She swatted his arm. “What if I told you I’m ninety-nine percent certain the man in my dreams is Peter?” Mark didn’t say a word, so she continued. “When I saw his picture, I totally freaked. There are subtle differences t though, hair and eye color, and the beard. Also, Dream Candy has a scar on his chin.”
“Dream Candy?”
“My nickname for my dream boo,” she admitted with a giggle. “Anyway, his edges are rough and his speech is antiquated, which I find kind of hot. I suspect my Englishness is rearing its head.”
“Antiquated?”
“Antiquated.” Analise deepened her voice and said, “You are my Consort. We are not done, Analise Saria.”
Mark laughed. “He really talks like that?”
No, I do not, Michael. My Consort engages in what she calls humor.
“Yes, and it’s kind of sexy. I would love to loosen Dream Candy up a bit, teach him some twenty-first century words. If he were real.”
Frown lines creased her forehead. “Peter’s dialect is New York, Long Islandish, and very Ivy League. There is the face fuzz. You know beards are a total non-starter with me but, on Peter, the face hair didn’t bother me.”
“Did he touch you?”
“What? Who, Peter?” She lifted her eyes to Mark’s face, puzzled by his question. “Whoa, what rabbit hole did we fall down?”
“Did he kiss you?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, he was a perfect gentleman. What’s with the questions, Mark?”
The helicopter touched down with a bump and Analise’s fingers gripped her seat. Once the blades stopped, Mark undid his seatbelt, stood, and headed toward the door. Turning to Analise, he bowed. “Your chariot awaits, Empress.”
Chapter 7
She flattened herself against the leather seat and crossed her arms against her chest. “I’m not moving until you answer.”
Such childishness does not become the Consort to a Seraphim. Do you wish me to have Ra . . . Roger remove you from your seat, Analise Saria?
“Him and what army?” she demanded.
I do not require an army to bring you to me, Consort. Please cooperate. Your safety requires it, and I wish to see you.
She grunted and undid her seat belt. “This better be worth it, Dream Boy. If you’re a frog, I’m so kicking your ass.”
She rose and stomped to the doorway, cursing when she spied Mark’s grin.
“You owe me sixty-five,” he stated.
“Fifty, since you weren’t supposed to be listening.”
She followed him to a dust-covered Jeep about ten yards from where the helicopter landed. She looked around, then hesitated. Excuse me, did you say Seraphim?
I did.
A jolt of excitement flipped through her. A Seraphim was an angel. If Dream Candy was an angel it. . . it meant. . . .
Analise pursed her mouth. Did the demons’ coming after me have anything to do with you?
Everything that happens to you has to do with me, Consort.
Arrogant twit.
I understand why you might see my words in the manner you do, Analise Saria. Your emotions are presently unstable. What I do not understand is why you call me unsuitable names. I am not a twit, whatever a twit may be.
Unstable? Did you just call me unstable?
No, I stated your emotions were unstable. There is a difference.
Analise clenched her fists as she climbed into the Jeep. Mark hesitated before he slid on the seat next to her. With Roger riding shotgun, Will started the vehicle and it lurched forward. Once they were on the road, Mark reached beneath the seat and pulled out a thermos. He handed it to her.
“Coffee. It’s not your fav, but it’s hot with enough caffeine to improve your mood.”
“Nothing’s wrong with my mood,” she snipped, taking the thermos. She poured coffee into the cup and drank before handing the cup and thermos back.
Mark tightened the lid and slipped the thermos under the seat. He looked at her. “Better?”
“I am so firing your butt when we get home.”
Roger and Will laughed loudly. “One day, Ms. Drake, you actually need to fire him,” Will said. “It’s the only way any of us will believe you.”
Analise hmphed and stared out across the desert. “Why are we headed to Chaco Canyon?”
Mark didn’t answer as the Jeep pulled off the road. Will drove another five minutes before turning right toward a gully. Analise saw an ancient Land Rover parked on the side of the road. When the Jeep reached the Rover, she gasped and swore loudly.
