Daybreak (8 page)
Thanking them meant acknowledging them. And by acknowledging them so overtly, she found the key to tap into their strength. Like unlocking a door she couldn’t see or touch. In her own mind. In her cells or her blood. That strength compounded until she no longer lived in her own skin. She was part of the trees and the sky, although her body never left that damp patch of weeds.
Eyes open, seeing with so much more than her physical abilities, she located the driver behind a filthy windshield. A spiderweb of cracks laced the glass. Heavy beard. Mole on his left cheek. And finally, a glimpse of his eyes.
Pen bore down, as if gritting against a punch to the gut. Muscles tight. Tendons cramped into knots. All the power she’d been hoarding burst out in a rush. She felt it but saw nothing. The only visible effect of that effort was the gradual, inevitable slowing of the small truck.
The driver shook his head, but it was too late.
Tru bounded past in a blur of golden fur. She stared as the rush of her spell wore off. He took out the nearest guard with a single leap, as he had done in the back of the slave truck. Just a pounce and the sickening crack of bone. He turned with his massive forepaw raised, knocking another man into the bushes.
Pen jumped to her feet. With knives in hand, she first took out the man in the bushes. Glad she checked. He’d been stunned but not dead.
She crept into the fray, behind a man who took aim at the lion annihilating his cohorts. Bullets would warn the truck ahead. And bullets meant the possibility of harm coming to Tru.
Still glowing with the afterbuzz of her spell, she felt no fear. Simply jammed her knife between the vertebrae at the base of his neck. He collapsed into a paralyzed heap. From that vantage, creeping in behind while Tru took them head-on, she felled another man.
But not before he opened fire.
She couldn’t worry about that now, only be thankful that none of the bullets hit Tru. The guard spotted her approach before she could attack. He spun, using the butt of his rifle to knock the air from her stomach. Pen doubled over. Spots shimmered in her eyes, but she adjusted her grip on both knives. The bastard made the mistake she’d known he would. Rather than keep beating with the blunt end, he insisted on making it messy.
He flipped the gun. Or attempted to.
Pen didn’t let him get that far. She surged up from below, using her shorter stature against him. Forget the armor on his chest—she went for the femoral artery in his thigh. And for his groin, because he’d put her in a bad mood.
The man sagged on a scream, hands clasping his crotch. Pen kicked the rifle away. She ran to the driver, whose eyes she’d only seen with her amplified sight. Now she stared at him, face-to-face. Green eyes. Like moss. But his mind was still fogged from the spell. He simply sat there, both hands on the wheel, the engine idling in neutral.
Good. Just as she’d intended. Precise and intended only for her chosen target.
No torture for this one. She hauled him out to the rough, weed-eaten blacktop and cut his throat.
By the time she looked over the mess, she realized the quiet. All clear.
Tru, in lion form and crackling with that beautiful golden aura, circled the truck. He nosed every corpse, apparently double-checking. The tufted tip of his tail twitched as he walked. Long bunches of muscle flexed beneath his pale yellow pelt. A spectacular mane framed that lion face.
But he was in there. Their gazes locked and Pen felt it.
“Adrian, you can come out now,” she called, not looking away from Tru. Later she’d be able to justify having Adrian there. She was talking to the boy, not an animal. But even then she knew that wasn’t the case. “Shots were fired. They’ll send a team to investigate. We’re turning the truck around and heading back to that last road, then turning east. We’ll head to the coast, away from O’Malley’s shipments.”
“How much gas does it have?” Adrian asked.
A quick check revealed a busted instrument panel. “No telling. But we need to get away from here. Gather our stuff. I’ll get these corpses off the road.”
She could kill. But the memory of running over dead bodies, years ago, made her want to vomit. Her stomach hurt enough already from that rifle butt.
The lion made a low noise. She turned to watch in fascination as his massive serrated tongue flicked out, licking his jowls clean of blood.
“You’ll come find us, yes?”
He didn’t answer. Might not have, even if he’d been able. The lion strolled out into the swamp, his tail still flicking. Pen only hoped he’d bring Tru back.
EIGHT
Tall grass. Trees. They had names, but he couldn’t remember them. It always took a while to lock into his new range of vision, greater in the periphery. Fewer colors. Better detection of noise, smell, movement. His ears pricked up, as he scented something delicious in the distance.
