by Jami Gray
Its agonized howl made her ears bleed and she was unable to avoid the slashing paw as it raked deep gouges from shoulder to hip. It was harder than she expected to think past the burning agony of the attack. Still, neither her will, nor the geas, would let her retreat. She pushed deeper into the magic.
The Stealer’s ebony bonds closed around her. The perverted intentions shaping its magic joined the sickening sense of creeping darkness and spilled across her soul like a foul tide. Frantically, she grabbed hold of the bonds. Terrified, she watched them melt into her. Black veins began snaking under her skin.
“Like calls to like.” The insidious words raked over her.
There was no holding back her panicked scream of horror. Her breathing turned ragged and she could do nothing but watch the inky trails spread faster and faster. Every beat of her heart pumped the sickness farther along. The malignant energy swallowed the silvery light of her magic, the color eaten away.
Unable to slow the psychic assault, she was forced back by the encroaching darkness until she stood before the last remaining barrier protecting her soul and the two men tied to her.
Helpless fury bloomed. She had bled for Cheveyo, dragged him back even when he didn’t want to return. And Gavin. He was hers. There was no way in hell she would give him up without a fight. The protective fury built until it became blinding rage, sweeping the useless terror under.
This time she funneled her fury into a single-minded focus. Her palms lit with white fire and when she grasped the Stealer’s warped magic, it struggled to get free. The strands of evil flailed against her hold. Its frantic movements left specks of red where they cut through her skin. She wrapped the foul magic around her hands. Tearing some ties while burning others, she began to uncover the faint colored remnants of the Stealer’s victims. As each bond broke, she let the newly freed energy float away.
There was no sense of time passing. Her movements became repetitive as she worked. Here in the heart of blackness, there was no Raine. All that existed was the tapestry under her hands. These dark threads weren’t right and shouldn’t exist.
The massive knot of ebony began to unravel, revealing something deep inside. Her hands slowed and the roiling magic swarmed to hide its prize. But this was her tapestry and she chose the pattern, not it. Digging her fingers in, she began to rip the twisted, psychic fabric apart.
Stinging slashes teased the edges of her mind, but her focus was complete. She had to uncover what it was trying to hide. Urgency pushed her hands faster. The white flames edging her hands began to flicker up her arms. Each piece she touched shriveled and dropped away until the prize was laid bare.
Shock snapped her out of the strange hypnotic state. Every gash, every cut inflicted by the Stealer’s magic hit in one brutal wave, sending her to her knees. It wasn’t enough to stop her from stretching one trembling hand to the thin, flickering spirit huddled in the inky remains.
“Brett?” His name was a whisper of sound. She drew her hand back before she could touch him.
He raised his head, endlessly dark eyes staring out of a pale face. “Why won’t she let me go?” The words were soft, but traces of the long ago child remained.
The remnants of the concealing magic pulsed along the fragments covering her hands. Memories crowded her. Memories belonging to the boy. All she could do was watch. And feel.
A sunny afternoon, feeling the power of the horse beneath him. Thoughts of a shy smile filled with love. The overwhelming mixture of joy and nerves at the realization of impending fatherhood. Then, like a snake hidden in the grass, something slithered across his nerves. The horse stumbled to a stop, prancing in place. Brett looked around, trying to find the source of discomfort, turning his horse in a wide circle. There—at the edge of the tree line, something flickered.
Deep inside Brett’s memories, Raine cried out knowing it would change nothing.
He urged the reluctant horse forward a few more steps before it became a battle of wills—his and the horse’s. He started to dismount, knowing that to push the horse any more could break the beast’s mind. The milling shadows changed and suddenly the screams of chinidis raked across his skin. Fear turned his mouth to cotton, but even worse, the chindis’s cries pushed the horse over the edge. As they swarmed forward, the horse reared. Caught in that awkward dismount position, Brett was thrown.
