Authors: Ellen Connor

Tags: #Romance, #General, #Paranormal, #Fiction

Daybreak (32 page)

BOOK: Daybreak

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The sun had set, replaced by a fragile moon. Just a sliver of light against a wholly black backdrop. She and the four-person recon team had crept forward along three kilometers of overgrown forest. Every few hundred meters, she sat and concentrated on the vibrations of the earth. She couldn’t describe them as anything else. The planet had a pulse, from underground rivers to the creeping crawl of worms. The mines took up area that felt like dead space in her head.

Gritting her teeth, she opened her eyes to find Arturi sitting beside her. He’d been with her every step. While she appreciated his encouragement, she wished another man held her hand.

She needed Tru’s love. She needed his faith that the world deserved a better future. And those two things seemed incompatible. The pull to be selfish shimmered off of him like his golden aura.

“Three hundred meters due north, behind a fallen L-shaped tree.” After a gulp of water, she forced back the blaze of pain. “One hundred meters northwest, between two elms, one of which is scarred by a lightning streak.”

Arturi read his compass and made notations in a leather-bound journal. It looked ancient, with yellowed pages fattened by humidity and frequent use. “Advance. Five hundred meters. Hold position there.”

He helped Pen stand, with her arm around his shoulders. Her knees shook. Her backbone felt made of moss. Dizziness slipped her vision toward a charcoal gray that had nothing to do with night shadows.

“Penny?” Arturi gave her a gentle shake. “Come on now, old friend. Stay with me.”

“I’m here. Go.”

She would not lose to O’Malley. Fear of using her magic had stayed her hand for too long, made her terrified of losing control. Of using all that she had. That wasn’t an issue now. Arturi deserved every ounce of strength she could muster.

Although she couldn’t remember much of the journey, she found herself at another rallying point. Fire burned behind her temples. She ate again, drank again, but nothing stemmed the tremors shaking her limbs. Concentrating produced nothing, as if her magic were nothing but an extinguished ember. Just . . . black.

For a brief moment she panicked. What was she without the forces warping her mind and determining her fate? She was not a warrior, not really. She wielded knives for self-defense, as a last measure. And she was not the leader Arturi could be. Too many people feared her to listen and relate. Awe got in the way of camaraderie.

But that panic gave way to a vision unlike any she’d ever dared permit. A life of her own. Quiet. Settled. Simple responsibilities and simple joys. Making love to Tru, sharing laughter as well as passion. Children one day, with Adrian there, too. He would grow into a fine man with Tru as his example. They would nestle in a cabin somewhere safe, like Mason and Jenna had forged for themselves, but near enough to open plains so that Tru could indulge in the hunt.

The image was so clear and so perfect that she nearly wept. Her hands shook as she pressed them to her eyes—whether to make it go away or to hold it close, she didn’t know.

In the dark, eyes pinched shut, her momentary lapse toward fantasy gave way to the return of the powers that defined her. There was a land mine. She pictured a void in the soil. But rather than be relieved, she bowed over her thighs and sobbed. “I can’t,” she gasped. Again and again.

She just couldn’t do it anymore.

Exhausted.

So unspeakably tired.

And the life she’d imagined with Tru wouldn’t rematerialize. She only saw the nightmare of her death. Pen . . . the only one left to save Zhara. That ladder. That choice.

I gave you my all, love. I did, I did.

“Find him.” Arturi’s voice echoed somewhere nearby as a sharp, whispered hiss. “I don’t care where he is. Find Tru.”

She felt disembodied, skin cold and numb. Her head was a bloated mass of thoughts that wouldn’t make sense, no matter how she forced the pieces together.

Arms closed around her. “Can’t,” she whispered again. “No more.”

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Tru.”
The tremors intensified, this time out of relief. “My head. It hurts. Splitting apart.”

“I got you.” He gathered her up, lifting her from the leaf-strewn ground. But then the words he spat were anything but gentle—more like a human version of his lion’s roar. “Not again, Arturi. Do you understand me? You find another way.”

“She didn’t tell me,” came Arturi’s steely reply.

“She never does. Don’t you get it? And she never will.”

Pen cringed at their harsh words. The pain burrowed under her skull and tapped from the inside out.
Heal thyself.
But she couldn’t find the concentration to ease her own hurts.

Instead she did the next best thing. She tucked into Tru’s arms as he carried her back from the front lines. Temporary tents, forged from the remnants of the island’s canvas huts, occupied a clearing. No one lit fires, but a sense of homey companionship layered over the glade. Even Pen felt it, something larger than her pain. Yet always distant. A reward she couldn’t accept.

But nothing mattered so much as Tru’s mouth against her skin. He kissed her, murmured words he probably meant as comfort. Only, she heard the tension and pain in his deep rumble. She tightened her hold, forearms crossed behind his neck.

“I saw us,” she whispered against his neck. “We were married. Adrian was with us.”

“When? Just now?”

“Yes. When I thought my powers were gone. I could see a simpler life.” Grief along with hunger twisted her stomach. “But that’s vanished now. Can’t find it. Tru, please, help me.”

He edged into a tent and laid her down on a rough blanket, holding her close to his body. She shook beneath the calming hands he ran along her skin. “Tell me more.”

The break in his voice reminded her of when he’d been younger, on the cusp of manhood. She had thought him a god, all dark hair and skin as pale as his blue eyes. Fierce. Fearless. Just the opposite of how she’d felt, trapped in her own mind after the first horrors of the Change.

“I’m going to fail you, aren’t I?”

“By wearing yourself down to nothing,” he said. “By throwing yourself on O’Malley’s sword. Any number of ways. But yes. You will.” His hands tightened, as if willing away the future he predicted.

Pen wanted it gone, too.

