The Royal Hunter (5 page)

Archer pulled Talia around to face him. Her dazed gray eyes finally locked on his. “You will help us, Talia Trahaern. We will be back.”

With great reluctance, he released her. Just as the first man in blue planted himself and pulled what must have been some kind of weapon, Archer turned and stepped into the bushes and through the triangle after Baleweg and Ringer.

T
alia awoke with a start, then slapped a hand on her chest to keep the book from falling off. She swung a leg to the porch to keep from dumping herself out of the hammock she’d been reading in. Or napping in, apparently.

She blew out a long breath and lay back, giving a little push before tucking her foot into the hammock again. She stared at the porch roof as she swung gently, the early evening air filled with the sounds of frogs and crickets. But she didn’t hear them, nor did she see the peeling paint above her. She saw Archer, his black eyes flashing, commanding. She heard his dark voice, with that beguiling accent, ordering her to return with him. Aussie, she realized now. Not Welsh like her mum.

Images of her mother bombarded her again, followed by images of Archer. She closed her eyes against them, but it only served to intensify them. If only it
had
been a dream, she thought. One from which she’d awake trembling, but shake off and put behind her in the morning. But it wasn’t a bad dream. More like a waking nightmare.

Less than forty-eight hours ago Archer and Baleweg had destroyed the nice, peaceful little world she’d so painstakingly built. A world she’d naïvely believed to be safe. Forty-eight hours of jumping at
every little sound, of seeing shadows where none existed, of waiting, wondering. Of remembering bits and pieces of her mother, of her own childhood, not knowing what was fact and what was fancy, produced by a brain on overdrive.

She’d tried to escape it. She’d spent yesterday immersed in work. Two of her kennel help had called in sick, and with Jimmy gone, there was plenty to do. She sighed as she thought about her discussions with the police. They hadn’t been able to find him and she’d opted not to press an assault charge, since the last thing she wanted was for them to find him and involve her in any way with him again. Not that she really thought they’d locate him anyway. His address had turned out to be bogus and she knew nothing else about him except he’d always been on time for work and did whatever she asked him to.
She’s mine. I found her first
. She shuddered and tried to forget that part.

You’re going to have to deal with this, you know
.

Talia frowned and looked over at the huge cat sprawled on the railing next to her. She knew Marblehead hadn’t really spoken to her, even telepathically. She simply felt what he was feeling. The verbal translation was her own, a small fancy she’d given in to as a young girl. Back when she used to have conversations out loud with any and all creatures who crossed her path. Before she’d learned that wasn’t always such a good idea.

She smiled a bit wistfully as she recalled the first time she’d been caught doing her Dr. Dolittle routine. She’d been around three or four. They’d just moved in and Talia had been playing in the backyard when she’d felt a sudden surge of terror. She’d started to call out to her mum, but then she’d spied her neighbor’s little tiger-stripe kitty up the tree. Talia very distinctly remembered understanding exactly
what the kitten was feeling. As if she were feeling the same thing herself. But as her fear grew, the kitten’s lessened. Somehow she’d understood she was taking on the kitten’s terror, thereby alleviating it from the poor thing. It had been instinctive, and despite being a bit shaken, she’d been quite proud of her accomplishment.

Talia had stood beneath the tree until the kitten had come down safely. She thought the cat was a marvel, the way he was able to transmit his emotions to humans like that. Then old Mrs. Wickerly—or Mrs. Whackerly as she’d come to think of her—had come out and overheard her talking to the cat. Talia remembered excitedly asking the older woman how her cat had learned to talk to people. Apparently the cat didn’t talk to Mrs. Whackerly the way it talked to Talia. Or the old woman was simply too stubborn to listen, was more like it, Talia remembered thinking.

The old woman had snatched the kitty up and warned her away, from both the cat and her property. At age four Talia hadn’t understood what the woman was really saying. That she was different. Odd. But it hadn’t taken long to learn.

