Nomad floated by again, an evil Peter Pan. The wind swirled his shoulder-length hair around his face, tugged his clothes back from the pudge around his belly. She yelled at him again as he passed. “He's not coming! Just let me go!”
Nomad's face darkened as he floated over nearer to Camila. “He's coming.” He flashed an evil smile. “He'll be here in a few minutes. And then you and I will help him see reason.”
Camila scoffed. “You're going to help him see reason? You? You're the craziest person I know.”
Nomad grabbed her uninjured forearm and tugged her off the walkway into open air, nearly dislocating her shoulder. Camila screamed, bicycling her feet through nothingness. Her eyes flashed to the churning water below, the frothy white caps large and hungry. She pictured drowning, how it would burn, the terror of sinking down into the dark depths before sucking in lungfuls of icy water. They'd find her bloated body in the cattails.
She clutched at his body as they hovered, clawing his clothes with her injured hand. “Put me down!”
“Then stop talking. You're annoying me.” He sailed back over and dumped her on the metal walkway.
Glass shards of pain arrowed from her wrist. She clutched it, moaning. The cool metal beneath her body was the only comfort she could find. She pressed her head to the floor, a rivet the size of a half dollar digging into her forehead. She would not cry. Not here. Not in front of the psychopath.
Tears streaked down her cheeks and were sucked up by the wind. There was no fighting Nomad. Her thoughts turned to Mama. Where was she now, in a jail cell? Did she wonder where her daughter was? She probably didn't picture Camila held captive at the top of a bridge by an alien mental case.
She flicked her eyes up, wanting to take in all the beauty before it was snatched away.
Something was streaking through the sky.
John
Friday 7:55 a.m.
John soared toward the bridge, his eyes finding Camila. Tears were streaking down her cheeks and she cradled her wrist to her chest. What had Nomad done?
Anger exploded through his body as John drove straight into Nomad like a wrecking ball.
They sailed end over end, spiraling in the air. As they flipped, John's fingers fumbled onto Nomad's shirt and locked on. Their bodies slammed into the metal tower with a clang. Hovering in the air, John pinned Nomad to the bridge with one hand. He reached back for a punch with the other.
Nomad's eyes darted to John's fist. He slipped out of the T-shirt John was clutching. John, tossing the empty shirt aside, whirled around just in time to catch a kick in the side. John buckled, sailing back through space in a ball, pain exploding through his ribs.
“Why are you making this so damn hard?” Nomad shouted, pulling at his hair. “Just come back and let me show you. If you just remembered, all this agony could be over.”
John's eyes drew back to Camila. This could be over? Nomad meant over between him and Camila. He'd forget her and become…well, whatever Nomad and his superiors wanted him to be. He shook his head. “No way.”
“Then I'll take you in myself.” Nomad sailed forward and swung at John.
Nomad's knuckles smashed into his jaw like a sledgehammer. John's head snapped back, his vision blurring, his mind ringing like a gong. He spun in the air, arms wheeling to right himself. Finally he stopped spinning, placing both hands to his head. When his vision cleared, he saw Nomad holding Camila above the churning water below. His arms were locked around her chest, her feet dangling in open space.
John skidded to a stop, fists lowering. Camila's face was a war of relief and terror as she looked at him. The puffy wrist hung uselessly at her waist. John, she mouthed, a fresh tear pooling in one eye.
“Please,” John said, terror now beating out the anger, “don't.”
“Gods, listen to you,” Nomad said, flashing his teeth. “Lovesick Romeo. This isn't you, Jopari. You would've never dated a human. They're a sub-species. It'd be like her dating a spider monkey.” He squeezed Camila a little and her eyes flashed open.
“Don't hurt her!” John hovered closer, gasping, feeling the dread of losing her like a ton of bricks on his chest.
Nomad gave a shrug. “I think I already broke her.” He nodded to Camila's limp wrist, twice as big as normal. “Can't blame me. They're just so damn breakable. And that's the thing John, if you're with her long enough, you'll break her, too. I'm just saving you all that awful guilt.”
