by Raven Dark
Beautiful.
My men would probably have thought it was absurd, but it seemed as if the Maker had brought the rain at just the right time. If there was any doubt in what Emmy had said about this area being safe, there wasn’t any now. No one would find us here in this weather.
A man’s warm hands slid slowly around my waist from behind. The familiar warmth of the metal on Sheriff’s rings almost burned my skin in contrast to the chill from the outside.
He sat behind me, pressing himself slowly against me, his warm chest heating my back through my soaked frock. And of course, yanking me firmly out of my pleasant revelry as only Sheriff seemed to be able to do.
“Enjoying yourself, Little Spy?” His low voice rumbled in my ear.
“Yes, Master.”
Part of me wanted to wriggle away from him, to go back to a safe place where there was only the rain and my thoughts. Was it now that he would change, losing that gentle edge I’d seen at the previous camp?
The rest of me apparently didn’t agree, because my head dropped onto his shoulder, and I wriggled into him as if my body sought his warmth, whatever my mind wanted.
“Come to bed, sweetheart.” He pressed me closer to him, his voice rough.
My body never failed to respond to him. Even though every part of me was sore from riding, a familiar ache started in my core. I turned and looked at him, struggling for what to say.
He must have seen something in my expression, because his lips pulled into a smirk before he nodded over at the fire, where a bed had already been made up. “Steel is waiting for you,” he said.
Indeed, Steel was sprawled out on the bed of furs, his head resting on his hand as he watched us.
“I thought I was supposed to sleep only with you from here to Delta, Master?”
“You’ll sleep with Steel for now. Doc wants you with him, just in case he needs someone nearby. Besides, I’m taking first watch, I’m not sleeping.”
My muscles relaxed, a mix of disappointment and relief flooding me. I was too tired to handle Sheriff right now. Not that I didn’t enjoy being with Steel. I wanted time to be close to him after coming so close to losing him.
“Yes, Master.” I gave a last longing look at the rain and followed him back toward the fire.
Hawk sat poking the fire with a stick, Doc at his side. The others were holed up in the cave next to us. I heard T-Man, Pretty Boy, and Crash talking animatedly from inside it.
I looked at Hawk, and he nodded to the bed where Steel lay. “Sleep for now, Kitten. We’ll do your meditation training when you wake up.”
I wondered if he was letting me off the hook because he saw how exhausted I was, or perhaps because he remembered my saying I didn’t seem to dream when I was tired. Whatever the case, I was glad not to have to deal with that faceless figure from my nightmares just now.
I laid down, and Steel pulled me close to him, with my back against his chest.
“Do you…you want me to read with you, Master?” I said on a big yawn.
“Not this time, Petal. Sleep now.” He folded his big warm arms around me, chasing away the chill.
Another yawn. “Yes, Master.”
I closed my eyes, expecting to drop immediately off to sleep. But as soon as I relaxed, my mind began to spin with questions. Anxiety tugged at me. Anxiety over the nightmares I hoped I wouldn’t have. Over the dangers out there hunting us. I tried to let the sound of the rain relax me. Finally, I latched onto the one safe question my mind held.
“Master, what is this Delta thing we’re heading for? I heard Sheriff call it a summit before, but what is it?”
A few feet away, Sheriff, Doc, and Hawk talked in low voices on the other side of the fire. I was glad Sheriff couldn’t hear me ask, unsure if he would like my curiosity.
“Oh. Well…” Steel yawned, then cleared his throat. “It’s a meeting of the different heads of MCs and clan captains. Ones we trust, which aren’t many. Those who look after zones or own larger territories.”
“Wait.” I looked at him, some of the blood leaving my face. “Zone captains? Like Damien?”
He squeezed my hand. “Fuck him, no. Not like him,” he grunted, the hatred for Damien reminding me of Sheriff. “He won’t be there, Petal. Only closely allied groups gather at Delta. It’s a secret meeting no one gets into without all of us vetting every member after years of allegiance. We have all pledged an oath of secrecy just to get a seat.”
