Terran Realm Vol 1-6

by Dee, Bonnie

  Yeah, her brothers had taught her the skills to protect the precious book—deadly combat techniques, defensive driving and the like—but she sure as hell had never taken it seriously. It had been more like a game, humoring an old woman’s hasty commands. It wasn’t as if she, as a librarian, would ever kill anyone … she would never ever do such a thing. Lose her own life protecting her heritage, yes. Kill someone … hell no.

  One thing was certain. The destruction inside hadn’t been caused by a Terran. They were too cultured, too well-mannered for that kind of behavior. If and when a Terran ever showed up, they’d be up front and possessive as hell, at least from what Gram had told Mom. She’d been quite adamant on the difference between Terrans and Destroyers, one of the few things she’d been fierce about. She’d also made it clear Brenna would know, instinctively, who and what one was. One of the “gifts” of being a Warden.

  From what her family had imparted over the years, Gram’s idealized conception of Terrans was little more than a fantasy. The modern-day Terrans had no respect for human life, and had turned their backs on everything right and good. In short, they were no better than the Destroyers Gram had claimed they fought against. They were just as much to blame for the human lives lost in natural disasters as a common murderer on the street. And Brenna despised everything they were.

  But her legacy, her heritage, demanded she safeguard the Sorhineth for the moment one of them came calling, and lend them her presence should they want to view the Sorhineth. It grated that the Terrans were destined for such access, even as she recognized the Sorhineth could never fall into the hands of a Destroyer. Their magic, just like their name, was tainted by evil, and they were the reason the Sorhineth and Clan Kennedy had been hidden away for so very long. If the Sorhineth fell into their hands, it could very well mean the end of civilized life as the world knew it.

  The first time she’d heard the ominous warning, she’d almost laughed aloud. She wasn’t laughing now. She strained her mind to recall everything her mentor had passed down, but her inner vision kept flashing back to the living room, thwarting her efforts.

  Tommy’s massive truck pulled into her driveway, coasting to a soundless stop, engine muffled by the dense snowfall. She’d made the right decision, because of all four brothers, Tommy was the one who believed in her role as Warden the most. Unfortunately, he was also the most protective because of it.

  She stepped out of the truck, lowering her voice to an urgent whisper. “Someone broke in and trashed the place. Didn’t take anything fencible, though.”

  Tommy’s face took on a grim cast. “The Sorhineth?”

  “Yeah, that’s all I can figure. But I didn’t want to go in there alone.”

  “I would have kicked your ass if you had, little sister.” He walked to the back of the truck and pulled out a hooked grappling bar. Brenna realized he’d pulled it off the rig on his way out the door and hoped to God—again—he or his crew wouldn’t need it in the next few minutes. A gun wouldn’t have made much difference unless it was a head or heart shot—the Destroyers were that tough—but the fireman’s tool was something only used for good, for right, and therefore had karma beyond belief. Or at least that’s what Gram had said… “Always use karma.” She hoped against hope her wise old grandmother had been right.

  Gripping her useless can of Mace, they walked to the front door side by side and slipped in.

  Brenna grimaced again at the mayhem done to her living room. Stilling, she did what she should have done the moment she’d stepped foot into her home, but had been too scared to try alone. Some Warden she was. She closed her eyes and felt the interior of the house.

  Nothing here right this moment, but she could scent a faint trail of energy, viscous and putrid green, painted on the air. Only a being of evil would leave such signature. She’d been right … it had been a Destroyer … she felt it deep in her bones.

  “He’s long gone, but let’s be careful.”

  “Damn straight.” Tommy advanced into the house, weapon extended, and cleared each room with Brenna a step behind. Every single one of those rooms had been trashed. Whoever had done it left their nastiest surprise in her bedroom.

  “Fuck, Brenna. What the hell?”

  “You can say that, bro,” she breathed, staring at the writing scrawled on the wall above her bed in scarlet.

  WARDEN—I’LL BE BACK.

  “Shades of The Terminator, eh?” Brenna joked, though her voice wavered.

