Defeat the Darkness (26 page)

“No, no, no… he can't be. I shouldn't have listened to him. This time no one's stopping me from calling the police.”

She pulled out the cell phone, but before she had a chance to punch a single number, D.J. grabbed it from her hand. Fury and fear had her lunging at
him, intent on doing serious harm unless he relinquished the phone. Before she could do any damage, Penn wrapped his arms around her from behind, successfully trapping her in between the two men.

As they continued to scuffle for control of the phone, Larem shoved past them.

“Fools, stop it! Maybe I can help him!” he shouted and flung himself to the ground at Hunter's side.

Tate froze in horror as the normally sedate Larem yanked a long, narrow knife out of his boot and raised it over Hunter's chest. She screamed as the blade slashed downward. D.J. pushed her toward Penn before diving down to catch Larem's arm. He succeeded in stopping him, but both men shuddered as they each struggled for control.

D.J. glared at the other man. “Larem! What the fuck are you doing? For God's sake, I thought you two were friends.”

“We are! Now let me go before it's too late. Maybe he doesn't need to die again, not like this.”

“What can you do?”

D.J. sounded calmer, but he didn't release Larem. Were they both crazy? Nothing they said made sense. Die
again?
What did that mean? All she knew was they still weren't calling for help.

“At least try CPR!” she pleaded.

Something. Anything. Neither man paid her the least bit of attention. Tears burned acid hot down her face as she waited for this nightmare to end, but it just went on and on.

Larem's words came out in ragged gasps as he fought to regain control of his weapon. “You know Barak's ability to control stone? It's not the only gift to fade away among our people. The gift of healing is another.”

“And you have it? This gift?” Somehow D.J. sounded both hopeful and skeptical at the same time.

Larem nodded. “In the darkness of my world, I could sometimes ease pain or slow bleeding. But stories have been passed down from past generations that back in the days of light, our healers could perform true miracles.”

“And you've been in the light for some time now.” Slowly, D.J. nodded, then released Larem's arm. “See what you can do.”

This time when Larem raised the blade, he began chanting in a strange cadence. As the rhythm of his words sped up, he used the razor-sharp edge to cut away Hunter's shirt, peeling the blood-soaked cloth away from his skin with a sickening wet sound.

Next, Larem held his knife up, as if making an offering to an unknown god. At that point, he shouted to the heavens and plunged the blade hilt deep, straight into Hunter's chest.

Horrified to the point of being numb, Tate sobbed as she collapsed onto the ground. He'd killed Hunter, right there, right then. How could anyone live through such a vicious attack?

“Son of a bitch!”

Clearly horrified, D.J. continued to curse while Penn stared down at Hunter's ravaged body with a look of utter despair on his face. Larem went back to chanting as he swayed back and forth over Hunter, his voice growing more ragged and ever more desperate.

Finally, he grasped the hilt of his knife and yanked it back out. As the blade slipped free, Hunter's eyes flew open and he let loose an agonized scream that ricocheted off the rocky hillside and echoed up into the night sky.

When he drew a second breath, the tension in his body abruptly drained away.

“What the hell just happened?”

Hunter's voice was weak, but the words sounded like the “Hallelujah Chorus” to Tate's ears. As soon as Larem and Penn sat up, she pushed them aside to get closer to Hunter, who lay blinking up at her, sharing her confusion.

He tried to lift his head to look around, but he was unable to hold it up for long. “How did I end up on the ground? Did I pass out?”

How do you tell someone he'd just been dragged back from the edge of death by being stabbed in the chest? She didn't believe it herself, and she'd had a front-row seat to the spectacle. She struggled for words.

But Penn had no problem at all. “You died, and your good buddy Larem here jump-started your worthless ass using his knife and some kind of Kalith mumbo jumbo.”

D.J.'s sudden grin turned wicked, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. “Gotta say being stabbed in the heart looked like it hurt like a bitch. But since you're breathing regular again, I don't figure you've got much to complain about.”

