White Fire: Timewalker Chronicles, Book 5 (2 page)

It bad been years since she’d walked around in public without a wig. No one at the Daily knew she was a redhead. Her dark auburn hair was too memorable. It made people notice her. So, Bran had taught her to cover it up when she visited Earth. And since she was more interested in survival than in one-night stands with strangers, she’d bought a diamond ring at a jeweler and made up a story about a husband in the military who was serving overseas. No one even blinked.

Emma’s latest jump to Earth from her adopted home on Itara had been almost a month ago. She’d jumped here from the future, from her home, from her parents and her mischievous but adorable younger siblings, to take a look around, to see what there was to see, to defy her parents, and that meddling Archiver, Bran, who acted like he’d owned her life since before she was even born. She jumped because she was tired of waiting like a good little girl for the axe to fall and take off her head. She’d jumped, and for the first time in hundreds of jumps, thousands of jumps, she couldn’t get home. Her jumper, as she thought of it, was broken. Not only could she not get home, she couldn’t jump ten feet.

Something held her in place like a chain around her ankle. She had no idea what, but suspected it was a legendary Itaran soul stone. It was the only thing she could think of that was powerful enough for someone to use as an anchor designed to keep her in one place and time long enough for the Triscani Hunters to kill her. But, according to Bran, the soul stones were basically nonexistent, the few that existed had been locked up in a vault by the Itaran Queen, reserved for the royals’ personal use. Not to mention that whoever created it would have had to have access to her blood to tie it to her in the first place. Which seemed not just unlikely, but impossible.

Still, it was either that, or she couldn’t get home because the future she’d come from didn’t exist anymore.

That thought process carried too much pain, so she ignored it, like she’d done a thousand times, and scanned the dance floor and the corners for tall, dark shadows as she made her way to the bar.

She’d never been stuck on Earth with her jumper broken before. She’d considered traveling, crossing the country, sleeping in a new place every night.

But she knew that wandering wouldn’t stop the Triscani from finding her. But not having a home, a place that she knew, a place that was familiar, would be a huge disadvantage. She had no bolt-holes, no vantage points, and no idea if the flow of people on a street, or the energy of a place was good or bad. So she’d come to Oregon, to her mother’s home state, to make a place for herself. She didn’t feel so alone in the city, knowing that her mother’s family were around here, somewhere.

For a long time after her arrival she’d felt an odd ache in her chest. But that pain had been soft and distant, like a lost echo at the bottom of the ocean. She’d ignored it completely until a few days ago, when that soft whisper had turned into a roar, and it had come for her.
He
had come for her.

He was here now. Somewhere in Portland messing with her mojo and the new life she’d made for herself. He was here. A Triscani more powerful, more patient, than any of the Hunters she’d encountered before. He was after her. And the way her ankle was pinging her system with painful jolts of get-the-hell-out-of-here, he wasn’t alone.

“Shit.” She was in trouble. Emma sat at the corner of the bar counter and waited for her soda and Holly’s favorite microbrew. She sat with her back to the wall, tucked behind the shelves of alcohol on her right and a large group of corporate work buddies on her left. The emergency exit was just a few steps away but a last resort. Hard to sneak around with a door alarm blaring.

She scanned the crowd and rubbed her ankle against the other inside her boots, trying to take the irritation down a notch. The sensation was like an itch, not a little tickle, more like a scorpion crawling around in her boot. And she knew, when they got close enough, it would sting like hell.

The Triscani Hunters were closing in on her location. Maybe they were already here, outside the bar, waiting to ambush her with their captain, as she’d begun to call him in her mind. So close she could practically smell the ash. She’d have to go outside eventually, so she could kill them. Then she’d carve three more small marks in the side of her boot heel with the knives her Timewalker mother, Alexa, had given her. That would bring the tally to fourteen.

But she’d never taken on three at once. Before tonight, it had only ever been one at a time. And even that was tricky, it hurt like hell, and she passed out for a few minutes after. Which was why, if she were brutally honest with herself, she was still sitting here waiting for the drinks she’d ordered, and hiding like a coward.

Maybe she could sneak past them. They knew she had red hair and blue eyes. They knew about the Mark on her ankle. But they wouldn’t be able to see any of that.

“How you doing, beautiful? Need anything else?” The bartender slid the two drinks onto the bar and took her money. He was young and flirtatious. She liked his happy-go-lucky smile and long dark hair. But he didn’t make her want. Didn’t stir her desire or slay the never-ending loneliness she’d carried with her since she’d arrived on this stupid planet…hell, since she’d been born and promised to a dark King she’d never met.

“No, thanks. I’m good.” Her mother and father had both vowed to her, since birth, that her home world was beautiful and full of life. She’d expected to love it here, to feel like she belonged somewhere. Finally. But all she’d felt when she’d jumped into this time and been stranded, was lost. Home world? What a joke. It felt more like a prison.

The bartender smiled and moved on to a feast of young ladies squirming to get their tits up on the bar and flirt with him. She didn’t blame him. She was shit for company.

Emma shivered and pulled her short leather jacket tight around her waist. The power in the air kept building, like this bar was a pressure cooker and she was the only one who could feel the heat. It was making her sick and she was beginning to believe that taking on not one, but three Triscani at once, wasn’t just reckless, it was suicidal.

Maybe she should find a nice young man to take her out of here. Maybe if she left with someone, she could wiggle out of here right under the stupid Triscani Hunters’ noses.

She watched the bartender finish up with the ladies, who’d each ordered a shot. A petite blonde slipped the bartender a ten-dollar bill for a tip, with her phone number written on it in bright red marker. The man grinned at her and slid the money into the pocket of his pants before turning back to her. The smile in his eyes died.

Well, she’d just have to fix that.