The thought of something so secretive intrigued me. I felt a foreboding rush of excitement and wriggled onto my back, looking up at him. “But what do you talk about in the meeting?”
Steel chuckled. “Let’s just say, some of our ideas aren’t popular with some people.”
“Ideas about what?” I tangled my fingers with his.
“Petal,” he growled slowly.
I gave him a teasing look at the warning in his voice, the same warning I always heard when I asked too many questions. “Yes, Master?”
“Go to sleep.”
“But—”
“Enough.” He nibbled my ear. “I may be tired, but I can still shut you up another way.”
I bit my lip and nodded, pushing down the well of heat that shot through me. “Yes, Master,” I sighed.
I closed my eyes, my mind spinning with more questions than before. What could these leaders be doing that kept Delta so secretive? The notion reminded me of just how little I knew about my men.
These rough and rowdy men who had stolen my body and then somehow, one by one, were stealing my heart.
Chapter 11
“A Storm is Coming.”
Almost as soon as it started, I knew right away it wasn’t just a dream.
The garden sprawled out around me as always, perfect and serene. My secret place, safe and welcoming.
Large clusters of flowers planted in waist-high pewter urns stood all about the garden. I sprinkled water on them from a watering can and caught myself humming a tune.
A familiar tune. I stopped, scrunching my brows. What had I been singing? I shrugged and watered more of the flowers, admiring their long white petals, snowy white with coral pink throats.
Contentment wrapped itself around me. I hummed again, moving onto another urn.
The temperature dropped, no more than half a degree; I felt the change cooling my skin. I drew in a breath through my nose.
Ozone. Rain.
I glanced up, expecting to see the usual perfect, cornflower blue sky. Instead, clouds boiled across the darkening expanse, turning it a sinister dark grey. Lightning split the sky, forks of violent white.
Maker, there isn’t supposed to be a storm here. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“There is a storm coming.”
The unexpected voice made me turn sharply. I blinked. There was no one there. A gorgeous meadow stretched out, a river of gently blowing grass with wildflowers bowing to its caress. The calm of the garden didn’t match the gathering storm overhead. No breeze blew, not even faintly. A wind should have whipped across here. A wind that wouldn’t have belonged here anymore than those thunderheads.
No leaves stirred on the tree a few feet away, the one beside the same stone bench I always sat on. Tranquility washed over me at the sight of something I knew should be there. In front of the bench, the fountain stood, topped with the statue of the stone woman, her arms raised in welcome to some unknown visitor.
I walked over to the bench and sat down, straightening the falls of my lovely coral dress. It reassured me somehow to feel the cool, solid stone of the bench through the soft, layered skirts.
Again, thunder rumbled, making me aware of its wrongness here. I was about to look up, but something caught my eye. I froze.
On the surface of the bench I was sitting on, I thought I saw something moving, but as soon as I blinked, there was nothing, only smooth grey stone.
Foreboding raced up my spine.
A crack of thunder broke the silence and lightning flashed.
> “Hello, Setora.”
I jumped and stared at the spot on the bench beside me.
There was no one there, but something was moving across the stone surface again, almost like an invisible hand was etching out…words. A warning. Somehow, I knew it was a warning. But when I leaned closer to get a better look, the words vanished.
I looked around again, frantic anxiety racing along my veins. Especially when I still didn’t see anyone.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
No one answered.
Again, my gaze fell on the stone seat. My eyes widened. The words appeared, scrawling with an eerie slowness across the flat surface, the invisible chisel carving them into the stone.
My eyes caught no more than a few letters. R. E. V. … Then they changed, transforming into a language that was all jagged, harsh lines and odd swirls.
