Riven

by Kait Nolan

  Despite the obvious tension, she didn’t feel threatened. Marley couldn’t peg why, but she’d gotten this far trusting her instincts. She shut the door and unlatched the chain. Surprise flickered across his face when she opened it and stepped back. His dark eyes flicked toward the umbrella she held at her shoulder, ready to swing, but he said nothing. It was a ridiculous weapon against someone like him, but she felt better with the small heft of it in her hands.

  He came inside and immediately her apartment shrank in response to his bulk. Marley wasn’t used to having anyone but her in the tiny space. She hunched her shoulders as his eyes took in the room, feeling automatically defensive and waiting for judgment. But he didn’t remark on the apartment. Instead, she had the distinct sense he’d been scanning for threats and checking all the access points. And verifying for himself that there was no one hiding with a weapon.

  Marley stayed by the open door. She felt safer with an escape route behind her. “I thought you’d left town,” she said. She eyed the big military duffel bag he lowered to the floor. Had he come back to see her? Something in her fluttered a little at the thought before she decided it was ridiculous.

  “Supposed to be leaving now. But, I needed to…see you,” he stumbled. He ran a hand over his short, dark hair and dragged it down the back of his neck.

  Marley felt another little flutter, squashed by a surge of disappointment. If he’d wanted to see her, why had he waited until he was leaving to do it?

  “Why?”

  Ian smiled a little. “That’s a favorite question of yours.”

  “Multi-purpose,” she said, and waited.

  “I’ve been worried about you since that night,” he admitted.

  Well that makes two of us, she thought. “It’s nice of you to think of me.”

  Ian shook his head, gaze shifting back to the hall. “Don’t say that. It makes it worse.” He rolled the “r.”

  Scots, Marley thought foolishly before her brain caught up to what he’d said. “Makes what worse?”

  He grimaced. “You seem to have the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  The faint warmth that had lodged in her chest turned cold. “What are you talking about?”

  “Is this yours?”

  She dragged her gaze from his face to the thing he’d produced from somewhere when she wasn’t paying attention. It was a charcoal pencil. Hers. The one she’d dropped in the park.

  Marley’s mouth turned to cotton.

  “Marley, is it yours?”

  Why the hell did he have her pencil from the park where that thing had appeared? How did he even know the pencil belonged to her? She tightened her grip on the umbrella.

  Evidently that was answer enough for him. “I need you to come with me,” he said.

  Shock made her take an instinctive step back. “Like hell, I will.”

  His attention was on the hall behind her. Checking her escape route?

  “You’re in danger.” His eyes, beseeching and apologetic, pinned her to the spot even as his impatience urged her to move.

  “From who? Why?” Damn, I sound like a broken record.

  “There’s not a lot of time. I know what you saw in the park today. And there are other people who will hurt you because of that knowledge. We have to go. Now.”

  Marley couldn’t follow his words. Her brain had simply stopped on one phrase. I know what you saw.

  “Look, are you listening? We have to go. You’re in danger.”

  Yeah, she was getting that loud and clear. Her instincts were going off like sirens, demanding action. But she wouldn’t go off half-cocked without getting answers. “I don’t understand. How do you know all of this?”

  “I’ll explain everything once we get out of here, but Marley, we have to go.” Ian took a step toward her, reaching out as if to touch her, then dropping his hands as she choked up her grip on the umbrella. “Please.”

  This was absolutely crazy. No one risked their lives for a stranger. Not without some underlying motive. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  Marley barely registered the step in the hall before Ian lunged forward, shoving her behind him. By the time she turned, he stood in the doorway, legs braced, a wicked-looking gun aimed at her terrified landlady. Putting himself between her and perceived danger. Again.

  She didn’t stop to think, just stepped close to Ian and laid a hand on his back and another on his gun arm. “It’s okay. It’s just my landlord. Stand down, soldier.”

  The muscles beneath her hands were hard as iron and rock steady.

  “Ian.” She kept her voice quiet, soothing.

  The dark eyes flickered toward her, and he lowered the gun.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. She turned to face Mrs. Jameson and lied without missing a beat. “I’m so sorry. My boyfriend just returned from his deployment in Afghanistan. He’s having a little trouble readjusting to life at home.”

  Some of the color came back into her landlady’s cheeks, though she continued to rub at her chest as if the gesture might slow her racing heart. She nodded a little shakily. “Same thing happened to my nephew.”

  Ian had the good grace to look chagrined, though Marley could still feel the tension vibrating off him in waves. “My apologies, ma’am.”

  “Was there something you needed, Mrs. Jameson?” asked Marley.

  “I…no, I just came to check on you. Mr. Larabee in 1B saw you come tearing in earlier. Thought something was wrong.”

  This was so uncharacteristic of the climate of the building that Marley just stared at her, barely able to keep the skepticism from her face. In all probability, she was trying to catch Marley at something illegal to call into the local crime hotline. There was a small monetary reward for any information leading to arrests.

  Mrs. Jameson’s gaze fell to the bag on the floor, then lifted back to Ian. “I guess you were just excited to have him home.”

