TravelersKiss

by Sherri L. King

  Oh…oh…frigg, what’s going on, effing snot…!

  Her fingers trembled. Her heart was in her throat, her breath coming in quick bursts. A choked articulation escaped from behind her clenched teeth. She couldn’t rein in her panic a second more; it had risen to levels she could no longer contain. “What’s happened to me? My hair is—”

  “Longer, yes.” He anticipated her concern with eerie accuracy. “But I assure you it looks lovely—” he hastened to add.

  “It’s too long. Oh criminey, oh jeez, it’s like a foot longer than it should be.” She panted and pulled at her hair as if the pain of it would impart some reason into this absurd situation. “Grimm, what the heck is going on?”

  “The answers you seek will bring you no comfort in this context, Raine.”

  “Oh, well, thanks for that,” she snapped, using sarcasm as a shield because it was all she had left. “I feel so much better now.” She turned to read his features, only to find him gone. Something darkled out of the corner of her eyes and she jumped violently, her skin drawn tight. “Holy crap how did you move that fast?” He had disappeared—poof, gone—and instantly reappeared practically on top of her, holding a bundle of clothing out for her that hadn’t been in his hands half a second before.

  “Put these on and I will take you from here so that you might find some of your questions answered. It will be best if you gain them in the proper context, that you might understand them and absorb them fully.”

  Raine took the clothes, holding them in her numb fingertips, afraid they might transform into snakes or something more dangerous. The rules of her world had drastically changed in the past hour and she was beginning to understand that anything—maybe everything—was possible.

  The bundle consisted of a long pair of soft, over-the-knee socks, a long cream-colored tunic shirt that fit her perfectly, the hem hitting her mid-thigh, the sleeves covering her wrists. “Um, nice,” she remarked in an unsteady voice, thoughts spinning dizzily in her mind. The loose-legged trousers appeared tailor made for her height too, and she concentrated very hard on tying the drawstring waist because by now her fingers were trembling with her nervousness. “It’s hard to find girls’ big-and-tall sizes,” she babbled. “How’d you know what would fit me?” Not that she cared to find out, she just couldn’t stand the silence.

  Or the obvious fact that he was watching her every move while she dressed. Nor was he bothering to hide it. The unblinking way he traced her movements as she bent and twisted to arrange the fall of her shirt and trousers pressed on her with the same weight of a jungle predator’s hunting stare. The cosmic radiance of his eyes roving over her fingers as she smoothed the linen folds against her new curves and toned muscles was as warm as tendrils of fiery breath on her skin, and Raine was once more reminded of a dragon.

  “You are most lovely to gaze upon,” the dragon growled softly.

  “Thanks,” she responded quickly, too unnerved for more eloquent words. She finished dressing with a worn pair of well-fitted moccasins lined with thick lamb’s wool, so that she really had no need for the socks. Raine tugged her mass of hair over her shoulder and smoothed it down—it reached almost to her navel, she was shocked to see.

  It should have only been long enough to fall around her shoulders…

  Touching her hair caused a swell of unease to rise in her heart, but she found she couldn’t stop fiddling with it nonetheless. When she dared glance up at Grimm again, his features had become somber as he watched her. There was so much going on behind his ethereal eyes, she couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking.

  “Shall we be on our way?” He seemed to have found a silent resolution with some unspoken question she wasn’t privy to and reached out for her, offering his hand with a courtier’s grace. “Come,” he urged when she hesitated. “Do you not trust me?”

  “Of course I do, I mean, what choice do I have?” she asked in a rush.

  “Quite right.” His lips curved, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Take my hand, please.”

  She pursed her lips, hesitated and finally did as he asked. Their hands fit together perfectly. It was so simple, this joining, yet profoundly moving. Raine’s tension eased at once, as if he’d reached inside her with that hand and soothed a festering wound. His grip was firm, the strength in him a texture she could read with her fingertips. His fingers tightened on hers and her head swam. The crystal chamber blurred from her sight and fell away. There was pressure from her head to her toes, as if she were ascending from a great depth of water at high speed. For a moment she saw the world spinning at eight hundred miles per hour beneath their hovering feet, then that faded away too. After what seemed an eternity, her ears popped, her vision returned and her feet once more touched solid ground.