Talia had asked endless questions when she’d figured out it wasn’t the kitty who had special abilities, but her. And that not everyone shared her little knack. Her beautiful mother had always smiled and gently explained that other people couldn’t be faulted for disparaging what they didn’t understand.

Talia felt tears spring to her eyes now. Her beautiful mother. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d so clearly pictured her face. Maybe it was because of having seen that picture of her. The memory now was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. The back porch door swinging open and her mother leaning out, smiling, beckoning her gently to come inside for an afternoon sweet. Talia saw the
smile she’d extended beyond her daughter to old Whackerly, but only now did her mind’s eye zero in on the tension at the corners of her mouth, the tight focus of her gray eyes. Eyes like Talia’s.

Her mother had encouraged Talia to be herself and delighted in her differences, but only when they’d been alone, she realized now. She’d promised that when Talia got older she’d tell her a wonderful story and teach her just how special her gifts were. But for now, she was to simply enjoy being a child.

Talia had listened to her mother and she’d tried to keep her gift to herself, really she had. But somehow, people always seemed to find out. She never meant to let them know, but she often couldn’t help it. An animal in need always seemed to stray into her path at the most inopportune moment. And she could never find it in her heart to turn her back to their pain. She remembered hating when that hunted look would enter her mother’s eyes, knowing it meant they would have to move again, and quickly.

Talia steadied the hammock and swung her legs over the side. What had her mother been running from? How had she forgotten all this? Or perhaps she’d purposely repressed it, as a way of coping. Talia jerked as another remembrance pushed forward, startling Marble into rousing his head to stare balefully at her. But her mind was turned firmly inward … and backward. She was six years old and so confused about how to make her mother happy. They’d moved once again, to Connecticut this time. It was summer and so hot, but their tiny apartment had no air conditioner. The memory was so vivid she could feel the sticky air clinging to her skin, could feel her mother gently stroking her forehead, soothing her to sleep with magical stories about a kingdom far away with a brave king who thought it was marvelous that little girls could talk to animals.

Talia blinked and the image was gone. Replaced by another one. A cold bed in the orphanage. It wasn’t until her mother died, shortly after that hot night, that it occurred to Talia to wonder who her father was. No one knew. She’d never known any family but her mother and had long ago given up trying to find any ties to her past. And she’d never found that magical world her mother had spoken of. But she had quickly become far more adept at hiding her gift. She’d also gotten smart. No one had wanted to adopt the odd little girl who talked to animals and foster homes had been more like slave-labor camps for her.

She remembered lying awake at night, retelling her mother’s stories to herself over and over, wishing her mother had taken her with her, wherever she’d gone. Maybe heaven was the magical kingdom she’d spoken about. If that was true, then one day Talia would see her mum again. As a child, that was the truth she’d eventually clung to.

But growing up meant letting go of dreams and taking hold of harsh realities. And the reality was, there was no one else who understood her, much less who was like her. Animals were the only creatures who seemed to offer her unconditional love and support. Animals and old people.

Old Whackerly being the exception, obviously. Talia felt her mouth quirk up into a dry smile, even as she tasted the salt of the tears that slowly coursed down her face.

She had never forgotten the day she’d turned eighteen and had become an emancipated adult, free forever of trying to fit in with people who had no desire to fit in with her. She knew if she was to make her way in this world and overcome the constant feeling of being a misfit, she needed to find a way to make her special talents work for her. Then
she could find happiness and a kind of peace and put her inner sense of disquiet at ease.

Talia smiled now and wiped her cheeks with her sleeves. That is precisely what she’d done. She’d stopped believing in fairy tales and found her place in the real world. “And no one is going to take that away from me.”

She shoved to her feet and went down the wide steps that fronted the old Victorian house. It was three stories of blue siding and white gingerbread trim with a wildly enthusiastic garden fronting the whole thing. The trim needed painting and the garden was overstepping its generous bounds. She mentally rearranged the next day’s chores to fit in a couple of hours of playing in the dirt. Beatrice had loved her flowers, and although Talia had never been drawn to the pleasures of gardening, she did her best to wrestle the various beds into submission on a semiregular basis as a tribute to her late benefactress.

