Ravyn's Flight (7 page)

The scream caught in her throat.

She was surrounded by bodies. The whole team was there, mutilated, lying in dark pools of blood. She lowered her hand to brace herself, but instead of tile, her fingers tangled in hair. As she jerked away, something came loose. Flowers. White flowers braided into a coronet and spotted with red.

Ravyn covered her eyes, trying to block out the sight. Her hands were wet with blood; it dripped down her chin before she could yank them away. Not just on her face, she realized. She could feel blood soaking through her clothes. Her shoes slipped in the wine-red puddles as she tried to stand. She sensed the monster watching her, enjoying her struggle to regain her feet.

Damon! Damon would help her. “Damon, where are you?” she called and waited for him to answer. There was nothing but silence. She had to find him. She wiped her hands on the legs of her pants, then clenched them into fists. She would find him. She would. Ravyn went from empty room to empty room. The evil one found her search entertaining. She could feel his amusement. Ignoring it, she went to the next door.

What if Damon were dead?
He would never leave her unprotected if he weren’t in trouble. Ravyn started crying. Impatiently, she brushed away the wetness, uncaring of the blood that mingled with her tears. All she cared about was Damon.

She turned and found a door behind her that she had never seen before. It had an old-fashioned silver knob and her hand left a smear of blood as she edged it open. A waist-high, black stone altar dominated the room and there was a figure on it.

“Damon,” she said on a breath of relief. She rushed to him, needing to touch him, feel his strength. Looking down, she froze. Where his lively green eyes should have been, there were vacant sockets. His mouth gaped open, empty. A keening sound started, soft at first, then growing louder as she saw his open chest. His heart was still there, but it wasn’t beating.

“No!” she howled, unable to contain her despair. “Damon!”

Ravyn fell to her knees beside the altar, her forehead resting on his shoulder. There was nothing but desolation inside her. The laughter sounded again as the evil one took pleasure in her sorrow. It grew closer, but Ravyn didn’t care. Damon was dead. What did it matter now if she lived?

She could smell the monster’s fetid breath, but she didn’t move. Instead she put her hand in Damon’s cool hand and waited.

The killer grabbed her shoulder and Ravyn knew a sudden, absolute fury. The bastard had killed Damon.

Without warning, she turned and struck out.

*** *** ***

Damon woke, instantly alert.

He remained still, listening for what had roused him. When it came, the source was unexpected. Ravyn whimpered again and moved. She was agitated, but still asleep. A nightmare, he thought. He forced himself not to go to her, to continue listening. When he felt confident the only discordant noise came from her, he relaxed a little.

Damon had been waiting for the wall she’d built around her emotions to collapse, and it made sense it would happen when her considerable will was relaxed. It was better this way, he knew. The longer she held her grief inside, the harder it would be, and the more time it would take to heal. Another sound came, this one he couldn’t put a name to, but it was heartrending. He didn’t hesitate any longer. He moved to Ravyn, and putting his hand on her shoulder, gently shook her awake.

She came up swinging.

He missed catching a fist on the chin only because of his quick reflexes. Grabbing both of her wrists, he said, “You’re safe. I’ve got you. Everything is fine. You’re okay.”

By the light of the moon, he could see when her eyes cleared and she realized it had only been a dream. “Damon?” she asked and he could swear her voice held joy.

“It’s me, sweet pea. You’re all right.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, pulling free and burying her face in her hands. He could see her struggling not to cry, but enormous shudders began convulsing her body and he knew she’d lost the battle. Now and then she would make a snuffling sound or pull in a shaky breath, but otherwise she was quiet.

Damon shifted uncomfortably. He was never sure what to do when a woman surrendered to tears. It sounded like Ravyn’s heart was breaking and he couldn’t sit by and do nothing. Uncertain, he slid an arm across her shoulders. Her reaction was immediate. She turned into his body, wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face against his throat. He was nonplussed for a moment, then brought his other arm up to rub circles on her back.