  “Aw…crud.”

  Chapter Four

  Grimm had taken her to the edge of a very familiar line of trees. Whatever he had done, however he had done it, he had managed to transport them from the geode chamber to this night-darkened landscape without having taken a single step. “What are we doing here?” she demanded, blood heating with temper. “I wanted to see my sister.”

  “You will,” he placated. “First you need to know and understand a few things about yourself and the world you now find yourself a part of.”

  Raine nearly threw his hand away in her haste to be rid of it, but felt a pang the second she’d let it go. She flexed both her fists against the need to reach for him again. “Emily is going to be worried about me. Steffy is probably wondering if I’m dead in a ditch.” She spat the words, their bitterness unwelcome on her tongue.

  “I addressed those concerns already.”

  Raine really didn’t want to be here. Her stomach gave a sick lurch. “Look, man, I’m barely keeping it together here—”

  “You recognize this place,” he interjected, gesturing with a sweeping motion of his arm. The edges of his long, voluminous sleeve rippled in the air like ink drops spilled into still water. His words were not framed as a question.

  “Yes.” Raine scowled. “Of course I do. This is where I wrecked my stupid car.”

  His head tilted. He waited in still, patient silence for her to elaborate.

  Raine noted that his skull moved on his neck as if his spine had more joints than it should, and she felt a chill. “What?” She was growing more and more disturbed by the second. This place didn’t feel right, for more reasons than the obvious.

  “Does nothing strike you as odd about our surroundings?” He was an echo outside her mind.

  She hated riddles, loathed tests. But this was the riddle, the test of her life; she could feel it in the air like a fog. She needed to get past this. Raine let out an enormous sigh and cast a good look around, absorbing every detail. Her scowl smoothed then tightened into a frown while she asked herself why the hairs on the back on her neck were standing on end. “Well, for one thing, the shoulder of the road isn’t torn up where I gouged it out with my car when I barreled down into the ravine.” She turned around, an odd buzzing in her ears. “There’s no snow, no emergency vehicles. My car—what was left of it—is long gone. Dude, enough.” She shied away from the trees, losing all that was left of her patience. “We have already established that some time has passed since my accident. This bit of show and tell is unnecessary overkill, so what are we doing here?” She gritted her teeth as nausea rolled through her.

  “We are waiting.”

  Raine swung to face him. “Well I’m sure Emily and Steffy are waiting too.”

  “They know you are safe and that you are with me. I have said this.”

  “They know I’m with you?” Should she be happy? Mad? Happy that they were assured of her well-being, mad that they had met this amazing creature when she wanted him all for herself?

  Wait. Where had that thought come from?

  She couldn’t think clearly around all this pent-up aggression pushing up through her skin.

  “Of course. Where else would you be?”
<
br />   “Timbuktu.” Raine made a face. “I don’t know.”

  “You should focus on this place, on this time. Do not concern yourself with your dear ones. They know you are safe and well. Concern yourself only with this moment. Do you think you can do that?”

  He looked around and she followed his gaze, scanning the trees. She remembered the Daemon and shivered. A beat of silence, then another, stretching into the mile of moments until she could bear the eerie quiet no longer.

  “Okay, for just a minute, put yourself in my shoes. Do you feel like a little worm on a big hook? ’Cause I sure do. What’s the point of this? What are you waiting for?”

  “For you to notice why you feel like a worm on a hook.”

  “Notice what?” Raine looked around but saw nothing that might warrant such theatrics. “What? Give me a hint, something, anything, ’cause I’m in the dark here.”

  His eyes glittered. He put a finger against his artfully sculpted lips in a shushing gesture.

  Quiet. She couldn’t hear anything. What was he trying to—?

