The Reluctant Amazon (Alliance of the Amazons) (5 page)

“Now we’re talkin’!” Sparks hurried toward where Artair battled
two of the zombies. A trail of sweet-smelling white smoke followed in her wake,
but it quickly dissipated, leaving the rotting stench that made Rebecca gag
again.

Fear shot through her when Megan was backed against the bar by
a tall zombie, whose battered ear was hanging on by a small piece of skin. The
revenant held her by the shoulders and bent toward her neck, mouth wide open to
bite a chunk right out of her flesh. His sing-song moan grated like nails down a
chalkboard. Megan twisted, trying to get away, but the damned thing outweighed
her by a good fifty pounds.

Rebecca screamed for help, but Artair and Sparks were busy
holding off their own revenants. A couple of the bikers tried to fight their way
to Megan, but they wouldn’t reach her in time. She tasted Megan’s fear.

Searching desperately for a weapon, she grabbed the only thing
she could reach—a pool cue. She swung it like a baseball bat, hitting the
creature across his shoulder blades as the stick splintered into several pieces,
leaving her hands stinging. “Oh, shit.”

The revenant snarled and turned from Megan. A hand shot out,
wrapping around Rebecca’s throat and lifting her off her feet despite her
thrashing. Digging her nails into his arm, she kicked, trying to squirm loose.
The zombie’s grip slowly closed off her air. Pieces of his skin tore away,
falling to the floor in chunks. She clawed at him until her fingernails raked
over bone, but she couldn’t loosen his hold.

Megan jumped on the revenant’s back, wrapped her legs around
his waist and pounded his head with her fists. Her actions didn’t affect him,
either.

Rebecca’s world was slowly going dark.
What kind of Amazon am I? I’m gonna die on the first damn day!

An angry roar rang in her ears, and she watched in horror as
the arm that held her was severed, the hand dropping from her throat and falling
to the floor. Collapsing in a heap next to the ghastly limb, she gulped air into
her burning lungs.

Artair ripped Megan off the screaming zombie and then beheaded
it with one swing of his sword.

The head rolled to rest next to Megan’s boot. She kicked it
like a soccer ball.

Artair gave her a hearty slap on the back. “Ye catch on
quickly, lass.” He nodded to where Rebecca lay on the floor. “Best help your new
sister.”

Megan pulled Rebecca to her feet. Snatching her gun from the
floor, Megan slid it back into the ankle holster. “This doesn’t appear to do
much good. I need to get my hands on a sword.” She glanced at Artair with an
appreciative stare that made Rebecca’s stomach knot. “A
big
sword.”

“Duck!”

Rebecca obeyed the order, wondering how she could hear Megan’s
voice when no sound escaped her lips.

Megan punched a revenant who looked eerily like Ellen Degeneres
coming up beside Rebecca, catching the zombie in its mouth. Several teeth
clattered to the floor, sounding like dice being rolled across the tile.

Somehow Rebecca knew Megan wanted her to drop to her knees
behind the dead Ellen so she would trip over Rebecca when Megan gave the zombie
a solid kick to the stomach—a kick Rebecca knew was coming.

As soon as the revenant landed on the ground, Artair came over
to swing his sword, neatly taking off the creature’s head. He gave them both a
satisfied nod and a grunt she took as him being pleased before he turned back to
the last revenants left in the fight.

“Did you feel that?” Rebecca asked Megan, wondering if
adrenaline made her foolishly imagine something that simply wasn’t there.

“You mean when I could tell what you’d do before you did
it?”

Rebecca could only nod.

“Yep. Kind of a neat trick, huh?”

A neat trick.
A trick that had also
helped Rebecca find Megan, that had led her right to Condemned.

Sisters,
Artair had said. They were
supposed to be sisters. Would they always have this bond? Would it
strengthen?

Not knowing what to say or how to react to the ever-increasing
strangeness of it all, Rebecca chose to simply ignore the telepathic connection.
Denial seemed appropriately numbing. She let her gaze wander the bar. A
collection of headless bodies, loose craniums, assorted arms, legs and broken
chairs littered the place. The bikers were regrouping, and questions would start
popping out of them. She had no idea how they’d be able to explain any of this
once the cops came.

Sparks worked her way back to Rebecca and Megan. “We need to
get the hell outta here before the local yokels stick their noses in this.” She
glanced to Artair. “Work your magic, Celt, so we can make tracks. I’d go with
bad E story.”

