by Sue Wilder
“Immortals can speak any human language they want, but for their magic they use mental images called one words—it’s a complete concept. They project it telepathically, just send it into someone’s mind. Robbie told me it takes a strong power to control the one word Christan used to put himself into the Void. That’s how he kept himself there, too. Only two immortals are strong enough to have forced him back. Probably the one they call Three did it.”
“They go by numbers?”
“The immortals on the Calata do. Some old tradition. Christan is her enforcer.”
“I can imagine what that means,” Lexi said, looking at the man.
“No, actually you can’t. It’s quite appalling in some respects, although I find it tragic. Everyone respects him. They would do anything for him. They’re trying to protect him right now, even though he doesn’t need protection.” Marge picked up a cube of the cheese, held it between her thumb and forefinger. “How do you see Christan, now that you understand what they are?”
“I haven’t formed an opinion,” Lexi said, although a part of her remained confused by the emotions he aroused. She was both aggressive and vulnerable at the same time. When he’d put her on the ground, the force of it felt empty, but there’d been more behind his action than ending an argument over photographs. He’d looked at her, and his eyes were dark and ancient. Bitter. She could still feel it.
“How do I factor into this, Marge?”
“You have memory lines.”
“One,” Lexi corrected. “Barely visible, and without memories, which I assume is the purpose behind it.”
“But you’re smart enough to know what it means.”
Toward the edge of the canyon, bits of dirt swirled in a dust devil that jumped and skittered across the ground. Lexi watched it fade away, then glanced at the faint line beneath her skin.
“What life was this?”
“If I had to guess, it was Gabrielle.”
“She died young.”
Marge nodded. “The lines record every remembered lifetime, not just those with the warriors.”
“They aren’t around for every life?”
“No, they don’t always interact. Sometimes, it’s due to circumstance. Choice in others.”
Lexi scrubbed her boot across the ground, a child, erasing something written in the sand. “How was Robbie able to find you?”
“The magic creates a bond energy in the girls. If a warrior is sensitive enough, he can pick up on it.”
“Describe it.”
“I feel a silver thread. When Robbie is near there’s a tugging sensation in my throat.”
Lexi turned her head to gaze at a distant juniper tree, gnarled and bent. Half of the tree had been severed from the other as if struck by violent lightning, exposing the inner heart, blood red.
“I don’t feel anything like that.”
“But you recognize him. You’ve been aware of him this entire time.”
Lexi looked back at Marge. “When Arsen changed, you said, not him.”
Marge picked at a thread from her khaki slacks. The low sound of male voices carried, filling the silence, and Lexi turned her eyes toward the juniper again. “It’s not Arsen, is it?”
“It was a long time ago,” Marge said. “Warriors are immortal. They wanted what no immortal should have dared conceive, and the Calata gave it to them.”
“I don’t think it turned out all that well.”
“No. For most of them, it wasn’t the gift they expected, and they failed to realize love could be so fragile. They made mistakes. The girls made mistakes. We were never meant to remember, you know, for that reason. But the magic wasn’t perfect. It didn’t prevent some of that pain from bleeding into each life, even when there’s no memory of the cause.”
“You’re telling me that because I feel lost and alone after some of those dreams, it’s a fragment of a past life leaking through?”
“Is that so hard to believe, given what you sense from the earth?” Marge placed a hand on Lexi’s forearm. “I’m not saying it’s easy. We have to face who we really were, what we did, what they did. It can be shattering in some instances. I had difficulty, but Robbie was better able to cope. He helped me through it.”
“Who’s supposed to help me through it, Marge?”
The other woman glanced at the two men standing in the distance. “Christan is everything they are, cruelly immortal in so many respects. But he follows a code of honor. There’s goodness in him, or at least there was. I think he’s forgotten what it’s like to be human.”
Lexi pressed a fist hard against the pain in her chest. Desperate, stinging emotions held her riveted, taut somewhere on the edge of the past. A past she could not remember.
“If it’s Christan, I can’t do this.”
“Of course you can.”
“No.” Lexi shook her head. “You see the way he looks at me. I. Can’t.”
“He’s been in the Void a long time. Robbie tells me it’s a cold, empty place devoid of all emotion. It takes time to find who you are again.”
“I’m not going on that journey with him.”
“He’ll just come find you again. At least talk to him.”
The image of Christan sprawled in her office chair rose unbidden, and Lexi’s chest felt so tight she thumped her fist below her collarbone. “We don’t talk, Marge.”
“You’ve had many lifetimes with him. Aren’t you the least curious?”
“No.”
“How can you pretend your reality hasn’t changed? Can you unsee Arsen, changing in front of you? You can’t. And you can’t sleep at night, either, now that you know someone was in your cottage. They forced you to dream and watched while it happened.”
“Why, Marge? It makes no sense.”
“Not in human terms, but perfect sense for immortals. Arsen thinks this is an old enemy trying to weaken the Calata. Night terrors exploit the weakness in the magic and bring the past life memories closer to the surface. Someone wants us to remember and they don’t care what they have to do. It’s harming the girls, and the warriors will break the Agreement if it’s not stopped.”