“I don’t want to.” She struggled to sit, but he held her still and forced a strip of dried meat into her unsteady hands. “I saw us
happy
. Do you know how that felt?”

“Peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she said, the word like a shudder. “And safe and real. And . . . friendly.”

He chuckled softly. “Friendly?”

“Welcoming. When people are glad to see you. I don’t remember the last time I felt that way.” She forced herself to nibble the jerky. A memory filtered through the pain as it receded. “Like how it was that first winter, before Mama died. I was a little lost, but I knew I was cared for and loved. You could’ve been a real brat about me not talking. But you never lost your patience with me. How could I let you die?”

The soothing palms went still. “Let me die?”

“With Jenna. On the snow.” More memories burst open. She’d been safe in a bunker with her mother. But demon dogs had cornered Tru where he stood guard over Jenna’s unconscious body. “I saw it all happen. Knew I had to do something. I just . . . teleported. For the first time, I think now, it was to go
toward
danger. But I wanted you safe. I didn’t know . . .”

“You didn’t know your mother would be killed.”

The sob she expected to pummel out of her chest didn’t come. She’d cried for her mother, too many times to count, all within the safety of dark nights. No one to know. But that grief was a dull ache compared to such a fresh hell.

She blinked up at Tru in the nearly dark tent. The layer of gold in his aura illuminated his face, but she knew that wasn’t what her eyes saw. Her magic, maybe. And her heart.

“She made a choice,” he said softly. “Just as you did. Hell, just like I did. I’d run out in the snow to help Jenna make her way home. Can you get that, Pen? Choices. You have to make them, no matter your gifts.”

Tempting. So tempting.

Touching Tru’s face, she traced the swoop of his cheekbone and the line of his jaw. “And what if I chose you. What would that mean?”

“Telling me the truth.
Always
. Not shutting me out, even if it’s easier. Taking care of yourself, so that we have a chance at a future.”

Something else. Something deeper. She felt it in him like a shiver, or like a jab of electricity. Her brain hurt. But she relaxed in his arms, her mouth tucked against warm skin. He tasted of salt and of Tru, the only man who’d ever treated her like a woman to be loved. Not a goddess to be worshipped or feared or even used.

An image pinged in her mind. Must have come from Tru, because she’d never seen anything like it. A closet. Shoes didn’t match on a rack, but they formed a pattern. Brown, black, brown, white. Neckties hung down like colorful stalagmites. And in the corner was a very young version of the man she loved. Bony knees were pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped fast around them. Dark hair dipped over his eyes. Outside, a man shouted at his mother, just one of her casual overnights. They never looked in the closet as their fight raged.

Young Tru, not even important enough to beat. He ducked tighter into the corner.

Pen gasped. Shook her head. Light-headed, thirsty, she held on by the slimmest thread. “Jesus, Tru. Now who isn’t being honest?”

“I won’t argue. You’re tired, and you’ve rubbed a goddamn hole in my patience.”

“No, you said that if I were to choose you, I’d need to tell the truth. But it goes both ways. You don’t want me to simply take care of myself.” With the meat gone and her strength returning she crawled to her knees. They faced one another, tummy to tummy. With both hands shaking, she framed his face. “I saw you. I saw what you just gave me. That fear and loneliness.”

“Pen, stop.”

“You want me to choose you. Let the world go to hell, so long as we have each other. That’s it, isn’t it?” She kissed his cheeks, even when he tried to push her away. “Tell me what it’s like when I help Arturi. When I go to him. I need you to say it. Otherwise you’re a martyr just like me, not admitting what you want.”

A dark tremor shook out from his aura, like a tidal wave pushing to shore. He angled a palm behind her head and pulled her close. Their mouths met in a fierce rush. He kissed her with more passion than he’d ever shown. All tongues and teeth and deep, greedy breaths. He eased her back to the blanket, his long body tight above hers. But she didn’t feel seduced, only claimed. Hands everywhere. Legs pinning hers. Lips along her collarbone and down to the neckline of her shirt.

He reached that barrier and bowed his head, forehead against her sternum. A long, low growl pushed out of his chest. His shoulders shook, but with anger or leashed passion she couldn’t tell.

“Yes,” he rasped against her skin. “I need you to choose me. I can’t just be the guy who scrapes you off the ground at the end of the day.” He lifted his head, features tight with pain and yearning.

For a split second she again found that image she loved. Her and Tru. Happy.

The risk was huge. To refute the idea she wouldn’t survive this war. To believe, instead, in something . . . beautiful.

“I choose you.” She touched his hair with trembling fingers, then trailed one down to his mouth. That lower lip was still swollen and wet from kissing her. “If you’ll have me.”

THIRTY-FOUR

The pleasure of Pen’s words astonished him, even as Tru wrestled with doubt. She meant them
now,
but he wondered how long it would last. Until the next time Arturi needed her to do some impossible thing? Maybe. But if he didn’t take a risk, he didn’t deserve her. Nothing came with a guarantee.

“If?” he repeated with a half smile. “When I came back, I came back to
you
.”

“It hurt when you didn’t believe that I love you.”

He got that. But . . . “It’s not just the words, love. It’s about the way you treat your mate. Words, on their own, have no meaning.”

“I
do
treat you differently from everyone else. The others all know.”

“Okay, Pen. Since you don’t see what I’m getting at, I’ll show you.” He pulled her between his legs and wrapped his arms around her, face against the curve of her neck. God, he could sit like this forever. “Touch matters. Not just words. About what you said on the boat . . .”

“Yes?” She sounded so scared.

“I fell in love with you the first time I touched your breasts.”

“Back
then
?” Astonishment colored her tone.

“Then,” he said. “Afterward, you called me an asshole, and you told me I should be better than that. Remember what you said?”

“You asked why I thought that, and I said ‘because you’re Tru.’”

BOOK: Daybreak

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