She slipped her wedding ring into her pocket and smiled at him, her come-and-get-me smile, and leaned forward. He took the bait.

“You sure you’re okay down there?”

“Actually, I think I’ll have one of whatever they were having.” Emma tilted her head to the side and flipped the dark ends of her wig off her shoulder, darted the tip of her tongue out just enough to lick the underside of her upper lip and resisted the urge to smile when he took a step closer.

“One Fireball coming up.” He grinned and hopped forward like an eager puppy. Boys. She was probably ten years older than he was. Truth be told, she had no idea how old she actually was. She’d looked like this since she was twenty-two and had made her first jump. After that, despite her parents’, and Bran’s, protests, they hadn’t been able to stop her. She’d spent two weeks here, three days there, planet hopping between Earth and Itara, and exploring both the future and the past. After a while, her birthdays got kinda hard to track. When she’d jumped the first time, her oldest brother had been nineteen. And, since she always jumped back home to the same anchor point, the same time and day she’d left? Twenty-two? Fifty? Who cared? Time was kind of irrelevant to her anyway.

“Do you have to work all night?” She smiled at him and lifted her hands to the bar top so she could “accidentally” brush the fingers of her left hand over the back of his when he gave her the shot glass.

“No. I’m off in fifteen.” He lingered as she lifted the glass to rub it along her bottom lip before throwing the cinnamon schnapps and Tabasco sauce back. She placed the empty directly into his hand.

“Another one.” Fifteen minutes. She could survive for fifteen minutes. Right? But if she was going to have to put up with a strange man groping her so she could get the hell out of here, no matter how cute his black hair and dimples, she was going to need another drink.

She’d let him drive her to his place, go in, and knock him out with the telepathy she’d inherited from her father. The talent had come in handy since she’d been stuck here. Saved her life more than once. She’d just have to come back for her car tomorrow. Or not. It was a ten-year-old piece of junk she’d bought for a couple thousand in cash. Thanks to Bran’s meticulous planning, and years of visiting Earth herself, she had millions of dollars stashed in bank accounts under various names, and the identification to go with each one. She’d closed one account when she first arrived and stashed the cash in several safe deposit boxes scattered around the city. She had more than enough money to buy a new car.

He poured her another shot and she lifted the small glass again, slowly this time, so she could rub it all over her lips and make sure the man got the message. He stared at her mouth like he was hypnotized by it.

“You want to wait around a few minutes? I’d love to buy you a drink when I get off.”

She smiled and leaned forward. “I thought maybe I could just fix you a drink at your place.”

He straightened and stared at her a few seconds. She was dead serious. “Sure. That sounds great. Don’t go anywhere.” He tapped the bar and moved down the line to the rest of the patrons he’d been ignoring to flirt with her.

Emma sighed and poured the shot into a half-empty and abandoned beer mug on her left while his back was turned, and resigned herself to waiting. Fifteen minutes and she had her ticket out of here. Her friends would miss her, but she couldn’t see them again anyway. Time for a clean break.

The cinnamon alcohol made her throat burn, but she didn’t mind. She needed a jolt. But two shots, and she’d get that warm fuzzy feeling that made her careless. Not a good idea tonight, not with her jump ability broken and Hunters tracking her like bloodhounds.

Surely, she could hide for fifteen minutes. She tried to look outside, past the glass garage doors, into the shadows in the streets. But it was dark out, and the bright lights from the interior of the bar held nothing but reflections. She saw her reflection, the brown wig and big, sad eyes. Was that really her?

Well, that forlorn little lost girl couldn’t be the auburn-haired beauty everyone told her was destined to tame a King.

Yeah. She could hide for a few more minutes.

She turned back to face the bar and lifted her head, scanning the line of faces sitting or standing around her. Some were drinking, some waiting for their alcohol fix. All smiling and laughing, no sluts or players here. Mostly older, married people, in jeans and T-shirts. Most of the people in this bar knew who they were and already had what they wanted.

And then she saw him.

Dark green eyes devoured her with their gaze from the other end of the bar. He had gorgeous hair that shone like polished mahogany in the bar’s faint light. A deep shade of brown, it was just long enough to frame his face, and just long enough that she could wrap her hands in it and not see them again until she released him.

He was Itaran. An Immortal. She was sure of it. She’d seen enough of the gorgeous males growing up to know power when she saw it. The knowledge had been hard-won, as both Bran and her parents had been determined to keep her as far from the Immortals on Itara as they could. Which she’d always thought was a cruel joke. They expected her to rule the Immortals one day, but never see one? Ridiculous.

She was a jumper. And curious. And she’d taken her chances on more than one occasion, jumping to the few cities on Itara where she knew she’d be one more human among many, lingering in places where the human government and the Itaran mingled. Straining for a glimpse of the elusive Immortals. Humans outnumbered them on Itara, by about a hundred thousand to one, which just made catching a glimpse of one in person equivalent to a human in this bar meeting a rock star or famous actress in person.

In other words, nearly impossible, if you were a normal, everyday citizen.

She wasn’t. And neither was the male sitting across the bar, staring at her like he knew, like he could see
her
through the wig and contacts.

The Mark on her ankle sent a jolt of pain through her leg, like she’d just been stung by a bee. She jumped in her seat. Scared. Surprised.

No.

Not now. She wondered what the Immortal would do if the Triscani walked in. Help her? Or walk away?

She was afraid she was about to find out. Too bad, really. He was hot. Smoking hot.
Tangle me up in the sheets and not get out of bed for a week hot.
Not that it would do her any good. No, her whole life, the only thing her parents or Bran had told her was that she had to wait, meet the Lost King, fall in love, save the world, and live happily ever after. Not once had her dad said, “Go hook up with a smoking-hot criminal in a bar and have some fun. It’s all right, honey. Just get it out of your system.”