Slamming into the ground, the pain of his spine snapping shot white agony searing through him. The chindis swarmed his broken body. The pain of his damaged spine was nothing compared to the excruciating sensations as they tore into him, ripping him and his wolf apart. The ghostly predators feasted, glutting on his pain and terror. Piece by piece he was taken and his last thought sliced through Raine. He’d never see his baby or his mate again, and that broke him.
Caught in the rush of memories, her heart bled as Brett’s spirit was mauled, but a furtive movement caught her attention. Struggling against Brett’s agony, she saw a man, hands over his mouth as he watched the scene with horror. Doug Ransom. The horse’s loud whinnies snapped his trance. He muttered something and the chindis reluctantly pulled away from the now still body of the boy to gather round their master. He backed away, with a few steps, turned, and ran.
Dark, deadly intent rushed over Raine as she watched the coward flee. But these were not her memories. These belonged to Brett, so she couldn’t follow, couldn’t punish. Which meant, if these were Brett’s memories and he was dead, why was she still here?
As a soft rattle of breath emerged from the fallen boy, a sickening feeling turned Raine’s blood to ice. The chindis hadn’t finished their feast. A wisp of Brett’s spirit was trying to hold on. The next few moments lasted an eternity as she was forced to watch him struggle to survive.
Images blurred and a woman’s screams cut across Raine’s pain. Lizbeth fell to her knees cradling her son as her keening cries tore into the sunny afternoon like jagged knives. “No, no, no.”
The echoes of a mother’s breaking heart looped endlessly. Finally, Brett bowed to death’s demands.
Released from his memories, Raine swallowed, reaching for her voice. “She loves you.” It was hard to get the words pass the ache in her throat.
The huddled spirit didn’t respond. Instead the cloying magic flickered, dragging her back in. She watched Lizbeth tighten a rope on the unconscious young woman lying at her feet. Firelight flickered off the edge of a blade, and the stench of black magic filled the small cavern. There was a faint rush of pain, love, and terror. What little was left of Brett’s spirit struggled against the spell his mother cast. Betrayal and fury mixed with devastating anguish as he watched, helpless to save the life of the woman he loved and their unborn child. His mother made the ultimate sacrifice, a life, and perverted magic enveloped Brett. His rage and need for vengeance twisted and spiraled until all that was left was a nightmare. A monster who craved the blood, pain, and essence of souls. Nomȃhtsé’héōò Adanata rose from the ashes.
The memories stopped.
Cold dread spread through Raine’s bones. The pale face across from her twisted into something dark and tainted then, just as fast, smoothed into recognizable features. “That isn’t love.”
“No,” she agreed softly.
“I loved once.” His voice was flat.
She nodded. “Jenny.”
“Jenny,” he repeated his face brightening with a beautiful serenity.
The faint echo of feminine laughter drifted to Raine.
Brett unwound his arms from his legs and between one blink and the next he was crouched in front of her. Those endlessly dark eyes were unnerving, but she didn’t back away. Even when that other, darker presence peeked from behind the boyish face. “She killed my Jenny so she could keep me here. She taught me to kill.” He leaned forward until mere inches separated them. “I like it.” The words were a feral hiss.
“Why?”
He pulled back, emotion draining away as she watched. “It chases the cold away.”
Pi
ty seeped around the edges of her mind. In trying to bring back her son, Lizbeth had unknowingly tortured his soul. Raine was certain the woman had no clue who really killed her son. If the grieving mother knew, she would have never been able to handle working with her son’s murderer. Unfortunately, Raine wasn’t sure there was much of that mother left anymore.
She reached out and gently stroked her hand over Brett’s hair, knowing what needed to be done. “I can keep you warm, Brett, if you want.” The solution would cost her something, but she was willing to pay the price to give this boy peace.
He tilted his head toward her, leaning into her gentle touch, eyes closed. “Please,” he whispered.