He frowned. “Will that work with these people?”

“Hell’s Angels? Oh, yeah.”

“What will he do?” Rebecca asked.

“The Sentinel can do a sort of rewrite of everyone’s minds.”
Sparks inclined her head toward the patrons. “They’ll think they took some bad
ecstasy and robbed a few graves.”

Artair had already begun reciting some Gaelic words.

“If anyone even calls the cops,” Sparks added, “no one will be
able to give them anything solid to go on. They’ll find out all these bodies
came from the closest graveyard and will blame the bikers. If Artair does his
job right, they won’t even remember us. So, Megan, you coming with us?”

“Shit, yeah! Let’s go.” She walked over to one of the few
barstools that remained standing, grabbed a leather jacket and slung it over her
shoulder. Leaning over the bar, she called to the bartender who was cowering on
the floor. “I’m outta here, Jimbo. Been nice knowing you!”

Chapter Five

Rebecca sat cross-legged in the back of the van, trying
not to crawl out of her own skin. Still having a hard time swallowing all of her
new circumstances, she fought to keep her panic at bay.

She could think about being left at the altar. Or she could
think about never going home again because she was now some kind of damned
superhero. She could even think about constantly being chased by zombies and
demons as she tried to rid the world of evil. Instead, she focused on the woman
who shared her fate.

Rebecca had a fantastic view of Megan Feuer.

The new Fire sat in the passenger seat, dressed in her black
leather, her vibrant hair remarkably neat, resembling the bouncy, shiny tresses
women always had in shampoo commercials. Even after the bar fight, she appeared
as utterly composed and beautiful as any woman Rebecca had ever seen.

A broad smile lit Megan’s face as she talked with Sparks.
Rebecca couldn’t see Sparks, but she just knew the woman was calm, composed and
gorgeous. And Megan was sure handling all this much better than Rebecca. Fire’s
confidence washed over her. She wished she could borrow more, that she could
make Megan’s poise her own.

Vines of white smoke drifted to the back of the van
periodically, and Rebecca coughed, hoping Sparks would eventually get the hint.
Then she realized subtlety was lost on women like Sparks and Megan. They neither
wanted to blend into the crowd nor cared about pleasing other people. She wasn’t
at all surprised when a cigarette was passed to Megan, who promptly lit the
little cancer stick with a flame from her thumb.

Glancing at her own appearance, Rebecca couldn’t help comparing
herself to Megan. She was an absolute wreck. Her once-gorgeous wedding dress was
now a disgusting outfit of shredded satin, its color more a jumble of
multicolored stains than pristine white. Yanking the bodice up for what seemed
like the millionth time, she wondered how her boobs hadn’t managed to pop right
out. She wouldn’t have opted for a strapless gown if she’d known she was going
to be kidnapped from the wedding to fight an army of the undead.

I want to go home
.

Her kitten would miss her. Her students would ask for Miss
Massee every day until they realized Miss Massee wasn’t ever coming back. Who
would take care of returning the wedding presents? What would happen to her
things—her clothes, her pictures, her plants? Would her car get towed?

Raising her hand, she ran her fingers through her matted hair.
The gel and heavy hairspray the stylist had used to arrange what had that
morning been an elegant upswept coiffure now served to make her hair a mixture
of knots and tangles that had grown so stiff she doubted she would ever get them
all out. She should simply grab some clippers, make like Demi Moore in
G.I. Jane
and be done with it.

Artair stared at her from across the van. Casually leaning
back, he bent a leg, laid one of his forearms across his knee and chuckled as
she tried to right her hair.

Rebecca couldn’t help herself from gawking. Her hands slowly
fell to her lap as she admired his muscular legs. He shifted slightly when the
van lurched as if turning a corner a little too quickly, and his plaid slipped
down his thigh. The clichéd question about what a Scot wore beneath his kilt was
quickly answered.

Artair rearranged the material before she could figure out if
he was a brief or boxers kind of guy. She lifted her gaze back to his face. He
had a knowing grin. Feeling the hot flush spread over her face, she dropped her
gaze to her lap, where she worried her hands to keep them occupied.

“We’re almost there, lass. Nae much longer.”

“I’m not a child. I’m not sitting here asking if we’re almost
there yet. Besides,” she added with a shrug, “I don’t even know where
there
is.”

“Home.” The corners of Artair’s lips twitched as if he wanted
to grin again, but he refrained. “My home. Your new home.”