  “This is serious.” Tommy’s voice sounded—dare she even think it—scared.

  “Yeah, no shit.” She swiped a shaky hand through her hair, pushing sweaty blonde bangs off her forehead. “I wish Gram was still alive, ‘cause this is seriously bad ju-ju.”

  * * * *

  Donovan paid the cabbie, oblivious to the icy air and falling sheets of snow, and looked over the little turn-of-the-century house on the corner with a tactical eye. It was well-kept, suburban, and the very last place he would have expected to find a book of lore. A big-ass truck and a little Bronco were parked in the driveway, doors still open as if the occupants had left in a hurry—or been pulled from within. The innocent appearance of the building had already set his senses on alert—it was too innocent looking, too staid, too perfect as a hiding place. The two vehicles simply confirmed his unease.

  With a stealthiness born of too many years of combat, he sidled to the sidewalk leading to the house, breath pluming in front of him. The front door was wide open as well. Was he too late?

  As he entered the interior his hackles rose. The place had been tossed, no doubt about it, but the untouched television and stereo screamed it wasn’t a burglary, or at least not a normal one. What if the Warden had been harmed? What if the criminals were still in the house?

  Scanning the room with his Protector senses, he detected something “off,” but it was nothing he’d ever experienced before. His recent work in the earthquake relief efforts had given his Earth Elemental side a taste of despair, of fury, of sorrow, but not anything resembling this. Even his days as a soldier through three bloody wars hadn’t felt like this.

  Voices from the back of the house caught his ear.

  Donovan tensed, then shrugged out of his jacket. He wasn’t above using the skills he’d excelled at on the battlefield and his Protector power to snatch the Sorhineth and fly his ass right back to San Francisco, weather notwithstanding.

  Drawing a well of energy from within, he walked silently down the hallway toward the voices. The key fob in his pocket grew strangely warm against his thigh, but he shook it off as a consequence of drawing power.

  Two figures stood in the farthest bedroom—a man and a woman. They both exuded a quiet, competent energy, though it was tinged with anger and more than a little fear. But nothing else … these two were human as could be and therefore not the threat he’d sensed.

  From behind, they were as different as night and day. The woman, Brenna Kennedy he assumed, was tall for a human female and of medium build, with hair the pure, untainted color of sunshine. The man was huge, heavily muscled, and dark as the night.

  Donovan drew more power. If it came down to a fight with this man, he would need all the help he could get. Then he saw the words written on the wall and felt a wash of certainty—the woman was indeed the Warden he sought. Behind the surety came a bit of wonder stained with a faint curl of apprehension. What he had sensed before could only be one thing … a Destroyer. Until this second he’d thought them nothing more than a myth meant to scare Terran children into being good little preternaturals.

  All the evil he’d seen in his life, the experiences which had irreparably marred his soul, had been human, not Terran. Why something different had occurred now was … worrisome.

  “Brenna Kennedy?”

  Both humans whirled, and the behemoth brought a wicked-looking weapon to bear.

  Donovan made a show of not flinching, of not even turning his gaze to his opponent. “I mean you no harm. Are you Brenna Kennedy
?”

  “Who in the hell are you?” the man growled as he shifted the hooked staff up just beneath Donovan’s chin.

  Donovan ignored him, focusing on the woman in front of him instead. She looked at him with a startled expression. Eyes which had been widened in fright now dawned with a kind of resigned awe. Aye, she understood what he was. Knew it because it had been bred into her, carried down in genes centuries old.

  “It’s all right, Tommy.” Her smoky voice slid over him, setting his body jumping in a way he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Over forty years, as a matter of fact. Since Angeline.

  “You know this guy?”

  Donovan answered for her. “I am Donovan Callahan, of the Protector and Earth Element clans. I am Terran.”

  Tommy backed up two steps and sat down on the bed hard, suddenly deflated. Interesting. So the male knew the history as well. Good. It would save them all unnecessary explanations.