“Is that why Christan’s back?”
“Part of the reason. He can control the warriors.”
“And the other part of the reason?”
“They’ve killed three girls. And whoever is doing this now seems to be targeting you.”
“God, Marge.” Lexi squeezed her eyes shut, felt the return of the migraine as it sliced behind her eye. “I’m already terrified.”
“There’s a threat out there.” The woman grabbed Lexi's hands and leaned forward. “I would never lie to you about something as important as this.”
Lexi tugged free of Marge and rose to her feet, walked several paces away until all she could see was the darkening light that filled the canyon. It was too late, she thought, as shadows settled into purple. They would never leave this place in daylight.
She followed a small trail, worn down by the animals who existed in this wilderness, the deer, perhaps, who roused themselves at dusk to feed. The various predators who culled the herds. This was Hells Canyon, marked on the old maps as the Empty Place. It was fitting, she supposed, that everything she once believed had been called into question, in this landscape filled with utter emptiness, other than the susurration of the wind.
The wind stopped and Lexi saw him. He was standing ten feet away, legs apart, arms crossed, so still he could have been carved in stone. In the hard blade of his mouth she could see the beautiful, implacable weapon the immortals created, an impossible creature of ancient origins. The dying sun lost itself in his hair. The scent of him weakened her legs. The space between them vibrated as if electrically charged.
Lexi took a step back but there was no escaping. The sun was on her face and it felt like him. Every breath drew him into her lungs. The breeze lifted her hair and it was his fingers fisting. He was silent and he terrified her. He was the kind of man who could break a woman and sh
e couldn’t let him close. Could never let him close.
She felt the hard, thick wall he erected so easily and there was not an ounce of give in him. Nothing soft. Nothing reasonable. He was the knife that could pierce her heart before she felt the thrusting blade and she knew, now, recognized the fear behind the truth. He had destroyed her, in more than one lifetime. And he would do it again if she let him.
Her heart thudded so hard her chest hurt.
“I’m going for a walk,” she said.
CHAPTER 7
Trees in the landscape could be soothing. In Rock Cove, Lexi would wrap her arms around the ancient Sitka spruce, feel the energy rising in the sap. If the trees were willing, they would expand and retract in time to a human’s breathing, share both strength and resiliency. There were no trees in this desert landscape, though, and Lexi felt neither strong nor resilient.
She felt angry. Maybe her life was lonely, but she liked it that way. Worked hard to keep that way. Nightmares were tucked into separate boxes and she didn’t take them out, not even with Marge. But she recognized him, the man with eyes so dark they pulled the light from the sky. Recognized the faint echoes of a male voice. The sensations embedded in her skin, the glide of a dangerous hand, the warmth of whispers against her throat, building until she closed her eyes and tried to breathe.
Lexi was very aware they’d been alone on the path. He’d cornered her, stood lazy and ready. She’d wanted to tell him to go to hell. Thought it might be like burning if he touched her, held her. The hell could come afterward. When he went away.
And how did she even know that? It terrified her. There was a tingling on her wrist that was filled with him. An ache between her legs that was worse. She was so angry all she wanted to do was walk and keep walking.
That could have been why she never saw the man waiting in the jagged rocks. Hadn’t realized he was there until hard fingers crushed her hand.
“Wallace?” She looked at the grip and then up at the man who’d sent her to Montana to research a location, felt her heart thud with hazard. “What are you doing here?”
“Been looking for you, babe. And isn’t it so damn perfect you walked out here on your own.”
There was aggression in his voice. Once, Lexi found him edgy and attractive, thought he was an angel both dark and profane. But he was too arrogant to be comfortable, and personal boundaries were never respected. She couldn’t imagine why he was here. He still hadn’t released her hand.
Lexi tried to jerk her wrist free; he tightened his fingers.
“What the hell, Wallace.” Alarm rose quick and hard as she glanced over one shoulder, searching the path. “I’m not out here alone. Marge is with me.”
“Marge is preoccupied with her little tent. She won’t miss you for a while.”
The aggression was more threatening. Lexi stopped struggling. Wallace was stronger than he appeared, and when he dragged her toward the rocky cliffs, Lexi forced herself to remain calm. Fighting would only make him grip her more firmly, and she followed along on a path that was both steep and slippery. Gravel was mixed with ochre-colored sand. When a cleft in the rocks forced a new direction, Lexi pretended to stumble. Wallace turned, irritated, and she pressed a palm against her ribs.
“You’re not that out of shape, babe,” he said. “You were just trekking in Montana.”
“I’m not going with you, nice of you to notice.”
Wallace remained silent before whipping her hand against the rock. Blood began to trickle across her wrist.
“You’re a bright girl,” he said, “but we can do this the hard way if you want.”
There was no trace of guilt in either his expression or his voice. Lexi’s heart thudded. Without thinking, she kicked his knee; Wallace grunted, pushing her hard into the cliff. Blood pooled warm and wet against the back of her head and Lexi swayed slightly. The rocks began to spin. A bird screamed in the air above them.
For a fleeting second, Lexi thought Wallace regretted the attack. Then his expression hardened as he noticed the memory line.
