The Reluctant Amazon (Alliance of the Amazons) (2 page)

Chapter Two

“Where are we going?” Rebecca stumbled along, more
behind Artair than beside him as they walked out of the sanctuary.

He pulled his sword and shoved the blade through the door
handles, effectively keeping anyone in the church from following. Before she
could ask why it was necessary, he grabbed her hand, hurried her down the
concrete stairs and across the lawn toward the street. Her skirts tangled
between her legs and her high heels kept sinking in the soft ground, making it
next to impossible to keep pace with his long strides.

“There.” He nodded toward a beat-up blue cargo van parked just
across the street. A woman with a red ponytail leaned out of the driver’s-side
window and gestured for them to hurry.

Sanity came back to Rebecca in a flood. What in the hell had
she been thinking to leave with this man? And who was that woman?

“I’m not going anywhere with a couple of strangers.” She
planted her feet.

“Lass, we don’t have the time to waste.”

She shook her head. “I—I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have… I’m
not going with you.”

God, what was wrong with her? In her anger-clouded mind, she’d
decided to go with this Artair guy because she’d wanted to walk out of the
church with her head held high. The gorgeous hunk of a Scotsman would probably
take her to some bar, they’d get drunk, she would unwrap that kilt as though she
was opening a gift box from Tiffany’s, and then nature would take its
course.

She wasn’t planning on a threesome, and she sure as shit wasn’t
going anywhere with a couple of wackos in a dilapidated van—especially when one
of the wackos was as big as Hulk Hogan. She tried to pull her hand away from his
grasp.

He wouldn’t let her go. “Becca, we must be away. You’re in
danger.”

Artair started to drag her, and she stumbled as one of her
shoes came off, remaining behind, the spiked heel stuck in the thick grass.

“C’mon, Celt!” the redheaded woman shouted in a deep, Lauren
Bacall voice as she continued to urge them toward the van with her frantic
hands. “The quake! They’re probably tracking her now! I’m not waiting around for
the revenants to show up. She’ll be dead if we don’t move!”

There was something wrong. Something very wrong. Glancing back
at the church, Rebecca could see the front doors shaking as though someone was
trying to get out. Looking up and down the street, she realized it was deserted.
Where was the limo driver? Where was the damn photographer?

She succeeded in wrenching her hand out of the tenacious
Scotsman’s grip as he continued to march toward the van. She sat down hard on
the sidewalk. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Touch me again and I’ll scream.”
Digging through the tangle of skirts, she tugged off her other shoe and threw it
at him. He easily sidestepped the high-heeled missile.

Artair folded his arms over his broad chest. Those green eyes
that had been full of concern were now full of annoyance, yet she felt no true
fear of harm from him. With the notable exception of the dipshit who had just
abandoned her at the altar, Rebecca was usually a great judge of character. Her
gut told her Artair wouldn’t hurt her. She hoped to hell her gut was right.

Getting to her feet, she turned to walk back to the church.
When she found her Aunt Kay, they could take the limo on a nice tour of New York
City and drink the mini-bar dry. After all, the damn thing had already been paid
for. She didn’t make it three steps before Artair’s strong arms wrapped around
her waist and he picked her up. Her feet dangled as she struggled against
him.

“You can’t leave, lass.”

She tugged at his arm, raking her fingernails across the skin,
feeling them dig deep enough to excise a layer or two. “Fire! Rape! Murder!
Someone help me!”

She was shouting to a street full of nothing but parked
cars.

“Pull in the talons, my wee hawk. ’Tis a trait for Fire, nae
Earth.” Artair carried her back to the van as if she weighed nothing at all,
chuckling all the way.

Fire? Earth?
He was talking in
riddles. “Put me down, you big bully.”

Rebecca fought him, hardly able to breathe with his arm so
snuggly wrapped around her. The smell of trash and human waste suddenly hit her
nostrils. A light breeze blew, and the already disgusting odor quickly
intensified, becoming so strong and foul that it made her gag.

She stopped fighting. “Oh, my God. What’s that sm—”

“Sparks! Revenants!” Artair tossed Rebecca in the back of the
van, reached inside and jerked up a piece of the floorboard. Fishing around in
the compartment, he grabbed an enormous sword.

Growls came from just outside the door, the sounds sending
shivers up her spine. The smell grew stronger. Rebecca fought back a retch,
pulled herself to her feet and steadied herself by holding on to the door.