  Brenna Kennedy still stared at him, breath hitching in her throat. He swept her body in one assessing glance. Nice, very nice. Rounded in all the right places, but not something he would usually notice, not after being around Jenalee and her groupies for as long as he had. But notice he did.

  He berated himself. He wasn’t here to scope out the local hot chick, but to take back his heritage. With any luck, he’d be on the nine oh five flight back to San Francisco tonight. Then his self-imposed mission of restoring order could begin in earnest. He hadn’t decided yet if it was a fool’s errand, but some part of him, one that hadn’t been burned away by death and destruction demanded he try. His dedication to humans—not Terrans—drove his actions now. The Terrans, with the exception of Jenalee and a few select others, didn’t deserve a fragment of his attention. Their dereliction of duty—and his—left a sour taste in his mouth he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get rid of.

  “You’re here for it.” Her tone was resigned now, but underneath it he sensed a hint of … disgust?

  “Yes.” He gestured to the words above her bed. “And given what I see behind you, I’ve come just in time.”

  She sighed and sat on the bed next to Tommy. Donovan noticed the similarity in their faces for the first time, now that he wasn’t being threatened with bodily harm. Siblings. It was the facial structure, he decided. Unusually shaded blue eyes above high cheekbones and strong mouths. What should have looked masculine on Brenna instead made her appear strong-willed and sexy as hell. Yeah, her mouth was definitely something that caught his attention.

  She cast a look at her brother, then her eyes met Donovan’s. Her stormy gaze brought to mind rumpled silk sheets and long, sultry nights. Tangled, sweat-slicked bodies and moans of completion.

  “You know I can’t just hand it over, right? I need to meet with my family, and then I’ll have to accompany it.”

  Donovan shook his head, both to deny her words and banish the image of her spread out like a feast. “No need, Warden.”

  “Uh-uh.” She stood, crossed the space between them in one long step and poked him in the chest. In pumps, she only came to his nose. Donovan bit back an unexpected smile. Feisty, wasn’t she? Apparently her earlier discomfiture didn’t extend to fear of who and what he was, even when he towered over her by a good six inches. When was the last time someone had stood toe-to-toe with him, unafraid?

  Her scent, light, airy, with a hint of jasmine, curled around him, teasing his senses before settling deep in his lungs. His cock jumped in response, and it took an effort not to lean in and find out if she tasted as good as she smelled. Somehow he didn’t think she or her brother would appreciate the action.

  “The Sorhineth doesn’t leave my sight, ever, unless I’m dead. My Gram was exceptionally clear on that point.” Now her voice was flat, brooking no argument.

  Donovan tamped down his temper and his body’s rapidly rising response to her. Now was not the time. He’d never heard such a thing, but it wasn’t surprising, since the Sorhineth and the Wardens had become little more than myth over the last century. Hell, as far as he knew, no one had even tried to contact a Warden in well over a hundred years, and what had happened this year could only be a direct result of that. Perhaps the direct approach was best.

  “You have seen the destruction wrought this last year.”

  “Yes I have,” she replied, anger snapping suddenly in her eyes. “And if the Terrans would get off their asses and do their jobs, I’m sure Loma Prieta and Hurricane Hugo wouldn’t have been as bad.”

  Donovan dipped his head in acknowledgement and did what he’d always found the hardest. “And that is the reason I am here. Will you help me, Warden Kennedy?”

  *

  Holy shit, a Terran. And what a Terran he was. Big, well-muscled, and tall in a holy-crap-this-guy’s-a-Sequoia way which spoke of outdoor exercise rather than hours spent in a gym. Wearing tailored dark slacks, an immaculate dress shirt and a hideously expensive silk tie, he looked every image the successful businessman … until he moved. Then you saw the feline grace beneath the suit. The hint of danger. The curl of sensuous lips that could easily be cruel if the situation warranted it. He reminded her a bit of Tommy actually, all dark and brooding and dangerous, but without the massive upper body strength.

  And even as she appreciated Callahan as a fine physical specimen, her conscious mind told her that he was scum. Just like the others, letting the world go to Hell in a handbasket and not giving a shit, as long as it made a profit.

