Time Walker: Episode 2 of The Walker Saga

by Shannan Sinclair

  How do you know all this? Aislen asked as he heated the frying pan.

  Raze leaned on the counter again. Lange is the father of Infinium Incorporated, and Infinium Incorporated is my family. Well, probably was my family, now. Being in the family meant knowing the details of its history. What I wasn’t told was how The 8 ousted Sigmund, option-locked him and put him in a nursing home to rot away in his final days. It’s no wonder he was searching for a way out.

  “I wish breakfast wasn’t such a hands-on endeavor,” he spoke again, breaking the silent treatment to the Qis. “Because I would love to get my hands on you right now.” Nothing about his demeanor changed, same posture, same placid gaze, but the timbre of his voice became smoky velvet, and it moved through the air between them, viscerally caressing her skin.

  Aislen marveled at how Troy had worked so hard at this, seducing and enchanting her to get what he wanted, while Raziel wasn’t trying, or even interested, and yet it had such a powerful effect on her.

  Do they train you guys to do that or something? she asked, then tapped into Candy and Misty for inspiration. “Well, hurry up then, baby. I’m wet with anticipation,” she cooed. Her whole body felt flush, responding to her words as if they were true.

  Raziel only arched an eyebrow and again his lip curved upward slightly in amusement.

  Train us in what? The art of seduction? Yeah. You could say that. We learn how to manipulate energies. But you seem to be a pretty quick learner there yourself. Being able to channel that overt sexuality so easily. It’s very convincing. But don’t fret, Aislen, I’m not trying to seduce you. This is all just for show.

  He turned from her, got plates out of a cupboard and started going to work on cooking their food. While Aislen should have felt settled by his reassurance, she actually felt a sting of rejection. What she felt between them didn’t feel like a show. It was palpable and grew in strength the longer they spent time together. Didn’t he feel it? Or was he just so used to having this effect on women that he was impervious?

  He changed the subject. What else have you learned while I had you in The Womb?

  The Womb? Is that what you call your lab?

  It’s my nickname for her. It’s more appropriate than “lab” or “office,” especially since she’s designed to replicate the womb environment. She’s an isolation chamber for channeling consciousness in and out of the body.

  Aislen was taken aback. She hadn’t thought about what she was doing in that light and was surprised that Raziel would describe it in such a way.

  You sound like a yogi. Not a top-secret manipulation spy.

  Control Operative, he corrected. That’s the Infinium verbiage. But I understand what you mean. Yes. The concepts of what we do originated as spiritual practices. Religion censured and condemned them as a way of controlling people and diverting them away from true understanding of their natural abilities. At Infinium, we took out the dogma but retained the rational, scientific application of the technology. There is an outstanding profit margin in all this. The Church wasn’t dumb. Infinium just broadened the application for a larger cut of the pie.

  Aislen regarded him as he started plating their dinner, surprised by his straightforward explanation and slightly appalled by his lack of shame about his involvement or its outcomes.

  He came out of the kitchen carrying their plates, set hers on the counter, and sat on the barstool next to her. The electricity between them stirred. Aislen had no idea how she was going to be able to eat with her stomach doing acrobatics in his presence.

  As if he sensed her apprehension, he picked up her fork and held it up to her. “Eat,” he commanded. “You are going to need energy for what I have planned.”

  Aislen stared at him, speechless.

  Take the fork, Aislen. And put that food in your body. We need you at 100%.

  Aislen slowly reached up to take the fork, trying to avoid physical contact with him for fear she would faint.

  He pulled the fork away from her with a knowing half-smile on his face. “Take off your clothes. I want to watch you eat naked.”

  Aislen snatched the fork away from him. You gotta be kidding me.

  “Then I can have you for dessert.” He actually smiled a real smile after that, then turned from her and started eating.

  Aislen just stared at him. Is this how you are with women?

  Like I said, there usually isn’t this much talking. Eat.

  And that works for you?

  I get what I want.

  And that works for them?

  He stopped eating and looked at her. They get paid in money, not congeniality. So yes, it’s win-win. Eat, Aislen.

  Aislen reluctantly turned to her meal. While it looked delicious, she had no appetite. She picked at it with her fork.

  Raze leaned over to her ear, “Eat.” Though it was the barest whisper, it rumbled with authority and sent a prickle across her neck and down her spine. Every part of her body became completely aware, and she felt like she would fall out of her chair. She forked a piece of food and placed it in her mouth. Anything to distract her from that feeling and to make sure he did not do that again.

  He went back to eating in blessed silence. Once Aislen started eating, she found she was ravenous and devoured her entire plate before he even finished. When she finished, she looked up and found him watching her.

  More? He had that amused glint in his eye again. It threw her off that he was so humorous, this man who never looked like he’d laughed a day in his life. And although she was embarrassed by her unladylike gluttony, she was still undeniably famished.

  She slid her plate in his direction. Yes, please.

  Told you, he said as he took her plate and went to the kitchen to get her a second serving. He brought it back, set it down and watched her as she attacked it with gusto. He waited patiently for her to finish before getting serious.

  We have to decide what to do next, Aislen.