“Add two hundred to my bill, Mark. Then tell me what he’s doing here when he should be dead. Never mind. He’s a ghost, I’m dreaming, and I’ll wake up in a few minutes.”
She let Mark hustle her out of the Jeep and into the Rover. Sandwiched between Mark and the should-be-dead-but-still-among-the-living Gabriel Angelis, she decided he was a prototype cyborg. Analise closed her eyes and silently screamed her frustration. Somebody needed to save her from over-protective mute cyborgs and tell her what the hell was going on.
You can blame me, Consort. They are doing what I ask. Is what you are doing necessary, Analise Saria?
What?
To hold a conversation with yourself when in fear or confusion as you seem prone to do.
“Leave me alone,” she mumbled and opened her eyes.
Familiar landscape whizzed by and, despite her trepidation, triggered a smile. She had fallen in love with Chaco Canyon on her first visit. It was also where she met Mark. Initially, she thought he was a fellow graduate student. By the time she realized her mistake, Mark was found family. When it was time to return to Cambridge, she was glad he went with her. It was one the happiest summers she’d spent in England since the death of her parents.
He was also there for her when Martine died. While he didn’t replace her cousin—no one could do that—Mark became her confidant, best friend, and family. She kept almost nothing from him, not even her dreams. What Analise never spoke about was the day her parents were murdered.
The police report was wrong. Richard and Kella Willoughby didn’t die because of a home invasion. They died because the stranger wanted her. She obeyed her mum’s telepathic command to hide in the safe room, latching on to her mum’s chaotic thoughts until a single word slammed across her mind. Asael. Then an absolute stillness fell over the house.
Four-year-old Analise slept, ate the food her mother stashed, and when necessary crawled through the tunnel and into the small bathroom. She spent her time reading her favorite books and practicing her letters and numbers. She had drawn pictures of her mum, dad, and herself on the blank walls until the crayons became tiny nubs. Mostly, she waited.
Analise’s fingertips pressed against her temples. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the memories. Why now? Why were suppressed memories suddenly coming to the surface? Jostled by a body pressed against her hip, she opened her eyes and the memories receded.
She was in a car headed to the one place she’d put on her do not travel card. The pressure on her hip was Gabriel Angelis. She glanced sidelong at him. There was one question she wanted to put to Fate and the universe—why wasn’t the man dead?
She studied the man’s profile. Despite the weariness, Angelis was clearly a protector, a burden carved on his face, and she’d become his personal mission. Her barely dormant paranoia was full blown and wanted Angelis to talk. Analise also wanted him to explain the braid.
“Toretto,” she mumbled.
“Toretto, Ms. Drake? Not someone I’d compare myself to since Dominic Toretto is a car thief, although he does possess a concept of honor. I see myself more like Lucas Cage or Captain America or even Thor.” Angelis’ lips parted in a smug smile. “Your stage whisper needs work.”
Analise hoped, for once, her brown skin hid her embarrassed flush. “Lucas Cage?” She shook her head. “I don’t see you as an Avenger either. More a Lord of the Rings type. You know, the strong silent, brooding outsider, maybe Aragorn.”
Angelis turned to face her. “Interesting you invoke a Christian-inspired fantasy. Are you familiar with Paradise Lost, Ms. Drake?”
She tapped her chin. “Let me see, literature degree . . . I believe I heard of the text.”
“‘He trusted to have equaled the most high.’” Angelis’s voice carried a current of sadness as he spoke. “Blind Milton was unaware Fate chose him to voice angelic history to humans.”
Analise witnessed his pensive expression before he directed his attention to the desert.
“It was a troublesome time for all angels when Satan’s ambition and resentment led him to challenge the Hierarchy, especially difficult for his twin brother.”
“Did you say twins? Satan has a twin brother? I suppose his twin’s name is Lucifer.”
“Actually it is,” Angelis stated.
Analise chuckled. “You’re telling me Satan and Lucifer aren’t the same theological villain? Okay, this is some serious historical revision. I take it Milton was in the dark on that piece of angelic genealogy.”
