Garrie startled, barely holding on to her breezes. “That feels like—”
Kehar.
How —?
Sklayne’s warning cry came from a distance. ::’Ware!::
“Do you feel that?” Garrie’s demand came out in a low whisper.
“We must finish,” Trevarr told her, his grim tone answer enough.
::Run and run and run!::
Huntington crouched in the swirl of Garrie’s breezes as if protecting himself from a blow. “Center yourselves!” he commanded of his followers. “Calm yourselves!” But panic tinged his voice, turning it strident.
Satisfaction spiked within Garrie, a fierce feeling with teeth — and then she gasped, reeling, when the dragon roared back to life, pouncing with a power that left her scrabbling for internal balance — fighting the impulse to fry them all, and from the inside out.
Dammit, no! She clawed back into control, found Huntington holding ground with a snarling rictus while people fainted around him. Trevarr held the ekhevia high, manipulating it with a faint metallic snick, a blast of cold, stale energy —
A straggly ball of an ethereal being ejected into night air, arcing into the group as it phased into solidity.
The lerkhet rolled to a stop, a small, pug-sized being with stumpy legs and a misshapen elephantine head complete with blobby nose-trunk. On each side of trunk sprang a veritable forest of tentacle fingers that wiggled like a nest of disturbed worms; a matching set sprang from its rump where there might otherwise have been a tail. Disturbingly chartreuse eyes sat at the corners of its lumpy head, buried within translucent flesh and rotating independently of one another. Its skin crackled, revealing veins of glowing putrescence.
Or something.
“Throwing up now,” Robin whispered desperately, and seemed to have taken a step or two away from them all.
::Run and run!:: Sharper, a bit closer, a hiss and spit to the sound of Sklayne’s thought-voice. ::They come! Use oskhila!::
The oskhila? To take them to Kehar? How did that make sense, with the taste of Kehar all around them?
Trevarr pulled out the sword they’d all agreed they wouldn’t need tonight, still wielding the ekhevia. “Feed the lerkhet, atreya — do it now!”
Garrie might be floundering in this muddle of Huntington’s twisted aberrations and her own darkness and the invasive subsonics and creeping hot, dark fog — but pulling out the breezes to toss at this creature? Oh yeah. She snapped them out in a sharp pulse, drilling the creature with what it craved.
The lerkhet squealed and convulsed; sparks rained upon the ground without igniting. Its tentacles snapped stiff and straight and those ugly cracks... they widened. The creature foamed, blew vile spit from who knows how many places, and quite suddenly stood two feet tall instead of one — and then three feet tall instead of two.
The collective Sin Nombre nerve broke. Feet scrabbled over rock, lanterns bobbing wildly as the lerkhet pitched and staggered, a tracery of glowing veins in the darkness. The stench of it wafted over them and Robin retched noisily in the scrub.
“Enough, now.” Trevarr held up the ekhevia, its colorful stones glowing impossibly in the darkness. A click, a gesture... the lerkhet sparked and popped, made a horrendous sound of wrenching flesh, and phased to ethereal form.
But it didn’t drift toward the ekhevia.
::Oskhila! Run and run!!:: Sklayne’s essence rang close, tumbling between them and to a stop. ::Fastfastfast toolate! HIDE!::
Garrie worked with frantic speed, withdrawing the breezes from this clearing full of conflicting energies, rebuilding shields hard and strong, and —
Maybe if the dragon hadn’t lingered. Maybe if she hadn’t tried to extend the shield around Trevarr. Around Robin.
Maybe then she wouldn’t have been vulnerable when the black fog rolled in, obscuring bright stars above them and the dark rocky silhouettes around them, thundering with a bass roll of threat and reverberating danger and crashing into the area’s tumultuous clash of breezes and ephemera, all of it roiling hard around Garrie.
Sweeping her in.
Chapter 14
Run Away!
“Some things, we do not discuss.”
