Beyond the Darkness (16 page)

Once he completed the circle, he felt sure Yurek wasn’t there. Either he hadn’t found this place or left once he figured out Pope wasn’t there. This was different than how he’d felt earlier at the Tank.

He changed back to man. “It’s clear.”

She was staring at him, obviously having seen him morph. She didn’t look horrified, which was a good thing. Or maybe not. She was apprehensive, though.

“Something’s bothering me,” he said. “I can’t figure out what it is.”

“But you just said it’s clear. Being a cat, you’d know if something wasn’t right here. So there’s not, like, someone hiding in the edge of the woods or—”

He touched her shoulder, stilling her outpouring of panicked words. “It’s clear.”

“Sorry, I’m just jumpy. You’re a beautiful cat, for a jaguar that can tear things apart with its teeth. I try to remember it’s still you.”

“It’s me.” His words felt heavy in his chest. Still him inside, still human.

“It’s fascinating. Scary but fascinating. How does it feel when you morph?”

“Natural. I feel my essence stretch, pull, but not painfully.” He liked that she was interested. Which was not good—her interest or his warm feeling over it. “I enjoy being in my cat body. I can swivel my ears to hear better, my senses are more alert, and my muscles have rubber band flexibility.”

“When you changed to cat earlier, how did you climb up the ladder?”

The warm feeling vanished. “What do you mean, ‘when I changed earlier’?”

“When you went out to check the Tank, I saw your black fur glide by.”

In the moonlight he saw her eyes widen again at the same time he felt dread smack him in the chest.

“You didn’t change to cat, did you?” she asked.

“No. You saw black fur?”

“Just a flash of it. I assumed it was you because it was so graceful, and how could that
thing
be graceful when it looks so ugly and—”

“Give me my phone.” He was already walking back to the bike. “Pope, everything all right?” he asked as soon as Pope answered.

“I’m following your route and getting acclimated with the way the vehicle handles. Something is wrong?”

“I think Baal hitched a ride, probably back at the festival. Since Yurek’s not here, I’m guessing he’s on his way to wherever you are. You’re going to turn around and go the opposite way.” They synched up their locations and where they would rendezvous as he and Petra reached the bike.

“How can I get rid of him?” Pope asked. “Drive under the low branch of a tree? Swerve?”

“You watch too many movies. Just keep driving. I’ll take care of Baal.” He disconnected and swore. “I should have turned cat when I checked the Tank.” He looked at her. “Are you ready to drive the bike?”

“By myself?”

“Yeah, but only after I’ve jumped off.”

She gripped his arm. “You’re going to jump off the bike
while it’s running
?”

“I’m not actually going to jump.”

She blew out a breath. “Thank gawd.”

“Jumping would push the bike back. When we catch up to the Tank, I’m going to grab hold of the ladder and step off.”

“You’re not kidding, are you?”

They reached the bike. “I never kid about letting someone else drive my bike.” He gave her a quick rundown on the mechanics of driving, then said, “Ready? We need to move out now.”

She nodded and gunned the engine, sending them lurching forward. Her fear pulsed through him. Was she afraid to drive the bike, or afraid he’d get hurt?

They caught up with the Tank in ten minutes, which was why he had kept Pope in the general vicinity.

She shouted, “There he is!”

Baal was in human form, holding onto one of the air vents attached to the slanted roof. Cheveyo hadn’t taken time to grab their helmets when they hauled ass out of the Tank. If he was thrown off the roof and hit the pavement, he’d be a goner.

He called Pope. “We’re right behind you. I can see Baal on the roof.” A head lifted. “It sees us, too.”

Petra turned to say into the phone, “The nut is going to jump on the Tank and fight it on the roof!”

“Just be aware that I’ll be up there,” he said and disconnected. “Ready?”

“No! But I’ll do it if I have to.”

He felt that stir again, the way he did whenever she grew into her strength. She was going to discover one of her other archetypes before long, and then she would be dangerous—most of all, to him. She pulled up to the rear corner of the Tank.

