallway where Kat had massacred several of the facility's orderlies and residents. He stopped, finally, outside the closet she'd hidden in. He tapped the door with his toe.