She wondered what Beatrice would have made of Archer and Baleweg. Talia’s lips quirked at the thought. She’d have probably invited them in for lemonade and her famous tea cookies. Beatrice was as Victorian as her house, a pragmatic woman who’d had no trouble speaking her mind, but always seeming to find an oh-so-proper way of doing so. Talia couldn’t imagine how Beatrice would have managed a polite response to their claims of being from the future. But she would have loved to see her try.

Her smile faded as she wandered down the front path toward the large pond and marshes that lay between her property and the Lodge. This was her favorite time of year. Warm enough to enjoy a walk in the evening, but not so humid and hot as to stir up all the mosquitoes and gnats that would make this
same stroll all but untenable a month or so from now.

She snagged her walking stick from the side of the garden shed and slipped Beatrice’s old fishing bonnet—only Beatrice could come up with such a creation—off the handle and dropped it on her head. She considered taking a pole with her, but decided against it. Shading her eyes against the setting sun, she looked across the backyard toward the long, low kennel building.

As always, a sense of pride filled her. Beatrice would have approved of the haven Talia had built. In addition to the stables and two small paddocks that had been here in Beatrice’s time, Talia had added the kennel building with an office inside. The building was temperature controlled and had runs that went indoors and out. Behind the building was a large field that ran all the way to the trees. She’d thought about fencing some of the area in and taking on more larger animals. She made a note to run figures again.

She ran her gaze over the outdoor runs, satisfied that Stella had finished hosing them down before leaving. She didn’t have as many animals in residence right now, which was always a blessing as it meant she’d been successful at finding good homes for her odd assortment of strays. When colder months returned, however, the indoor facilities would fill up again. There were always orphans to tend to.

She looked to the paddock and saw Old Sam plodding toward the new mare she’d brought home a few weeks ago. The appaloosa was skittish—and who wouldn’t be, mistreated as she’d been—but while other horses would have only antagonized her, Old Sam was a calming influence. Talia was counting on
that, counting on Sam to do some of the work, so Talia could take over when the mare was ready to finally accept human help. She made another mental note to call the vet and schedule a visit.

She smiled again. Ken was a nice guy. So immersed in his practice that he didn’t notice much beyond it. Talia relaxed around him in a way she did with very few others. He was a whiz with animals, but people were anomalies to him. To the point that he’d never noticed Talia’s “gift” with animals was anything more than someone with a soft heart who had a modest inheritance to indulge that heart with. Yep, good old Ken was safe.

Safe life. Safe friends. Safe four-legged pals.

Archer wasn’t safe.

As if she’d summoned him, he materialized in front of her, emerging from the tall reeds a dozen or so yards ahead. He was dressed in the same plain dark pants, boots, and shirt, yet he still managed to look like some sort of exotic woodland creature. Maybe it was those eyes, the way they commanded without realizing it. Or maybe he fully realized it. Probably he did. Maybe it was that accent of his.

Or maybe it was because he claimed to be from the future.

Whatever the reason, she stopped dead, immediately looking behind him for the old man. Somehow, even though Baleweg spooked her plenty, she felt safer with him.

There was that word again.
Safe
. Had she really felt so threatened by the rest of the world? Yes. The answer was immediate. And true.

She’d always felt she was a misfit, but she’d never associated her inherent discomfort around most people with actual fear. She’d attributed it to her years in the orphanage. And her “gift.” Who wouldn’t
feel like an outcast with that combo? And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t gotten over it, found her niche.

But now she realized a certain fear had been there, creeping beneath the surface of all her decisions. Had her mother fed that fear? Talia would have said no if asked a week ago. But now she wouldn’t be so quick to deny it. What had her mother been running from? Whatever the threat had been … did it still exist?

He was sent here to kill you
.

Her gaze flew to Archer’s, as if he’d spoken the words again. Whatever threats might have hovered about her young life, Talia had no doubt she was facing a real one now. “What do you want?” It came out sharp, but with at least as much temper as fear.