  She turned to face him, astonished by his use of “we.” Was he giving her choices? Including her in the decision-making process? It was disorienting how wrong she had been in this whole situation.

  The way I see it, we have two options. He stopped and looked at her like he knew she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. Do you want the bad option or the worse than bad option?

  Dread felt heavy in her gut. Worse than bad first.

  Raze took a heavy breath. Okay, worse than bad option is we take a lesson from your father and go into hiding. We change our frequency every five minutes for a couple of weeks, leapfrog across the planet until we find a clear space where we can adjust to a once a day frequency shift. Then we can reach out to your dad and see if he can guide us to his location. I can hand you off to him and then go my own way.

  He stopped and let her digest that idea. “I needed that. But I think I need a shower before we resume the festivities,” he added for the Qis. Aislen was unfazed by the innuendo this time.

  You know about my dad?

  I do. I’ve hunted him.

  Hunted?

  Yes.

  Aislen got a chill at the thought of her father as prey. It reminded her that she was, too. What’s the better option?

  I call a meeting with The 8, take you to Infinium, and sell them on the idea of making you a Control Operative.

  Aislen could feel the blood draining from her face. How is that a better option?! I mean, both ideas suck! But at least if I could find my dad, he could help, I could be safe.

  Raze kept his gaze steady on her. Running isn’t easy, Aislen. Your dad was really experienced, had years of training and still had an exceptionally difficult time. In the end, he had to give up something very important. Raziel’s gaze felt like it would cut through her. Someone he loved very much.

  The weight of his words sank in as Aislen realized he was talking about her.

  You are new to this. And you aren’t ready for that kind of sacrifice, Aislen.

  Aislen thought of her mom, of leaving her forev
er, and her heart broke.

  Reading her mind, Raze continued. He gave her up… and he gave you up. It was a devastating choice.

  Aislen searched Raziel’s face. There was something in his expression that said that he understood that sacrifice as well.

  How do you know all this? How do you know so much about what he felt?

  He told me.

  Her head could not possibly spin anymore. He told you?! When?! How?!

  He hunted me down. He came into Demesne while I was destroying it and asked me to help you.

  Aislen shook her head in disbelief. He wouldn’t do that! My dad wanted to protect me! You were trying to kill me!

  Raze didn’t argue or try to defend himself. He sat with her words, contemplating them, then without a response gathered their plates and took them into the kitchen. He cleaned the kitchen in silence. Aislen tried to read what he was thinking or feeling, but there was a block up, and though she was sitting in his old energy field it wasn’t a key to unlocking what he was thinking or feeling now.

  “Would you like a cocktail before I shower?” Raze broke the awkward lull. Say yes, it buys us more time, he added.

  “That would be lovely,” Aislen murmured softly.

  Raziel pulled out two glasses from a cupboard and a bottle of amber liquor. “Neat? Up? Or on the rocks?” He didn’t wait for a response, which was good because she didn’t know which was what. It didn’t matter anyway because he only poured one and slammed it.

  Raze set the glass on the counter and finally looked at her again.

  Look, I know it’s not ideal, he said. It might not even work. But making you a Control Operative takes the pressure off. We work with Infinium instead of against them. It still leaves option two open. And even though you wouldn’t be able to see or contact her, you would still be close to your mother. You’d be paid exceptionally well, enough to take care of her secretly. And there may be a way that I could connect with her, through Sgt. Mathis and the game, to communicate with her for you.

  Aislen thought about it. It wasn’t good enough.

  I want to go home.

  Raze looked at her, shaking his head ever so slightly. I’m sorry. That is impossible.

  I go home. You run. She insisted.

  Raziel set his jaw, and his eyes narrowed. That is your death sentence. You don’t understand these people, Aislen. You are on their radar. If you aren’t with them, you are against them. You wouldn’t last a night. Neither would your mother.

  That’s not fair! Aislen yelled at him telepathically. A rage flared up within her. If you hadn’t told them about me, I would have had a chance! She threw a harsh, stinging energy at him with her words, hoping he would feel it. He winced slightly as it found its mark.

  His mouth set in a serious straight line. I wouldn’t have told them about you unless I had to.

  That sucked the fire out of her. She sat back in the chair. Raze poured himself another drink; a double this time. He contemplated the golden liquid as if reading his fortune in its reflection.

  When you came into Demesne, it set off a chain reaction of unacceptable failures–my failures. You became my problem. I didn’t want anyone to know about you. I kept you a secret because I was going to handle you myself. But Troy found out you’d been in Demesne. You told him.

  Aislen felt ill, remembering all her confessions about her dreams.

  Troy was going to tell them about you, Raze continued, in order to ruin me. I told them you existed, about who you are, before Troy could so I could… his thoughts trailed off.

  So you could kill me. Aislen finished his thought for him. A chill went down her spine.

  Raze eyed the drink in front of him. I told myself that, yes. It’s how I justified why I was rushing halfway across the state to get to you before Troy could. So I could permanently handle you–and save my own ass. I told myself that, but it was a lie. Because the real reason doesn’t make sense.

  He looked up from the drink and straight into her. Cerulean scorched through the air between them, through her senses, through her body, setting her on fire again. He picked up the drink and slammed it.