Hunter's eyes sought out Larem, asking the questions he didn't seem to be able to ask aloud. The other man shrugged.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time. You were already dead, so I figured you wouldn't be any worse off if it didn't work.”

Then they all laughed—even Hunter managed a wheezy chuckle. Were they
insane
? Yes, they had to be. She moved away, ready to bolt for home and the sanctuary of her bed. Come morning, she'd do whatever it took to put her world back on track, but right now she needed to put some distance between herself and these crazies.

As the men hovered over their fallen friend, she gathered up the tattered remains of her control and took a step up the slope. Then the fear she'd been fighting since leaving the safety of her bedroom took control,
and violent shakes wracked her body. Her legs gave way, sending her plummeting toward the ground.

“Oh, hell, she's going into shock.”

She was dimly aware of strong arms managing to cushioning her fall and then of being hoisted in the air against someone's chest. Her head was buzzing, making it hard for her to distinguish voices as they carried on a discussion over her head.

“I'm going to get Tate the hell out of here.”

Penn nodded. “Let's get them both up to the house. Devlin wants a full report ASAP, and then we can decide what to do about all of this, especially her.”

The voices sounded as if they were coming from the bottom of a very deep well. Even so, she recognized Larem when he asked, “Is the best way up or down?”

D.J. was the one holding her, because she heard his answer rumble through his chest. “I'd say down. We can control our descent better than trying to drag Hunter's sorry ass up that hill.”

Larem loomed over her. “Tate, are you all right?”

“Get real, you idiot. Hell, no, she's not okay, not after getting dragged into our world with no warning.” D.J. sounded more disgusted than angry.

Their world? Just one more thing that made no sense, but right now her head was too foggy to make sense of much of anything. She struggled to get down.

“What about Hunter?”

“Hold still, Tate, before both of us go flying headfirst down this bluff! Hunter will be right behind us.” D.J. started moving, traversing the remaining distance in fits and starts.

When they were safely on level ground, she insisted that he set her down, but her legs refused to hold her. He immediately swept her back up in his arms. “Okay, we'll do it the hard way.”

Larem caught up with them. “Hey, Tate. Can you take this? Hunter will need it.”

He held out Hunter's reassembled cane. Once again it looked handsome and harmless. But as she took it, she knew she'd never forget that inside that beautiful exterior lurked a deadly weapon.

And she suspected the same was true about the men who surrounded her. Once again the darkness swirled through her head and dragged her down into blessed oblivion.

The morning sun peeked through Tate's bedroom window as Hunter sat in the corner watching her sleep. After patching him up, Larem and the others had tried to order Hunter to bed, leaving one of them to patrol Tate's house while she slept. Fat chance. It was his job to stand guard over her while she was so vulnerable. Once she was awake, she'd probably kick his worthless hide out to the street. Until then, he was staying right where he was while D.J., Penn, and Larem sacked out in Hunter's apartment.

As the hours passed, he managed to doze off a couple of times, but then he'd dream about that Other charging after him with death in his eyes. Then he'd jerk back awake, his pulse racing. Sitting in the darkness, the cool feel of the ivory handle on his cane vanquished the last shadows of the nightmare.

Better yet, thanks to Larem's efforts, his arm was already healed. The bullet holes would take a few more hours, but even the stab wound inflicted by Larem had all but disappeared. By midday, Hunter would be back to where he was before the attack. Hell, even his leg felt better, but nothing seemed to ease the heavy ache in his chest.

How was he supposed to explain his resurrection to Tate when he was having trouble dealing with it himself ? Even more, how they were going to deal with Larem's newly discovered ability? By all reports, Barak was understandably reluctant to use his gifts to aid the Paladins. Would Larem feel any different? But now wasn't the time to worry about that.

All things considered, Tate had done all right last night, holding herself together until help had arrived. Far better than most folks would've done when confronted with the truth of the world the Paladins lived and died in.

