Daybreak (4 page)
Fantastic. Both she and Tru had acolytes. But they could be of use.
She freed the boy, then faced the remaining captives. “I’m looking for Arturi Mäkinen’s refuge. Can anyone tell me where it is?”
Silence. But Pen had opened her mind, catching glimpses and fragments and pieces of scattered puzzles. She saw a beach—dunes along the ocean. A word: Hatteras.
That, too, confirmed her collection of rumors. Cape Hatteras it was. She only hoped the other scattered intelligence she’d gathered about O’Malley’s fortress would be useful, and that the man named Arturi would be willing to take his people to war. By all accounts, he was a man of peace and seclusion. But if the talk was to be believed, he’d also amassed the largest human settlement in the Changed world.
It was worth the risk.
After Tru had freed the final prisoner, she asked, “Can you hunt?”
He shot her a sidelong glare. “No. But I think you knew that. Why rub my face in it?”
“So you’ll remember you’re a human being and leave that girl alone.”
A patronizing smile turned his pretty mouth into something fiercer, the smile of a predator. But with fair skin and the clearest blue eyes in creation, he remained almost unimaginably beautiful. “She doesn’t want me to leave her alone,” he said smoothly. “Haven’t the last twelve years taught you anything?”
He should’ve patted her on the head after that high-handed dismissal. Instead he stood and stretched. Some might have called him lanky, but they’d be wrong. He was too powerfully muscled. The grace he carried just under the skin was a constant reminder of the lion inside, as was the faint glow of a gold aura that enveloped him like a halo. She knew that was one of her particular gifts—sensing the auras of other magical beings—but it only added to his majesty. Dark hair tumbled across his forehead as if blatantly disregarding his hard facade.
Tru Daugherty had matured into a stunning man, and he eyed Calla’s return with unabashed lust.
Pen had got him wrong. He wasn’t a predator. Not really. Predators protected their territory and battled enemies that would do harm to their kind.
This man was a vulture. A beautiful one, to be certain, but picking at carrion on the edges of civilization. Pen found herself oddly . . . disappointed.
“I found these,” Calla said excitedly, meeting them at the back of the truck.
She knelt beside Pen and laid out a selection of foods, mostly fruit. Malformed things that looked like bananas, or maybe plantains. A few small, hard oranges. Like the roadside foliage left to grow wild, no one remained to tend fruit trees. She’d also found a hunk of what looked like unleavened bread.
But no protein. It would have to do. Pen ripped the skin off the banana and forced the dry, sticky fruit into her mouth. Bite after bite restored balance to her brain, even if the mush tasted like bitter sawdust. Pen finished the hunk of bread and swallowed thickly, sharing with the worst of the malnourished prisoners.
She tried to get a sense of where they were. Still in Florida. Or close to it. The trees along the roadside were fat with clinging moss. With few people left to indulge in things like trimming branches, nothing restricted the swamp’s rabid growth. Just heat and greenery and a cloying humidity that made her dizziness no easier to handle.
Adrian stayed by her side as she worked, helping the others collect their belongings from the heap of clothes. She reclaimed the guard’s weapon in order to break up a fight between two emaciated, foulmouthed women who looked alike enough to be sisters. Maybe they were. Desperation weakened even bonds of blood.
Prisoners fled into the swampy overgrowth. Unable or unwilling to free themselves, they certainly had no problem fading into the wild when given a split-second opportunity. Adrian stayed. Calla stayed. Most of the others were gone before the sun pulled fully over the horizon.
Pen watched the bickering sisters disappear over a distant crest of road. Just like that.
“Were you expecting thanks?”
Tru’s voice was low, but not like her memory of Mason’s. The grizzled warrior who’d raised her since her mother’s death had sounded oddly broken, as if his vocal cords were damaged. The deep rumble had more power because he never quite seemed in control of it.
With Tru, however . . . his voice was just as deep, but with the mesmerizing daze of a snake’s hiss. Fascinating and dangerous. No syllable out of place.
“No, of course not,” she said, still watching the now-deserted road. “That wasn’t why I was there.”
“No, the divine Orchid rides with O’Malley scum all the time.”