  “I’m taking that shower now.” He came around the counter, avoiding her dumbfounded expression and walked toward the spiral staircase without a glance back at her.

  “Follow me,” he barked, leaving Aislen no choice but to do as he told.

  Twenty-Three

  Raze moved through the bedroom and into the bathroom, Aislen following close behind.

  “Shower on. Relax.” The shower turned on, and an ambient spa mix began to play. Definitely not his preference, but this wasn’t for him. He turned to Aislen. A fusion of uncertainty and trepidation played on her face. Strangely, he understood how she felt.

  You are the one who has to take a shower, so your energy reads like me in here. I’ll wait in the bedroom.

  Relief washed over her, and she nodded.

  Wait here. I’ll find you a change of clothes.

  He rummaged through his closet searching for something that would work for her, wishing he’d saved articles of clothing left behind by previous visitors instead of throwing them in the trash. He found a pair of soft fleece joggers and a muscle tee that were both too small for him, took them into the bathroom and set them on the counter. He got a fresh towel out and hung it on the hook by the shower. Aislen watched him with dubious suspicion, like he’d pounce on her any second. Rightful assumption. It was a common occurrence in these situations.

  Take your time, he said to her as he left. It’s what I would do, and it will keep any watchers fooled.

  He felt her eyes follow him out of the room as he went back into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, letting the veil of calm and control he’d been maintaining fall away. A storm of energies and emotions were roiling under his skin, aching to get out. He was barely contained, and it was clouding his brain.

  They were in a world of hurt, their safety insanely precarious. There was no way this little charade would be fooling any watchers. It was unlike any other situation in this house. Women came, they fucked, they left. They didn’t converse. He didn’t cook for them. He didn’t shower. For fuck’s sake! Especially not before a big project like the one he was supposedly prepping for.

  Either The 8 weren’t watching them, or they were dumber than he thought.

  But that was the least of his problems.

  He rested his head in his hands and applied hard pressure into the corner of his eyes. He was like a hot can of beer, and someone was shaking it; that someone was Aislen Walker.

  She was unraveling every cord of self-control he had. Raze was used to women reacting to him, and Aislen was definitely not immune. Evidence was all over her: the flush tinting her face, the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath, the rapid palpitation of her pulse at the curve of her neck.

  But there was an undeniable difference tonight: he felt it, too.

  The intense magnetism between them was preternatural, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. And it was growing, which was disturbing. It was disrupting his logical clarity and emotional control, scattering the electric impulses in his limbic system and sucking them all into his amygdala. It was taking extraordinary willpower not to succumb to it, not to grab hold of her and ravish her. His muscles ached from the restraint. That kind of energy was distracting, hypnotic, and for them, deadly.

  He needed a run. Or to punch something. Or to fuck one of his playthings for three hours. But all his old ways of managing his frustrations so he could stay clear and rational were unavailable right now.

  Even more dangerous were the other emotions taking root inside him. Watching her manage the little game they were playing with the Qis, adapting to the situation, and holding her own with him was intriguing. The acceleration of her skills in the last 24 hours was incredible. Most girls would be falling apart. Aislen was way out of her normal element and was not only controlling herself but also maintaining his old freque
ncy at the same time, keeping them within a thin safety net.

  She didn’t even have to try. It was natural and effortless. She was exponentially more adept than either Thomas or Preston Reed. She was probably Sigmund Lange’s greatest achievement–may he rest in hell.

  Raziel was in awe of her, a feeling completely foreign to him. He respected her; a word he’d never uttered in his life. She was his equal, maybe even more than equal, and he felt an instinctive need to protect her, to the point of even protecting her from himself. All of these feelings created a chink in his armor, and they couldn’t afford that vulnerability.

  Their situation grew direr the longer they sat still. They had to make a decision: either run or go to Infinium. There were no other choices.

  The amulet came to life in his pocket. In all the chaos of the evening, he’d forgotten about it again. He pulled it out, hoping it would somehow give him another option, a direction they desperately needed. He was stunned to find that it had changed again. Instead of nine colored gemstones, only six held their vivid sparkle. Two more had turned to onyx, the tourmaline and the citrine. What did that mean? What had changed in the time since he’d looked at it outside the market? Well, a lot, actually. Was it something they did?

  The pendant sparked with static in his palm.

  No.

  That was a relief, but he needed to pay more attention to the amulet and figure out why it was mutating.

  Another sting of static.

  No. He needed to give it back to Aislen, and she needed to figure out why it was mutating. It had answers for her.

  The amulet dropped into a mellow hum. That was a “yes.”

  As if on cue, Aislen appeared from the bathroom. She was still damp from the shower. Her hair fell in darkened, wet curls around her shoulders, framing her face and making the rich green of her eyes lethally entrancing. The soft joggers clung to the curves of her thighs and hips, the cotton t-shirt to the dewy parts of her stomach and breasts. A palpable charge ignited the room, and the air between them snapped with white heat. A disruptive sizzle glitched his synapses, and the familiar need to have, to possess, to own–now–surged through him. Lust impelled him across the room to within mere inches of her body.