A cold, gray hand seized her wrist as fingers dug cruelly into
her skin. When she tried to pry them away, one of the putrid fingers snapped off
and fell to the ground. She gagged. A strong yank nearly jerked her out of the
van.

She came face-to-face with a corpse.

One eye hung from its socket. The lips were all but gone,
revealing yellowed teeth. A snarl rose from its chest. This—this—
thing
couldn’t be alive. A scream built from deep
inside her and poured out her mouth.

“Get down!” Artair wrenched the hand away from her arm, shoved
the creature back and raised his sword.

Rebecca landed hard on her ass and scooted farther inside the
van. The driver’s-side door opened and slammed shut, and the woman he’d called
Sparks shrieked what could only be called a battle cry.

The compartment Artair had revealed was filled with swords,
knives and a couple of enormous hammers that reminded her of pictures of old
railroad workers. Who in the hell carried around those kinds of weapons?

After only a few moments, the sounds of the fight died. Rebecca
startled when Artair popped his head into the van, dropped his sword back into
the cache and tugged the lid into place. He jumped inside and slammed the door
shut as the driver took her seat again.

The woman tapped something against her hand, which was followed
by the distinct flick of an old-fashioned Zippo lighter. Cigarette smoke began
to drift to the back of the van.

“Who were those people?” Rebecca hauled herself up and took the
passenger seat to get away from Artair’s intense stare.

“Just a couple of class-three revenants, newbie. Nothing to get
your panties in a twist over. I’m Sparks, by the way. The Celt didn’t have time
to introduce us.”

The woman appeared to be in her forties. Several gray hairs
fanned from her temples to blend with the vibrant red that didn’t look to be
from a bottle of dye. Her long hair was pulled into a ponytail and tied with a
forest-green scrunchie. She had a cigarette pinched between lips heavily
accented with crimson lipstick. She was beautiful. Model beautiful. Brown eyes.
Straight nose. But there was a hardness to her as well. She jammed the keys in
the ignition, fired up the engine and shifted the van into gear. The van lurched
into motion with a squeal of tires.

“What’s a revenant?” Rebecca finally asked.

“Didn’t you smell them?” Sparks took the lit cigarette from her
mouth and flicked the ashes out the open window. “Pee? Rotting meat?”

Rebecca nodded. “Both. It was disgusting.”

“That tells you they were just class-threes then. No sweat.
They aren’t so bad to fight. They’ve mostly rotted away. Not much brain left, so
they’re great for target practice. They don’t scream much when you hit ’em. That
quake you set off drew too much attention to you, so we weren’t the only ones
who found you. Class-ones might be close behind.”

“The earthquake
I
set off? Are you
on dope? Smoking crack? Meth?”

Sparks laughed at her. “No, thanks. My life is exciting enough
without chemical enhancement.”

“Uh, hello? Nicotine?”

She gave a conciliatory shrug. “Touché.”

Enough was enough. “It’s been great to meet you, but I’d really
like this funhouse ride to end now.” She tried to maintain a calm tone of voice,
even though she was talking to an absolute lunatic.

Sparks shot her a sidelong look before she put her gaze back on
the road. “You sound just like Helen. You Earths are so damn level-headed. The
only thing that lightens up Helen is tequila in massive quantities.”

“Why do you both keep calling me an ‘Earth?’”

“Because you are,” Artair announced from the back of the van.
“Tell her, Sparks.”

“I’ll explain later, Celt,” Sparks replied. “I’m not going
through the whole stupid story twice in the same day.”

“Twice? I don’t…” Rebecca’s thoughts spun in a thousand
different directions, none of which were pleasant, and none of which made any
sense at all. “I want you to pull over and let me out of this van.
Now.
”

“It won’t do you any good, you know.” Sparks turned the wheel
sharply, sending the van squealing around another corner as Rebecca braced
herself against the door. “If you don’t come with us, you’re dead. It’s that
simple. Artair and I can protect you until you learn how to protect
yourself.”

Dead?
That got her attention.

“Protect me? Protect me from what? Who’s after me? What’s a
revenant?” None of the odyssey made any sense. She glanced to where the Scotsman
sat with his back to the metal wall, listening to every word of the conversation
and seemingly unaffected by Sparks’s out-of-control driving. “You know what? I
think you and Artair are a couple of escaped mental patients. You both belong in
straightjackets.”