Angelis flicked her a long-suffering glance. “Lucifer is the firstborn son and heir to the Seraphim Ser. Satan was born minutes later. Human religion has nothing to do with angelic history.”
“If theology isn’t the reason for Satan’s fall, what is?”
“His pride and ambition. He would have committed fratricide to rule the angels. A civil war ensued and continues even to this day.”
“So, angels are human and can die?”
Angelis’ top lip curled with disgust. “Angels are definitely not human. Two separate species with one or two similarities. Much in the same way humans and apes are different but have commonality.”
His sneer deepened and Analise grinned. The little joys in life, seeing the cracks in an arrogant man’s veneer. “What about the immortality hype?”
“Angelic lives measure in millennia or even eons rather than years or centuries, which to the human brain suggests immortality.”
“If old age doesn’t kill them, what does? Snipping off an angel’s wings? Wait, don’t tell me,” she said. “Let me guess, a stake through the heart.”
“Droll, Ms. Drake. Very droll. Angelic wings are vulnerable, snipping them only pisses us off. Beheading an angel is much more efficient, assuming you can get close enough to do so.”
Analise waved a dismissive hand. “Enough about angels, what type of shifter are you and Roger? Obviously, he can shift into the semblance of an angel. Is shifting what kept you from dying when you jumped from the limo?”
“Angelic genetics is remarkable and actual shifters are a variation of those genetics,” he offered. “My body can repair any injury before it becomes life-threatening. By the time I reached New Mexico, my bruises were healed.”
“There it is. I’m stuck with beheading.” She tilted her head and stared at him. “How did you get here before us? Please don’t tell me you used your wings.”
“As you wish. I am pleased you accept the reality of angels.”
She stared at him, his expression impassive except for the sardonic smile he wore. “Droll, Mr. Angelis. Quite droll.”
The Land Rover turned onto a single vehicle dirt road and stopped. Dust swirled before drifting back to earth. Angelis got out and offered her his hand. Analise stared at it before she took it. She exited and looked around.
Chaco Canyon, on its surface, appeared a desolate, sterile, and unforgiving place. Analise had discovered differently on her first visit. Desert blessed Chaco in the same subtle ways the Ahaggar Mountains blessed Algeria. Pockets of life were everywhere. As much as it pained her, the return to Chaco was a return to home. Stepping away from the others, she searched for a familiar landmark. She spied Fajada Butte to the East and realized they were probably somewhere in the southwest section of the canyon.
The sun reminded Analise she hadn’t sun-screened. Turning to the car, she felt a prick on the back of her neck. She reached up to rub the spot, dismissing the bite as probably a sand-fly, before she glanced at the rock formation to her right. Her hand shaded her eyes as she looked up. An apparition rose from the rocks.
She blinked and stared at the haloed figure. It took a second to recognize the Navajo male dressed in faded blue jeans and a gray T-shirt coming towards them. His shoulder-length black hair was braided and tied with leather. Her gaze went to the geometric pattern on his sash when he stood a few feet away from her. Two arrows.
“Another bloody warrior,” she muttered.
The Navajo laughed. “You’re surrounded by them, Ms. Drake, and have you forgotten sound carries in this part of the canyon? Welcome. We’re riding from here out. Grandfather assures me you get along with our horses.”
Excitement curled in Analise’s stomach. The last time she rode a Navajo-trained horse was with Sani Hayoi. A soft whistle brought another warrior from the rocks, three horses trailing behind him. She briefly forgot about the neck pain that wouldn’t go away
She curbed her delight before giving the warrior an imperious look. “You know who I am. Who are you?”
“My grandfather warned me you were feisty and quite English despite growing up in the States. Aaron Hayoi.”
“Sani is your grandfather? How is he? Where is he? When can I see him?”
Aaron chuckled. “He is well, looking forward to seeing you again. We ride to Tsin Łizhin. We should be there before sunset if you are ready to ride with one who is no longer a stranger.”
