Heart of Stone

by Debra Mullins

  “Which is the only reason I’m even talking to you about this.” Ben shoved aside his beer. “Our peoples have learned from each other and helped each other since the earliest times. My wife, Alishka, was of the Zaindari, and I lived among the Zaindari for many years, teaching the children to respect balance and the harmonies of our world. But this group…” Ben shook his head. “They claim to be Zaindari, but they are different. Evil.”

  Darius sent a question to Gray. Zaindari?

  Gray didn’t take his attention from Ben. Guardians. It’s what Atlanteans called themselves long ago.

  “She is the only one who can help us,” Gray said out loud to Ben, “and by doing so, we can stop these guys. And maybe all stay alive.”

  Darius flicked a glance back at the older man. He was wavering; Darius could feel it. The hope that he could save his daughter-in-law when he had failed to save his own son had kept the old man going all this time.

  For a second Darius’s connection to Ben wavered. It came back again almost instantly, and then, before relief could take hold, it flickered again.

  Darius frowned at Gray. You using your powers to convince him?

  The other Atlantean turned to scowl at Darius. We’ve never used our powers on them. They’re our allies. We would not disrespect them so.

  Ben looked from one to the other. “Is something wrong?”

  Gray shook his head. “Not at all.”

  Darius could feel that Gray was annoyed with him, and for an instant the emotions of both men clamored front and center in his senses. Then they faded, everyone’s emotions faded, leaving only … music.

  The notes swelled in his mind, not instrumental, not really verbal, as if the world itself had a voice and had raised it in song. Even as the thought formed, the melody faded. He turned his attention back to Gray and Ben.

  And his every sense exploded with an ethereal sonata that took his breath and set his heart to racing.

  Where was it coming from? He looked around, but no one seemed to even notice them—well, except for one hungry-eyed waitress near the bar. One quick glimpse into her man-eating heart told him she was not the source of the music.

  Where the heck was it coming from?

  Something wrong? Gray sent the question telepathically, though anyone watching would think he was focused on what Ben was saying.

  I don’t know yet. Darius got to his feet and grabbed his cane where it leaned against an empty chair. Ben stopped talking, and both men looked at him with inquiring expressions.

  “I need some air,” Darius said. “I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for a response, he headed for the door. As he limped through the restaurant, he could sense the waitress’s gaze on him. Her sexual interest faded, replaced first by disappointment as his injuries became obvious, then pity. He looked straight at her. She glanced away.

  They always did.

  His lips twisted. Yeah, don’t stare at the cripple. Even his former fiancée hadn’t been able to look at him at the end. He left the restaurant, lured by a siren song apparently only he could hear.

  * * *

  Corinne shot lightning in Faith’s direction, but the bolts flew wild, shattering more pottery. Faith didn’t even flinch. Most Atlanteans could not use their powers on one another; they just didn’t work. As far as she knew the only exception was an Echo like Michael, a Channeler whose ability was to enhance the powers of others.

  So Corinne couldn’t electrocute her, but she could certainly use the lightning to set the store on fire or bring the roof down on Faith’s head. To that end, Faith used the energy she had pulled from the stones to reinforce her personal barrier. Corinne had always been a hothead, and control was definitely not one of her strong points.

  She was, to put it simply, bat-shit crazy.

  “I’m not going back, Corinne.”

  “It’s not that simple, Faith. You can’t just leave. Sure, we knew you were torn up after you killed your husband, and the Elders were giving you time to grieve. Now Wei Jun is dead, and Azotay is here.” Breathing hard from temper, Corinne rounded the edge of the counter. “Time’s up.”

  “Just leave, Corinne. You’ve had your hissy fit. Why don’t you call it a night?”

  Corinne laughed, throwing her head back in clear, maniacal glee. “You really have forgotten everything, haven’t you? Do you really think I came here alone?”

  Silently, Faith cursed. She had forgotten. The Mendukati always went on missions in pairs. “Call your pal,” she said. “Let’s get this out in the open.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Corinne propped her hip against the counter and folded her arms, blocking Faith’s only exit. “I already called him.”

