Hunted tgl-3

by Ednah Walters

  I tensed.

  “Relax,” he said, his voice reassuring. “I’ll be quick.”

  I only grew tenser. Some of my recent memories were very private. Would Grampa blame Bran for what almost happened in my bedroom this afternoon? Did it matter? A hand wrapped around mine. Bran.

  Exhaling, tension leached out of me and I let Grampa take over. At first, I didn’t feel a thing even though I knew the moment our energies overlapped. There was slight pressure in my head, but it quickly passed. After a few seconds of studying his calm expression, heat crawled up my face. He was seeing everything I’d done the last few hours, including how mean I was to Mrs. Watts and everything I’d said and done with Bran.

  The pressure continued to build up on my temples and I forgot about being embarrassed. He was staying too long. My eyes watered as the pressure increased. I squeezed Bran’s hand and was probably hurting him and whoever was holding my other hand. The pressure kept going up until my head felt like a nut between pliers’ teeth.

  Grandpa, I protested.

  A few more seconds, he responded, his inner voice harsh.

  My vision blurred. A dull throb radiated from my temples, slowly building momentum like a train taking off from a station. It grew in intensity, until I thought I’d go mad. A scream echoed in my head and mingled with the searing hot pain.

  The pain stopped, leaving behind echoes of it and a buzzing sound. The pressure on my temples eased. Arms wrapped around me and pulled me against a warm chest. A blend of leather and pine scent filled my senses. Bran. I clung to him, my body shaking, tears racing down my face.

  “Is she okay?” someone asked.

  I strained to see through the white mist covering my eyes until I saw the faces of those around me. Their gazes kept volleying between me and something to my left. I followed their gaze and gulped. Grampa was a heap on the floor, his eyes closed, skin pasty white. Cardinal Janelle cradled his head and spoke softly to him.

  I tore away from Bran’s arms and ran to their side. “What happened, Aunt Janelle? Did I…hurt him?”

  “He went deeper than he should have and stayed too long. Your mind did what it did to protect itself,” she said reassuringly.

  “Grampa.” Wake up, Grampa. Please. This was my worst nightmare—hurting someone I loved. I touched his cheek, searched his psi energy. It was so weak. The Kris Dagger should replenish his energy. My hand flew to my waist for the Kris Dagger before I remembered that all its powers were transferred to me.

  I pressed my hands on his chest. Heal him.

  Nothing happened.

  I clenched my teeth, my body shaking with fear. Heal him, damn it!

  Nothing.

  Tears filled my eyes. Maybe I was doing this the wrong way. Master Haziel always told me the strength of the dagger depended on the wielder—me. I was scared now, afraid of what I’d done. Fear weakened me, therefore weakening the powers of the dagger. I needed to find my source of strength.

  Source of strength? Another familiar expression.

  Closing my eyes, I let images of Grampa over the years flash through my head. Grampa cooking in the kitchen with Aunt Janelle, laughing at something I’d said, on stage at the Circus performing a trick, teaching me to sword fight, wiping my tears after I fell off a bike…

  The more the images, the stronger I felt. The love I felt for him flooded my body. A tingle spread from my back to my hands. When I opened my eyes, everything was white, yet I knew everything would be okay. I pressed my hand against his chest again. Heal him.

  Then Grampa’s voice reached me. “I’m okay now, sweetheart.”

  “I know.” I blinked and my vision cleared. My hands glowed like a thousand-watt bulb, green light shooting from my palms to Grampa’s chest, the dark ancient writings stark against the glow that snaked up my arms. I clenched my fist and the writings ebbed as they disappeared under my skin. The light dimmed.

  I got up, giving Grampa space. Color returned to his cheeks, but the silence in the room was eerie. Slowly, he stood too.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Grampa. I would never do that.”

  He smiled and patted my cheek. “Of course not, sweetheart. I was desperate for answers and went deeper than I should have.”

  I searched his face. “What did you see?”