“Oh, well
that
clears it up. Thanks
a heap.” She was being rude, but her senses were in overload. Niceties couldn’t
even form in her mind let alone spill out of her mouth. “I already
had
a home.”

A combination of troubling thoughts and lurching motion made
her stomach pitch, her limbs tremble and her head ache. The rocking of the van
as it continued on the trek. The memory of the rotting corpses and the
overwhelming stench they’d left behind at Condemned. The fear that she would
face a lifetime—probably an extraordinarily short lifetime—of similar
circumstances.

Trying to hide her rapidly increasing distress, she focused on
the floor, hoping a stable focal point would stop the queasiness. That tactic
backfired. Her stomach threatened to rebel at any moment, and she couldn’t
suppress a sickening groan as her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

“Sparks!” Artair shouted.

“What?”

“Pull over.”

“Why?”

“
Now,
Sparks.” He scrambled over to
Rebecca, lifted her by the waist and pulled her toward the door. The van was
still moving, albeit slowly, when he jerked the door open and hauled her
outside. Her stomach heaved up its meager contents a moment later.

As she vomited, Artair held her from behind with one strong arm
around her waist as he smoothed her barbed-wire hair back over her shoulder.
Waves of nausea raced through her. With little in her stomach to begin with, she
was reduced to spasms of dry heaves. Artair never left her as he whispered
reassurances.

She tried to stand and brush his hand away from her waist. He
refused to move it. Instead, he tugged a linen handkerchief from the pouch
hanging from his belt, and gently wiped the sweat away from her forehead before
smoothing the cloth across her mouth. “’Twill be fine, Becca.”

She didn’t believe him.

“What’s the hang-up?” Megan asked. “I thought we were heading
to our new digs.”

Rebecca startled to find Sparks and Megan standing behind
Artair.

“We were,” Sparks replied, fishing a couple of wrapped hard
candies from her pocket. “Then Earth here decided to toss her cookies on the
grass.” She glanced over at Rebecca then handed her a peppermint.

Rebecca put it in her mouth with a grateful nod.

“You get carsick a lot?”

“Only if I’m in the back seat too long. Look, I’m sorry. I’m
just… I’ve had a hard… And they smelled so…” She shuddered. “I always get
nauseous when I’m nervous. I’m really sorry.” Feeling foolish and wishing she
had the strength and chutzpa Sparks and Megan seemed to have in no small amount,
she shut up and sucked on her peppermint.

“She gets shotgun from now on,” Sparks said to Megan and
Artair.

Artair scowled at her. “You shouldn’t be making fun. The lass
has been through enough.”

“Good God, Artair,” Sparks grumbled. “You’re going soft on
me.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest. “I shall show you
soft
when we reach camp and renew your training.”

Rebecca leaned heavily against him, angry at herself for
letting any weakness show and angry at all of her companions for putting her
through this ordeal. She wanted to go home, but the only thing waiting for her
would be revenants. They’d found Megan, after all. No, if she wanted to live,
she had nowhere else to go except with these people. “We can go now. I’m sorry I
got sick. I just—I’m not used to any of this yet. I won’t be a bother
anymore.”

“You’re nae a bother, sweeting.” Artair ran his hand down her
arm, sending traitorous shivers racing through her body.

“Sweeting?” Sparks asked, eyes incredulous.
“Sweeting?”

“Enough,
Frida.
” His hand fell away
from Rebecca’s arm.

* * *

Artair had to resist the urge to back Sparks against the
side of the van and scare some respect back into her. But that was an
impossibility. From the time she’d been called into service, there had never
been an ounce of fear in the woman. Hard as nails. A true Fire. Buried beneath
that rough exterior, Sparks had the ability to love. Not her Sentinel, nor her
goddess, and probably not one man for too long. But her sisters? Sparks loved
them unconditionally and would have given her life to protect any of the other
Amazons.

She was right—he
was
getting soft.
Just another reason to be moving on.

“’Tis time to go home. Sparks, let the van take the wheel,”
Artair ordered, his voice curt.

“Aye,” Sparks drawled. “Since I don’t know how to get
there.”

Megan gaped at her. “You don’t know how to get to wherever
we’re going?”

Sparks shook her head. “It’s home, but I don’t know the
directions. Hell, they change all the time anyway when the camp moves.” She
chuckled. “And the van knows the way.”

