The man under the sign lowered his hands. “Where is my family?” His voice slipped from an innocuous California accent to one with a slight hint of Spanish.
Andreas peered at the man. He stood in the shadows under the sign, but his stance looked familiar. Andreas stepped closer, holding his calling scents. If this man was class-one, he likely had enough resistance to keep a surprise enthralling at bay. “Who are you looking for?”
The man adjusted the set of the pack on his back. “I got a call. She said I had to go. I had to completely disappear.”
The Spanish tones in the man’s voice vanished as if he suddenly remembered he’d long ago trained the other language from his vocal cords. “She told me things only a Fate would know and she said if I didn’t listen, the other Fates would find my wife and my daughter. She told me that if they stayed hidden for another nine years they would be okay, but I had to come back at the right time. She said my daughter would need me and that if I didn’t come, she would waste away.”
Andreas’s mouth opened and closed. The man Dmitri had been searching for these past two and a half weeks had just walked out of the woods. The man Rysa most likely needed more than anyone else right now just stepped into Andreas’s hands under the orders of some unknown Fate.
“Tell me your name.” Though Andreas knew perfectly well who hid in the shadows. Once Andreas got a good look at his hazel eyes with their internal sunburst of green, he would know for sure.
“She told me to come here today, at this time,” the man continued. “She said the twelfth of this month. I was to go to The Land of Milk and Honey.” He looked down at his feet, then back up at Andreas. “She said I had no other choice. My wife’s family was looking for her. They’d take my daughter. If we ran together, they would know. They’d sense me. I had to leave. Where are they?”
Andreas’s gut dropped. The twelfth had been six nights ago—the night Vivicus blew up the bar. And harmed Rysa. “Sandro, how have you been keeping track of the date?”
The man dug in his pocket. “A calendar. Sometimes it’s been difficult. I don’t always remember. My attention wanders.”
He stepped to the side and then back as if to keep from bouncing on the balls of his feet. “The Fate told me I had to stay away from people. That I needed to be careful and not get into anyone’s systems. Or have my picture taken. Or use a cell phone. She told me how to stay hidden from the Parcae.”
“For nine years?”
Alessandro Roberto de la Turris, one of the world’s most powerful class-one healers and the son of Andreas’s brother Severo, the man who vanished from Rysa’s life nearly a decade ago, held up a little book. “I have been careful.”
Obviously not careful enough. And more obviously, his decade minus a year had taken a deep toll on his mind. One he had suffered to protect his wife and daughter.
Sandro slowly walked out of the shadows under the sign. A glint hit his unusual eyes and for a second Andreas thought they burst with the same LED green flickering above his head.
“Where is my daughter?” Fear vibrated off Sandro. He could not contain it, or hide it. He jittered, his face pulling and deforming as if he were about to scream.
Andreas pointed at the hotel. “Rysa is in Portland. I will take you.” He waved Sandro over. “But we clean you up while I make flight arrangements, okay?” Sandro should not look like a transient when he met his daughter.
Sandro stopped fifteen feet away. Andreas could most likely enthrall him at this distance, but was not sure. “Sometimes I miss information, but when I learned to doctor, I learned ways to minimize it. I had to. I’ve been careful.” He held up the little book again.
So much of Rysa reflected from Sandro. Or Sandro reflected off Rysa. Andreas knew he needed to distract a mind that could easily fall into a pit of self-blame. “Sandro, do you remember me?” They had met several times.
“Andreas Theodulus Sisto. The Second of the Dragons’ Legion. I descend from you, as well.”
“Yes, Sandro, it is true.” Andreas waved him closer again. If he was lucky, he’d have Sandro in Portland by midmorning. It all depended on the enthrallable normals available at the small local airport.
“Why is she in Portland? The Fate told me she would be here.” He did not move.
“She was here, my friend. But now she is not.” Slowly, Andreas moved closer. “We waste time.”
Sandro’s eyes narrowed. “It is not the twelfth, is it?”
