The Chosen (9 page)

He clicked to his horse and quickly caught up. “I don’t know a single animal alive that doesn’t get ornery when it’s hungry.”

“Are you calling me an animal, now?”

He slid her a sideways glance. “No. You’re too smart for that.”

China decided to change tactics. He was obviously used to being around prickly people and that didn’t push him away any. She feigned shock, placing a hand over her heart. “I do declare, Mr. Jackson, was that a compliment I heard?” The subtle, sugar-sweet tone of her voice made him raise one brow.

“Perhaps,” he answered with caution in his tone. “But I wouldn’t take it as a sign of acquiescence if I were you.”

China changed the subject. “You ever met Diego? Might be good to know exactly who we’re looking for.”

“Just once, when I was young, before Winn bowed out of Hunting for the Legion.”

Thoughts tumbled around over one another in China’s head like stones crumbling off of a bank, one overtaking the next until it was a jumble. She knew powerful little about the Jacksons beyond what Colt had told her. And when he wasn’t busy hustling or stealing, or killing Darkin, he was gambling, drinking, or womanizing—which left no time for just sitting and talking.

So she’d done some research of her own, talking to fellow Darkin, those that would talk to a marked one—the name for those Darkin unfortunate enough to be physically branded by Rathe as his personal property.

Some said that the three Jackson brothers were the Chosen—three Hunter brothers in the Darkin lore prophesied to bring a balance back to the world between Darkin and humanity, so that neither wiped the other out completely. She really didn’t care much either way about balance or prophecy. She did however care a great deal about being on the winning side no matter what it took. What she saw was an opportunity to gain Rathe’s approval for good. And when it came to an archdemon lord,
that
wasn’t an opportunity that came around every century.

“What’d he look like?”

Remington pulled his hat from his head and scratched his scalp. “You know I don’t really remember much. He was one of those people who are easy to forget. Nothing overly distinct about them.”

“Then how will we know if we’ve found the real Diego?”

He threw her a knowing smile. “Don’t you worry; I’ve got ways of telling.”

“And do these secret Hunter skills extend to detecting Darkin as well?”

He gave her a secretive smile. “Of course.”

She couldn’t help herself and smiled back. “And exactly how does that work?”

“Would you like a demonstration?”

Her heart thudded harder in her chest. China wasn’t sure she actually said yes, or anything at all for that matter, but she did nod her head.

Remington brought his horse to a standstill, and China came to a stop alongside him. He dismounted and gallantly offered his hand to assist her from her horse, even though they both knew she didn’t need it.

After several dusty hours of traveling, the night air was cool, crisp, and clean. In a word, romantic. The cloying sweet aroma of cactus flowers seasoned the night, and out in the desert a lone coyote bayed at the moon. His call was met by yips and howls from others who joined him in singing to the night.

Remington gently brushed a strand of hair off her forehead as he locked his eyes on hers. “A well-trained Hunter uses all his senses when detecting a Darkin.”

“Such as?” she asked, her voice soft and a little breathless.

“He can smell a Darkin.” He bent low, his nose lightly skimming a trail along her neck, right beneath her ear. She heard him inhale and felt the brush of air as his chest expanded, nearly touching hers. Her knees wobbled a bit.

He pulled back and gazed deeply into her eyes. “He can see a Darkin by looking for that telltale glint in the eye.” His warm hands slid over her upper arms, and he turned her just slightly, so the moonlight caressed her face.

“Anything else?”

His devastating smile flashed white in the darkness. “A great Hunter can even taste a Darkin.” He leaned in, his mouth gently sealing over hers in a searing kiss that rocked her to her toes. Her whole body responded to the intimacy of his touch, and while it was innocent enough, it made her yearn for far, far more.

She’d told herself once, and she’d say it again—Remington Jackson was trouble.

 

 

Remington let himself get so caught up in the sensations that his common sense had to reel him back in. She smelled sweet and felt both soft and sleek beneath his touch. But it was the kiss that knocked him for a loop. Until that moment he’d still been in control of the situation. Of himself.