  Him. Azotay? Faith sucked in a slow breath to calm her churning stomach. No, Azotay wouldn’t come himself. Rumor said he only stepped in personally in the most extreme circumstances, so it was probably someone else. Another Mendukati soldier. A Channeler like her and Corinne, or a Warrior? She’d have a shot against another Channeler, but a Warrior, blessed with super-human strength and speed, was a different story.

  The bell tinkled as the door opened. Faith tensed, and Corinne looked over, her smug expression fading. “We’re closed.”

  The man filling the doorway tilted his head, his stylishly cut, long brown hair just sweeping his massive shoulders. Handsome in a chiseled-cheekbones-sexy-mouth kind of way, he had tempered being too pretty with a rakish-looking mustache and goatee. His casual khakis and the navy blue polo shirt hugging his broad chest tagged him as a tourist, a well-to-do one based on the pricey watch on his wrist. Any other time Faith would have admired the view, but not with Corinne hair-triggered to do some damage.

  “You do know the place is on fire, right?” he said.

  “It’s under control,” Corinne said. She flexed her fingers, lightning rippling around her hands behind the counter.

  Corinne, don’t. Faith sent the thought telepathically. He’s just a tourist.

  A tourist in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “Let me help you.” The man sent Faith a steady look, his eyes a stunning blue against his olive complexion, his smile coaxing. “I couldn’t call myself a gentleman if I left ladies in distress.”

  “It’s all right,” Faith said. “We’re leaving.” Just go, she pleaded in her thoughts. Get out of here before Corinne decides to toast you.

  She might be surprised.

  The decidedly masculine voice in her mind made her gasp.

  Corinne narrowed her eyes. “You know this guy, Faith?”

  Slowly Faith shook her head. “No.” Blue eyes. Brilliant, topaz-blue eyes, and he could hear her thoughts.

  Seer. Had to be. She’d never seen one up close before.

  She spoke directly to him. Go, Seer. She’ll kill you.

  A shadow appeared behind the Seer. Corinne smiled.

  “Look out!” Faith cried just as Corinne’s partner shoved the Seer into the shop. The Seer stumbled and caught himself on a display rack, and for the first time Faith noticed his cane as it clattered to the floor. Corinne’s partner followed him in, shutting the door behind him.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Corinne snapped. “Take her, Erok, and I’ll clean up here.”

  Erok. Faith remembered him from the Atlantean orphan camp where she’d grown up. He’d come into his impressive size early in his teens and had enjoyed terrorizing some of the younger kids before he’d been enrolled in formal combat training. His penchant for killing made him the perfect soldier for the Mendukati.

  He pushed past the Seer and headed toward them, his gaze cold and black like an icy abyss. She shuddered. She’d had a close encounter with him once, caught alone in the woods when she was fifteen. She’d escaped then only because Michael had come looking for her. This time she wouldn’t be so lucky.

  Erok’s orders didn’t allow him to kill her, but she might wish he had.

  The Seer slowly bent down to pick up his cane. “I’m not sure what’s going on h
ere, but we’re all going to die of smoke inhalation if we don’t get out of this place.”

  Corinne came out from behind the counter and moved past Erok toward the Seer. “It’s all under control.” She raised her hands, energy crackling like a live thing up to her shoulders. “Just hold still, and this won’t hurt a bit.” She laughed. “Wait, who am I kidding? It’ll hurt … a lot.”

  With a whoop, she thrust her arms forward and fired the lightning at him.

  * * *

  The blonde was a nutcase.

  Darius didn’t need his empathic abilities to know the lightning lady was unhinged; the pure delight she took from his imminent demise said it all. But it also gave him something to work with.

  The lightning bolts curved past him as if jerked by invisible strings, striking a display of brochures behind him. She frowned and fired again. The same thing happened. The brochures went up in flames.

  “What—?” She scowled at him.

  He smiled, snaring the red whorls of her anger as if they were cotton candy and he were the candy maker, weaving them into something new and bending them to his will. He sensed when she realized what was happening, when she struggled to retain control of her own emotions. But she failed. He was an empath, and this was his domain.