“No, it is not.” Andreas watched closely, looking for signs of a Rysa-like spiral. But he doubted it would be as animated with her father as it was with her. Sandro had had centuries to learn to hide his disabilities.
And, Andreas suspected, would manifest problems in the way so many men did—with anger.
Sandro’s back tensed and his body became rigid. “I miscounted.”
Andreas walked toward Sandro and blew out a large dose of the ‘calm’ and ‘clearheaded’ that worked for Rysa. “You will still be a blessing to your daughter. Come.” Closer by, Sandro’s unwashed body reeked. How had he been living these past nine years?
“Listen to me, Andreas Sisto. The Fate was explicit.” Sandro made one more quick step to the side, then stopped, as if he realized the movements his body made. Andreas doubted he’d see the sidestep again.
Sandro looked up at the sky. “She said ‘the hidden ones will find the way.’ Do not speak to anyone of my arrival, not even my daughter.”
“I will do as you say.” He’d enthrall the entire airport, if he had to. But he had one more question to ask: “Who told you this, Sandro?” What Fate, other than Sandro’s wife Mira, could hold sway over a de la Turris?
Sandro began walking when Andreas motioned him toward the hotel. “She said ‘When you are asked my name, you are to hold your tongue.’ I do not think she was acting in the best interest of her triad.”
Andreas waited, but Sandro said no more. They walked in silence toward the hotel, Andreas wondering. Had Sandro been manipulated? Was he taking a time bomb to Portland? Should he call Anna, even with Sandro’s orders to not speak of his return?
He could enthrall everyone and be done with it. But as he stepped across the rough pavement, truly smelling for the first time the humidity-laden Missouri air, he realized that this moment had shocked him enough to make sure his questions rolled right on by.
Deep inside, he also suspected this moment tipped several balances, and he had learned over his many years not to overcorrect. To swing too far and too fast the other way could not only tip a balance too far in the opposite direction, but completely throw it off its fulcrum.
Andreas Sisto, a man who understood the need to right the universe, watched the missing father of the center of this whipping mess walk determinedly toward a shower and fresh clothes, so that he could, finally, help his family. And Andreas would make it happen.
And happen with the right measure.
Neither Rysa nor the Dracae could tolerate more tipping.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Lightning erupted across the horizon. The sky split open for a bright moment and Rysa felt as if all the universe’s what-was-is-will-be spilled onto the world.
She closed her eyes, pinching tight, and concentrated on the after-image. She stood in an open loading dock, on the backside of the warehouse, an apple in her hand. The vehicles were mostly packed and Anna and Derek had gone in to eat after Derek left her tray.
Billy hid somewhere in the stacks of pallets, thankfully giving her some peace.
Rysa bit into her apple. They’d be driving soon. Rysa was about to spend two days in the stolen sedan with Mister Invincible and his magic cowboy hat, wondering when Dmitri would find them a healer strong enough to do any good. And willing to help. Because at this point, Rysa didn’t know what to do. But she wasn’t about to tell Ladon that. Or that she hurt.
The storm pushed in, but she needed air as much as she needed food. And she needed calm. But what she needed more than anything was what she�
��d been telling Ladon he needed—healing.
Vivicus broke her when he dropped his poison into her throat. He cranked up her abilities to ultra-high and broke off the lever. She was pretty sure he did it to ensure he’d have the brightest, clearest picture of what he meant to copy. But how he thought he’d mimic her abilities when they were so glaringly overproducing, she could not fathom.
If she didn’t get them under control, they’d kill her. She’d melt, like a wicked witch. And Ladon and Dragon would be left alone in the world. Again.
She hiccupped, her fear for her own life suddenly, completely subsumed by her fear for theirs. If she failed to find a solution, she would not only fail herself, but she would fail to do her job as the healer of dragons. And she would fail the world.
Across the loading dock parking lot, another flash of lightning backlit the next building over. The bulk of the cooling unit on top of the outbuilding, the roof access next to it, the vents, all flashed from deep shadow green to a gleaming blush pink. All lines clarified, all edges hardened. The lightning froze the moment inside a flood of light so hot it looked cold.