“Get closer,” he said. He had to do this carefully so he didn’t knock the bike off balance. Baal was already inching toward the rear, ready for him. “I’m going!” he told her, and a second before his muscles released, the roar of an engine made them both turn around. The trident, coming at them fast.

“Oh, hell,” they both said in unison.

Cheveyo was already in midair. Couldn’t stop. He latched onto the ladder at the rear, his eyes on her. She held onto the bike after his departure, though it wobbled. Her face was a mask of tension, lower lip clamped between her teeth. He knew she wouldn’t be able to evade Yurek, who was aiming right at her.

“Give me your hand!” he called, reaching out. “Aim the bike toward the shoulder and let it go.”

She reached toward his hand, her eyes scared-rabbit wide, and twisted the handlebars to the right. The car closed in just as the bike veered off the road. She shrieked, dangling, banging against the side of the RV. Their hands were locked together but her other hand slapped along the edge of the window, trying to find a hold.

He smelled the dog a second before he felt the swipe of its claws tear into his shoulder. Baal’s face leered over the edge, its forelegs bent around the top handles of the ladder. It snarled, swiping again. Cheveyo instinctively ducked, which loosened his grip on Petra’s hand.

He held on tighter. “Give me your other hand!”

She reached toward him. He’d have to pull her to bring her closer to the ladder.

Baal’s claws raked his scalp this time, and blood poured down into his eyes, blinding him. Damn scalp wounds bled like a bitch. He could hear Baal’s nails scrabbling as it tried to keep its balance.

She uttered a strangled gargle. He couldn’t let go of her. Yurek was right behind them, headlights casting them in a fierce glow. If she survived the fall, he’d run her down. He blindly reached for her hand, grabbing onto her fingers. The blood made his hand slippery and he couldn’t get a good grip.

She reached past him and grabbed the bar next to him. Her feet found the lower ladder rung and she banged into him as she brought herself close. She whispered his name, a whimper. Now that he didn’t have to hang onto her, he wiped the blood from his face.

“Looks worse than it is,” he said, trying to breathe through the stinging pain.

She reached down and in a second had her knife as Baal swiped down again. It yelped when she stabbed the blade into its paw and backed out of sight.

“Nice,” he said in a strained voice.

The Tank jerked with the sound of a crash as Yurek rammed his car into the rear of the vehicle. Luckily, the sports car he’d managed to procure was too low to inflict any damage on them or the RV, which had reinforced bumpers for this very reason.

Giving up on that, Yurek swerved to the left and came up beside them, slamming the car into it. He obviously didn’t care much about the car or his furry buddy up on top, who skidded when the RV shifted.

From somewhere in his mind he heard,
Are you secure?

Pope. He was going to do something.

Yes,
he answered. “Hold on. Pope’s got a plan.”

Baal appeared above them again, but before it could try another swipe, the vehicle jerked to the left, ramming into the car. Tires screeched and the car zigzagged across the asphalt in a jerky wobble, ending up behind them again. Thank God no one had come from the other direction. As much as he wanted Yurek dead, he didn’t want some innocent killed in a head-on collision.

He saw human legs dangling off the side of the Tank. Baal had gone human. It was harder to hold on when you were a dog.

“Stay here,” Cheveyo said. “It’s the safest place to be.” He wiped away the blood with his sleeve.

“Where are you going?”

“To get rid of the dog.”

To call it a dog really wasn’t fair to dogs.

“Let me heal you,” she said.

“No, you need all your strength right now. I’ll be fine.”

He heard her words before the wind carried them away: “Obstinate, boneheaded male!” As soon as he got to the roof, he pulled out his knife. Baal twisted to his side, then morphed back to dog again, his only weapon. Cheveyo lunged at it and it backed off. The blood was getting in the way, though, making his hand slippery and forcing him to continually swipe it out of his eyes.