Her tears felt warm and wet against his skin. She tried to stay as silent as possible, but occasionally she would muffle a sob against his chest. She gripped him tightly, as if she were afraid he would disappear if she didn’t hang on to him with all her strength. Damon felt helpless. There was nothing he could do to take away her pain. No way to go back in time and prevent the carnage, no way to erase her memories. He could only hold her and let her know she wasn’t alone.

It seemed to take forever before her weeping stopped. She kept her face hidden against him. He could hear the shaky, raspy breathing and feel the tremors that still coursed through her body. He didn’t bother asking what her nightmare was about. He knew. They were in the middle of the damn nightmare.

This kind of emotional release had to be good for her. Part of Damon longed to join her, to throw back his head and howl. He’d lost his best buddy and five other friends. And he couldn’t. His arms tightened around her briefly before he forced himself to loosen his hold. Until he had Ravyn safe, until they were off this hellish planet he had to be in control.

“I’m sorry,” Ravyn apologized, still hiding her face.

He knew she felt embarrassed by her tears, that she considered them a weakness, but Damon saw only Ravyn’s strength, her ability to bravely endure all that had happened. The feel of her breath against his neck made his body shiver. Desire, strong and fierce, almost made him groan aloud. He wanted this woman more than he could remember ever wanting anyone else. The sudden switch in emotions from grief to lust was nearly dizzying and completely unexpected.

Off limits, he reminded himself.

When that didn’t work, Damon tried to ease Ravyn back from his body. She held on tighter and he acquiesced. He couldn’t keep his hands still, but he was able to restrict himself to comforting touches. Even rubbing her back, however, tempted him. He moved his hand to her hair instead. They didn’t have a comb and he tried to gently work his fingers through her tangles. Tomorrow he’d have to come up with some sort of brush for her, he thought.

“Damon?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you fight in the Third War?” Her voice was muffled.

“Yeah.” He didn’t know why she asked, but he’d talk if that made her feel better. “I fought five and a half of the seven years.” Damon kept his voice soothing, hoping it would help her relax. They both needed more sleep tonight, but he knew she wasn’t ready to settle down yet.

“It was bad,” Ravyn stated.

Damon didn’t say anything.

“My mom told me people believed the turn of the millennium signaled the beginning of an age of peace.”

“Yeah,” Damon said, unable to keep the cynicism from his voice, “and in the forty years since then, there have been three wars and there’s sure to be a fourth since nothing got resolved.”

They both stayed quiet and Damon found himself thinking about fighting in another war. Dread welled up and he felt a stab of relief when Ravyn broke the silence.

“What I remember most about the Second War was the shattered look in the soldiers’ eyes. Even the ones who stayed in the rear area had this feeling around them, as if their souls had been wounded. I heard the Third set new levels of barbarism.”

“How do you know so much about the Second Oceanic War?” Damon asked, deciding to ignore the last half of what she said. He didn’t want to remember just how barbaric those final years of fighting had been.

“My mom was a doctor. She was stationed on the front for the Second War and our quarters were in the rear area.”

His hand stilled. “Your mother was a military doctor?”

“Yes. A surgeon.”

“Which front?”

“Mexico.”

“Hell.”

“It could have been worse,” she told him. “Mom could have been assigned to the Middle East Theater of Operations or the Southeast Asian TO.”

“They also could have sent her to the European front,” Damon countered. Although Europe had been the hottest area in the First War, it had been relatively quiet in the Second and Third. The Southwest front, however, had taken a beating in the Second Oceanic War as the Coalition forces had attempted to breach the United States by moving up the Pacific coast of Mexico.

Ravyn might have lived in the rear area, but he knew California had been hit in a number of air attacks. He remembered her age from the file he’d read, and doing some quick calculation, he figured out she would have been four when the Second War started, seven when it ended. Hell. Not exactly a peaceful childhood.

“Where was your father?” He hoped she had one civilian parent. If both were military, she would have spent a lot of time in childcare with other kids who had two parents serving.

“My dad died just before the Second War broke out.”