John thought of Camila going limp in his arms as he'd sailed through the clouds. He grimaced. “Just put her down, Nomad.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Nomad loosened his grip. Camila slipped down a few inches and gasped, her hands clawing for Nomad's shirt. Below, the water churned angrily. “They're coming. And once they're here, none of this will matter. You won't get a choice in whether you remember or not.”
“Who's coming?”
Nomad grinned. “Our people. I'll show you.”
John looked at Camila. She was watching him desperately. “I'll come. Just let her go.”
Nomad smiled. “Sure thing.”
He opened his arms.
John watched it in slow motion—the shock on her face as Nomad's arms left her, the pull of gravity, her hair, her clothes angling upward as she went down, slipping past Nomad into space. The shock turning into fear, into terror.
Oh God. No!
John dropped after her.
He plummeted down. The wind pushed at his eyes, making him squint, but he kept his sights locked on Camila as she fell. He pushed with all his will downward, down toward the waves, down toward the cars. His heart would burst, but he pushed down, down, down.
Camila fell like a broken-winged bird, her arms wheeling, her clothes fluttering around her like limp feathers. Her dark brown hair lashed up over her face. Right now she'd be thinking of death, thinking she'd smack into the cold water before he'd reach her.
No, he thought, gritting his teeth. I'll save her.
He snatched at her arm, but his fingers sliced through empty air. He pushed down, his body groaning, every atom vibrating as he plummeted. Thirty feet from the waves. Twenty. He could almost taste the lake they were so close. He reached for her hand as the water rose up to meet them. She looked up. Between the long ribbons of hair, her face was fixed with terror, but a sliver of relief too, as if she believed in him. He pulled her body to his, folding himself around her, and used his body to cushion her fall.
They hit the water like a sack of rocks.
His back slammed into the waves, pain jolting into every part of him. The cold was shocking. Then water was everywhere, a world of swirling blue and froth and arms and legs. His brain chugged slowly. He fumbled, his hands slicing through the water uselessly. What direction was up? Where was Camila?
His fingers brushed something solid. An arm. He drew her to him, limp, heavy and lifeless. Was she dead? He wrapped his arms around her chest and pulled them upward.
He broke the surface, gasping. In the churning waves, her head bobbed lifelessly. He lifted her higher, his legs stirring beneath the water in a frantic tread.
“Camila!” he gasped, blowing water out of his mouth as a wave threatened to drown him. He had to get her out, but already a few people had stopped their cars and were peering down from the railing, gawkers with hands shielding eyes for a better look. Was that a camera flash? He gripped Camila's limp body with one arm and side-stroked like the devil was chasing him.
He pulled her onto the bank a quarter mile from the bridge. How long since they'd plunged under? A minute? Two? Her legs dragged deep furrows in the mud as he nestled her body between rocks and cattails. He pressed his ear to her mouth.
Nothing.
He locked his fingers together and positioned them over her breastbone. At least those alien bastards had programed him with CPR. He started compressions, hoping to God he didn't crush her ribs. “Please,” he muttered. He couldn't breathe. Not until she did.
She gasped, coughing, and opened her eyes, bl
inking droplets of water away that clung to her eyelashes. Her lips were purple and puckered, her skin pasty white but for two roses on her cheeks. When her eyes fell on him, she slowly lifted her trembling lips into a smile.
“You did it.” She weakly brushed a strand of hair from her face.
John let out a huge sigh. Then he leaned down and kissed her long and hard.
Camila
Friday 7:34 a.m.
Her whole body felt like it had been dragged through a trash compactor, but she was alive and John was kissing her. It was one of the best moments of her life.
He pulled back, his chest heaving, his T-shirt clinging to him, revealing every muscle. Though her brain was still soggy, warmth puddled in her stomach as she took him in—the flat abs, the curving pecs that rose and fell as he breathed.
Then the pain in her wrist found her. She moaned and drew her arm to her chest.
John's face flooded with concern. “Are you hurt? What can I do?”