  Now, now. This won’t hurt a bit.

  Her eyes widened at his telepathic taunt, then narrowed as she studied his face. He sensed her realization of what he was. Her fear. Her struggle to conquer that fear. He wove it all into the emotional cocktail he was brewing.

  “Seer,” she hissed, and dove at him with nails extended.

  Out of nowhere a song swelled in his mind, the same melody that had led him here. He fell, one arm blocking the blonde’s attack. He shoved her off him and rolled to trap her beneath him, snagging her wrists as she tried again to claw his face. Then he locked his gaze with hers and shoved her emotions back at her, amping up the wrath he had captured, turning up the heat on the fear, dosing her with the mickey of emotional poison he had conjured just for her.

  The music in his mind played harmony to his abilities, somehow enhancing them and honing his aim to perfect precision.

  Corinne shrieked, tears spilling from her eyes as she struggled beneath him. He released her, reaching for his cane and getting to his feet as she convulsed on the floor. She tore at her hair, curling away from him, sobbing, screaming, ripping at her clothes, lost in the labyrinth of irrational rage into which he had led her.

  He cut his connection. As his mind cleared, he realized the floor was vibrating, the jewelry around him rattling in its display cases. The song that had lured him here no longer whispered only in his mind; he could hear it audibly now, and it was coming from Faith.

  The huge guy who’d shoved him—Erok—had Faith cornered against the cash register. But when he tried to grab her, his hand bounced back as if he’d hit a wall. Erok’s frustration struck Darius in waves as the Warrior shot his fist toward her over and over again, each time looking as if he would succeed in striking her. But her defenses held, and each blow ricocheted back.

  The bitter taste of Corinne’s fury still lingered, and his own temper sparked as he started forward. “Hey, leave her alone.”

  The Warrior spared him a glance. “Back off.”

  “Can’t do that.” Darius smiled as Erok glared. “Pick on someone your own size.”

  The Warrior looked Darius up and down. He shook his head and smirked as he turned back to Faith. “Let me know if you see anyone who fits that description.”

  Please, Faith said into his mind, just go before he realizes what you are. I can hold him.

  Don’t worry, he sent back, and fired off a quick, telepathic SOS to Adrian Gray.

  He awkwardly picked his way past the debris on the floor until he stood in front of the counter. “In case you haven’t noticed, King Kong, you’re flying solo here.” He gestured toward Corinne. “Your partner took a powder.”

  Erok frowned at Corinne, still curled in a ball and alternately raging and weeping. “Corinne! Quit your bawling and get up.”

  The woman remained on the floor, lost in her private torment.

  “You won’t reach her,” Darius said. “She’s done.”

  The Warrior snarled and leaped over the counter with one bound, landing in front of Darius with the grace of a cat. Darius tilted his head back to keep eye contact. The guy had to be six five if he was an inch, and bloodlust exuded from his pores like potent perfume. Darius clenched his fingers around his cane, hard enough for his nails to dig into his palm. Primitive emotions like bloodlust tapped the most basic drives of the body, and for the empath who succumbed to those instincts, the urge to commit mayhem could be nearly impossible to control.

  Pain helped, but Faith’s song seemed to augment his ability to absorb emotion somehow, making it harder to resist the bloodlust. He shook his head to clear it, to focus.

  Erok grabbed Darius by the shirtfront and jerked him off the floor so their eyes were level. “What did you do to her?”

  The discomfort of his shirt pinching under his arms helped Darius resist the urge of his primitive side. Erok wanted to be feared, so he responded with insolence. “She was tense. I helped her out.”

  Erok roared and lifted him higher. “Tell me the truth! What did you do?”

  Erok’s murderous urges spiked, and Darius grabbed hold of them, twisting them and blocking their escalation. He knew it wouldn’t hold for long, and killing rage was not something he wanted to send back to this guy.

  He reached for Gray. Hey, where the heck are you? I’ve got a homicidal Warrior here.