Her lips were honey on rose petals, slick and sweet and oh, so soft. And when they parted, he tasted the flavor of her mouth. He’d been wrong, so very wrong to think a Darkin female might taste worse than a human one. China McGee tasted like vanilla ice cream. She wound him up in knots so tight, it took every ounce of willpower he had to release his hands on her and step away.

Both of them were breathing hard. Her luminous eyes were dilated at the centers, big and dark, and rimmed in brilliant silver.

“If we’re going to make Nogales by noon, we ought to get going,” he said absently. Part of him already regretted that he hadn’t kissed her longer. But it was better that than to let the physical stray into some emotional connection and begin sharing true Hunter secrets with her. “That would conclude my demonstration.”

China bit her bottom lip, her teeth worrying the soft pink fullness. Now that he’d kissed her, he knew precisely the texture of her there and how slick and warm her lips could be. “You’re very convincing.” Her voice was a bit breathless.

He turned away from her and found something to occupy his hands, checking the cinch and buckles on his tack. “Do you need a moment to take care of anything before we mount up again?”

She nodded and handed him the reins of her horse, then hurried off between the rocks. He didn’t follow. Didn’t even try.

China McGee was temptation, pure and simple.

 

 

They rode on through the night, and as the dawn broke golden over the mountains, the sky becoming a paler blue, they spied Nogales. Thankfully it was closer than he’d thought. They’d make it before noon.

The sleepy little village was no more than a few squat adobe houses clustered together around a central well. The smell of freshly cooking beans, onions, and peppers spiked the air with a delicious scent that made his stomach rumble. What he wouldn’t give for a stack of freshly made tortillas and a bowlful of good beans. A few chickens scratched in the shade, and a dog lay panting just outside the front door of a home, but there was nary a person in sight. It seemed eerie, as if the people had simply evaporated and left everything behind.

“Where is everyone?” Remington asked.

“Exactly what I was wondering,” China responded in a hushed tone.

He spied a pale wisp of white smoke coming from a hole in one of the adobe houses. Someone was home in this village; they just weren’t open and friendly to visitors. He dismounted and went over to China, grabbing the bridle of her palomino. He intentionally lowered his voice so only she could hear it as she dismounted. “There’s people here. They’re hiding out. Watch yourself.”

She gave him a barely perceptible nod and pulled out the revolver she had holstered at her hip.

Slowly they walked through the village, looking first in the half-opened door of one house and then another. By the time they reached the fifth house, they were across the small square from their horses.
“Hay alguien en casa?”
Remington called out, hoping whoever lived here would be more willing to show themselves to the gringos if they knew they could communicate with them.

Before they’d had time to turn around in the doorway, a chorus of clicks sounded as multiple guns cocked and pointed at them. “Put your hands up on your heads and slowly turn around, gringos.” The deep, gravely male voice sounded as if it had choked on dust for years.

They complied, and Remington took care to keep his face and manner as calm and unruffled as possible. There was no reason to increase the tension already sparking in the air. “We’re looking for Diego Mendoza.”

“There’s lots of people who look for Diego. What’s your business with him?”

“He worked with my father, Cyrus Jackson. I’m here to see him about a map.”

The older man who seemed to be leading the others spat out a dark stream of tobacco juice into the dirt. He squinted one eye against the brightness of the sun as he looked them over. “Who’s the Darkin?” he said with a jerk of his head in China’s direction.

“She’s my scout. I’ll need one where I’m headed.” At least Colt had said as much. Diego might know where to find the missing piece of the Book, but only a Darkin could gain access to it.

The old man chuckled. “You don’t need a Darkin to show you the path to Hell, boy. A Hunter can find that all on his own in good time.”

Remington struggled to maintain his control when the old man shifted the aim of his rifle to China’s head. “Diego will know why she’s here.”

The old man’s gun lowered a notch. He glanced back at the group of men gathered on his right and nodded. One of them took off running to an adobe house set apart from the others and came back a few minutes later. “Diego says he’ll see you.”

They were led at gunpoint to the adobe house. “How do you know Diego and your father weren’t enemies?” China whispered as they walked.

“I don’t.”