  He shook his head, his hand gripping my wrist. “There’s quite a bit of residual energy left, but it’s unfamiliar. Tomorrow, I’d like you to link to the Psi-dar.”

  Lucky me. I hated that pool of ghost energies. “And the memories?”

  “I heard a woman’s voice though the words weren’t clear. I stayed longer, hoping to understand her words. If you remember anything at all, however small, tell me or Bran. Now I want all of you to go home and rest.” He glanced at the other senior Cardinals. “We have much to discuss and decisions to make.”

  If it weren’t for my heightened senses picking up signals from him, I would have left without arguing. He was trying to get rid of us. “The woman you heard in my head, could she be the demon that attacked me?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure the Psi-dar will give us answers.” I opened my mouth to ask another question, but stopped when he pinned me with a stern look. “We are not speculating about the identity of the owner of that voice, Lil. Now go home. You, too,” he added, glancing at the rest of the junior Cardinals.

  “Did they say we can’t leave the valley?” Sykes asked as soon as we left HQ offices behind and headed toward the tunnels.

  Remy chuckled. “Nope.”

  “Want to hook up with the waitresses?” Sykes asked. He walked backward, hazel eyes twinkling, the meeting in the conference room all but forgotten.

  Remy shrugged and the two bumped fists.

  “You had time to make dates in the middle of that mess in L.A.?” Izzy asked.

  “Hey, no one is stopping you from ditching Rastiel and hooking up with someone now and then.” Sykes wiggled his brow suggestively and pointed at his chest.

  Izzy laughed. “In your dreams.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” Sykes added, smirking.

  Bran chuckled. “You’re losing your touch, Sykes.”

  “I’m just warming up.” He interlocked his fingers and snapped his knuckles.

  “Am I the only one who feels the Seniors gave us the runaround back in there?” I asked when we stopped by the tunnel leading to my house. “The Cardinals’ behavior was weird.”

  “I think they have no idea what’s going on,” Bran cut in. “Master Haziel is the one with the answers. We need to come up with a plan to make him talk to us. He’s proven to be more cooperative that the seniors.”

  The others thought it was a brilliant idea. I just wanted to crawl in bed and sleep even though it was only four in the afternoon. “Master Haziel will only tell you what he thinks you should know. Nothing more and nothing else.”

  “You don’t have to deal with him if you don’t want to,” Bran said.

  “She must,” Kim insisted. “He has a soft spot for her.”

  “He doesn’t,” I protested. “He yells at me the most. I’m definitely in. Are you guys really sneaking out tonight?”

  “Maybe,” Remy said.

  “Yes,” Sykes corrected him.

  Telling them not to go would be like waving a red flag at a bull. “Be careful. If you haven’t noticed, the Tribe only appears when we are out there.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Sykes said confidently.

  “Watch your backs,” Izzy warned them, then she and Kim teleported.

  I shook my head as Remy and Sykes headed toward their house. “They are so reckless.”

  Bran chuckled, taking my hand. “Sykes is. Remy just goes along to make sure Sykes doesn’t do something stupid.”

  No surprise there. Sykes tended to break rules with no thoughts of consequences. Yawning, I sighed. “What did we do last week when we were on lockdown?”

  “We hung out and practiced. Kylie stopped by a few times. Come on.
I’ve been saving something special for your birthday, which drove you nuts because you wanted to see it so badly,” he grinned, dimples flashing, “but I think you should see it now.”

  I hated reminders of my lost memories, but surprises from him were always fun. They usually involved teleporting somewhere, though I doubted that would be the case this time with lockdown and all. “What is it?”

  He rolled his eyes then pulled me back into his arms. “Always impatient.”

  “Okay, where to?”

  “My room.”

  “Oh. I like it already.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  I blushed, though I refused to be embarrassed for loving him and wanting to spend time alone with him. We dematerialized and reappeared in his room. The house was quiet without Celeste. The seniors had never said when the students would come back from Xenith.

