Read Daybreak Online

Authors: Ellen Connor

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

Daybreak (36 page)

BOOK: Daybreak
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She and Arturi pushed through the scrub and clinging branches, emerging into the clearing. Others followed them. Reynard lay, just as she’d pictured. Tru knelt over him with a thumb to the man’s throat, but she could’ve saved him the trouble. The faint glow of Reynard’s earthen-brown aura told her that he yet lived.
“Pen, come see what you can do.”
She liked that Tru had come to a quiet understanding. He still respected her as much as ever and encouraged the use of her powers. But she always felt the good, dependable boundaries of his love. Risking too much would chip away at that love, at the trust they’d been steadily building.
She knelt beside their fallen comrade. Hands shaking, she touched his head and his inner wrist. The skin at both locations was cold, clammy, almost rubbery. Life pulsed beneath her fingertips, but in a way that knotted fear at the base of her skull.
This isn’t Reynard.
On a hard shudder, she opened her eyes in the hope of disproving her mind’s cringing conclusion. The body lying before her certainly
looked
like her friend.
“Pen, talk to me.”
She looked up to find Tru’s anxious expression. “Can you . . . ?”
Letting her voice trail off, she didn’t know what to say. How to explain. An old fear resurfaced for the first time since meeting Arturi in the flesh—that she was crazy.
Tru circled around their fallen comrade and knelt just behind her, one arm around her shoulder. “You need to tell me. For all our sakes.”
“I don’t think this is Reynard.”
She said it with her eyes closed so she wouldn’t need to see the quizzical looks that passed between Arturi and her husband. Their silence told her enough.
Tru’s hand swept up to her nape, gently massaging there. “Can you save him?”
“That’s just the thing,” she whispered, fearing words would bring condemnation. “I don’t think I should. He doesn’t . . . feel right.”
Backing away from Pen, away from the body, Tru said, “Bethany, bring an article of clothing from Reynard’s possessions. Quick. His life is at stake.”
While the young scout ran back to their makeshift camp, Tru shifted. The ease of his transformation no longer surprised her, but she never failed to be impressed by the animal he became. And in her heart, she breathed a little easier.
He wasn’t condemning her. He was helping her.
The lion ranged forward, gaining a measure of respect from those who’d congregated in the tiny clearing. They simply backed away, silently, in quiet deference. He was treated with just as much awe as the Orchid, but Tru never let himself be trapped by their respect. It was just a part of him. She envied that ease.
The scout returned, panting softly.
Pen took hold of a grubby olive-green T-shirt. “You’re sure this is from Reynard’s things?”
“His tent mate said as much,” Bethany said. “I’m sure of it.”
Nodding, Pen extended the garment toward her lion mate. Tru’s wide, dark nose roamed over the cloth. His nostrils quivered on each inhale. He crossed back to Reynard’s motionless body, poking at his armpits and groin, at his hair follicles and the soles of his feet.
A low rumble sounded in the lion’s throat. His mane bushed up, a sure sign of aggression. He flicked his tail repeatedly, scented the wind, and growled so that the bass harmonics echoed across the clearing. Pen shivered. That warning was loud and clear.
Arturi shook his head. “I don’t understand.
That’s
Reynard.”
“It may have been,” Pen said. “But he’s . . . changed. There’s a different tint to his aura.”
She knew fear was holding her back. It wouldn’t take much to reach out to him, to feel his mind as she’d done with any of O’Malley’s enemies. What if Reynard’s consciousness still existed in there somewhere, kept captive by a spell? For the sake of information and to help their fallen friend, she needed to try.
With Tru still in lion form, she reached out for Arturi’s hand. “Don’t let go of me. Close your eyes and think of wildflowers you picked for me that time.”
His mouth opened in shock. “Penny, that was a long time ago.”
“I know,” she said. “But you still remember them.”
He nodded, his expression haunted. The image came to her then—a bouquet of blue and white flowers he’d picked when she was no more than thirteen. She’d half believed the gesture one of her own making, just the lonely longings of a girl on the cusp of adolescence. But Finn had been real, and the man she knew as Arturi presented her with the image of those flowers, from a past they should not have been able to share.
Using that thought like a lifeguard’s buoy, she swam in after Reynard.
The clutter in his brain was sticky, noxious with the stink of all things
wrong
. Someone had been in there. Recently. That wash of blood red was visible now, lurking underneath Reynard’s pale brown aura. Using her thoughts, her magic, she ripped away the deceit. Kept digging. Wading deeper. Fear soaked her mind like a chemical burn.
A scream.
A
man’s
scream, deep-throated and tortured.
She ran to it, heaving those disgusting smells and blinking past a haze of scarlet. There, deep in his brain, waited Reynard. He was a shriveled, cowering thing, like a baby left on a rainy doorstep. She approached cautiously, looked around, recalling blue and white flowers. That memory steadied her breathing.
“Reynard? What happened?”
“Witch.”
“I’m not a witch.” She knelt next to his fractured persona—all that remained of him, other than the body sprawled outside, far away on the forest floor. “I’m here to help.”
“
Witch
did it.”
“You have to tell me who. Please. Otherwise more will suffer. Tell me, Reynard.”
He shivered, twitched, cried out again. “Zhara!”
Pen recoiled. She stumbled away and fell, crawling backward on her hands and feet. The truth of it hit her hard between the eyes. Whatever had happened to Reynard, he truly believed Zhara was responsible. But she couldn’t leave him.
“Let me heal you,” she said. “Please. We can bring you back. You can tell me what happened.”
“A trap. Heal me and she walks among you.”
“Reynard, you have to be mistaken. She was kidnapped, remember?”
“Don’t believe it!” He sobbed, curling deeper into himself until what remained of Reynard was almost invisible. “Please! Not like this! End it, Orchid. Please.”
The comrade she’d known would never have called her by that name. That impression of seeing a babe in the rain hit her again. He was going to be trapped that way. Forever. In this place of poison and rot. The funny, sarcastic spirit she’d known was gone.
Crying tears that might be only in her mind, Pen looked away when she ended his life.
Wildflowers. Blue and white.
Get me out of here.
She catapulted out of that space on a hard gasp. Tru rushed to her side, practically knocking Arturi aside as she doubled over and retched. Shivering that wouldn’t stop claimed control of her limbs.
“Jesus, Pen,” he whispered against the top of her head. “What happened?”
“He was in there, but buried. That force working for O’Malley had warped him.” Her teeth chattered, and her stomach growled for food despite the knots of dread. “Tru, he was crying. Begged me to end it. He was so scared, just . . .
wrecked
. I had to.”
Tru kissed her head. “Any word on Xialle?”
“Her mate found her,” Arturi said.
Pen could hardly look at the man. What if Reynard was right? What if that malevolent force working for O’Malley really was Zhara?
What if Jack hadn’t been the only traitor on that island?
“I have to see her,” Pen said, struggling to her feet.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Tru caught her by the shoulders and forced their gazes to lock. “You aren’t going into another injured mind, not like that.”
“You smelled it, didn’t you? That he wasn’t the same man anymore.”
He nodded, mouth compressed.
Giving her husband a desperate hug, she held on tightly. And she tucked her lips right next to his ear. With words no louder than an exhale, meant for his sensitive ears alone, she whispered why it was so important that she ask Xialle one last question.
THIRTY-EIGHT
 
