Immortal Flame (17 page)

“No, you
imbécile
!” Jerahmeel snapped, his deep voice inhumanly augmented. The windows shook. “Blackstone is already contemplating how to end his contract. The woman gives him even more reason. You need to take away that reason for wanting his contract to end.

“There's something about her that feels familiar and tasty. The mere scent of her whetted an appetite I didn't know I had. She's his inspiration to end the contract, and you know how I feel about contracts ending. It's so rude.”

“She was nice. When I touched her, all the bad things went away,” Anton said.

“What?”

“It felt awesome. Like I was flying and full from a nice meal and free from any future assignments.” He tap, tap, tapped on his forehead, the rhythm soothing him. “Felt great.”

“Peter withheld that piece of information from me. Bad Peter. Maybe that's why I was attracted to her scent. Fascinating. And she's with Blackstone.” Jerahmeel smoothed his neatly pressed silk slacks. “Even more reason to get rid of her.”

“What is she?”

“She's a Ward. They can identify us.”

“That's not good.”

“No, of course not. Even more reason to get rid of her.” A black expression crossed his unlined face. “Well, then, you'd best get to it and eliminate Blackstone's reason for living. I need to keep all my little pawns in the game. I hate to lose a piece.”

Anton picked at his fingernails, cuticles bleeding. “But can I … can I still have fun?”

“Yes, yes, of course. But quit wasting my time. Finish your task so we can return to business as usual. I need all of my employees back out there so I can feed.

“Make it hurt, though. Especially Blackstone. Hurt him badly. But don't kill him. Understand?”

Allie's words stung more than her weak blows to Peter's body.

Her assessment was totally correct: he
was
a cold-blooded murderer. The fact that he killed for the good of society only masked the hypocrisy. Trapped within a contract, he killed humans. End of story. All the rationalizing in the world wouldn't change that reality.

The expression on her swollen, tear-streaked face had hit him like a torpedo.

Then she had told him to leave.

Damn it, walking out of that house was the hardest thing he'd done since leaving Claire. It brought back the anguish he'd buried since the day he'd shoved a hat on his head and crossed over the worn rug in the entrance to the small house he shared with Claire.

Now Allie had rolled up her welcome mat.

As he stood outside on her porch, his hands clenching and unclenching next to the handle of the front door, he broke out in a cold sweat.

All he could do was keep her safe. He could offer nothing more. This woman deserved a lifetime with a partner who loved her. She deserved someone whole, not the shadow of a man he'd become, not the killer hiding behind a mission.

Once he had ensured her safety, he would leave forever.

Seriously, what had he been thinking? For a moment, he'd imagined his future, and it had Allie in it. But she had destroyed that fantasy, made it abundantly clear what she thought of him. Fair enough, he couldn't argue that she was inaccurate.

But damn how her words shredded him like someone had flayed his skin raw.

For now, he needed to follow through on his promise to keep her safe, no matter if she wanted him to or not. His leaving her house wouldn't protect her. Quite the opposite. So he was in for a chilly night, even for someone like him who wasn't affected by the weather.

He began to pace a wide circle through the woods and across the gravel lane to her house. The night was not late enough. There were far too many hours until morning to be alone with his thoughts.

• • •

Allison's head throbbed. Her eyelids must have been coated with sandpaper. The clock read seven in the morning, but it felt as though she hadn't slept at all.

Flopping over on the bed, she put a pillow over her head and groaned. Passion up against the bedroom wall. Peter's bizarre story. The revelation that she'd almost trusted a cold-blooded killer. Almost believed there was a chance for a relationship with this man. Only he wasn't a normal man, was he? No more than she was a normal woman, truth be told.

She had surmised something along those lines from the visions she'd gotten off him, but having him tell the story so matter-of-factly made the truth all too real. At some point she must have made it back to the bed and passed out, since she was still in the clothes from the previous evening.

After washing up, she dressed in jeans and a sweater. An inch or so of snow was on the ground already, and she didn't welcome the idea of going out in the cold, even if it was to see Ivy.