Her attention caught on the cynical twist of his lips. Did he ever speak to anyone without condescension? Had he ever? But thinking back to when they’d both been under Mason and Jenna’s care was painful. She had been . . . broken. Shattered by her mother’s death. The little comfort she found in the following months had been with Tru, but those instances were so rare as to be priceless. His reluctant laughter and stupid jokes, always quoting words that made little sense to a lonely nine-year-old. Hadn’t needed to.
But then he’d left. Just when her thoughts had started making sense again. Gone.
She took a breath. Memories locked away. Where they belonged.
“I was trying to infiltrate the nearest O’Malley camp.”
Those pale, pale eyes bored into hers. “And why would you want to do that?”
“To learn the exact location of O’Malley’s fortress, helping as many as I can along the way. Ultimately, I’d like to see the whole damn organization dismantled.”
“By yourself ?”
No, never by herself. She couldn’t be trusted to lead, not when her powers made her so unpredictable. That potential to lose control . . .
She’d done well with the resistance in the west. Healing, mostly. Identifying other practitioners of magic, then instructing them in how to channel their new, often confusing abilities.
Penance for the damage she’d already done.
Her reputation had grown then, as a patron saint among the rebels. Most people considered her one step short of sacred. But that also meant they’d looked to her for direction. For guarantees. With no such faith in her divinity or self-restraint, she’d slipped away and headed east—where no one would know her name.
And yet the legend of the Orchid had followed.
“No,” she said. “Not by myself. I’m not a leader. Now it’s time for new allies.”
“You’re an idiot, you know that? And here I thought by your reputation, that you must be pretty amazing.”
“And what reputation is that?”
The skin around his eyes tightened as he stared her down, as if probing deeper. “From what I’d heard, the Orchid is a goddess on earth, a benevolent healer, and a good-luck charm for those who choose rebellion over obedience.” His grin turned dirty. “To a chosen few men, she offers the sanctuary of her chaste flesh. Only, I never got that part. Seems the virginal bit would wear off after the first lucky bastard. You running some scam?”
She forced herself to relax. “You can stop now.”
“Fine by me. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Now who expects thanks?”
“Oh, that’d be me,” he said with a clipped grin. “I kept you from being thrown into a goddamn sex dungeon. Lavish praise would be appropriate.”
“You interfered for what? You were poaching girls as much as O’Malley’s men do.”
“Hardly.”
Pen laughed, revealing her disgust. “And what you’re offering Calla is so different?”
He surprised her by cupping her cheeks—broad palms with long, elegant fingers. A little too roughly, he pulled her face up so that their eyes could throw daggers at very close range. His thumbs stroked the tops of her cheeks, brushing at the dirt. Only his sneer kept it from feeling like a caress.
“Calla will eat. She’ll relax, knowing she’s with the baddest motherfucker around. And I’ll damn well make sure she comes. She gets
everything
with me. While the Orchid gets the satisfaction of a job well done . . . and maybe a little slap and tickle with the kid.” He released her and stepped away, sketching a bow. “I hope he’s fun, but I hear training boys can be frustrating.”
everything
with me. While the Orchid gets the satisfaction of a job well done . . . and maybe a little slap and tickle with the kid.” He released her and stepped away, sketching a bow. “I hope he’s fun, but I hear training boys can be frustrating.”
FOUR
Green. It should have been a lovely color, affirmation of life and all that. Instead it drooped and slithered, sank damp fingers into his bones. The heat created a sheen on Tru’s skin, exacerbated by the humidity. This was where fungal infections set in. Wanting to get out of the cold, years ago, he’d come south. But this was too much. Lions thrived in dry heat. Maybe he’d be better off in what used to be Arizona.
They had been walking for hours. Penelope the Good Witch claimed, after peering at some dirt in cloudy water, to see shelter not too far away. While she might, indeed, possess such crazy powers, he didn’t like having them too close. Magic after the Change wasn’t a benign force, so far as he’d seen. People used it to usurp authority to which they had no rightful claim. He was better off removed from the world.
Tru had stowed his belongings not too far up the road—a change of clothes, some odds and ends he’d picked up along the way. More importantly, he’d also stashed some food. It wasn’t greed that made him devour everything he’d put back. If he were to be of any use in protecting the girl he’d chosen, he needed to refuel. And he wouldn’t be able to go lion again until he snagged a hefty dose of sleep. The laws of nature could only be bent, not broken.