Frowning, he untangled his hand from her hair and tipped her chin up so she looked at him. “You’re telling me that your mother was on the front lines and she was your only parent?”

Ravyn must have heard the censure he tried to keep out of his voice. “She was an experienced surgeon, Damon. She’d been on the lines for the First War. They needed her at the front.”

“You needed her.”

Ravyn tried to turn her head away, but he kept hold of her chin. This explained why she was so self-reliant why she thought she had to be strong. No child should have to live knowing she could be orphaned at any minute. The brass had tried to keep single parents out of the battle zone, but doctors were always at a premium. It probably would have merited some debate, but in the end, if the doctor was willing, single parent or not, she would have been assigned to the front.

“It wasn’t just the two of us. Mom remarried when I was five and then I had a stepfather and brother.”

Something in Ravyn’s voice made him suspicious. “Let me guess. Your stepfather was military too and on the front.”

“Not quite.”

“Why don’t you tell me what I got wrong.”

She hesitated, then shrugged and said, “Gil was Spec Ops.”

Damon cursed. Just one word, but it conveyed everything he felt. Her stepfather hadn’t been on the front lines; he’d been
behind
enemy lines. Memories of some of his more dangerous missions flashed through his mind and his regard for Ravyn went up again. She’d grown up understanding the fragility of life, the uncertainty of what the next day held.

“It wasn’t that bad,” she told him quietly. “Both Mom and Gil survived the war and I had my big brother to watch out for me. And believe me when I say Alex took the job very seriously.”

Damon could hear affection in her voice as she spoke of her stepbrother and he forced himself to let the rest go. It had happened years before and his outrage wouldn’t change her past. He should consider himself lucky Ravyn had the background she did. This situation was made a lot more tenable because of her behavior. The thought of trying to get through this with some spoiled princess like his brother’s wife almost made him shudder.

He ran his fingers from her chin, along her jaw to her ear before letting her go. He moved a few feet over and settled back, both hands linked behind his head. “I’m sorry,” he told her, looking up at the sky. “I shouldn’t have commented on your family. It’s not like mine wins any prizes.”

And unlike his parents, he thought, Ravyn’s mother had wanted her child near.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her wipe the remnants of her tears from her cheeks. He should have done that for her. She eased herself slowly to the ground and turned on her side so she could look at him. “Tell me about your family.”

Damon stared at the stars and tried to think of something to say. They might be related by blood, but he didn’t feel a kinship to any of them. Not since his grandfather had died. Their life philosophies differed drastically. His parents and brother lived to increase the family fortune, while money had never meant much to him. “There’s not a lot to tell,” he finally said.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she persisted.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, knowing she needed the sound of a human voice right now. “I have a brother.”

“Are you close?”

“No.” Damon knew Ravyn wouldn’t let him leave it at that. “Maybe it’s because he’s five years older, but we’ve never had any common ground.”

“Alex is ten years older than me,” she said quietly.

Damon turned on his side, propped himself up on an elbow and looked at Ravyn. “Are you best buddies or is your relationship more parent-child than brother-sister?”

She was quiet for a long time before she said, “You’re right. Alex was a parent to me in a lot of ways. After Mom and Gil died, he even became my guardian.”

“I thought you said they survived the war?”

“They did.” She let out a long sigh before saying, “When I was fourteen, they took a second honeymoon. The hotel they stayed at had a partial collapse in the middle of the night.”

“The Vegas Alps disaster?”

“Yes.” Her voice held the echo of remembered pain. “That was twelve years ago. I’m surprised you remember it. Most people don’t unless I mention it.”

Damon frowned slightly. She’d looked away from him, centering her attention on the ground in front of her. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to take away even that small remnant of hurt, but she’d put a distance between them without so much as moving a centimeter.

“I remember,” he told her when her eyes finally shifted back to his. He debated whether to add more and decided to tell her the rest. “I was in my first year at Yale. A bunch of us had reservations at that hotel the following week for spring break.”