Claimed (11 page)

“Which is relevant why?”

“Because if your main man Odin figures out how to take you to the place in time and space where he resides, he can drag other people out, too. Or maybe send his army marching in from his world into ours.”

“Whoa.” Chiana sat back against the seat, her hand dropping from Creed’s shoulder. “That is freaky and so very, very wrong.”

That, Creed decided, was the understatement of the century. Absolutely nothing good could come of a god of war having free reign in a world already equipped with a hair trigger.

He shut the book, handed it to Chiana and scooped up the others. He needed to be some place with brighter lighting and more security. He’d made one mistake by not scoping out this place before they came in. He couldn’t compound it by getting so caught up in reading that he lost track of the world around him.

* * * *

As they hit the road again, Creed did some mental calculations. The distance from where they were to the caves was easily accomplished as the crow flies, but the roads they’d be taking were far from straight. Adding in the factor that darkness would make finding the secluded opening to the cave he sought tough, he decided they might be better off making the attempt in daylight.

Which led to another problem. Wherever they took shelter, it had to be as safe as one of those caves would be.

“Feel like busting out some street lights?” he asked.

“And you think
I’m
the one with the erratic behavior and anger issues,” Chiana replied.

“Cooling our heels in a jail with locking doors and three layers of men with guns to come through before anyone reaches us has a definite appeal right now.”

Chiana rolled her eyes. “Get serious. Much as I’d love to change my clothes for an orange jumpsuit, getting arrested means having to go before a judge. I’m pretty sure our next address would be the local psych ward when we announce that a spirit warrior is coming for me and we needed someone with Tasers to run interference.”

Creed sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Jail, for a lot of reasons, was out as a sanctuary. If the agency caught the slightest whiff of the trouble Chiana was in, they’d track them down and haul them both back. If that happened, the thin ice he skated on would break, and they’d both be lost.

“I’m assuming we’re not calling in for the location of the nearest safe house, right?” Chiana asked.

Creed shot her a look of irritation.

“I’m thinking.”

“So sorry, mighty one.”

Creed ignored her mock apology and ran though their limited options in his head. Lillian would have put them up for the night if he’d asked. An inside room at a hotel in a populous area was another. But Odin’s messenger had tagged Chiana in a well-lit parking lot, which meant he—it—could probably get her at those places, too.

Then again, maybe the only reason the ghost chasing her managed a touch was the element of surprise. Knowing something was possible wasn’t the same as expecting it to happen. Even though Chiana knew her heritage, the doc’s shots and years of being safe made her complacent. With the brand on her arm, she was on guard.

One thing for sure, they couldn’t drive around aimlessly until the skies lightened enough for him to find a way into the caves.

“Shelter,” Chiana said, the single word infused with excitement. Creed turned to her with a frown.

“You want to adopt a cat?”

She slapped his arm.

“Not animal shelter, a people shelter. There has to be one somewhere on the path we’re taking. Don’t those places usually have locks and guards?”

“Locks, yeah. Maybe security guards. But that’s not going to be much protection against a hunk of ectoplasm.”

“Ah, but according to you and Ms. Science back there, a warrior is after me. No self-respecting big bad ass is going to start a fight where there are women and children. Am I right or am I right?”

Creed contemplated the idea. Her logic was solid about their pursuer. Warriors didn’t draw innocent blood.

Like you did.

He pushed away the thought and tossed his cell phone to Chiana.

“See if there’s one on the way. I’m not getting off the direct route to find one.”

Chiana experimented with the unfamiliar smart phone until she managed to get onto the Internet and look for shelters. She quickly scanned through them and brought up the directions to one an hour or so down the road. Saving them, she watched the road signs go by.

“Look!” She pointed toward a green sign. “Fifteen miles to Huntington. When we get close, I’ll tell you where to turn.”

Creed bumped up their speed and made the miles to the exit in quick time. Following a series of turns as Chiana announced them, he eventually pulled up in front of a wood and brick building with a discreet sign on the front door.

“We’re here.” He leaned forward to peer out the window.

“Yes, indeed.” Chiana stared out her side window.

“Still want to do this?”

She nodded.

At the barred door, Creed pushed a button and waited for the disembodied voice to respond. Instead, the door swung open, and they stepped into a small foyer where they faced another door. A tall, wide man blocked their entry; light from the “exit” sign above him shimmered against his shaved head.

“We need help,” Creed said. “A place to stay.”

“You two married?” the big man asked.

“Sure are.” Chiana moved close to Creed and took his hand. “For almost two years.”

“I’ve got a place for you,” the man said, “but our men’s beds are all filled.”

Chiana’s heart dropped, and her chest tightened. Coming here had seemed like the perfect solution. She’d never counted on being turned away because there was no room.

“Please,” she said. “My sister-in-law is so sick, and we were told to come as soon as we could because the doctors aren’t sure how long she has. We’ve been driving for hours, and we just can’t go anymore.”

“Where are you headed?”

To her relief, Creed stepped in.

“Detroit.”

The man folded his arms and studied them. Chiana tried her best to look pitiful, hoping space would magically come open. Creed’s fingers tightened on hers. She couldn’t decide if he was warning her not to speak or if he was as concerned as she was. If this didn’t work, they’d have to go back into the dark night and take their chances.

Finally, the man said, “I probably shouldn’t do this, but I’ll let you sleep on the couch in the staff lounge. We usually don’t accept new clients after midnight, but every rule has an exception, right?”