The dim interior of the adobe house momentarily left Remington sun blinded, and his hand automatically went to his gun. It came up empty. His hand reflexively fisted at the loss. Their weapons had been confiscated while they were marched at gunpoint to what he supposed was Diego’s home. Their welcome party was still behind them, now blocking their only means of escape, guns pointed at their backs.

At least they hadn’t separated him and China. He glanced at her, and she seemed more curious than upset. Perhaps she could see better in the dark room than he could.

As his eyes adjusted he could see the place, no bigger than fifteen-feet square. Slats of light from the shuttered windows slashed across a dirt floor pounded flat and hard from the wear of many feet.

A single bed covered with a colorful, handwoven wool blanket, a small table, a couple of chairs, and a chest of drawers on which sat a chipped enamel washbasin took up pretty much all of the floor space, leaving little room to maneuver. The place smelled of cooked meat and beans, gun oil, and the pungent tang of strong alcohol.

A bent figure, hand resting on his cane, stood in the shadows beside the table. Remy noticed out of the corner of his eye the abandoned, half-eaten plate of food and the liquor bottle. But his attention was fixed on the elderly, white-haired man dressed in light clothing who at first glance looked more like one of the locals than a Hunter ready to fight.

“Diego Mendoza? I’m Remingt—”

“Where’s Cyrus?”

Remington reached up to remove his hat and found the cold rounded muzzle of a gun pressing into his back. He realized he’d been rude to interrupt breakfast uninvited, but that didn’t warrant the gun. Obviously Diego was expecting trouble.

“Easy now,” Remington murmured. He slowed his actions so they couldn’t be mistaken. As his eyes adjusted the man’s features became clearer. His face, tanned by the sun into a wrinkled brown leather, sported a wide jawline obscured by a scraggly salt and pepper beard. Thick white hair was combed straight back. Deep-set dark brown eyes peered at him from beneath bushy black brows. Diego was older than Pa. Or perhaps they’d been the same age, but Pa hadn’t lived long enough for Remington to have a memory of him like this.

“Cyrus has been gone for five years. I’m his middle son, Remington.”

He found the tip of the cane, which he realized was actually the barrel of a rifle, pointed in his face. “If you’re really Cy’s boy, then tell me why he named you boys what he did.”

“He named us after his favorite hunting guns. Winchester, Remington, and Colt. Ma didn’t like it, but she couldn’t fault him for it because those guns had saved him so many times.”

“And what branch of the Legion are you descended from?”

“Cadel, the lion of the Legion.”

Diego nodded and lowered the tip of his cane/gun. “If your father is gone, why are you seeking me out, boy?”

Remington swallowed hard against the dust coating the back of his throat. The smell of Diego’s breakfast tweaked his nose and made his belly grumble. It had been a long ride all night through the desert, and a hot meal sounded divine. He resisted the urge to glance at the half-finished plate of beans and tortillas on the table. First things first.

Pa had always taught them duty came before one’s personal needs. Winn followed the advice to the letter, Colt rarely, and Remy did when it suited him. China shuffled her feet as she stood beside him but kept quiet. At least she knew enough not to attract unwanted attention as a Darkin in a Hunter’s home. Smart girl. He glanced at her for a moment, then turned back to Diego.

“We’re searching for the southern European portion of the Book of Legend—the one that came to the Kingdom of Navarre with Elwin, then was brought to North America by the Spanish searching for Aztec gold. My pa believed you knew where it was located and what it would take to get it.”

The old man’s hands shook for a moment, and he clutched one of them into a fist as he swayed, then sat down carefully in the chair behind him. He looked away from them, his eyes unfocused, as if he were reliving memories in his head. He picked up his empty glass and rolled it between his twisted brown fingers. “Your father and I didn’t part on the best of terms.”

“But he saved your life once. My mother wrote of you in her diary. And you know this is bigger than just a grudge between him and you.”

Diego’s gaze shifted back to Remington, piercing in its intensity, the dark of his eyes bottomless.

He still wasn’t budging. Remington pushed harder. “The Gates of Nyx could be opened permanently, leaving a bridge between our world and that of the Darkin that could allow them to overtake us. It would be a global disaster.”