— Rhonda Rose
Garrie lost sight of the world. She lost sight of everything in it. Of Robin, quailing alongside the trail; of Trevarr, tall and straight and all the strength one man could pack into determination alone. Of the lerkhet and of any hint of their surroundings. She floundered in the clash and slam of energies; she lost her hold on her own balance and control. She realized anew how easy it would be to scatter Jim Bob Dandy, to scatter the lerkhet, to swoop in on Huntington’s people and scour their souls clean. So much easier, so much faster... so much more complete.
Do it. Just DO it! Be done with it!
And then came glory in that power, the absolute and immutable power she called her own. Burning cold, swelling toward freedom, scraping along the insides of her nerves and chilling her bones and coiling up a strong and fiery liquid heat low in her belly —
“Atreya. No! Protect yourself! Be not seen!” Trevarr’s voice came distantly but sharply — more sharply than she’d ever heard.
Fear behind those words. Fury driven by that fear.
If I use this power, whatever’s here will need protection from me.
Dark, tempting... a storm of intensity and sensation and want.
::Trey — ! Nonono, stop the Garrie! Stop the lerkhet! Use oskhila! All of those things!::
Darkness swelled before her, filled her; brought her a maelstrom of sparking reds and bruising purples and smears of bitter, angry blackened orange. Glowed in her inner vision, gaining power, taking her —
She threw back her head and howled like a wild thing.
A curse tangled her thoughts. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her from the ground even as she clutched to its stones and dried grass.
::Yesss! Run! Use oskhila!::
The world turned to sudden utter silence. Oskhila silence. Garrie’s bones jerked from within, the newly familiar sensation of dimensional travel; she wailed at the sudden loss of the swelling power and potential, her mind gone primal — fighting Trevarr as she had never resisted him, had never resisted anything — before. Writhing, kicking, infuriated at the immutable strength of his arm tightening around her.
Sound returned, an echoing cacophony of grief and fury that sounded not nearly human enough; it fed the chaos of her mind and fueled her efforts — heedless of his grunt of pain, heedless that his other arm now also closed around her, or that his every move restrained without hurting her — until, finally, he simply pushed her up against hard rock and held her there, panting as hard as she was.
Sensations assailed her — told her more than she wanted to know. The deep, heady scent of sharp spice and hot dark woods mingled with faintly damp stone — no longer the Arch, no longer Sedona, no longer her world.
Kehar, and the faint scent of surrounding rock.
His body pressed her into rock, heat pouring from it, his breath even hotter along the side of her neck as he ducked his head against hers, restraining her even in that way. An intimately familiar form in its flat planes and lean strength and ready response to her.
Her breath hitched. Not at his nearness or in fury at his presumption or even in exhaustion, but on a sudden sob of realization.
What she’d almost done.
What she’d almost become.
No turning back from that. And after that...
Lisa McGarrity, reckoner no more.
Instead, the one who had to be stopped.
Another sob followed, and another, and Trevarr’s hold on her changed — no longer restraining, but simply there.
Of course she drew back and hit him, as if it was all somehow his fault.
Wasn’t it?
She hit him again, whirling away from him — and if he didn’t stop her, he didn’t let her go, either. He held her from behind, laying his cheek on the top o
f her head to let her tremble through emotions, all horror and self-recrimination and gah! She was crying!
She scrubbed her hands across her face and sniffled. She meant for the words to come out firm and distinct. They didn’t. Muffled and throaty. Great. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
He took a deep breath, his hands settling warm along the sides of her face. Directing her. “Look,” he said. “See. We have come, for this moment, to safety. For you to find yourself.”
She blinked, swiping away tears. Able to see just enough, and to recognize the cave that made up his lair and retreat, his world.
It was a place of rough comfort and privacy, a secure place with a single, difficult physical entrance and a geological composition that obscured its occupants from the most prying eyes — and most especially obscured off-world energies. It had once saved Rhonda Rose... and once before kept this world from honing in on Garrie, and on her energies.