  She cast a quick glance at her brother. He looked as shell-shocked as she felt. Even with the lore her Gram had passed down, she’d never expected to actually meet one of them in the flesh. It was so much easier to believe in the evil of the Destroyers and the—at best—ineptitude of the Terrans after the awful things she’d seen year after year. And that brought her back to her original accusation.

  “That’s all well and good, but where in the hell were you during hurricane season, or in October?”

  Callahan exhaled heavily, and she could hear frustration in the sound. He obviously wasn’t someone used to being questioned. She didn’t give a damn. While she might have written off the Sorhineth as a joke before, it sure as hell wasn’t now.

  “It’s complicated, and more than I’m willing to go into when that,” he gestured to the blood-red letters on the wall, “is staring me in the face. Is there somewhere we can go to talk this through? Somewhere safe?”

  Tommy rose, having regained his composure. Now he bulled up to Callahan in a mano-a-mano display.

  Brenna sighed. They didn’t have the luxury of time for this macho crap, even if she agreed with Tommy for standing up to him. Someone needed to, and it looked like it was going to be her distasteful duty. She raised a hand, stopping her brother before he began to speak. Blown away though she might be, the threat was very real. Only the Terrans, the Destroyers and her family knew of her status as a Warden, and by extension, what the Sorhineth was, according to lore. No one else could have trashed her place and not taken a damned thing.

  “Tommy, he’s right, and I don’t want to endanger the rest of the family by showing up at Mama and Papa’s. We can use one of the rooms at work. It’s neutral—and where we need to be. Get the rest of the family together in an hour. We’ll meet you there.”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone with this joker. We don’t know enough about him yet.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s Terran, and it’s his right. You know it as well as I do, can feel it as much as I. I need to do this, Tommy. By myself. It’s my heritage. He’s not dangerous to us, just an obligation.”

  Tommy looked hard at her, obviously considering her argument, then shrugged, but the motion was forced. “You’re the Warden.” He stooped, giving her a quick, fierce hug. “Be careful, little sister.” Then he turned to Callahan. “I’m holding you personally responsible for her safety. Understand?”

  Callahan nodded, one swift movement of his head. Sure, strong, invincible. Too bad that didn’t extend to doing his damned job. “Protect
ing is what I do best. Have no fear, Tommy Kennedy, we’ll be at the rendezvous site.”

  Tommy hefted the grappling hook, propped it over one shoulder and walked down the hall, his shoulders tense, back ramrod straight, as if he was abandoning his duty by leaving her behind. Brenna shook her head. She appreciated the sentiment, more than Tommy would ever know, but it was time for her to stand on her own two feet. Time for her to learn exactly what her legacy meant.

  “C’mon, Callahan, let’s boogie before he comes back.” She motioned to the ruined wall above her bed with a quick flick of her hand.

  He moved quickly enough, and was good to his word. He ranged in front of her, blocking the hallway with his body, a picture of coiled, ready ferocity. If a Destroyer showed up now, she had no doubt Callahan would take care of it, just as he’d promised Tommy.

  He retrieved his suit coat, and when they reached the front door, she felt the weight of a protection spell settling over her. It wasn’t something she’d ever experienced before, but recognized nonetheless on almost a cellular level. It felt … funky. Strange and tingly, as if insects were crawling over her. It wasn’t unpleasant, just … weird.

  “Do you really think that’s necessary?” Since you haven’t given a shit about any human’s safety … ever? She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice—if not her thoughts—and must have succeeded, because he just shot her a glance over his shoulder.

  “It certainly can’t hurt.”

  Good point, that. “How’d you get here?”

  “Cab from Logan.” He shouldered through the door, then stopped, blocking the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be retrieving the Sorhineth right about now?”

  “It’s not here, otherwise you’d probably sense it.”

  “Then where is it?” There was a thin thread of desperation in his voice. Interesting. The Sorhineth meant more to him than he was letting on.