Sparks laughed again. “Yeah. Well…” She took a long drag from
her cigarette. Rebecca had no idea how she had been able to drive without
dropping the damned thing. The van began to slow to match the tempo of the other
traffic. “You might be right about that.”

“Where are we going?” Rebecca asked even as she searched for an
opportunity to bail. If she jumped out of the moving van, how badly would she be
hurt? Would she even have time to unlock the door and throw it open before one
of her captors stopped her?

Rebecca glanced back to Artair, who did nothing more than quirk
an eyebrow. Could he read her thoughts? If she tried to escape, would he
follow?

No doubt. He would.

“We’ve gotta find Megan. I can’t believe the luck of two
newbies being near New York City when the call came. The other two are in
California and New Mexico. At least I get to train Fire and Earth.”

Rebecca covered her face with her hands, desperately willing
the nightmare to end. She slowly counted to ten. “I’m home. In my own bed.
Getting ready for my wedding. This is all just—just a bad dream.” She pulled her
hands away and realized a miracle wasn’t in the cards. “Oh, no…”

“Oh,
yes.
” Sparks grinned and the
van rolled to a stop in the parking lot of a run-down burger joint. “Look, kid,
you can run if you want. Go ahead.” She clicked the switch to unlock the doors.
“The parking lot is full. Scream. Someone will help you. But it won’t do you any
good. They’ll find you. Then they’ll kill you—just like they did Maria. And she
was trained to fight the bastards.”

“Doesnae matter if you want to do this,” Artair added. “You’re
already in their sights. They’ll find you whether you want to be found or
not.”

“Who?” Rebecca shouted. “
Who
will
find me? If you don’t want me to jump out of this van right freakin’ now, one of
you will tell me what in the hell is going on!”

Sparks glanced at Artair and arched an eyebrow. He simply
nodded in response.

“Come back here, lass. I’ve a tale to tell you.”

Chapter Three

Rebecca still didn’t trust her new companions. Artair
plopped down on the floor next to where she’d reluctantly settled herself among
her fluffy nest of satin and crinoline. She hated all the frills, wishing she
could put on a comfortable pair of yoga pants and a nice, soft T-shirt. The
vehicle lurched into motion.

He was sitting too close for her peace of mind, even if that
mind was frazzled, so she slapped at him and scooted away. All she’d wished was
to drink herself stupid and get frisky with this gorgeous man so she could
forget her humiliation. This nightmare was exactly what happened when good old
predictable Rebecca Massee tried to let loose for once. Damned hard way to learn
a lesson.

Not knowing what to do with her hands, she tugged at the bobby
pins holding her long hair in an upswept coiffure. Not that she gave a damn what
she looked like now, but the familiar act of tending her hair helped her find
some calm. Since she’d yanked the veil out, most of her tresses were slowly
falling down anyway. Dropping the pins one by one on the floor of the van, she
hoped she found them all as the whole tangled mess cascaded around her
shoulders.

“You are one of the four women chosen for an important task,
lass,” Artair finally said.

Rebecca stared at him. He might as well have spoken in Swahili
for all the sense he made. “I beg your pardon?”

“You were born…special. Meant for something more than what your
life has been.”

“Ever the master of understatement, Celt.” Sparks snorted a
laugh from the front seat. She tapped another cigarette out of the pack and
flicked her lighter. “You, my dear Rebecca, are the equivalent of a comic book
superhero.” Tendrils of gray smoke drifted into the back of the van.

“Pull this piece of shit over. I’m outta here.” Rebecca
scrambled to her feet, not able to stand at her full height because of the low
ceiling.

Artair didn’t even stand up. He grabbed her wrist, tugged her
onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. His warmth pressed against her
bare back, and the kilt did little to put much buffer between her backside and
his groin. “Let me go.”

“Nay, lass. You must listen to the whole tale. Then you’ll
understand your destiny.”

“I don’t
want
to hear the whole
tale. I
want
you to stop this van and let me go
home.”

“Revenants will already be there,” Sparks called back. “And not
threes this time. Ones. Fresh for the kill. I don’t know about you, but I prefer
not to be ripped limb from limb by some undead bastards.”

“What? Undead? You’ve both lost your minds.”
Or I have.
Rebecca struggled against Artair’s steely
arms.