Chiana nodded and offered what she hoped passed for a smile of gratitude. She didn’t want to be separated from Creed; she didn’t want to sleep among strangers after learning her pursuer could slide into people without their help or knowledge. Maybe a motel would be better.

Or maybe worse, when she realized how many more potential hosts were available there.

“Thank you so much, sir.” Creed released her hand so he could shake the shelter manager’s. “I hate to ask this, but is there a chair in that lounge? I’ve got a bad problem with my back that all this driving’s making worse.”

“A recliner,” the manager said.

“Would you mind if I slept there and gave the couch to my wife? We don’t want to bother the folks already asleep.”

The response was long enough in coming that Chiana figured they were about to be kicked out. The answer came as a long sigh and a curt “Come on, then.”

The chair was well worn and the couch showing its age, but they looked wonderful to her as she kicked off her boots, loosened her pants and stretched out on the vinyl surface. She plumped the pillow the manager had provided and stuck it under her head before covering herself with the plain but serviceable blanket she’d been given.

Finally able to relax, she realized she was exhausted. Some of it was from coming off a hard night of work then everything that followed. Part of it, though, she suspected was caused by the rush and slowdown of Doc’s magic elixir in her body. Sleep would restore her. Sleep would let her shove down the emotions whirling through her and let her logical mind take control.

Chapter Eight

From the recliner, Creed watched Chiana and envied her the oblivion of a temporary separation from the waking world. Her dreams, he imagined, would be kinder than those that plagued him. She’d find an escape from everything they’d conquered and what they had yet to face. His dreams, if he allowed himself to sleep, would bring the usual regrets and self-recrimination.

Which was why he had no intention of sleeping. He’d use the time to read a couple of the books Lillian had loaned them. By the time Chiana woke, he hoped to have a better idea of what they were dealing with and how to foil the spirit warrior’s plans.

The books were old and some of the language archaic. Their covers were fading and some pages dog-eared and worn, yet Creed found a veritable treasure trove of information. Modern writers tended to explain away the paranormal in terms of mass hypnosis, folklore and reflections of the desperate needing a way to deflect societal problems. The authors of these books, on the other hand, believed. They knew the dark side, recognized that the reason so many cultures had believed for so long was because otherworldly creatures were real and moved among them.

Blessed with an excellent memory, he had stored away a wealth of knowledge before a loud bell sounded and an amplified voice announced that breakfast would be served in twenty minutes. Closing the book he was studying, he stretched and looked to see if the bell had wakened Chiana. He got his answer when her blanket-covered form uncurled, and her eyes opened.

“Please tell me I slept till noon,” she said in a slow, thick voice.

“It’s 6:40,” he answered. “Time to rise and shine.”

“No.” A yawn muffled her words. “Don’t wanna get up.”

“Do what you want, but according to the white board on that wall, there’s a staff meeting at seven. You may not want that big guy sitting on you.”

Chiana answered with another yawn and a kick that sent the blanket flying. She sat up and yawned once more before reaching for her boots. Creed headed for the adjacent bathroom to give her privacy. When he returned, she was ready for the day and flipping through the books to the various pages he’d marked with paper clips he’d filched from a desktop. She stopped when she saw him.

“I’m sure the food here is okay, but I’m starving,” she said. “Whatever was in that new stuff of Doc’s has jacked up my metabolism. What say we get out of here?”

“Okay.” Creed pulled his wallet from his pocket and took out a fifty-dollar bill. He stuck it under a lamp on the desk near the door, picked up the books and said, “Let’s roll. I want to be in those caves long before evening.”

Linking her hands behind her back, Chiana stretched; she held so long Creed thought he heard her shoulders pop. He watched as she released the hold and lunged left, then right with her long and limber legs. Apparently his recliner had been more comfortable than the couch he’d given to her.

“Can we walk?” Chiana pointed to a neon sign shining through the dim dawn light. “I’m already claustrophobic, and I’m not even cooped in that tin box with wheels yet.”

Creed looked around. The sidewalks were empty, and traffic was light at this hour. The restaurant she’d spotted was a chain twenty-four-hour pancake place. Even Chiana should get enough carbs there. What he needed was caffeine and lots of it.

“Let’s go.” He draped his arm around her shoulders as a reminder that he was still in charge. When she didn’t protest or pull away, he wondered whether she simply wanted human contact or if she was beginning to realize who the boss was.

They were greeted by a sign reading
Please seat yourself
when they walked through the plate glass door. Creed headed toward a booth in a corner; walls on two sides suited him perfectly. He sat where he could watch both the entrance and what was happening outside the big window.

If their server was surprised when Chiana ordered the hungry farmer breakfast of three eggs, sausage and bacon, pancakes, fried potatoes and biscuits and gravy, then added a side order of chocolate chip waffles, the woman managed to hide it well. Creed ordered an omelet and breakfast steak; he needed protein as much as Chiana needed carbohydrates.

“Coffee first,” he said, “and keep it coming.”

“Milk,” Chiana added to her order, “two glasses right now and one when my food comes.”

She downed the first glass in one long drink then polished off the second one a little more slowly. Creed noticed that once she had something with substance fueling her, her demeanor was calmer. The metabolic burn rate was off the charts. He decided to stock up on food before they left town. The last thing he wanted was for her to wind up hungry and weak when she needed to be in fighting—or at least escaping—shape.

The smallish restaurant filled slowly. Creed decided that despite everything they’d gone through, including sleeping in their clothes, they must still look okay. Either that or the early-morning clientele was on the scruffy side, and they appeared absolutely normal to them.