“You saved my life,” she breathed. “That's plenty for now.”
She drew a slow smile onto her face, though the pain was almost overpowering. She slid onto her elbows and looked around. They were on a muddy river bank. Her clothes were streaked with muck and soaked straight through. Seaweed tangled around one sneaker.
The bridge strung across the water in the distance. No one could see them from here. Her eyes searched the sky. No sign of Nomad.
John followed her eyes up. “He's gone. I can feel it.”
Camila nodded, no longer needing to ask how he knew. All she felt was relief. That, and her throbbing wrist.
John reached out and touched the swollen, purple wrist with one gentle finger. “He did this?”
Camila nodded.
His face twisted into rage. “I'll kill him,” he said through his teeth.
She reached up and caressed his cheek with her good hand, his stubble deliciously rough under her fingertips. “Just take me back.”
Friday 8:52 a.m.
They stood hand in hand at the back entrance of Lizzy's. The drab yellow paint looked like bile in the hazy mid-morning sun. A cloud slunk across the sun, plunging them into sudden darkness. Camila shivered. Was it the dunk in the lake, the shock from her broken wrist? Or was it something else, some premonition of what was to come?
John's brow furrowed in worry. “We have to get you to a doctor.”
Camila shook her head. If she went to a hospital, there was a chance the police would find her. Instead, they had stopped at Fer's. Fer was gone, apparently already at work, but Shaun was home. He had dug out clean clothes and Vicodin. With the pain at least numbed and her wrist wrapped she could bear it.
Camila's stomach twisted into sailor's knots. She only hoped the plan she'd cooked up on the flight over would work. She would march into Lizzy's and beg Travis to get his girlfriend to call her father and have him drop the charges. And if she refused? Well, Camila would figure something else out. She had to get Mama out of jail.
Once Mama was safe, then what? They'd have to figure out what to do about Nomad and the beast.
One thing at a time.
She looked up at John and he gave her a reassuring smile. She rubbed her thumb against his palm, savoring the smoothness.
“I'll be right here,” he said in a hushed whisper.
It was the encouragement she needed. She pulled the door open and walked in.
On two stools near the order window, Fer and Travis looked like they'd been up all night: Travis's hair angled wildly and Fer sported her same Sponge Bob pajama pants. Steam curled from a convenience store coffee cup on the counter. For two sleep-deprived people, they sure looked tense.
“It's your fault she ran off with that killer,” Fer was saying.
Travis shook his head. “Well, you let her go the first time.”
“It's your damn girlfriend's fault.”
Travis blushed. “Maybe it wasn't Michelle who called.”
Fer rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Look, we just need to find Camila now.”
Travis shook his head back and forth sadly. “I called everyone we know.”
Fer shook her head. “Not good enough.” She held out her cellphone to Travis. “Call Michelle and tell her to get her dad to organize a search party.”
Travis eyed the phone. “I don't…think it'll be that easy.”
Camila stepped into the room. “Travis, it's okay. You don't have to call anyone.”
Fer ran over and crushed Camila with a hug. “I thought you were dead.” Her eyes found John standing in the doorway. “What's he doing here?” she said, stiffening.
Travis bolted upright, his stool clattering to the floor.
Camila shook her head. “Guys, please, he's not a killer. You gotta believe me.”
Travis opened his mouth to respond when a horrible ripping noise cut through the ice cream shop. They watched in horror as the door separated from the back wall.
Concrete popped and metal screamed as the back door splintered out of its hinges and crashed into the alley. Debris shifted through the light now pouring in from the hole. Two shapes stepped into the void.
The claws were black scimitars, six-inches long on paws the size of a grizzly's. The beast stood seven-feet-tall, a wall of muscle, the shaggy mane of fur behind the horrible, knotty skull. And those eyes, red and reptilian, that seemed to zero in on her.
She stopped breathing.
Beside her, Fer screamed.
Nomad walked around the beast like one would his faithful dog and looked at John. Nomad's eyes were almost sad as he addressed him.