What had she been thinking by charging off to rescue him again? Bless her heart for wanting to, but he'd warned her to stay out of his affairs for good reason. That Other and his human buddies wouldn't let one headstrong human female get in the way of profit.

Tate could've been killed. His hand gripped and released the ivory wolf head over and over again as he remembered the sweet feel of fighting his enemy, sword against sword. Even better was how close he'd come to ridding both this world and Kalithia of one more crazy. Earlier, he'd wiped the bastard's blood off his blade just as he had so many times in the past, but this time it had been a validation of Hunter's worth as a warrior.

Since waking up in Doc's lab all those months ago to find himself stitched together, he'd wondered if he'd ever be able to face his enemy again. The answer was yes, and it felt damn good to know that.

“Shouldn't you be lying down somewhere?” Tate was awake, her huge blue eyes blinking at him. She looked sleepy and worried, and more than a little bit afraid. At least she wasn't screaming.

“I'm fine. I was more worried about you.” He clenched both his cane and the arm of the chair, fighting to keep himself from crossing the room to her bed.

She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist. He waited for her to notice that he'd changed her clothes for her. She'd probably hate knowing he'd done so, but her shirt and jeans had been soaked with his blood. He'd wanted her to wake up mad rather than have her face such an awful reminder of what had transpired in the woods.

It didn't take her long. She peeked under the sheets, then gave him a suspicious look. “I don't remember changing when I got back. Come to think of it, I don't remember how I got here at all.”

“When you collapsed, D.J. carried you up here. I figured you'd sleep better in something clean.”

He'd also given her a sponge bath to get the rest of the dried blood off her skin. The memory of sliding that soapy cloth over her smooth skin, pretty much from head to toe, was one he'd cherish for a long time. Even now, he was instantly aroused and aching as the images filled his mind.

“Don't.” Tate pulled the sheet back up.

“Don't what?” Although he knew.

“Don't look at me like I'm on the menu at your favorite
restaurant. Not after last night,” she snapped.

“Damn it, Tate, I can't help that you have that effect on me. It doesn't mean I'm going to act on it.”

“Darn straight you're not.” She studied him from across the room, her expression puzzled. “You almost died last night, but you look fine, almost like it never happened.”

Time for some plain talk. “You know perfectly well that isn't true. I didn't almost die.”

She held the edge of the sheet in a white-knuckled grip. “Don't lie to me, Hunter. I was there.”

“I know you were, but you didn't see me
almost
die. What you saw was me
really
die. It's not the first time that it's happened, and it won't be the last.”

Tate blanched at his brutally honest statement of the facts. But after everything that had happened, she deserved the truth no matter how unpalatable, even if it was going to cause major problems for him and possibly the whole organization. She'd shined that flashlight right on the worst of his injuries and had had a front-row seat when Larem had stabbed him in the heart. There's no way she was going to believe that his wounds had only been minor scratches.

“That's not possible.” Tate shook her head slowly, trying to find some way to deny what she'd seen with her own eyes. “Is it?”

“I told you once before—I heal fast.” He held his arm for her to see. The cut was completely closed, leaving only a faint scar. Despite the severity of the wound, it would be only another in a long line of painful memories in a matter of days.

“Stand up and lift your shirt,” she demanded.

He set the cane aside and did as she asked, turning slowly so she could see both sides.

“Come here.” She crawled out of the covers to kneel on the edge of the bed.

Getting this close to her in that position was not a good idea, but right then he wasn't thinking with his brain. He crossed the few feet that separated them and held his breath as she traced his scars with a feathery light touch of her fingertips.

His cock hardened, wanting some of that gentle touch for itself. He shifted his stance, hoping she wouldn't notice the renewed strain on his zipper. No such luck. Tate's hand had come to rest right above the wound on his stomach. When she noticed what was going on a few inches south, she jerked back with a hiss.

“What's going on, Hunter? And don't try lying to me. Not anymore.”