As they piled back in the van, Artair moved to a spot he could
keep his eye on Rebecca from where she sat in the passenger’s seat. Megan sat
across from him, eyeing him like a hungry predator. The newest member of the
group would no doubt lose some of her cockiness through heavy training, and she
needed to learn refinement and control. Yet Megan was an Amazon, no doubt about
that.

Artair wasn’t sure what to think about Rebecca. He’d seen
glimpses of Amazon in her. She’d broken her would-be groom’s nose with one
punch. Had she not done so, Artair would have found a way to dispense some
payback to the pathetic excuse of a man for embarrassing her. Not that he would
have allowed the marriage to proceed, even if the groom had been willing.
Rebecca didn’t belong with any man. Any man except…

He shook his head at his disturbing thoughts.

Like all Amazons, anger was the trigger for Rebecca’s powers.
Fury at her former fiancé had produced an impressive earthquake on her first try
since receiving her powers that morning. It had been merely a reflex, but he
could build from there. Despite her palpable fear, she hadn’t run from her first
revenant attack. She’d even drawn one of the filthy creatures away from her new
sister, putting herself in jeopardy. Yes, there was definitely Amazon in
Rebecca. But that wasn’t what concerned him. Artair could teach her to protect
herself and to wield a weapon. Nay, his concern was in how to protect himself
from Rebecca Massee.

Artair had been right to call on his goddess, to summon her
weeks ago to tender what he jokingly called his “resignation.” Rhiannon had been
angry. She’d scolded, shouted, threatened and even pleaded with him to change
his mind. There had always been a strong bond between them, and she’d long
wanted something more from him than his help training the Amazons. Rhiannon made
no secret that she desired a more personal association.

Only a bloody fool got involved with a goddess—sexually or
otherwise. An Ancient never had a real attachment to anyone, especially a human,
and Rhiannon no doubt had lavished many a man with her attentions. Of all the
things Artair felt for Rhiannon, of all the loyalty she inspired in him, he
didn’t love her.

He’d never really loved
any
woman.
He had eased the needs of his body with soft, willing women, but none had
captured his heart. The goddess Freya sent him to her private tropical island to
refresh
him with her very accommodating
priestesses, although he hadn’t traveled there in quite some time. When he’d
been laird of his clan, he’d busied himself with training his men, not worrying
about taking a wife or siring an heir because he’d always figured there would be
time for that in the future. In his wildest dreams, Artair never dreamed his
future would stretch nearly three hundred years.

Rhiannon had acquiesced to his wishes to return to the mortal
world. When Maria had died, he’d vowed to remain to avenge her death and protect
Sparks, Helen and Trishna. They would be his last generation of Amazons, and
once the new Sentinel was in place, he would leave this generation to his
replacement’s care. The Amazons he’d prepared and fought alongside had never
failed in their quests because he’d trained them well. Yet he was weary of it
all. He’d lost too many along the way.

Then a slip of a girl had suddenly thrown a kink in his
well-thought-out dream. She’d made him realize just how lonely his life had
been—both as laird to his clan and as Sentinel to the women. Simply seeing her,
he saw his future. A home. A wife. Children. All the things he’d been denied by
pledging himself to Rhiannon.

Embarrassed, he tried to push the feelings aside. They clung to
him with a tenacity of a Scotsman’s grudge.

Looking over at Megan, he caught her staring at him again, an
invitation plain in her eyes. Accustomed to the sensuous nature of Fires, but
feeling nothing more for this new recruit than a desire to discipline her and
teach her some restraint, Artair gave his head a stern shake. Her responding
smile told him her plucky spirit would do her Fire ancestors proud. It also told
him he’d be dodging her hands like some tavern wench ducked the roving gropes of
drunken customers.

Rebecca glanced over her shoulder at Artair, her features
reflecting a myriad of emotions that, surprisingly, he could so easily read. Her
beautiful face became a mirror of all she felt. Anticipation. Fear. A touch of
excitement. And something more that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The van came to a stop.

“Artair,” Sparks called from the front. “We’re here. Wanna let
us in?”

“Aye.” He got out of the van and stalked to the enormous
gate.

Appearing weathered and beaten, the innocuous grill protected
the sanctuary for the Amazons. The magicks spun here by the four goddesses who
bestowed the Amazon powers was potent. The camp could be detected by neither man
nor magic. Only he, the two caretakers and the goddesses knew its location. Even
the warriors themselves couldn’t find it. The compound had always been a safe
haven for training the women, a place where they could recover from battle or
injury, and for most Amazons, this refuge became their final resting place.