Yurek came around the side again. What the hell was that idiot doing? Oh, hell. Pope was going to do a sideways smash again. Cheveyo dropped to his knees and grabbed hold of the air compressor a second before the vehicle jammed into the car. This time Yurek lost control, overcorrecting and veering off the shoulder. The tires hit the rocks on the shoulder and the car rolled.

Cheveyo turned in time to see the Glouk lunging at him, teeth bared. He rolled to the side as Baal skidded on the slanted surface of the roof. Because of that surface, Cheveyo nearly kept rolling right off the side. He grabbed onto one of the air vents as the rest of his body slipped over the edge.

Baal approached, its teeth bared, red eyes focused on Cheveyo’s hands where they clutched the unwieldy corners. He had no defense. All he could do was let go. He glanced behind him. He didn’t like what he saw. On this side, the shoulder was edged in large rocks. He tried to pull himself up, but the blood loss was making him weak. The cold wind was sucking out his energy, too.

Baal edged closer, buffeted by the wind and slipping on Cheveyo’s blood, trying to keep its balance as it readied for attack. Its teeth, bared as it approached his hands, were even sharper than its claws. Cheveyo was having a hard time gripping the plastic vent anyway. He would die by a hard landing on rocks either way, with shredded hands or without. What would happen to Petra? Pope? The questions were enough to overcome his pain and weakness. He glanced at the rocks going by in a blur. Maybe he’d survive.

One . . .

Two . . .

Baal roared with pain and jerked around to look at the knife handle sticking out of its flank. Petra’s knife. It morphed to man again, pulling out the knife and searching for the perpetrator of its injury. Petra had climbed to the top of the ladder, and her upper body was above the roofline. She wouldn’t be able to get out of Baal’s line of sight fast enough. Baal shifted its grip on the knife, readying it to throw back at her, but its fingers fumbled on the slippery blood on the handle. The knife dropped on the roof and slid toward her. She grabbed it and, with narrowed eyes, made to throw it again.

Baal slid to the side, slowing its fall by grabbing onto one of the vents, and fell to the road on the other side. She scrambled across the roof toward Cheveyo, holding onto the vents for balance.

“I can’t hold on anymore.” His hands were slipping; he couldn’t get a grip.

She pounded on the roof. “Stop! Stop, Pope!” She flattened herself and grabbed for his hands. Just like he’d held onto her, now she was holding onto him. The Tank was slowing. She grunted with the effort of pulling up his weight.

“Let me go!” he said. “You’re going to end up falling over the edge with me.”

He heard every ounce of emotion of her voice when she said, “I will
not
let you go! I will not let you die!”

“Petra, we’re stopped! Let me drop to the ground.”

With a start she looked around. “We are stopped.”

“Yes. I’ll be fine. But your devotion is appreciated.”

With a hysterical little laugh/hiccup, she let him go. He landed on his feet, feeling every slice that son of a bitch had inflicted on him. The cuts on his scalp burned like fire, and now he could feel the warm, sticky blood flowing down his neck.

Pope came around the front. “Baal landed on the highway and rolled, then raced into the woods.”

Cheveyo flexed his aching hands. “Let’s go back for Yurek. If he’s injured, we can take him easily.”

She pointed at him. “You can’t take anyone, not like that.”

He looked down at himself, covered in blood, and then had to wipe it out of his eyes. “It’s our best chance. Come on, let’s get inside.”

She dashed to the closet opposite the bathroom, pulled out towels, and returned to where he sank into the passenger seat while Pope put the Tank into gear again.

Cheveyo pointed ahead. “There’s a turnaround coming up. We’ll need to get my bike, too.”

She knelt in front of him, carefully wrapping one of the towels around his head. A grimace warped her features. She grabbed a hand towel and ran to the bathroom, then returned. The wet towel was instantly bloodred.

“Let me heal you. These aren’t mortal injuries, not yet. I won’t be risking myself or your abilities.”