Recognition hit me full-force. I knew that language. I’d seen it in the dream with Steel, in the book he’d been reading last time. I tried to make some sense of what I saw, but then…
I was seated in the middle of what looked like a cavernous parlor with tall glass windows and curved walls. Everything was a flawless white, all except for thick green plants with long leaves and more of those large white and pink flowers—Aurora’s Wings, I thought they were called. The walls were cold and undecorated, as though any added touches would have made unwanted blemishes. A set of wrought iron chairs shaped into those same flowers sat around a spotless glass table with gold trim. I sat in one of the chairs, white marble stone cool on my bare feet.
“Are you comfortable, Setora?”
My eyes snapped to the chair in front of me, and my heart climbed into my throat.
A figure sat across the table from me. Flowing robes covered the person’s shape, like the pristine white of the room we were in. The clothing the figure wore under them reminded me of clothes Damien would have worn; a folded-over vest over a broad chest, and silken pants with wide legs. Only instead of red and black, both were snowy white. There wasn’t a golden J’nai sunburst on the figure’s breast, and the only hint of color was a wide cummerbund of gold. The shoulders of the newcomer’s cloak were wide and pointed upward at the tips. I’d never seen a style like that before.
My gaze lifted to the figure’s face.
That same featureless face, a slab of oval-shaped skin that had no mouth or eyes, stared at me.
A scream tried to rise in my throat, but nothing came out.
Where am I? And who are you?
Even without features, I had the oddest sense that the…person…was smiling. “I’m not one of your Four, that’s for sure. I am so much more.”
Based on the width of chest and now the voice, I knew the figure was a man.
Ignoring the fact that he’d read my mind, I narrowed my eyes, picking up on the smugness in his voice. The voice was like nothing I’d ever heard before.
As a child, I’d heard stories of the angels the Old World spoke of. The angels who looked a little like Pretty Boy, only they were taller and bigger and moved with a cat-like grace. People wrote about their voices, saying they sounded like music, elegant and lyrical, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. That was exactly how this man sounded, only a register or two lower. It was chilling, somehow, and malevolent.
“Who are you?” I repeated, this time out loud. “Why have you brought me here?”
His head cocked, and again, I got the feeling that if he’d had features, I would have seen a mocking smile.
“Take me back to my garden now.”
“I think not,” he chimed. “I’ve gone through a lot to get you here. Sit. Have some tea. We have a lot to talk about.”
I glanced down at the table. A beautiful porcelain tea set sat in front of him. Had that been there before? He had a tea cup in his long, well-shaped hand, and when he lifted it to sip, he held the handle with his pinky finger sticking out.
No longer distracted, I balled up my fists in a sudden burst of anger and pushed to my feet. “I’m leaving,” I said coolly.
Only my feet wouldn’t move.
The man cocked his faceless head the other way. “You have such a presence, Setora. It’s perfect. Exactly what I’m looking for.”
Frustration roared through me. I grabbed the sides of my head. “What are you talking about?” I all but shouted.
He didn’t answer, but even if he had, I wouldn’t have heard what he’d said. The wall behind him held all my attention.
The words I’d seen on the bench earlier appeared again, letters crawling across the otherwise unmarred white surface. Each one stood out, embossed in the same gleaming gold as the tabletop trim. I thought I saw a few letters again—R E V. Then the letters changed into that strange language. Before they fully faded, something else caught my focus. A voice.
No. Lots of voices. Whispering, then almost chanting—so distant or so softly I couldn’t make out the words. I couldn’t tell if they were all around me or only in my head. Maybe it was both.
Some instinct struck me, and I swept the figure’s tea cup from its hand. The cup flew to the marble floor and broke with a tinkling sound.
“Temper, temper, Setora. Is that any way to treat someone who’s trying to help you?”
What in Maker’s name? The faceless intruder held a new tea cup, exactly like the other, his pinky finger out.
All around me, those whispering voices continued, only I swore they were louder now. Or there were more of them.
I looked at him again.
He gave a musical, tinkling laugh. “Can you hear them?”
“Who are they?”
“Come home. Come home to me, and you’ll know.”
“No. I am home. The Legion is my home. The Four are my home.”