Energies that some of the entities here apparently considered a delicacy.
To her human sight, it was a place of utter darkness, save for the faintest gleam of his eyes. But she had no doubt he could see her. The brush of his thumb on her face as he turned her around — unerring on her cheek, wiping away a final tear — only confirmed it.
She knew it anyway, when he ducked his head to hers. She wasn’t surprised to feel the firm warmth of his mouth, or the confidence of his touch. She wasn’t surprised to respond to it, whirling mind gladly giving itself over to this new turmoil. Not just a stolen kiss here and interrupted moment there, but a lingering, flirting, nibble and tongue and teeth and heady, heady touch. A new whimper in her throat, new neediness burgeoning within.
Not surprised at all.
The taste of blood, now that surprised her. She made a querying noise, pulled back... found his face with her fingers. Found the damp trickle from his lip, past the deep offset scar beneath it and down his chin.
He said, “You wiggle most effectively.”
Instant guilt, but she had no chance to express it. He brought her in, kissed her harder — one hand behind her head, the other sliding all the way down to firmly cup her bottom, quite abruptly pulling her in even closer. She wrapped her legs around his hips, let him tuck her up tight and squirming against him until his breath rumbled in his chest and his mouth grew demanding.
If she could just somehow get yet closer, the building heat just might ignite into pure white flame.
But he stiffened, holding himself with absolute care — absolute restraint. It was enough — just enough — for Garrie to snatch a single thread of sanity, sliding carefully down to the ground.
She forced her clenched fingers to open, flattening her hands against his chest. He didn’t move — didn’t dare, she thought. Control, hanging by a thread.
“I don’t—” She spoke most carefully, and had to start again. “Yesterday I nearly fainted at a mere kiss. And now...”
Now...
She ran her hand down his side, owning, fiercely, the flutter of reaction to her touch.
His hand clamped over hers. “There is,” he said, satisfyingly breathless, “flow and ebb. This is ebb time. This, you need. To find yourself. Before we go back.”
“Ebb time,” she muttered. As if that was supposed to make sense — except it very nearly did. The quiet after the storm? She’d mull it.
For now, she reclaimed him, hand sliding around to the hard muscle of his lower back. Very lower back. He twitched, inhaling audibly. She took an even deeper breath. “Okay, fine. For now. But I want to know what the fark is going on! There — and here!”
Slowly, he eased back — not actually stepping away, but somehow not quite as close as he’d been. She held up her hands, not quite kidding. “Don’t make me use these.”
His short laugh cut the air. “And so you find your power,” he said. “But ask me a better question. A single one, to start with.”
“Easy. The lerkhet. It was supposed to be small. It was supposed to be easy! But it wasn’t, and now it’s loose in Sedona!”
He touched the side of her face as if he just couldn’t quite help it, and then his hand fell away. “Of that, I am uncertain. I know only what I saw.”
“Maybe it doesn’t deal with my breezes any better than you do.” She crossed her arms with much defiance, still standing just that close. “And what about that, huh? My breezes? Fark, I barely have control anymore — I lost control! Ever since we mixed it up at the Winchester House.” When he saved her life, giving of himself to do it. “Tell me I’m wrong about that.”
“It seems I have little left to tell you.”
She couldn’t read his voice and she couldn’t see his face and damn, that made her crabby. She poked him. Right in the ribs. “Don’t play games with me. You of all people. You know what this is like.”
He went suddenly, totally still. But when he spoke, his voice was even. “Yes,” he said. “I know.”
Mixed-blood Trevarr, first persecuted and then turned into a tool for being precisely who he was. Still fighting it every step of the way — and keeping some significant part of himself buried because his two halves didn’t play nicely together.
He smoothed the wayward hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I did not—” Maybe he looked away from her there in the darkness; she couldn’t be sure. “I did not know,” he said, “that it would bind us in this way. Or that it would nest within you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did you just say that what’s between us is a mistake? That you’d just be some cold-hearted bounty hunter bastard to me if you hadn’t accidentally passed along a little mixed-up mojo?”