“Stop wiggling,” he scolded. “Hear me out, Becca. I know you’re
scared. You would nae be very bright if you weren’t a wee bit frightened. Sparks
and I mean you no harm. We’re here to keep you safe. I’m to teach you to master
your powers.”

“Powers? What
powers?
” Good God,
every person in this van was certifiable. Including her. “You’re telling me I’m
some superhero? That I’ve got superpowers? I assure you, I can’t throw on a cape
and leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

They both laughed at her.

“You’re nae Superman, lass,” Artair said. “You’re a wee bit
less powerful than that. Especially ’til yer trained.”

“Earth doesn’t have the really cool powers, either,” Sparks
added. “Unless you like starting earthquakes and playing with plants. But our
skin is basically Kevlar.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re bulletproof. A handy little gift from Rhiannon. She
hates modern weapons like guns. But we can only stop bullets, not swords, knives
or—” Sparks shuddered, “—revenants’ teeth.”

“You people are nuts.” Rebecca tried pinching Artair. All he
did was growl at her. “Let me go.”

Sparks kept right on talking—complaining, actually. “You’d
think one of the Ancients would give us immortality, but
nooo.
Only the Sentinel gets
that
privilege. Goddesses are so fuckin’ capricious.”

Rebecca glanced back at Artair. “If these superheroes are
women, then why are you here?”

Sparks fielded the question. “Artair’s our Sentinel. He trains
us so we’re ready to fight.”

“Two other new Amazons are training elsewhere and shall join
you in a few weeks,” Artair added.

“Where are they?”

Neither of her captors answered. Instead, they rode in quiet
for several minutes, and Rebecca grew more and more aware of the man in whose
lap she sat. He smelled good—clean, like the outdoors after a rain. His warmth
surrounded her as she sat in his arms, disgusted with herself for finding his
embrace comforting and more than a little exciting considering her present
predicament.

The van stopped. Sparks left the squeaky driver’s seat, and a
few moments later, the back door jerked open.

The sun had set, robbing them of the last of the day’s warmth.
Rebecca rubbed her upper arms against the early spring chill.

“C’mon, Miss Skeptical.” Sparks sounded perturbed. “I’ve got
something to show you.” She gave them an exaggerated sweeping gesture of her
arm. “Get yer arses out of the van.”

Artair stood, taking Rebecca along with him. Setting her on her
feet just outside the van, he held on to her left hand, preventing her escape.
“Stay close by my side, Becca.”

Sparks took a few long strides away from them. Lacing her
fingers, she pushed her palms out to crack her knuckles like a concert pianist
preparing for a recital. “Did’ya hear that, Artair? More snaps, crackles and
pops than Rice Krispies. It sucks to get old.” She laughed. “But you wouldn’t
know about that, would you?”

He chuckled and gave Rebecca’s hand a squeeze, encouraging her
to be included in their teasing as if she’d understand their inside joke.

She didn’t squeeze back.

“You’re nae that old,” he said. “I’ve many a year on you and
feel the pinch of age as well.”

Sparks dropped her hands to her sides and splayed her fingers
several times as she bent her knees, muttering to herself. “I’m way outta
practice. Been using the stupid lighter too much.” She took a deep breath.

“You can do this,” Artair encouraged. “’Tis nae been that long.
Focus,
Frida.
”

Sparks’s eyes shot fire.

Rebecca could actually feel Sparks’s annoyance, as if in some
way she shared it.

“I told you,” Sparks said, “never to call me that,
Arthur.
”

He just chuckled. “Anger’s your trigger. Yer mad at me. Use
it.”

Cynically brushing aside the odd connection she seemed to have
to Sparks’s emotions, Rebecca tired of the little dog and pony show they were
putting on for her benefit. “Well? What’s supposed to happen? I’m sure not
seeing anything that—”

A spark appeared inside Sparks’s enclosed palms. As she slowly
pulled her hands apart, the fireball grew at a steady pace. Within a few
moments, Sparks cradled a ball of pure fire the size of a softball. The flames
twisted and turned, burning white hot, but never leaving the woman’s control nor
scorching her skin.

Sparks smirked and lovingly caressed the sphere. “Sweet. I
wasn’t sure I could still do it. Too outta practice, I figured.”

“A nice one, Sparks,” Artair said with a nod. “A true
beauty.”