“You don’t intend to share?” Pen asked.
“Share what? It’s gone.”
“Asshole,” she muttered.
Whatever. He just needed to find a quiet place to rest and then he’d take Calla someplace safe. And private. She seemed like a sweet girl. The lion in his head didn’t register much opinion on her otherwise, but the beast agreed she would do.
For now.
For now.
“How did they grab you?” he asked over his shoulder.
Calla hunched her shoulders as if she didn’t want to talk about it. And the way she held the gun? Sloppy. Inattentive.
Mason would have kicked my ass.
Mason would have kicked my ass.
Pen led the way, Adrian behind her, while Tru fell back to try explaining some of the finer points of handling a weapon. Calla stared at him, puzzled, as he talked. Yeah, men probably didn’t try to teach her not to need them.
Calling it a loss, he stepped up his pace and pushed past Adrian to ask Pen, “How much farther is it, O mystic one?”
“Half a kilometer. I think.”
“You’re not sure?” It was fun to bait her.
“Scrying is not a precise science. Be patient or go find your own love nest.”
Before Tru could reply, everything went to hell. He wheeled as six feral shifters burst from the swampy undergrowth. He should’ve sensed their presence, but fatigue was no excuse. They pounced on Calla. She panicked, flailing instead of shooting. Her scream died to a gurgle as they went for her throat. She dropped her gun as Tru brought his own weapon up, cocked, and fired. The pack snarled, dragging off their prize for a private feast. He nailed them repeatedly, but it was too late to do Calla any good.
Pen fought coolly at his side, aiming and shooting with more finesse than he would’ve thought possible for a do-gooder witch. Her composure earned his grudging respect, even as adrenaline and remorse mixed a sick cocktail in his veins. Adrian shook but still tried to defend.
He needs teaching.
Mason would have taken him in hand.
Mason would have taken him in hand.
The skinwalkers died like animals. Just as they’d chosen to live. Their corpses twitched, matted fur yielding to human form. Three men, three women.
This was his nightmare.
If I’m not careful, this is how I’ll end up.
If I’m not careful, this is how I’ll end up.
Without looking at the others, he strode over to Calla’s body. He could tell she was dead even before he knelt, but he brushed hair away from her blood-smeared forehead and gazed into those pansy eyes one last time.
He’d chosen her. That made him responsible for her, at least for a little while. And he’d let her down. It was part of the sexual compact that the lion guarded his mates, however long he chose to stay. Lions were notoriously lazy, of course, and let their females do most of the work, but they did scare off other predators, sometimes with nothing more than a roar.
I got complacent.
An echo of old failure—the one that had cost him so dearly—cut to the bone.
An echo of old failure—the one that had cost him so dearly—cut to the bone.
“Sorry,” he whispered. He closed his eyes so he didn’t hurl. After two deep breaths, regaining his composure, he pushed to his feet. “Shall we?”
Pen didn’t argue his decision to leave Calla. He guessed she was more practical than she appeared. They couldn’t afford to remain vulnerable. There might be others nearby, who would be drawn to the stink of carnage. Without ammunition or physical reserves, he wouldn’t be able to fight off half the swamp.
“It’s not too much farther,” she said, low. “We’ll make it before dark.”
A grim and silent trio, they trudged the last leg of the journey. Just before sunset, Tru shaded his eyes and registered what she called shelter. No more than a tar-paper shack, long since abandoned and claimed by the elements. Some eccentric had used all sorts of rubbish to build his home; Tru would be astonished if the place wasn’t crawling with vermin. But at least it would keep them hidden. And if the clouds overhead were any indication, they were about to get a shower.
Other books
Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade by C. D. Baker
Wild About the Man (Mills & Boon Modern Tempted) by Joss Wood
Kill Process by William Hertling
Politics of Piety: The Islamic Revival and the Feminist Subject by Saba Mahmood
Highway Song: A Smokey's Roadhouse Novel by Jessa Jacobs
Charms and Chocolate Chips: A Magical Bakery Mystery by Bailey Cates
The Taming by Jude Deveraux
Set in Darkness by Ian Rankin
CHERUB: Shadow Wave by Robert Muchamore
Oil and Leather: A Biker Erotic Romance (Free Devils MC) by Summers, A. L.