Diego cursed under his breath and pulled at his grizzled beard. “Who leads them?”

“Rathe,” China interrupted.

A hiss of breath escaped Diego’s lips, and his eyes narrowed into hate-filled slits as he glared at China, as if just recognizing she’d been standing there. Perhaps he’d taken no note of her before because she was a woman—easily dismissed by a Hunter like Diego. “Darkin dross, you have no business here. It’s because of your kind I have no right leg.”

Remy stepped slightly in front of her, just enough to let the old man know that she was under his protection. “She’s here to help us defeat Rathe.”

Diego gave a dry bark of laughter, devoid of humor. “When a Darkin rises up against her own kind, that will be the day Hell freezes over. She’s fooling you, boy. She means to take the Book from you and give it to Rathe the minute she kills you.”

China shoved past Remington, her body shaking. “Hell’s iced over right now, and I’m not the only Darkin resisting Rathe. So are the vampires. Now are you going to help or let the world come crashing to an end?”

“Hunters don’t work with Darkin.” Diego spat into the dirt floor at her feet, then turned to Remington. “Get her out of here, and I’ll talk to you.”

China growled. Remy could sense the frustration and heat coming off of her. She fairly vibrated with it. He might not know China well, but he knew her well enough to see she was good and pissed off—enough to shift and take a bite of Diego’s ass, literally.

He grasped her lightly about the wrist. “It’s best if you wait for me outside.”

She locked her glare on him, the angle of her jaw defiant. “I don’t have to go anywhere.”

“I know.” He slid his hand down grasping hers and gave it a slight squeeze. Her eyes widened slightly then softened for an instant.

He was asking a lot of her, especially for her to trust him. It was a hell of a lot more than he should ask of her, considering they knew so little of each other. He knew he couldn’t secure the piece of the Book alone, but he also knew he needed the information Diego possessed, and the old man wasn’t about to give it up with her standing there. He was old guard—the kind that saw the world in black and white with no room for Darkin of any stripe. “I’m asking you, wait for me outside.”

She threw one last withering look at Diego, lifted her chin, and then turned on her heel and sashayed between the men gathered just outside the doorway, without a single look back. Colt and Winchester could both learn a little bit of grace and how to make an exit from her, Remington thought. He knew she wasn’t backing down, just being strategic.

He turned back. Diego indicated with a nod that Remington should join him at the table. Diego had obviously been drinking. Remington dropped into the other chair and leaned back. Diego ignored the plate of food in front of him. The beans now had a dark, drying crust, streaked with bits of hardening white fat. It didn’t look nearly as appetizing as it had when Remington had first come in. Perhaps Diego had lost his taste for hunting just as he had lost his taste for his meal. Hunters, like his brother Winn, sometimes did. Always fighting, each battle never the last, wore on a man.

Diego grabbed the brown bottle sitting in the middle of the table about the neck and shook it. A slight sloshing sound indicated it was almost empty. The old Hunter motioned to one of his men who promptly brought a fresh bottle and another glass and set them down in front of Diego.

Diego poured them each a measure of the dark caramel liquor. “You’d better drink.”

“I didn’t come to socialize.”

Diego’s brows pinched together. “Nothing social about it. You’re going to need it for what I’m about to tell you.”

Remington took the glass and sniffed. Tequila. Aged tequila. Good stuff if he had the time, which he didn’t. He downed it in a long, slow swallow, letting it burn a path down to his stomach. It was awfully early in the morning to be drinking, but if it made getting information from Diego easier, then what the hell.

“The journey you seek is a dangerous one.” Diego took a sip of his drink and shook his head. Fear flickered in the old man’s eyes. “You likely will not survive. I barely made it out myself, and we never made it all the way in.”

Remington’s heartbeat stuttered, then picked up the pace double-time. He set his glass down with a
thunk
on the table. “When were you there? How?”

“You don’t think you’re the first Hunter to go after Elwin’s piece of the Book of Legend, do you?” Diego poured out another measure of the tequila and took another drink. “How many are going with you on this journey?”