Twenty minutes later, Dr. Sampson motioned her into the boarding area. “Come on back, Al. Ivy's resting over here.”

With a tired yip, Ivy tried to get up from where she lay in her enclosure in the dog ward. Her tail thumped against the metal walls. She whined.

“Ivy!” Allison ran over to open the door and crouched down to hug her dog's massive head. Tears pricked Allison's eyes.

Ivy licked her hands and face and gave her a sideways doggy grin, her tail thwacking the enclosure walls. Bandages covered Ivy's abdomen, and her hip and leg were casted.

“She'll be fine,” Dr. Samson said. “I'd like to observe her for a few more days to make sure her gut is working well and force her to rest that hip. But she should be back to mischief soon. I think the hardest part will be ensuring that she doesn't overdo it.”

Allison nodded. Ivy's energy was boundless, and her dog would hurt herself in an effort to play. “Mind if I sit with her for a while?”

“Not at all, I'm just doing rounds. Let me know when you leave.”

“Thanks again for saving her.”

“My pleasure.” He closed the door behind him.

Allison gave Ivy a good scratch behind her ears and received more affectionate licks. It did her soul good to see her faithful companion recovering from her injuries.

The tingling in the back of Allison's head began at a low-level rumble, and she frowned, trying to focus harder and identify its source. She couldn't quite get at it. Like a memory beyond recollection, or something she'd forgotten.

A wall of terror and pain slammed into her like a locomotive. Flashes of pictures flew through her mind. She couldn't stop it. Too much. Too fast. Ice-cold suffering. The images kept coming, overwhelming her sight, her hearing, her brain. She struggled to get up off the floor.

“I don't—” She cringed, knees buckling.

“Help.”

• • •

Peter's cell phone rang as he climbed into the truck. After Allie had left her house, he'd run to town to pick up his truck. Of course, he'd lost her on the way. His kind was fast in short bursts, but not as fast as a car when it came to piling up miles. Like all Indebted, he had limits to his hell-blessed abilities.

“It's Dante, bro, where are you?”

“I'm in La Grande. What's going on?”

“Something weird. I called in for another assignment and was told no assignments for now. Jerahmeel said he's working on a special project. When I asked what it was, Big Boss just laughed and said it involved you.”

Peter gripped the cell phone. “I don't understand.”

“Me neither, so I called Barnaby.”

“Why?”

“He knows everything.”

Peter couldn't argue that point.

“Barnaby said you must be close to being free, because that's what happened to him. They threw the whole kit and caboodle at him.”

“What does ‘kit and caboodle' entail?”

Dante paused. “Dude, you're going up against a minion. Jerahmeel's hand-selected enforcer.”

“Never heard of a minion.”

“According to Barnaby, they only show up to make it miserable or impossible for you to finish your contract. The one Barnaby had to destroy was especially nasty.”

Peter shoved his free hand through his hair. “But it's possible.”

“Sure, but they're bent on the destruction of anything you hold dear in the meantime. They'll take away any motivation you might have to fight back. Any motivation to get out of your contract.”

Allie
.

Peter's hand balled into a fist. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Keep that pretty doctor safe and be ready.” Dante paused again. “Actually, bro, I was going to visit. I'm bored. And who knows? I might be able give you a hand.”

“Isn't that against the rules?”

“No idea. Don't care. What's he going to do, make my life a living hell?” His laugh had no mirth. “But seriously, I don't want to see you dead-dead. And I don't like that this minion may try and take out innocents. I may be a bastard, but I will not sit by while women get hurt.”

“I agree.”

“Where's your lady friend now?”

“She was supposed to stop by the vet hospital this morning. I don't know where she is now.”

“She's alone?” The fear in his voice alarmed Peter. Nothing scared Dante.

“Uh, yes.”

“Go find her! Don't let her out of your sight until we get there.”

“Who's we?”

Dante had already clicked off the line.