As soon as the heart-rending plea passed his lips, she let the white fire of her magic flare into brilliant life. Not wanting to hurt him, she pushed hard and fast. She ignored the flailing tendrils of black trying to breach her magic and wrap back around the boy in her arms. The flames washed over the bowed head under her fingers. Her hands and arms turned luminescent as the flames grew and spread, eating through the bonds connecting Brett’s spirit to Lizbeth’s spell.
Unable to handle the searing light, she let her eyes close. She felt her magic burn through the last tie. The resulting silent explosion threw her back.
Brett was gone.
Raine wasn’t sure how long she remained sprawled on the ground, her eyes closed as she relished the simple act of breathing. Little by little her numerous injuries began clamoring for attention. She groaned. As if waiting for that small acknowledgement, her mind added its concerns to the mix.
She couldn’t stay here—wherever here was. Rolling to her side, she curled into a ball. She was deep in the magical plane, deeper even than when Gavin had pulled her out. Forcing her eyes open was akin to lifting a three-ton elephant—with an eyelash.
No clues to her current whereabouts were forthcoming from her current prone position. Gritting her teeth, she began the arduous task of getting her body upright. Her bloody palms pressed into the ground, and the bite of gravel on her already lacerated skin blended with her body’s choir of pain.
It took forever and then some, but she finally sat up. Breathing through the lead-lined blanket of exhaustion, she pushed to her feet, and turned to find a never-ending wall rising just above her head. She recognized this from her lessons with Cheveyo. He made her come here once, explaining how everyone protected their core spirit in their own unique way. Just beyond this psychic representation lay her soul.
She had an overwhelming urge to make sure that what lay behind it remained untouched.
Swaying slightly, she searched for a way in. Some people, Cheveyo said, used elaborate mazes laced with deadly traps. Others had impenetrable fortresses, which would give some of the castles of old a run for their money. Whatever image the individual used, it was unique to them.
Her never-ending stone wall was made of smooth river rock. It looked as if there were plenty of nooks and crannies for finger and toeholds, but this was magic and just because something looked easy, didn’t mean it was. There were numerous deadly traps laid within the stonework and along the ledge sitting high above her—every single one meant to discourage visitors. Carefully craning her neck, she made out the heavy canopy of trees cresting behind the wall.
Walking along the wall, she let her palm drift across its surface. Under her hand, the stone was absolutely smooth, like a sheet of metal. She continued to check for any weak points, relieved to find it as solid as ever. A small vibration under her touch revealed the presence of a well-camouflaged door. The vibration grew in strength as her bloodied hand moved closer. When it settled over the lock, the combination of her magic and blood melted the image away.
Stepping through the small archway, she faced the massive forest. She moved forward, only to stop and turn, remembering to seal the wall closed. But there was no opening, only a solid rock. Sighing at magic’s capricious nature, she headed into the dense foliage. A small hunting trail curved its way through the woods. She followed it. She stopped once to look back, only to find no path, no wall, just endless forest behind her.
If anyone else managed to breach her protection, they wouldn’t be so lucky to have a path to follow. It was keyed to her blood. Everyone else got to enjoy the various denizens she created as welcoming committees.
It wasn’t long before she broke through the edge of the forest and stopped at the bank of a bubbling creek. On the other side was a small clearing where a cabin sat among the trees. She used the stepping-stones to make her way across. Once on the other side, she stepped on to the wide porch and looked around.
The scene was straight out of some story book. Should an attacker ever get past the protecting wall, the impenetrable forest, and its denizens, they would face this. The soothing babble of the creek which could turn into a ravine filled with raging floodwaters, and the grassy clearing could transform into a writhing pit of venomous snakes. Then there was the cabin. It might look harmless, but Amityville had nothing on it. It was her most lethal and final protection.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside, stumbling over to the simple wooden table where a single flower sat in a vase. Weary, she collapsed into one of the sturdy chairs. Her body cried out for rest, but she couldn’t stop. She needed to ensure everything was okay before making her way back to her leopard and Gavin. Slumped in her chair, her eyes drifting closed, she undid the last of her locks on her magic.