“Just me and the shifter.”

Diego kicked back the rest of his entire glass in one swift swallow, then grimaced and looked down into his glass. “It can’t be done. I lost thirty men when I went to search for it. You and a shifter? Alone? You won’t survive.”

Remington leaned in and waited until he made eye contact with Diego. “I don’t have a choice. We have until the new moon before Rathe tries to open the Gates of Nyx permanently.”

The spark in Diego’s eyes died, turning the brown flat and lifeless. “You’re asking me to give you a death sentence.”

“I’m asking you to help me save the world.”

Diego shook his head sadly and sighed. “Show me what you have. Then I will tell you the rest of what you need to know.”

Remington pulled the scrap of paper from his breast pocket and carefully unfolded it, spreading it smooth with the palm of his hand.

Recognition flitted across Diego’s face. “My map.” He peered intently at Remington, his eyes narrowing. “Where’d you get that?”

“I guess you haven’t heard yet that the Bisbee bank was blown up.”

One of Diego’s dark brows arched upward. “That Darkin you’re with have anything to do with it?”

Remington nodded. “She was working with Colt. Pa told him he could find the map in your safety-deposit box.”

Diego muttered under his breath. “I should have known Cyrus would send one of you boys after it.”

Remington glanced down at the paper before him. “What exactly is this?”

“Back in 1519 Cortez and the Spanish Hunters on his crew brought Elwin’s piece of the Book of Legend with them to Mexico. It had been captured as a spoil of war when the southern half of the Kingdom of Navarre was taken by the Crown of Castile in 1513. The king sought to keep it hidden and sent it with Cortez to be secreted in a place where no one would find it.” A fine tremor shook Diego’s hand as he traced the lines on the map with his outstretched fingers. “This was a journey to hell and back. We thought we’d take Elwin’s piece of the Book . . .” He locked gazes with Remington. “We were wrong. It takes a Darkin to make it past the final barrier Cortez had the natives call on the Darkin to erect.”

 

 

The adobe bricks were digging into China’s back as she leaned against the outside of the house and surveyed the town. The men stationed just outside Diego’s door eyed her warily and kept their weapons at the ready. Even though she was in the shade, her skin was still hot with anger and the urge to shift.

She would not be dismissed, not by some old Hunter, who should have known better, and not by a Jackson brother. The only reason she hadn’t shifted into a mountain lion, shoved Diego to the floor, and taken a bite out of him was because of Remington.

His eyes had said what his mouth could not.
Please trust me. He’s just an angry old Hunter.
And God help her, she had given him her trust. If Diego didn’t explain the squiggly lined map to Remington, she could just come back later that night and steal it and figure it out herself.

A thin trail of pale dust kicked up into the air as a group of men approached. At the center was a young man in military garb with Diego’s men flanking him. He looked barely out of puberty, and his face was far too smooth to be that of a seasoned soldier.

It took a moment for China to realize the rider was not male at all, but a proud young woman. Her skin the color of milky coffee, her thick, dark hair bound at the nape. A heavy military jacket buttoned up the front disguised most of her shape.

Her gaze flicked to China as the small group dismounted, leaving their horses in the hands of the men stationed outside, and she passed by her with a confident stride to enter Diego’s home. It was just a glance, but enough to connect them. It was as if the young woman had said, this is a man’s world, but that doesn’t mean you must accept what is given to you. Just then it hit China. There was no reason for her to stand out here exiled. If Jackson hadn’t gotten what he needed out of the old man by now, then chances were they’d worn out their welcome anyhow.

She let the warmth seep through her bones, like hot water, as her form squeezed and compressed, growing smaller. Her skin hardened into overlapping scales, and her tongue and jaw elongated until she was a lizard. The men guarding the house were so busy talking to the new arrivals, they didn’t even notice her shift. She skittered into the home and zipped up the wall.

Diego gestured to the young woman. “I told you my submarine crew was coming soon. This here’s Monica Nation, the daughter of my submarine captain, Karl Nation. She’ll take you to Caborca and from there to the coastal waters where the submarine is kept.”