“I tried, Jopari. I tried to tell you what a mess you were making. Now the top brass says this is the way it goes down.”
John moved in front of Camila. “Nomad, listen to me. I'll go. I'll leave with you and the beast right now. No one has to get hurt.” John's arms tightened. Even from behind she could see his chest heaving.
“Yeah, we'll go.” Nomad turned to the beast. “Do what you what you were ordered.”
The beast turned toward Camila and opened its mouth, saliva dripping down its fangs hungrily.
Then it charged.
John
Friday 9:06 a.m.
John dove into the beast's path.
Their bodies collided like a head-on car crash. There was a crunch in his neck and instant pain. His fingers found fur and grabbed on. The two spilled into the hallway, skidding, denting the far wall. Ceiling tiles raining down in chunks of white. An elbow cracked into John's skull, then claws sunk into his bicep. The white-hot flare of pain. John wrapped his arms around the beast's and locked them in a bear hug.
Camila. Where was she?
They grappled, the thing rolling, lurching to escape. It slammed them into the freezer, sending the hunk of metal smashing into a far wall. Its matted mane was in his face, gagging him. The smell was terrible, like a long-dead animal. The beast's arms flexed over and over again as it attempted to break John's grip. Though his muscles burned like hell, John held on like a cowboy at his last rodeo.
“Get…out!” he shouted at the humans. All he could see was a shaggy mane of fur and scaly shoulders, but he knew they were standing somewhere behind him, gaping. His grip was already loosening, fingers slipping like a climber on a cliff's edge. A shoulder mashed into John's jaw, his head snapping back. Hot blood filled his mouth. Something wet and stringy dripped on John's arm as the beast tossed its head back and forth. It growled and shook. John's fingers slipped another notch. He had to get these humans out.
Camila ran over. “John!” she screamed. She grabbed a metal ice cream scoop from the counter and whacked the beast in the head. It shook and turned toward her, its eyes searching.
“Run!” he shouted, spitting mane from his mouth. The beast clawed against the floor, nails scratching the tile, pushing both their bodies backward. John locked his fingers, but he knew he had only seconds left. The beast placed his paw on John's thigh and dug downward. Claws sliced into the meat of hi
s leg. More pain. John ignored it. The beast would go for Camila. It would go for the kill.
“Run, Camila! Please!” His fingers slid apart. He searched the room for her, behind the mane of hair that pressed into his face. She was there at the door, staring at him, fear etched into her face. Fer tugged at her arm, but she pulled away. She stopped, staring. John pleaded with his eyes. Go! He couldn't watch the beast tear into her. He opened his mouth to speak, but the beast jammed an elbow into John's ribs. His breath tore out of his throat, pain tightening his torso. He flexed his arms to the breaking point. He'd hold this thing until they were torn off if that's what it took.
A scream tore from the doorway. John snapped his head around. Nomad stood, bathed in light with Camila clamped in his arms.
Nomad stepped into the destroyed ice cream shop. His fingers tightened around Camila's bare arm, puckering her flesh. “Let him go,” Nomad said coolly, “or I crush her right here in front of you.” Nomad squeezed until Camila gasped in pain.
“Okay, okay,” John said. He couldn't think. Camila's cries of pain echoed in his head. He released his arms. The beast rolled away and stood, panting, claws out, eyes wild. John backed away slowly with his hands up. “Let Camila go,” he said, flicking his eyes between his enemies.
Nomad shook his head, smiling as he tightened his grip. Camila's face twisted in pain. She locked eyes with John.
“Stop it!” John shouted, striding forward.
His arms were wrenched behind him. John struggled, but the beast's arms were iron. Its scaly chest pressed into John's back.
Nomad held his ground. “Why wouldn't you listen to me when I told you to stay away from her in the first place, Jopari?”
John stared into Camila's face. She stared back, her brown eyes filling with tears. “Don't worry about me,” she whispered.
“I will,” he said, his voice trembling. “I will always worry about you.”
“Enough.” Nomad’s eyes were dark and hallow.
20 Shades of Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Collection Page 164