  Ah. An odd sensation had filled her while she was distracted, not unlike popping candy exploding in her mouth, only it was behind her eyes and in her throat.

  Listening hard now, Raine held her breath…

  Boom.

  She felt it more than heard it. It shook the marrow of her bones.

  Boom.

  Again—had she imagined it?

  Boom.

  Oh balls. No way. It couldn’t be.

  Could it?

  Could her luck possibly be that bad?

  Boom!

  Yessss. An insidious whisper oozed through her mind and the voice that spoke the word wasn’t hers. Almossst there, Little Mother.

  With a cry, Raine threw herself against Grimm’s side, swatting at the sides of her head as if it would purge the poisonous voice from her mind. “No, no. Nonono. We are not doing this.”

  Boom!

  It was closer. She shook her head until her hair flew with the vehemence of her rejection. “This is bad.” Gasping now, Raine gave up batting at herself and shoved at Grimm instead. “This is so bad. We need to go.” She grabbed for his hand. “Now. Grimm, c’mon!”

  He evaded her gracefully. It seemed they turned in a dance, fluid and practiced, and then it was she who was trying to evade him, much less gracefully. He reached for her hand and there was no escaping, she simply wasn’t fast enough. He caught her so easily it was embarrassing. Raine was terrified, the clamor was getting closer all the time. Grimm pulled her in close, snaked his arm around her collarbone, dragging her back against his chest, and she was pulling, yanking at his hold, frantic to get away. She could feel the leashed strength in him, the simmering power in his muscles, but he didn’t hurt her, not even a little bit, though it was blatantly clear he could have if he wanted to.

  He put his free hand over her mouth to silence her, leaned in close, his mouth by her ear, and God help her, she melted against him, wanting him more than she feared that thing coming at them. “No harm will come to you, Raine. I won’t let it.” He whispered the words, but she heard them clearly. “Listen.”

  He breathed the last word straight into her mind, filling her with heady warmth. She relaxed against him for one brief, delicious moment.

  Coming for you. That awful voice came again, that cruel thing. It cut her in a place that bled. Her fear was as sharp as any blade. Her relaxation fled in an instant. She thrashed against Grimm’s hold like a wild thing caught in a trap, but the man was as immovable as a mountain. She opened her mouth under his hand, feigning a need for deep breath, and his fingers slipped within biting distance of her teeth.

  Her jaws closed on his digits. The strange flavor of his blood—bittersweet pennies with a hint of smoke and ash that tugged at some dangerous place in her dampened memory—proved she had injured him. But it was the only proof so far as Raine could glean. He didn’t grunt or hiss or even tighten his hold on her. She tried to spit the taste of him off her tongue, only to have it slide down her throat and further ignite her fear.

  Raine felt his blood inside her. Sliding heat, prickling needles that brought her nerves to singing life, feeding her…

  She tried to stomp on his foot and discovered that he held her suspended just high enough that she couldn’t stomp anything but air. She kicked back, mewled in her throat, which stung from the scorching fire of his blood.

  “Be still, woman,” he snapped. “Know when you are dominated. I am not the enemy—your enemy comes. Be calm. You can do this.”

  His words broke the heavy yoke on her and some of her fright—the immediate and primitive fear of being held so tight and so close against him—vanished. Her struggles ceased at once. Her heart tripped and slowed as her mind cleared. Raine held her breath and listened. That pounding drum was growing louder, but so was a buzzing in her ears, a sound underneath and within the audible world. It pushed against the plates of her skull, swelling enormously, a beehive in her brain.

  Boom. Coming closer, picking up speed, footsteps carrying horror their way. Boom, boom.

  The buzzing brought tears to the corners of her eyes. Colors blinked brightly across the horizon of her sight. Something wavered before her in the darkness, like the shimmer of heat that you can see baking off a tarmac in the middle of a sweltering summer day. This was like that, but it was midnight and there was no heat and the wavering lines in the air coalesced into one thick rope that burrowed into her frantic heart. It was a mirage that she not only saw, but also felt. It was a dull ache piercing her center, tugging at her, draining her, pulling until she felt weighed down.