“You should have said something,” she retorted. “The Hayoi name jumps queues in my world.”
Analise mounted the horse who was skittish. It took several minutes to calm the mare. Aaron and Angelis flanked her while Mark and the second Navajo warrior rode behind them.
Her excitement grew her as they set off. Seeing Sani again would make an f-upped day a little brighter. She wondered if Dream Candy would really be there. She heard a faint laugh in her mind.
I will, Analise Saria. Waiting to greet my Consort.
The irritation on the back of her neck flared. She rubbed it, puzzled by the telepathic voice she heard. How did he get inside her head? Who was he? She scanned her awareness to make certain her blocks were in place. They weren’t and Analise shivered. Glancing at the men riding beside her, she was tempted to search their minds. The men were familiar yet something about them was setting her teeth on edge.
Her fingers clenched the horse’s reins, causing it to skitter sideways. It took a second for her to get the mare under control, then she whispered, “Who are you?”
She sensed his confusion before he asked, What is wrong, Consort?
Fear scraped her spine, an icy tentacle pushing dread throughout her body. She opened her mouth but her words were stuck in her throat. Panic gurgled in her stomach and Analise clutched the reins tighter. The horse sensed her anxiety. The Navajo riding on her left extended his hand. “Are you okay, Ms. Drake?”
“Don’t touch me. Get away from me,” she screamed.
“Ms. Drake.”
Run, Analise. You’re in danger, get back to the Rover. I’ll take care of everything. Trust me.
Peter.
Analise kneed her horse, jerking its head westward and away from the threat. Dry air stung her eyes as she raced back to the Land Rover. The mare whinnied and reared. Analise instinctively twisted her body as it became airborne, her shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. Two distinct sounds merged as an echo in her ear: the noise of a breaking bone followed by the woman’s voice in her mind telling her everything would be fine. Then all went ominously quiet.
Analise winced as fingers pressed hard against her shoulder. She screamed and swore she’d kick whoever’s ass caused the excruciating agony ripping through her. As the pain faded to a horrible ache, she opened her eyes. A face shrouded in fuzziness hovered inches from hers.
“The fall broke your wrist and dislocated your shoulder,” Aaron said. “I needed to reset both. Don’t move.”
Her vision cleared and she exhaled gi
ngerly. “Next time, let Angelis fix me. I want to kick his ass for this stupid road trip.”
Mark’s laughter grated against the throbbing in her head. “That’s my Empress.”
“I hope there’s no next time. I’ve braced both injuries but the ride won’t be easy,” Aaron explained. “You will ride with me.”
She struggled to sit up before giving into defeat. She gritted her teeth and hissed, “Do your worst.”
Analise winced as firm arms tenderly lifted and cradled her. Angelis smelled clean, like a pine forest after a quick summer storm. Aragorn. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Aragorn is a better name for you because you’ve got brooding down to an art form,” she mumbled.
“I would ease your pain, Ms. Drake,” Angelis said, “but your telepathic shields are impenetrable.”
She squeezed her eyelids while he lifted and positioned her on Aaron’s horse. The Navajo’s muscular arms snaked around her. She cursed when the horse started in motion. Once the agony lessened to a constant ache, she lifted her gaze to Aaron. “What happened?”
She heard the trembling in her voice. Aaron’s calloused hand stroked her forehead. His voice was gentle when he spoke.
“Someone created a telepathic link. It cause you to react the way you did to keep you from Tsin Łizhin,” he explained. “My grandfather says you are one of the strongest telepaths he’s met. He doesn’t know why your barriers failed.”
Analise settled her head against Aaron’s chest. “He helped me once before.”
Aaron laughed softly. “I’m not surprised since everyone in our family is a guardian.”
“I know,” she murmured before slipping into unconsciousness.
Chapter 8
Analise Saria.
Analise stirred at the sensual utterance of her name. “Hello, Dream Candy.”
It is puzzling you refer to me as such, Consort, since I am neither a confection nor a dream.
“Then give me your proper name.”
Fate's Consort Page 8