Salt tinged the air. Beneath it, animal musk. It was clean here. Mostly. Few humans. That made stalking easier.
Crushed grass led him onward. He knew the hoofprints and the trace of prey intimately. There were few hunters to cull their numbers these days, so the deer ran free in lands that had once been settled. Sometimes he passed the ruins of human places, littered and fallen into disuse. He skirted those areas in case danger lingered. Even in this form, he knew not to trust his fellow man.
The lion only needed one deer. Hunger snarled in his belly, making him impatient. He needed to strike.
Eat. Move
. Urgency, but why? There was another task, something he’d forgotten, but he put it aside and focused on the hunt. The delicious scent lingered in the grass, on leaves the herd had passed in its quest for fresh water. He crouched, slinking closer.
Eat. Move
. Urgency, but why? There was another task, something he’d forgotten, but he put it aside and focused on the hunt. The delicious scent lingered in the grass, on leaves the herd had passed in its quest for fresh water. He crouched, slinking closer.
They grazed, unaware of the danger, white tails flicking in the hot breeze. With keen eyes, he chose his target. Muscles bunched, the lion sprang and brought down a young buck, just barely coming into his antlers. A clean kill. Blood spilled down the lion’s throat as he devoured his prey in great gulps.
With lazy arrogance, he settled to indulge himself as panicking animals fled in all directions. In this land, the only creature that could challenge him was the alligator. And so on land, he ruled over all he surveyed. A good life, full of contentment and simplicity.
For a while he’d searched for lionesses—coming close to the perfect mate, once. Long ago. Long gone. He ought to have a number of females pacing around him in teasing circles while he lay at the center of their number. But there weren’t any like him here. A few smaller cats who spooked at his scent. Wolves who growled and drove him away when they didn’t attack outright. It was hard, sometimes, being different.
He’d gotten used to it.
Once, he’d had a place. Now he wandered.
The lion stretched, full and content. The sun shone down on his heavy pelt, and with a growl of a yawn, he rolled over for a nap. It was much later when he roused, though in this form he lost some of his awareness of time. He had something to do. Somewhere to be.
The man part that had a name—Tru—roused with a start. Remembered the woman’s words.
We’ll head east, then take the first road north along the coast. At nightfall, we’ll make camp. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us.
That was right. He had a pride now, a small one, and he would look after them. He needed speed.
We’ll head east, then take the first road north along the coast. At nightfall, we’ll make camp. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us.
That was right. He had a pride now, a small one, and he would look after them. He needed speed.
East, toward the water, north. Those words meant less to him in lion skin than they would later. But loping toward the sea, he caught the faint scent of people-things. Smoky, oily stink lingered in the wind, carried over distance. More certain, he loped off in that direction.
Because he’d spent the afternoon napping, he did not find them until full evening. They had done as promised, using the guards’ belongings to make a comfortable camp. Tru shifted in the shadows, not wanting to startle either Pen or Adrian by padding in as king of the jungle, though in all honesty he preferred the power of his animal form. His needs were so much simpler.
One day he’d lose the knack for human socialization altogether. Aside from the fear of turning into a feral skinwalker that fed indiscriminately, he longed to leave his humanity behind. Nothing left worth sticking around for anyway.
Silently, he found his backpack. Pen—or possibly Adrian—had been kind enough to toss it into the back of the truck. He dressed in silence, needing those moments to get used to his arms and legs again, and the idea he had a voice instead of a roar. At such times, he lost his customary grace, fumbling with fingers that felt unfamiliar. Occasionally he stopped himself from reaching for things with his mouth, a sure sign he’d spent too much time in lion form.
With a faint sigh, he joined the other two at the campfire.
“You’re back.” Penelope’s tone held a chiding note, as if she’d waited up for him.
It
was
late. Adrian slept, whereas Tru felt wide-awake after his nap. Not the most considerate decision, but satisfactory after a venison feast. The flickering light didn’t give any hint beyond the faint rebuke in her words, so he had no idea if she was surprised to see him, or relieved.
was
late. Adrian slept, whereas Tru felt wide-awake after his nap. Not the most considerate decision, but satisfactory after a venison feast. The flickering light didn’t give any hint beyond the faint rebuke in her words, so he had no idea if she was surprised to see him, or relieved.