  Bran’s room looked more lived-in than I recalled. The iPod on a docking station and the laptop were new, as was an armchair and the rug on the floor. Two canvases were flipped to face the wall. Near the window sat a table with pencils and sketch pads. I knew he sketched, but he’d never shown me any of his work.

  Or maybe he had and I’d forgotten. The urge to cry washed over me.

  “You are worrying again,” he whispered against my temple.

  “No, I’m not.”

  He leaned back and studied my face. “Yes, you are.”

  The urge to cry increased. “I’m trying not to, but I hate that everything is different and new because of my messed-up memories. My room. Your room. Keiran is a stranger to me when he shouldn’t be. Dante can’t come close to me without getting hurt.”

  “Then mind-blend with me and relive the last four months.”

  Stepping away from him, I shook my head. “No. Not after what happened to Grampa. I could hurt you too, or worse.”

  “There’s a difference. He was searching for—”

  “No, I won’t do it,” I insisted.

  “Fine. It’s okay.” He pulled me in his arms again until I calmed down, then took my coat and threw it on the bed. “Sit. I’ll get us something to drink. Don’t move or touch anything.”

  I scooted against the headboard and curled my legs under me. It was hard to get over how different his room was. I picked up his iPod and browsed through his music library. Classic rock, some heavy metal, alternative rock. I smiled when I saw some of my favorites.

  “Didn’t I say not to touch anything?” he scolded.

  I wrinkled my nose, took the can of cream soda from his hand and put it down. I looked at him with anticipating. “I’m ready for my surprise.”

  “So am I.” He rubbed his hands as he walked backward to the first canvas and slowly turned around with it.

  It was a painting of the sunset from Haleakala in Maui, our special spot in Hawaii. I hopped off the bed and went to kneel in front of the painting. The colors were vibrant. He’d even included the rock he and I had sat on, except it had our initials and a heart.

  “Did we do that?” I whispered.

  “You did.”

  I traced the initials, remembering our vow to always meet on that mountain if something catastrophic happened and we were separated. How many times had we visited it since that first day?

  I blinked back a sudden rush of tears and glanced up at him. He was such a gifted artist. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

  “You think so? I thought I could add more color here,” he pointed at a section of the sky, “and make the clouds fuller here.”

  “It’s perfect.” How could it not be? He’d painted it. For me. I stood, took the painting from his hand and propped it against the wall. But when I turned around, he was holding the second canvas—a painting of me. A breathtaking me. A perfect me.

  I wore a Gypsy skirt and top, charm bracelets and anklets, and my feet were bare. I didn’t recognize the beach, but the radiant smile on my face said I was happy and in love. He’d caught my slightly slanted green eyes, made my skin more flawless, my chest…bigger. I think. I looked down, then back at the painting. I guess his perception mattered more than mine, and my hair had never been that beautiful.

  “Is that how you see me?” I whispered.

  He put the painting aside and smiled, closing the gap between us. “No. That is who you are.” He ran his knuckles down the side of my face. “Beautiful,” he murmured against my temple, then moved lower and pressed his lips near my ear and whispered, “Smart.” He moved lower and nuzzled my neck. “Impossible.” His breath was hot against my skin, sending a Shockwave through my flesh.

  I’d stopped breathing at “That is who you are.” All I could think about was his lips against mine. When he turned his head, eye blazing, I knew my wish was about to come true.

  We kissed. Pure, refined heat warmed my insides while goose bumps spread on the surface of my skin. I pressed against him, seeking his warmth, needing to forget all my problems in his arms. His fingertips flitted down my back until they reached the curve of my hip, where my shirt met my pants.

  He muttered something under his breath, lifted me up and carried me to his bed, his emerald eyes intense as they met mine, his movements gentle as he lowered me down.

  I leaned up and tried to pull him closer, but he resisted. Laughing softly under his breath, he ran his fingertips up and down my arms, making me tremble. Turning his head, he pressed his lips along the sensitive skin on my wrist, then moved toward my shoulder, then my neck. A few more teasing nibbles then our lips met again.