“Atreya,” he said gently. “I have been meant to find you long before I ever set foot on this world.”
Right. Because, Rhonda Rose and her meddling. I hope you’re happy, Rhonda Rose.
Garrie swallowed hard, which was the only way to swallow at all. She made her voice as casual as she could. “But... is this feeling going to get better? Or just worse, or—”
“I don’t know what happens,” Trevarr told her, touching her jaw. “But I am here.”
It sounded more profound than she’d expected it to be. Words and layers and extra meaning. Garrie wanted to let the words sit between them, to resonate that meaning right down into her bones.
But that didn’t seem a likely option, even if her hand briefly found his, trailing along his fingers before falling away. “The Keharian energies at the clearing... did they come for you?”
He hesitated, an uncharacteristic thing, and she knew immediately that she hadn’t gotten it quite right. He allowed, “They search.”
She would take that as confirmation, if only she didn’t suspect that things were a whole lot more complicated. “They exiled you; you left. What’s the problem?”
Dry came that voice. “Ghehera is a law unto itself; one does not ask for their why. The intrusion was theirs — but their hunters are clumsy with the khorliskha. They will not have lingered in your world.”
Garrie frowned, crossing her arms between them. Feeling stubborn.
“Time is short,” he reminded her. “Removing you from the clearing was a necessary thing. But you have found yourself, and your Robin and the lerkhet may not be alone for long.”
“Quinn’s Robin,” Garrie muttered. And maybe not even that. “But yeah. Okay. Let’s go get that lerkhet; let’s get Robin. Things didn’t go exactly as planned, but we damned sure made an impression. Ought to buy us a little time before those Sin Nombre idiots start in on goats and sheep.”
He pulled the oskhila from his pocket, a sudden subtle gleam of color in the darkness. She drew in breath, anticipating the fountain of color and energy, the black star pixilation and fade to dark... the encompassing silence.
She got an unexpectedly firm grip on her chin and jaw, lifting her face; an unexpectedly tender kiss, lingering just long enough to make the point. And then his arm wrapped around her, tucking her in tight and putting the oskhila into her hand as h
e had once before. This time she knew to hold it up; this time she knew he would trigger it through her.
This time she knew he had filled his free hand with something else. And she didn’t have to see the sword Lukkas to know what it was — and she didn’t have to wonder why he had pulled out a sword at all.
~~~~~
Oh joy. Oh glory. Oh chaos.
Sklayne crouched in the Sedona brush beside the shrieking Robin person and decided not to have ears. He withdrew them, flattening the furry profile of his head, his whiskers tucked in tight, all prim disapproval.
Scheming humans, thinking themselves grand, not knowing how they stole and how they poisoned.
O, Klysar, he could stop them.
He could stop them now, if allowed. But no. No fixing things. No, no, no. Just because he’d misunderstood that one moment. How was he to know, that first time, that Trevarr made such a sound in mindless pleasure and not the throes of pain? How was he to know that the woman had not trapped that appendage of which Trevarr took such care?
::Not my fault.::
And so had the geas shackles been formed.
It mattered little that since then, their bonding had completed to the point that Sklayne so casually eavesdropped on similar dalliances, and that he now deeply understood that the appendage was good for much, much more than watering bushes.
Oh yes.
For a time he experimented with his own such appendage. Appendages. Here, there... of this shape and that. But in the end he found claws so much more useful. And if they did not experience the same sensation, then it mattered little when he could still mind-drop on Trevarr.
And still Trevarr kept the geas shackles upon him. Too impulsive, he said. Too much you. There is a reason your kind do not otherwise live long.
Whatever that meant.
So, no harming sentients. No stopping this flabbergastery before it went any further, these blind and blundering humans who sickened this rich land, rousing the spirits and leaving their trail of vile ethereal pestilence behind.
Odd how the lerkhet seemed to thrive on it.
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