Even though she could feel Sparks’s satisfaction, Rebecca
blinked against the image, not wanting to believe what was in front of her. She
shook her head. “No. No. I—I don’t know how you’re doing that. It’s a trick,
right?”

Sparks slammed her palms together with a loud clap,
extinguishing the fireball and leaving behind a cloud of smoke. “I’m about to
leave you for the revenants.”

“It’s not pyrotechnics?” A stupid question, but her mind simply
couldn’t absorb all she’d seen.

Sparks shot a glare. “Just watch and learn.” She closed her
eyes and crouched to the ground.

A glow began to build around Sparks, a light that flared so
bright, it hurt Rebecca’s eyes. Sparks seemed to be getting smaller. And smaller
still. The aura morphed into a bright red, and Rebecca tucked her arm around her
head, figuring the fireworks Sparks used might be getting ready to detonate. But
there was never a flash, nor was there the pop of an explosion.

Slowly peeking out from under her arm, she couldn’t believe
what was right in front of her. Where Sparks had crouched, a hawk now stood. The
gorgeous bird’s chest was white, the wing and tail feathers a brilliant red.
Shrieking once—a loud piercing sound—the hawk spread its wings and flapped,
raising dust from the ground.

Artair dropped Rebecca’s hand and held out his arm. The hawk
took to the air, circled around their heads a few times, and then came to land
gracefully on his forearm.

“Your talons need trimming, Sparks. Yer scratching my arm. ’Tis
a shame we don’t need you to scout for an enemy.” He winked at Rebecca. “Or
perhaps you can find a wee mouse for a snack.”

The bird shrieked again, the cry sounding so much like a human
laugh, Rebecca nervously looked around for Sparks.

“Where did she go?” She scanned the surroundings for any kind
of evidence of the trick Sparks might have used to affect the switch.

The bird flapped its wings, fluffed its tail feathers and
shrieked again.

“You will nae find anything, lass. The hawk is Sparks. Come and
see,” he coaxed, holding his arm out toward her.

The bird’s eyes followed Rebecca.

Flapping its enormous wings, the hawk took to flight again,
swooping over her head, making her duck to miss being hit. After a few passes,
it landed on top of the van. An aura immediately surrounded the bird. She forced
herself to watch. The red hawk grew and the light built to a crescendo as the
bird changed back into Sparks.

“No.” Rebecca blindly reached out, not knowing what she was
groping to find, suddenly so frightened she wanted to scream.

Artair’s hand encased hers, holding it in a steadying grip. His
warm body standing close to her side gave her some comfort. “’Twill be fine,
sweeting,” he said in that rich brogue.

All she could do was shake her head.

Sitting on the top of the van, Sparks panted as if she’d just
run a race. “Sorry, Artair. I couldn’t hold it long. Outta practice.”

“How did you—” Rebecca couldn’t finish the question. She didn’t
want to believe them, but it appeared she had no choice. She had entered
The Twilight Zone.
“Will I be able to do
that?
”

Artair squeezed her hand again. “Nay. ’Tis not one of your
powers. Sparks is Fire. Yer Earth. Those powers are granted by different
goddesses.”

Rebecca stared at him, not wanting to let her mind process the
word
goddesses
.

“I’m getting too old for this shit.” Sparks scooted over to the
edge of the roof. “Artair, get your Scottish arse over here and get me
down.”

Rebecca kept herself glued to his side, but she let him take
his hand away long enough to lift Sparks off the van and set her on her feet. He
reached out to enfold Rebecca’s hand with his own as soon as he turned Sparks
loose.

Sparks popped a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her jeans
and tapped one out. Fishing a silver Zippo from another pocket, she flipped open
the top and flicked the little wheel, but the lighter refused to spark. She
tried a couple more times with no success. “Damn it. Outta lighter fluid.” She
slid the Zippo back into her pocket and snapped her fingers, producing a small
flame that burned brightly on the end of her thumb. Shoving the cigarette
between her lips, she pushed the end into the blaze, inhaled deeply, and then
tucked her thumb into her palm. The fire disappeared.

Rebecca dropped Artair’s hand and took several steps back from
her captors. Staring at Sparks with an open mouth, she found the courage to ask
what she’d been thinking. “What
are
you?”

With an acerbic chuckle, Sparks shook her head. “Not
me.
” She took a long drag on her cigarette before
slowly blowing out the smoke in one thin white stream. “The question, little
girl, isn’t what am I. The question is what are
we?
”