  Her head was set to explode, the nest of bees now a full-fledged swarm of killer wasps. This sound was awful. This sound could sting. Raine’s hands went to her temples, to hold the swarm inside. Beneath her palms she swore something moved.

  Grimm released her and she dropped on her feet, knees sagging so that she teetered and fell. Now she could feel the vibration of the footsteps in the ground. She could feel it in that refractive chord stabbing through her heart. A terrible stench filled her nose, a smell so vile it burned her sinuses and caused her to retch. Her fingers fisted in short-cropped grass, ripping it up by the root.

  Then there was a rush and a surge and—

  Calm.

  Peaceful, blessed silence descended on her like a shroud and she descended into the ossuary of perfect being.

  Raine allowed grains of soil to work their way into the tight grooves between her nails and fingers and a switch was thrown somewhere deep within her primal self, muffling the awful buzzing, banishing the maelstrom of terror she had become, so that her wits had a precious moment to clear. Her senses sharpened. She could taste the threat in the air, but was no longer overwhelmed by it—wasn’t even touched by it. She could hear the trees above the drumming din. Smell the richness of the earth over the rank odor in the air. She worked her fingers into the soil, as if the dirt had all the answers she sought, and somehow it seemed that it did. The more she touched the rich, moist dirt, the more she dug up with frantic fingers, the better she accepted the nature of what was to come and the role that was hers to play.

  The waves of heat in her vision flickered, solidified. With renewed purpose Raine carefully stood, completely grounded in the moment.

  Grimm, all but forgotten behind her, blended into the darkest of the shadows, studying her reaction in silence, his hood pulled low to hide his features.

  Raine’s gaze easily searched the trees. With fists full of dirt sifting through her fingers, she waited to look into the eyes of her approaching adversary. For once, Raine knew a sense of self that transcended all woe.

  She knew this game.

  She owned this fight, by God. It didn’t matter how Raine knew it or why. It was just so.

  Boom! The monster appeared from the screen of trees. Like any other nocturnal creature, it slid through the darkness as if born from the womb of it. And though it was a hulking, brutish monster, Rai
ne had no doubt it could blend in almost perfectly if it desired—no more than a blemish on the skin of the night.

  She studied it with a detached calm that might have disturbed her had it not felt so comfortable, so right, behind these new eyes of hers.

  The Daemon was seven feet tall, draped in gore, dressed in violence. Physically it was bipedal, but it was in no other way humanoid. This monster wore its lungs outside its body, and they worked like bellows until steam erupted from a slit that served as a nose in the aberrant face. The eyes were rotted fruit that glowed as if lit from within by sick, dying flames—a jack-o’-lantern of ignes fatui. It had no hair, nor was the shape of its skull recognizable from any species she knew, and worse, fragments of that skull protruded through the rotted flesh in sharp, ivory splinters—crooked and misshapen, these splinters fashioned a gruesome set of horns atop its head. The two arms were large as sewer drainage pipes and it had more than one elbow joint in each of them. It had hands, four fingers on each, but those digits ended in jet claws that glittered like Damascus blades.

  The mirage that shimmered in the air like heat wavered and streamed outward from the heart of the beast to join with a similar wave that flung out from hers. The waves joined and twisted, forming a rope, a cord. They were bound together through this cord, the Daemon and Raine, their souls connected so firmly she could feel the bond tugging at her like a hand inside her ribs.

  Raine’s terror was long gone. She was eerily calm. It felt strangely right that she should face this thing; she could survive an encounter with this sort of monster and so few could say the same. It was both a duty and a privilege to have this strength.

  From the buzzing in her head, she singled out a voice, and from that voice, Raine managed to isolate phonemes from which she gleaned another language. It was a language without name, but one she understood perfectly nonetheless. Raine rubbed her fingers together, the grains of dirt comforting her while she let the disjointed words swim through her mind with the crude calculation of a butcher’s cleaver.