  Almost there, Gray responded. Had to do some crowd control.

  Erok shoved his face close to Darius. “Answer me!”

  The haunting music stopped.

  “Erok,” Faith said. “I told Corinne, and I’ll tell you: I’m not going. Now get out of here before someone calls the cops.”

  “Let them.” Erok shook Darius and gave him a deadly smile. “Someone will have to clean up the mess when I’m done with this one.”

  Faith, get out of here, Darius sent. I’ve got this.

  Faith jerked, her green eyes widening. “How do you know my name?” she whispered.

  Her burst of panic flooded his mind and spiked his heartbeat. It’s okay. I’m here with Ben.

  She didn’t respond, though he could feel that the mention of Ben had calmed her a bit.

  “What are you … Wait a minute.” Erok glanced from Darius to Faith. “You can’t be talking to me; I’ve known you for years. So that means—” Erok stared deep into Darius’s eyes. “That means she’s talking to you.”

  Guilty.

  Erok’s grip loosened at Darius’s telepathic response, his shock weakening his concentration for just an instant. But he recovered quickly. “Really blue eyes and telepathy … You’re a Seer.” His mouth split in a delighted grin, perverse pleasure flooding through him and leaving a sour taste in Darius’s mouth. “I’ve always wanted to kill a Seer with my bare hands.”

  “Get used to disappointment,” a new voice said. Erok’s head whipped around—right into Adrian Gray’s fist. Erok took the punch with barely a stagger. He dropped Darius, who landed on the floor with a hard jar to his bad knee. Erok turned to face the new threat. Gray was a Warrior as big and badass as Erok was himself.

  Badder, actually.

  Leaving the psycho to Gray, Darius made his way over to Faith. She’d resumed her song, and he could sense her struggle to contain her fear, to maintain her defenses. She looked up as he slipped around the counter. Her green eyes stood out in stark relief to her pale face and short dark hair. Her lacy white top dipped just enough to hint at the small breasts underneath, and her jeans emphasized the delicate curve of her hips and the length of her legs. Her head didn’t quite reach his shoulder, but that didn’t lessen her impact to his senses.

  Strong. Capable. Female. The primitive instincts roused in battle surged to the fore, sparking a dangerous desire deep insi
de him. He couldn’t look away from her, from the curve of her ear or the sweet slope of her shoulder. Her scent entranced him. Her song fed his hunger, luring him like a siren’s call. He longed to touch her, craved her like oxygen. Wanted to claim her as his woman. Fast, hard, now.

  He frowned and gave his head a hard shake. Where had that thought come from?

  He must still be absorbing pieces of Erok’s primal emotions. How else could he explain this sudden caveman madness to possess a woman he’d only just met? Or the very real physical reaction tightening his pants in the middle of a battle?

  With all his will, he tamped down the raging urges and focused on survival.

  We have to get out of here. He spoke telepathically so she would hear him over the crashing of the fighting Warriors and the keening of Corinne. He took her hand.

  Her song cut off on a gasp at his touch. Her pulse skittered beneath his fingers, awareness flaring as she jerked her gaze to his. For one moment, heat ripped through both of them, reflecting back on him doubled as he absorbed her emotions. She jerked her hand free. Her panic careened through his senses like a pinball headed for tilt as she pressed back against the cash register, and her wail echoed through his mind. No. No, it’s not possible!

  She was headed for a full-on meltdown. He could feel it building up in her, like a geyser about to erupt. Smoke stung his eyes and made it harder to breathe as the fire spread. They would all be in big trouble in a few more minutes if they didn’t get some fresh oxygen. He had to get her out of there.

  Faith. He took her chin in one hand and forced her to look at him, his fingers trembling against the urge to stroke her soft skin. I know this is a lot for you, but you have to hold it together a few minutes more. We have to get out of here. Ben is outside waiting for us.

  She locked her gaze with his. Ben?

  Yes, he’s outside. Let’s go.

  She jerked free of his hold and bent to yank her purse out of the cabinet beneath the counter. Slinging it over her shoulder, she shoved past him.

  Follow me.