It’s started, then.
Deep down, Tru had known it was inevitable. The days leading up to the raid had been just a temporary dream. Pen would do what she felt she must for Arturi’s cause, no matter the cost. Maybe he should admire that dedication. Instead he only knew a cold knot in the pit of his stomach.
She’s
my
wife, and she’s going to kill herself.
But he didn’t protest. Instead, for the first time in days, he closed up. His head went quiet. No mental pictures shared between them. Pen glanced at him sharply, but she didn’t ask why. She must know. She’d said she chose him, and he’d only asked her to take care of herself. Today she would forsake that promise for Arturi—to find out whether his wife was, in fact, a traitor. Tru followed the rest of the small group through the forest. Cradled by her husband, Xialle looked no better than Reynard.
Jules glanced up, his face a study in misery as he held his woman. “Can you help her, Pen?”
Pen. Not Orchid.
She had made that much progress, at least, toward becoming her own person and stepping out of the shadow of her good deeds.
Yet at the request, she came forward as she always must. Tru closed his eyes, but he didn’t leave as he had when she remote-sensed the minefield. Even if she didn’t love him enough to put him first, he’d stand by her. Funny. He never thought he’d end up married to a fucking heroine, but it seemed that need ran deeper in her than anything else. He should have known, really. Some things set early in life. This was her imprint.
He’d never love this about her. He could accept it, though. Had to, in fact, because it wasn’t going away. Tru hadn’t imagined he’d spend his life righting wrongs, but fine. If Pen had a permanent compulsion to save the world, then they’d fucking save it. Since he couldn’t deal with life without her, he’d be the muscle at her back and the arms that held her in the night. No man relished the idea of being a background player on the stage of his wife’s life, but he’d take what he could get.
Bearing witness to Jules’s utter despair provided a harsh alternative. He could lose Pen forever. Give up on her. On them.
Not gonna happen.
Maybe that made him pathetic—holding out hope for what might never be right. Tru hunched his shoulders and strangled a sigh as she dove into Xialle’s head.
No,
the lion said.
It means you love your mate.
And how do you feel about her?
Weird to ask, but it was pure skinwalker. Both halves of him needed to be in accord.
I’d like it if she could shift
.
I miss hunting with Danni.
He’d never had this conversation before.
So do I. But otherwise?
She’s ours,
the lion replied, as if that answered the question.
And really, it did.
The moment she came out of the other woman’s head, weak and shaken, he caught her, as he’d been doing for weeks. As he ever would. Whether he agreed with her decisions or not, he’d support them. Mason had taught him that much about being a man. Taught him how a woman ought to be treated. The guy probably hadn’t intended to impart those lessons through his interactions with Jenna, but that was how Tru had learned men and women could share more than screaming matches that ended with slamming doors and abandonment.
Tru cradled his wife in his arms; she gazed up at him, her face pale, eyes full of hell. Xialle was dead. She, too, must have begged for release from whatever the witch had done. Mercy killing was a hard fucking task, especially for someone like Pen. Twice in one day? He wanted to rip O’Malley to shreds.
Soon,
the big cat promised with cold delight.
Soon.
Jules wept, rocking Xialle in his arms. Long moments passed before he could speak. “Who did this to her?”
“Yes, what happened?” Arturi asked.
Pen wet her lips with her tongue. “Reynard said it was Zhara. I had to find Xialle to confirm.”
The small man was already shaking his head. “She wouldn’t. Never.”
“They believed it,” Pen said softly. “And they feared her.”
Tru bit back a frown. “Maybe she wouldn’t have before, but O’Malley might have broken her. If she’s turned on us, this whole mission might be pointless.”
“Even if that were true—and it isn’t—our mission is
not
pointless.” Arturi wore a hard look, as if argument might be dangerous. The expression sat better on his affable features than Tru would’ve guessed. “Slaves remain imprisoned inside the compound. We must destroy O’Malley.”
BOOK: Daybreak
13.01Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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