There was a noticeable shift as her power settled. When she opened her eyes, the interior of her cabin was gone. Instead, she sat on a soft rug on the stone floor of a well-lit room. A multi-paned window allowed light to filter through various colors of glass, sending a warm rainbow of light across her face. The walls on either side of the window were draped in tapestries of various sizes.
Rising to her feet, she moved to one wall, where the tapestries fluttered, the flashes of color drawing her closer. Carefully, she lifted the edge of a banner and realized there were layers underneath. She let the tapestry slide back into place and studied the scene woven into the cloth lying on top.
Her fingers shook as she traced the image of a dark-haired woman and child, their hands clasped as they danced. Their laughter whispered against her. A feminine voice sang a child’s nursery rhyme, the notes clear and beautiful. Painful recognition hit her as the sound of her mother’s voice and her own answering childish laughter dragged the buried memory to light.
Stumbling back, Raine spun and staggered across the floor, only to be faced with another tapestry on the opposite wall. This one was dominated by darker colors, the weave rougher as if its creator had forced the pattern into the cloth. The images seared across her brain—images she didn’t need a tapestry to remember—lab tables, blood, skin, and screams. Backing up, she forced her body to still as she stood between the two cloth covered walls of memories.
She could feel the heat from the light coming through the rainbow window behind her. It was almost a physical presence, wrapping around her, giving her waning strength a boost. It seeped through her, blurring the two opposing walls and helping her focus. Taking a deep breath, she looked at the last wall. An unfinished tapestry stared back.
Unlike the others, this one was created of living threads. There were no hands directing movement, but the undulating strings were made of familiar colors. Silver was tightly interwoven with blue. Together they created their own piece of fabric. Earth tones, lined with gold, touched the cloth and then moved away, leaving small patches of the picture behind. In some areas thin, black threads hung in tatters. In others, the dark color edged the holes the material was trying to repair.
The Stealer managed to hurt her more than she realized.
The tapestry was a mesmerizing creation. Somehow she knew it wouldn’t be finished until she took her last breath. Still, it was strangely terrifying to see a physical manifestation of her every decision.
A flash of silver drew her eyes to a patch that was slowly unraveling. A detailed image of a leopa
rd was beginning to fade. The Stealer inflicted lethal damage there. Blue threads tried to wrap around silver, but the silver thinned, becoming fragile. Gavin was trying to add his strength but it wasn’t enough. His blue was split by the storms belonging to Xander.
They were all running out of time.
Raine was in too far and her ties to Gavin and her leopard apparently weren’t going to survive. She reached out and brushed her fingers across their fragile bonds.
As if that was what it had been waiting for, the world spun and colors streamed around her. Too tired to fight, she let the magic take her. As she was dragged through an ever-shifting landscape, she tried to reach for Gavin or her leopard. The connections stayed out of reach. She found it ironic that she had destroyed the Stealer, set a child’s soul free, but would still die because she couldn’t get out of her own damn mind.
The relentlessly dragging magic waned and then abruptly stopped. Fighting the roiling nausea of her rebelling stomach, she found herself on her hands and knees. Her lungs sucked in air with painful gulps. Blinking away the white starbursts threatening to gray out her vision, she struggled to pull herself together. It took a full minute to get to her feet. Even then, she swayed as the ground refused to level.
Where the hell was she now?
She staggered forward, her stomach dropping as she took a step and fell into a free-fall. Arms pin wheeling, she tumbled into nothingness.
Her battered instincts flailed and the bright flare of a familiar silver thread sprang to life. She grabbed hold with both hands. As her fingers touched it, her body was yanked up and back. Red-hot pokers gouged out her eyes and the taste of blood filled her mouth. Both her and her leopard’s screams broke free. When the stomach churning journey finished, wet sandpaper was dragged along her face.