“Did you like it when Arsen shifted?” His mouth had a slight curl that was chilling. “The girls always like it when we shift.”
Lexi watched him, tense and braced. Her hair was catching the sunlight, and she didn’t miss the way his eyes locked on the moving strands. He lifted his hand. She remembered being put down hard on the ground, realized he could do far worse. Had done far worse. The recording devices in her cottage and the night terrors hadn’t been enough; Wallace had come to Rock Cove to personally load the meditation app on her phone. She’d thought he was a friend. Had trusted him. Lexi told him as much.
Wallace made no response other than to glance around. The muscles in Lexi’s throat tightened and she was painfully close to tears. He returned his gaze to her wrist, to the single memory line beneath the skin.
“I don’t know why you’re upset,” he said. “It’s just dreams.”
“There’s no such thing as just dreams.”
“It’s easier if you don’t resist.”
“Then you do it,” Lexi said bitterly. “Your dreams have to be better than mine.”
Wallace refused to respond. There was a soft skittering sound in the rocks as if they’d disturbed some small creature. With an almost imperceptible movement, Wallace glanced at the cliff before looking upward to study the empty blue sky.
Lexi reached for the surrounding earth energies but found only the sand and the emotions swirling from Wallace. She realized he was a warrior, she got that now, felt angry that she’d agreed to go to Montana for him. Changed her schedule on short notice. Thought he was interesting and wanted to impress him. Felt more than stupid. She felt empty.
“Why waste your time with me, Wallace? I don’t remember anything even with all your efforts to force the dreams. I’m no one.”
“He isn’t.”
“This is about Christan?”
Wallace stood rigid for so long Lexi wondered if he’d answer her.
“That last life you spent with him,” Wallace said finally. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“I’d rather not remember.”
“But you’re afraid of him every time he comes close.”
“No more than I’m afraid of you right now.”
Wallace looked directly at her, then returned his gaze to the rocks. “Makes no difference to me, but there might be a good reason why you’re afraid.”
“Any you’d know that reason?”
An empty silence fell hard between them. After a long moment Wallace shifted his stance. His face reminded her of a statue carved in stone, remote, immortal. He pushed the hair from her face, lingered, his palm warm on her cheek. His thumb moved; she thought he was brushing away tears but she wasn’t crying.
“Just trying to help, babe.”
“Then maybe you should stop throwing me into the rocks.”
The soft skittering again, now with pebbles trickling down the path. Tension increased. Wallace reached into his pocket. A moment later, a cell phone landed near her feet.
“Call if you ever want to chat.”
He turned and disappeared around the cliff. For endless seconds, Lexi stood until she sat down hard onto the rocky ground, dropping the phone twice before hugging it against her chest. She was still hugging it when Christan pulled her to her feet.
“That didn’t take long.” Christan dragged his hands across her shoulders, then down each leg in an unnecessary search. The goal was intimidation. When he found her fisted hand, she threw her weight to the side and tried to twist away.
“Christan,” Arsen warned, but Christan stepped back, his arm locked around her waist. She resisted with a fierce, wild movement that set his nerves on fire.
“She called him Wallace,” Robbie said, coming into view and breathing hard. “He disappeared around that cliff. Gave her a phone.”
Christan loosened Lexi’s clenched hand, yanked the phone away and shoved it in his back pocket.
&nbs
p; “I don’t think she knows who he is,” Robbie continued. “He threw her against the rocks when she wouldn’t go with him.”
Christan felt no sympathy, only anger when she stabbed stiff fingers into his wrist, trying to break his hold. Bending down, he spoke against her ear.
“We watched on the drone’s cameras.”
“I hope you enjoyed the show.”
Her voice reminded him of night and heat and Christan wanted to pull her hard against his body. He was a big man. Towered over her and she still kept fighting. She tried to twist his thumb upward. He got so hard it hurt.
“Did you think we wouldn’t know?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“I don’t give a damn what you know.” She gave up on torturing his thumb and began pushing against his arm. Christan tightened the pressure until the struggling stopped.
“Were you meeting him here?”
“No.”
“Are you calling him later?”
“Are you some kind of crazy person?” Lexi arched back. Strands of blond hair caught in his mouth. “I was not out here meeting anyone.”
“His name is Kace.” Christan ground the words with the same aggression as he ground the taste of her hair from his tongue. “And you were rubbing yourself all over him.”
“Oh, good god—who talks like that?”
Christan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. She continued her desperate little rant.
“That was Wallace. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him, since that recommendation came from an acquaintance in Montana. Oh, right,” she added, “that was when you were lying about being an event planner.”
Christan tightened his arm and jerked her close. The scent of his enemy was still in her hair. When she shifted to keep her balance, her hips pressed against his groin and he hissed in a breath, barely keeping it together. The fire in his tattoos was fucking burning so hot he started to sweat and knew he was on the verge of shifting.
“Christan,” Arsen warned again. Several seconds passed before Christan relaxed his arm. Lexi stumbled away and Christan saw the wariness in her eyes. He wondered what Kace said in those rocks.