  Time lost meaning. My problems melted away, by his kiss, his touch, his love. We were wrapped in our own little world, where nothing else mattered, but us and the feelings swirling around us.

  But somewhere in the back of my mind was a niggling warning not to fully let go. A blend of our energies could seriously hurt Bran. Reduce him to a catatonic state worse than Grampa earlier. If I could hurt a powerful Psi like my grandfather, the things I could do to Bran could be worse.

  “Thinking about the Cardinal while making out is a total ego-crusher,” Bran whispered.

  I blinked, my mind slow to process what he was saying. “What?”

  “I could hear your thoughts.”

  I covered my face. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He pulled strands of my hair from my forehead and tucked them away. “I needed to chill anyway.” He scooted off the bed and walked to the table by the canvases and came back with two sketch books. With an uneasy look on his face, he gave them to me.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, still wishing we were making out.

  “I sketch a lot.” Color rushed to his cheeks, dimples flashing. “Since you won’t mind-blend with me, I’m going to bare my soul to you by letting you see my work.”

  Wanting to know why he was blushing, I pushed aside my raging hormones and flipped the cover before he curled beside me. A sketch of me baking a cake leaped at me from the page. I never cook. In fact, I hated cooking with a passion.

  “That’s you taking lessons from Remy. You insisted on baking me a cake on my birthday.” He chuckled, enjoying a private joke.

  “And?” I asked.

  “It was pitiful.”

  I believed him. “So you had a cake-less birthday?”

  “No. You and Kylie had already ordered one from a local bakery, just in case. FYI, I’m a better cook than you.”

  I elbowed him, then flipped the page, then the next. His blush made sense. The pages were filled with sketches of me, some going back to when we first met. Since I had never posed for him, he must have sketched them from memory. Seeing myself through his eyes was the most beautiful gift ever, and I’d never felt more loved.

  - 10 -

  NIGHTMARES

  Screams echoed in the dark, yanking me into consciousness. I thrashed against the restraints around my arms. Strands of my curly hair stuck on my sweaty forehead and blocked my vision, adding to the images tumbling through my mind—wings and
feathers floating to the ground, daggers flying through the air, swords clanging. A rational part of me told me I was in my room and that the arms wrapped around me were Bran’s, yet the nightmare paralyzed me.

  “It’s just a dream,” he whispered over and over, running a hand through my hair, pressing my head against his chest.

  I clung to him, my screams becoming whimpers. What was happening to me? It was bad enough I had to deal with headaches while awake. My nights were filled with dreams I couldn’t explain.

  “Is it the same nightmare?” Grampa asked from somewhere inside my room, my bedside lamp turning on at the same time. Concern knitted his brow as he stared at us. If he was surprised to find Bran in my room, he didn’t show it.

  “I don’t know, but she woke up faster this time.” Bran squeezed my shoulders and asked, “Do you want me to get you a wet cloth?”

  “No, I’ll get it.” I got up and staggered to the bathroom, Bran following me as though I’d collapse or something. At least he stayed by the doorway as I splashed water on my face. Then I stared in horror at my reflection in the mirror.

  Three straight nights without sleep, four if I didn’t catch some shut-eye during what was left of tonight, had turned me into the girl from The Grudge. Dark shadows clung to my eyes. My hair was wild and untamed. My usually glowing skin looked pasty and grey. I needed uninterrupted REM cycles.

  The nightmares had started on Saturday, the night the demons had attacked me. Grampa and Bran had teleported into my bedroom at the same time, both thinking I was being attacked. Though I’d like to think I wouldn’t scream like a demon on its way to Tartarus. We Guardians were tougher than that.

  Grampa had left after Bran reassured him he’d stay until I fell asleep. And he had. The night after, he hadn’t left after I woke up screaming again. Just as well. Immediately after I’d fallen asleep, the dreams had started again.

  It was terrible fighting what you couldn’t see, being surrounded by a dense fog while lightning speared the air around you. Then there was the carnage, the cacophony of sounds. Shrill, brain-numbing, ear-piercing screams.