The behemoth cooling unit took up half the roof. Round shapes butted against towers swaddled in pipes and vents. Rust dotted the surface, bursting through the flat grey primer as if the whole building was allergic to whatever it warehoused.
On top of it all, silhouetted by the lightning, squatted Ladon. He leaned forward onto the toes of his boots, balancing on the highest point of the highest pipe of the unit, his forearms resting on his thighs. He scanned the building in which she stood, watching, as always, for any and all threats.
Her Ladon, sitting like an archangel above the war, watching over her.
Another flash turned the sky a blistering white. Dragon circled on the roof below Ladon, walking the ledge. He mimicked, but the lightning blasted too quickly and for a split second he appeared, a shadow ghost of a dragon watching over this small corner of Portland.
Rysa breathed in—the storm brought static-charged fresh air. The electricity seemed to be clearing the ever-present Burner stench. Or maybe it was the wind.
Or maybe she didn’t care anymore. But her tongue felt clean and all her senses buffed smooth. Thunder rolled through the lot between the buildings, picking up speed as it crashed away from the city.
Rysa bit into her apple. Across from her, Ladon didn’t move. He watched, keen-eyed, her superhero in black.
The fruit tasted flat. Not mushy, but old. She chewed it slowly.
What she wanted to taste was too far away.
He would stay on top of the cooling unit for the rest of the day making sure she was safe, no matter if a tornado came through. Or if the lightning became dangerous.
Or if a downpour soaks us both.
Rysa dropped her hand to her side, the half-eaten apple still in her fingers. A downpour. Sheets and sheets of water washing everything out of the air.
Did her seers drop this bit of knowing through the white noise clogging her mind, or did she figure it out on her own?
She had to try. She called her future-seer, asking a very specific question about Ladon. About his touch. And his lips.
A white-noise driven shudder rolled up her spine, her belly contracting and her breasts thrusting out. Her back arched. She smelled his warmth. His sunshine. Felt his lips on her neck and his fingers between her thighs. A soft moan escaped. Pain hit at the same time, but it only heightened her body’s response to her vision. Moaning, she dropped the apple and leaned against the loading dock wall, pressing her breasts against the cold steel of the roll-up door’s frame.
This time, it would work. She had to believe that the rain would suppress her calling scents.
Another bolt of lightning pulsed, followed by a loud, fast crack of thunder. The worst of the storm was about to wash over the warehouse.
She glanced up. Ladon had come down off the cooling unit and stood on the edge of the roof, one hand on the invisible Dragon, the other on the low wall in front of him. Big raindrops splattered against the concrete of the dock. And onto her man.
She pointed at the lot, to several stacks of pallets, then signed Meet me.
This place, the neighborhood full of rich hipsters over the hill and on the other side of the stand of trees, Portland herself, the river, didn’t matter. The rain made everything the same. And washed away everyone’s sins.
The drops came faster, heavier. Soon, it’d be hard to breathe.
She ran into the alley, into the rain, and looked up. Drops landed on her cheeks and in her eyes. Water flowed into her mouth, tasting clean and cold and slightly tangy. Thunder filled her ears, and flashes her eyes. But above her, on the exterior wall of the other building, hung her dragon.
“Dragon!” She reached for the beast, for her friend, and he flowed off the outbuilding’s brick exterior. Flashes popped along his hide not unlike the lightning, but warmer. Joyous.
The rain dampens your calling scents, he signed. Brilliant images cascaded through her mind: Flowers, the time in the van when she made love with Ladon, her curled around her man and pressed against the beast’s chest.
We miss you. The beast nuzzled her face and shoulders.
“I miss you too. I miss you both so very much.” They might argue but not touching them felt like death.
The cold rain fell in buckets and Rysa couldn’t see past Dragon’s tail. She buried her face against Dragon’s fine coat, feeling it wave against her skin. His lights played over her face and her body, calming her mind and soul.