“I told you I would be.”
“Can I trust you to keep your promises?”
“Yes,” Tru said seriously.
If he was a bastard, he was an honest one. He’d never promised a woman anything he couldn’t deliver, not even to get what he wanted.
And he wanted Penelope Sheehan. A lot.
“I wondered. Not for me,” she said, hunching her shoulders. “It would hit Adrian hard if you vanished on us. He’s starting to think he can trust you.”
Now he wasn’t sure if she meant Adrian . . . or herself. He needed to tread carefully, reassure without making more promises. Not an easy task when she looked so tired and worried, the weight of the world on her shoulders. The unfamiliar urge to swear he’d make it all better, somehow, bubbled up. Through sheer will, he quashed that impulse.
“I’ll stick to the terms of our agreement. I won’t disappear.”
That should satisfy her. And tomorrow he’d kiss her again. Tru was surprised how much he looked forward to that. Just a kiss. And to seeing if he could rouse her to a little more enthusiasm.
A shimmer of awareness prickled over his skin. He shifted and saw that she was watching him.
“Thank you,” she said, voice low.
Those words couldn’t come easy; she was used to people giving way to her. She wasn’t accustomed to bargaining for what she needed. The Orchid gestured, and people made room. Maybe she did need somebody like Tru in her life, at least for a while. To remind her what it was to be human. Ironic, that, when he’d almost forgotten. They fell on opposite sides of the spectrum. He was too much animal, and she was too much magic.
“Long day?”
When Pen nodded, he eased in behind her. Her quiescence moved him to unexpected optimism
. She must trust you a little to allow you her back.
Without asking permission, he rested his hands on her shoulders, finding the knots that came from hours behind the wheel. Someone unused to driving would hurt after hours of it, both from bad roads and from wrestling the truck.
. She must trust you a little to allow you her back.
Without asking permission, he rested his hands on her shoulders, finding the knots that came from hours behind the wheel. Someone unused to driving would hurt after hours of it, both from bad roads and from wrestling the truck.
“Go ahead.” Her words were soft, even if her body was tense.
People don’t touch her like this
.
.
In a way, that permission was more intimate than sex. Which should have put him off. But he’d gentled women this way before, conditioning them to crave his touch. It wouldn’t be any different this time.
Would it?
Would it?
With light pressure, he rubbed the tension away, thumbs circling counter to his kneading fingers. First she sat still, but the longer he worked, the more she leaned, tipping forward so he could reach more of her. He didn’t comment on the silent invitation, merely worked his way down her spine in confident strokes. She made small sounds now and then, but it wasn’t sexual, only the pleasure of relaxing muscles. Soon he was simply caressing her back in delicate passes while little shivers stole up her spine.
“Is this where you seduce me?” she asked, amusement threading her tone.
But she didn’t sound wholly unwilling to go further. He’d love to draw her back against him, her tempting ass against his hard cock, and kiss the curve of her throat. Too soon for that.
He chuckled. “Hardly. I just thought I’d make you feel better. I promised to take care of you, after all.”
“So you did.” Thoughtful tone. “My ass is sore too, you know. You want to rub it for me?”
It was a joke.
Maybe?
She wasn’t flirting, he thought, or daring him. More curious, as if she wanted to see how far he’d go, if he believed it was beneath him to provide a kindness without the hope of immediate sexual gratifi - cation. He decided to surprise her.
“Roll over on your blanket, and I will.”
She eyed him. “Seriously?”
“Sure.”
“You won’t try to take my pants off?”
That conjured all kinds of delicious images. It had been a long time since he’d kept a woman long enough to lick her all over, get lost in her body, and drive her out of her mind. He wanted to start at her toes and work his way up.
Other books
Bats or Swallows by Teri Vlassopoulos
Vera by Stacy Schiff
Sally James by Lord Fordingtons Offer
Sexy in Stilettos by Malone, Nana
On a Highland Shore by Kathleen Givens
Sentient by D. R. Rosier
Made by Us: Giselle and Liam's Story (The Made Series Book 3) by Werts, Candace Nicole
An Act of Redemption by K. C. Lynn
Adira's Mate by April Zyon
Adventures of a Waterboy by Mike Scott