  Marley stepped into Ian, tipping her head against his shoulder in an affectionate gesture. “You have no idea. Thanks for checking on me. I appreciate it.” With a smile that felt as if it would crack any moment, Marley slowly shut the door on the woman. She slumped back against the panels, staying silent as the footsteps receded.

  “Okay,” she said, “let’s try this again.”

  ~*~

  Ian struggled to focus on her, when all he could think about was the lingering sensation of her body curled around his in an easy gesture of affection. The unexpected move stirred up memories from a past he’d thought long forgotten. His brain spun, trying to memorize the imprint of her against him because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone close for any purpose other than a fight. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and drown in the pretty floral scent.

  “Ian, stay with me,” she said, using her soothing tone again. How did she do that? Sparks of purple fear and gray green confusion crackled around her, but she didn’t show it in her face or her voice.

  Focus.

  “You need to pack a bag. Nothing but essentials, the things you can’t live without. A few changes of clothes, whatever cash you have on hand.”

  “What I need is some kind of an explanation,” she insisted.

  Everything in him rebelled at that. There was no time. She’d already seen too much. Telling her more would do her no favors. Ian fought the urge to put her into thrall, to pack a bag himself and haul her out of the apartment whether she liked it or not. It would be so easy, the practical, obvious move. The move of someone who cared more about the outcome of the mission than the consequences of the means used to achieve it.

  She’s not a mission, she’s a person, he reminded himself, and dug deep for patience and logic, searching for the bare minimum facts she needed to know.

  “There are hidden things in the world, things that, for their own safety, the general public isn’t supposed to know exist. What you saw today is a part of that hidden world.”

  “Monsters in the dark,”
she murmured.

  A typical and predictable prejudicial response, one at the root of the very law he was trying to save her from. No way in hell could he let on that he wasn’t human. He chose his words carefully. “There is a group of people who will kill to keep the secret. A group who’s already sending someone to silence you.”

  The blood drained out of her face, but she stayed steady. “How do I know that someone isn’t you?”

  “If I wanted you dead, I could’ve been in and out of here in less than thirty seconds. I wouldn’t have intervened when you were mugged, wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation. Now, please, go pack.”

  “How did you even know the pencil was mine?”

  It carries your scent. But he could hardly say that. His mind flipped through other explanations, considering what he knew of her, what he’d observed the night they met. “They were in your bag that night. I recognized the style and took a chance. Didn’t figure too many folks in this neighborhood were investing in high end art supplies.”

  The citrine aura of wariness faded slightly. She didn’t trust him—not yet—but it was a start. Too slow a start. Ian struggled to contain his impatience and keep his voice level. “I know you have questions, but we need to move. It’s not safe here. The Hunter could arrive at any moment.”

  “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

  How could he answer the question when he didn’t even understand the answer himself?

  Ian opened his mouth, intending to bullshit his way through the last of her resistance, when a light flared bright near the doorway to Marley’s bedroom. “Down!” he shouted, and sprang toward the dawning portal.

  The man who stepped through had no weapon in the hands he held up for peace. He started to speak, “Don’t be alarmed—”

  Ian slammed into him. He’d hoped to knock the man back through the portal, but the other man spun, crashing into the door frame, and the gateway snapped shut. Ian grabbed him by the shirt front and slammed him back again. The other man lifted hands glowing green, his lips moving in an incantation. Ian drove a fist into his belly, and the light died as the spell lost voice.

  A warlock. Why the hell did they send a warlock? The thought ricocheted through Ian’s brain as he took advantage of the warlock’s momentary immobility and jerked the other man around to wrap an arm around his throat. He could end this fast with one quick wrench, but instinct counseled him to use something less permanent. The warlock began to struggle, driving an elbow back. But Ian was ready for the blow and didn’t loosen his hold. Hands scrabbled at his neck, feet began to kick. And then the guy was out. Ian lowered his body to the floor.

  Marley hadn’t moved from in front of the door. Shaking, white-faced she asked, “Is he dead?”

  “No. He won’t be out long.” Ian grabbed a lamp and yanked the plug from the wall. He cut the cord with his utility knife and crossed back to the warlock, rolling him over and binding his hands. “Now do you believe me?” he asked.

  He waited for more requests for information, for the why he couldn’t give, but instead she asked, “How long will we be gone?”

  Forever, he thought. But Ian didn’t dare tell her. Not yet. “A few days. A week, maybe.” He could get her away, find a new location, get her set up there with a new identity, new life in that timespan. And by then, hopefully he’d have a damned good story cooked up to explain to Matthias why he was late to accepting his new post in Wales.

  She stepped gingerly over their captive and into the bedroom.

  “Change clothes,” he called. “And do it fast.”

  Ian stretched his senses out, waiting for someone to come investigate the noise. It hadn’t been that loud, but these walls were paper thin. The warlock was already starting to rouse as Ian hauled him up, moved him to one of the kitchen chairs. A strike to the temple took care of that. As the other man’s head lolled back, Ian began to pat him down for weapons. No gun. A knife in his boot, which Ian liberated. No garrot. Not even a pair of brass knuckles. This was no Hunter, Council-sanctioned or otherwise. This guy was sloppy, untrained. He’d followed no existing protocols. So what the hell was he doing here? Shoving the question aside for now, Ian raided the room for more bindings and a makeshift gag, strapping him to the chair. It would hold him for a little while at least.