• • •

Peter tried not to attract undue attention as he supported most of Allie's body weight, guiding her out of the clinic and into her car. She doubled over several times, and would have fallen if it weren't for his holding her upright.

Her torment had acted like a beacon in his own mind, drawing him right to the clinic.

“Talk to me.” Her shaking hands were ice-cold. He blasted the heater, turning all vents toward her.

“Too much.” Panting, she rubbed her chest and clutched at the front of her sweater. “Something's wrong. I can't focus. Oh God, it hurts.”

“Can you pinpoint anything?” He squeezed her hands, trying to get her attention, trying to do something—anything—to reduce her pain.

The tension left her shoulders and she leaned back in the seat.

“For whatever reason, it's clearer when we're touching.” Her breathing slowed down.

“Can't you feel me in your mind?”

“Yes, but you've moved to the background. Right now, there's another big storm of noise in my head. Contact with you calms it down.”

“Before, you said touching me had the opposite effect.”

“You're right. Here's what I know, though. Since meeting you, my powers have been changing. Is this sensation another cycle of that change?”

He hated to think that somehow he'd been the catalyst for the pain ripping through Allie.

“Possibly.” He chafed her hands, maintaining contact. “What do you see?”

She stared with unfocused eyes out the front windshield. “Only a few images. Discomfort, fear, cold. Maybe snow and … a mountain lake. The lake is somehow familiar. I see … the glass slipper again. I don't understand.”

The shrill ring of her cell phone brought her gaze into sharp focus. With unsteady hands, Allie thumbed on the phone. “Hi, Sarah.” The light tone belied the pain on her face.

After a pause, her lips pressed into a grim line. “Gone? What happened? You checked at her friend's house?” Her knuckles whitened on the phone. “Oh God. Is Bryce out searching?”

Another pause.

“Sarah, about Quincy. I saw something yesterday and again a few minutes ago. A lake. I don't know what it means, or if it's even worth anything. I know, I'm trying to focus, but I'm not getting anything else. If I figure out more, I'll call you. Okay, I love you, too.”

She hung up the phone, her features suffused with agony.

“Quincy's missing. She was playing at a friend's house and was supposed to run home, two houses down. She never got there.”

Anger and worry congealed in his gut. Who would want to harm that sweet girl?

Hell
.

Allie met his stare, her eyebrows raised. She scrabbled for her phone.

“Oh God. I can't be right.” She clicked on her sister's number, leaning forward to press her fingers onto the bridge of her nose. “Sarah? One more question. What exactly was Quincy doing at her friend's house?”

Peter heard the reply, right before the phone dropped from her nerveless fingers.

“Playing Cinderella.”

Hollow despair gnawed at Allison while Peter drove back to her house. The Subaru's wheels sprayed wet slush, and sleet pinged off the windshield, punctuated by the squeak of the wipers.

She had to slow down her racing thoughts and focus, but images of the past week competed for attention. She couldn't hold on to one image long enough to examine it.

Frustrated, she leaned forward and groaned.

“What?” He pulled into the garage and turned off the car.

“I'm trying to think through for more details when I touched Quincy, but I can't focus.” She struggled to form sentences. “It's like holding on to sand.”

He touched her neck, rubbing lightly. “Don't try so hard.”

“No, there's too much interference, too many images. It hurts inside my mind.”

He came around to the passenger side and helped her out of the car. His hand warmed her shoulders as he briefly pulled her toward him and guided her into the kitchen, where he pulled out a chair for her.

“How did you find me?”

“Something signaled up here.” He tapped his forehead with his finger. “I just knew.”

“Listen, I am so sorry—”

He cut her off. “No. That was my fault. All of it.” He crossed his arms. “Doesn't matter. I'm going to help you find your niece. And don't worry. I won't take advantage again. That's a promise.”

She wanted Peter out of her house, because his proximity was producing vertigo and palpitations, and not from their mental connection. She'd made a decision for her future, and he didn't fit into it.