Her seers might flood her head but her dragon filtered. The future drowned her more than the sheets of rain falling from the sky. The present held promises of reconnection, of joy.
She might hurt Ladon and Dragon, right here, right now, if she wasn’t careful.
But she needed this. She needed them. “Can we do this, Dragon? Can you be near me?”
The force of the rain is enough. He sniffed her head. Can you be near me?
She didn’t understand. It only worked one way. She was the source of their pain—
It dawned on her what he meant: He was her talisman. And she couldn’t touch the talon. She buried her face in his rain slicked coat again. “I think it’s different with you. I think it’s because you’re alive. I’m not sure. It’s going to take some time to figure out.” And might be why she hadn’t figured out immediately that the beast was her talisman, when she thought she was locked to the Burners.
He stroked her back with his giant hand. If I hurt you, you must back away.
“I will, Dragon. I promise.” She hugged his big neck. “If the rain isn’t enough, you back away. Okay?”
Yes, Rysa.
Water filled her eyes and her nose, but that wasn’t the main reason she gulped. “Promise me. He can’t go through what he went through at Bernard’s house. He can’t feel guilty.”
We know.
“You need solace. Both of you. But if being next to me becomes—”
Arms wrapped around her from behind. Big, strong arms. Wonderful arms attached to the wonderful man who buried his face in her wet hair, his body flush against hers. “Beloved.”
But she couldn’t hurt them. “Ladon, if it gets—”
A hand pushed under her t-shirt, silencing her question. The other stroked the outside of her thigh, knee to hip, fingers dancing over the slick fabric of the denim clinging to her skin. “We will not lose you.”
No more questions. No more worries. Against her back, Ladon’s chest loosened and his breathing deepened. He needed to be close to her as much as she needed to be close to him.
She knew the truth: He’d become oversensitive. Over-perceiving. She didn’t know what else to call it. His brain wasn’t filtering out what it didn’t need to pay attention to because he was afraid something bad would sneak by, and her calling scents fueled his vigilance. His mind jumped from one phantom sensation to another without a pause to consider.
The world fed him more possible threats than an
y person—even a Progenitor—could tolerate. His warrior response was the only thing that got him through.
But right now, he held her flush against his body and he felt that she was, at least on some level, safe. She was with them.
His anxiety filled her mind, a balloon of ADHD-like overstim. But his was caused by the terrible and the unsafe. His anxieties were infinitely worse.
Feeling her against his body lessened it, but it did not leave.
“Ladon.” She wouldn’t turn in his arms. She breathed away from him so they could stay together longer. She pressed herself backward and into his arms, and wiggled her backside against his crotch.
She’d heal him, too. Somehow. She’d find a way. And it would start now, with this physical comfort.
Thunder rolled between the buildings and mixed with Ladon’s growl. He pushed her forward, against Dragon’s side, as he yanked her jeans down her hips. She leaned into Dragon, sticking out her butt. Rain pounded her back, her head, her arms. His hands roamed over her rainwater-slicked body, pulling up her t-shirt and finding her breasts. He yanked the fabric up but didn’t pull it over her head.
Ladon licked between her shoulder blades, up her spine.
An orgasm already threatened, just from him pressing against her back and cupping her breasts from behind. She felt his erection straining his jeans and pressing against the cleft of her bottom. Touching her calmed one part of him, but the other, she let loose.
And he let loose in her.
The rain gusted between the buildings and stole her breath. Dragon moved to the side, parallel to the force, and turned them so he blocked all view of his two humans from the warehouse. Rysa now pressed her face into his hide, a dumpster on one side of her, a stack of pallets on the other, and Ladon’s hot, hard body rubbing against her back.
The beast mimicked the pallets and the brick, but he mirrored Ladon. She looked into a living reflection, one wavering slightly as Dragon twisted in the storm, and she saw the face of the man she loved. He stroked her back, her neck, her bottom through the silver slicing rain.
Fifth of Blood (Fate Fire Shifter Dragon Book 3) Page 21