  Marley stepped out of her bedroom. She’d twisted her hair up and tugged a tweed engineer’s cap over it. The hoodie she’d slipped on was a nondescript gray, and the shoes were made for running.

  Ian nodded. “Good.”

  “I’m good at being invisible.”

  Never to me, he thought. But humans didn’t have his extra senses. With the bulging backpack thrown over her shoulder, she would blend in with all the other tourists once they hit the capital.

  “Do you need anything else?”

  She took a quick look around the room, gaze lingering on some kind of artist’s desk before she grabbed a sketch pad from where it had fallen on the floor and shoved it in her bag.

  The faint glow of purple faded, replaced by steely resolve. Good. He’d need her to hold it together so they could get out of the city.

  He slipped the warlock’s knife into his own boot, noting the way her eyes followed his hand before sliding back to his face. “I’ll keep you safe,” he said. I promise. The words trembled at the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t utter them. He didn’t make promises. Soldiers didn’t get such luxuries. Instead, he held out a hand.

  With only a moment’s hesitation, Marley took it. “Where are we going?”

  Ian glanced back at the warlock. No way to know if he was conscious.

  Marley followed his gaze. “Oh.”

  The edgy fear skittering beneath her skin called to his hunger, urging him to feed. Ruthless, he shoved the desire down. She was not prey. He would never feed on her emotions, never hurt her that way. But he would have to find somewhere, someone to feed on soon. Ian could feel his stores of energy ebbing. Without his abilities, he was little more than a man, and a half of one at that.

  He took them downstairs and out the back door he’d scoped on prior recon. The cracked and weedy patio was devoid of any furniture, so he expected no one as they stepped outside. The snap and flash of something white to his left had Ian jerking Marley behind him.

  “Heard about you,” said the woman as she attached the sheet to the line with a wooden pin.

  Marley peeked out. “Hi, Mrs. Newman.”

  “Jumpy,” said the woman, reaching for another sheet. “But good lookin’.”

  Marley cuddled close again and smiled at Mrs. Newman. “Isn’t he, though?”

  The woman surveyed him from head to toe and back again. “Reckon he’s worth all the noise you made and then some.”

  “Uh,” stammered Marley, her cheeks flushing.

  “Nothing to be embarrassed about. My Johnny was in the service. I remember what it was like when he got home.”

  I have stepped into a parallel universe, he thought. The warlock could wake up any minute, and we’re standing here discussing the quickie we didn’t actually have.

  Ian glanced at the second floor, but his mind had taken a quick detour from the warlock to an image of taking Marley against the wall.

  Mission. Must stay on mission.

  The instinct to draw back into the nearest shadow beat through him, but he could hardly take the risk. So he wrapped an arm around Marley’s shoulders and tried to play into the cover she’d established. Putting on an American accent, he said, “I’m taking my girl on a little road trip.”

  “Where to?”

  “It’s a surprise.” Ian reached into his pocket and conjured the illusion of a ring box. He just pulled it out where the older woman could see and winked.

  The motion felt completely alien, but apparently he pulled it off because Mrs. Newman grinned and nodded in approval. “Romantic getaway. She deserves it. Works too hard.”

  Wisps of teal green shot off Marley at her pronouncement.

/>   “Don’t look so surprised, girlie. I pay attention.” Mrs. Newman tucked the empty basket against her generous hip and waved them off. “You have fun now.”

  They waved and began backing away as Mrs. Newman opened the screen door and stepped inside.

  “Nice cover,” he murmured against her ear.

  “Nice accent,” she shot back sotto voce.

  Something crashed on the second floor. Their uninvited guest was awake, and they were out of time.

  “Go.”

  They bolted, making for the narrow lane running between the two sets of houses. As they reached the end of the privacy fence, Ian cast one last glance over his shoulder. The warlock stood framed in the window, hands glowing green. He shoved Marley forward and leapt after her, barely dodging the spell that landed inches from his feet.

  “Run!”

  “Where?” she gasped.

  Scenarios spun through his mind, one after another, each as improbable as the last. He couldn’t rely on his training, couldn’t rely on protocol. He had to think like a human. “To a crowd. He won’t risk anything in front of witnesses.” It went counter to every instinct he possessed, but it was their only option.

  Ian almost plowed into her as she stopped at the end of the alley. “Why are you stopping?”

  “Running draws attention,” she said, taking his hand and stepping out as if they were just out for a stroll.

  He called himself an idiot for not thinking the same. His nerves jangled. Exposed.

  “Where’s the nearest bus stop?” he asked. This was her neighborhood. It was time to make use of that knowledge.

  “Quarter mile this way. But there won’t be another for fifteen minutes.”

  “Can’t wait that long. Have to keep moving. Where else?”

  “If we head south, we can pick up the Brookland-Fort Lincoln Line. It’s maybe half a mile if we cut across.” Marley checked her watch. “If we hustle and if they’re on schedule, we should make the next bus.”