Another musical laugh, soft, almost warm. “Foolish, foolish child. Just like them.”
The chorus of voices grew louder, saying the same thing over and over, the words like a steady, tribal drumbeat.
“Like sheep to the shepherd, they are.” His voice dripped with triumph. “Come to me, Setora. Come home where you belong.”
“No!”
The chorus of voices filled my head, loud and booming. I grabbed my head, almost screaming at the sudden pounding pain that seemed to split my head apart.
Fire crackled all around me, and I whirled. The gorgeous sunroom vanished. My beautiful garden was back, but it was burning beneath a sky as black as pitch, that terrible sun at its center like a single eye of flame.
“Come to me.”
The featureless figure’s horrible face was in mine. Hot breath fanned my face as he leaned forward, his voice now at my ear, a too-perfect hum.
“You belong with us.”
He nipped my ear lobe.
“With me.”
He spoke over the voices booming in my head, over the unending, repeating chorus whose words I couldn’t make out.
“COME.”
I screamed. My head hammered. I dropped to my knees, clawing at my skull to end the pain.
Even with my eyes squeezed closed, I felt it, felt the burning world suddenly coming apart, as if the ground itself was roiling, convulsing under the force of some unseen hand. The pain stabbed my head as if a knife were being jammed into it, and I felt warmth spilling from my nose and ears.
Consciousness tried to pull me upward, out of the garden, out of what had suddenly become a place of terror. Men’s voices—my masters—were calling me from somewhere, and even still, the world thrashed, convulsing.
It wasn’t until later, when I fully woke, ripped out of the dream, that I realized the world wasn’t convulsing.
I was.
I was thrashing wildly on a bed of furs, awake but not. Words were spilling out of my mouth, words I couldn’t hear.
Warm wetness dripped from my nose and ears.
* * *
I jerked awake and found myself blinking up into Sheriff’s gaze.
“What…Master?” I tried to sit up slowly.
“Careful,” Sheriff drawled. “Careful.” He helped me sit up gradually, one arm cradling my shoulders.
I looked around me, dazed. I was on the floor of the cave, my legs straight out in front of me, my arms limp at my sides. When I’d gone to sleep, I’d been spooning with Steel, laid out on a bed of furs. Now I felt the cold ground under me.
Glancing beside Sheriff, I caught Steel’s gaze. He was kneeling at the General’s side, his brow furrowed with protective concern.
“What the hell is going on?” T-Man grumbled, coming to stand in front of me, his blond wavy hair mussed from sleep.
Pretty Boy shouldered him out of the way and knelt at my feet, settling his hand on my foot. From the entrance to the cave, Crash hobbled in on his cane, looking worried.
I looked from one face to the other, panic welling up in me at what I must have done to bring them all here, watching me like I was about to explode.
“You were screaming to wake the fucking dead,” Sheriff explained.
“Sheriff, put her on that crate over there. I need to examine her.”
Doc’s voice beside me made me jump. He was kneeling on the opposite side of me, looking with an unsettling attention at the side of my face. He’d had his hand on my shoulder, and I hadn’t even noticed it.
“Relax, Setora,” Doc said gently. “It’s just me.”
“Guys.” Still kneeling in front of me, Pretty Boy nodded to me, his eyes flicking to my face, then to Doc, then back to me. “Look.”
“What is it?” My voice shook.
But no one answered. Before I knew it, I was sitting on a crate near the wall, one of Doc’s small biolights flashing in my eyes. Doc was kneeling in front of me, and the light disappeared. He leaned in, looking closely at my ear, wiping at something on with his fingers. Something warm. And wet.
“What the fuck?” Behind him, Sheriff was looking intently at my nose.
I put my finger under my nose, wiping at the warm liquid there. I stared at my fingertips. My heart sped up, and I looked at Doc who stared at his fingers with a mix of alarm and fascination.
Both the blood on my fingers and the blood on his was a bright, glowing blue. I swallowed, feeling suddenly sick.
