As Arial jolted back in surprise, two ghostly women emerged from Psych’s shoulders, slim, lithe, trailing floating, transparent streamers. Their faces were pointed, dominated by huge dark eyes that should have looked vaguely childlike.
But the expression in them was anything but childish.
“Get away from us,” one said in a voice like chiming bells. Her hair floated around her face in a shimmering mane, as if she were underwater.
Arial licked dry lips and took another instinctive step back. “Look, what’s the problem? I don’t mean you any harm.”
“You had best not, little witch…”
“Or you will certainly pay the price.” Their twin gazes were so malevolent, a chill stole over Arial’s skin.
Psych’s head came up. “What? What are you talking about?” He shot Tracker a look. The big man shrugged, his expression profoundly uneasy. He lowered the suitcase to the ground as if to free his hands.
Great. Now they thought she was crazy. And maybe they were right.
The two women were swirling around her now, a pair of profoundly pissed-off ghosts. Both had upswept pointed ears, thin, straight noses, and pouting mouths. When they hissed, their lifted upper lips revealed tiny fangs.
One of them swiped at her with knifelike claws. With a startled yelp, Arial touched her face. There was blood on her fingers. “Hey! Cut it out!”
“Leave!”
“Go now, or we will make you go!” They darted close again, claws flashing toward her face. “We will not have you telling our secrets! He is ours, and we will not give him up!”
“What secrets?” Arial swung at them, but her hand shot through both narrow torsos as if they were mist. “Dammit, back off!”
Big black eyes narrowed and flared red as stoplights. “You know what secrets, thief!”
They whirled around her, faster and faster, tighter and tighter, their passage whipping up some kind of psychic wind. Arial yelped as her feet left the ground. Bobbing in midair like a balloon, she kicked out furiously. Her booted foot cut right through a ghostly shoulder, which re-formed behind it. Claws raked her thigh in stinging retaliation.
Great. Just great. She couldn’t hurt them, but they could sure as hell hurt her.
“Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Arial swung at them again anyway, refusing to give up. “Just tell me what you think I’m going to do!”
“Let’s take the little interloper for a ride, sister!”
“High!” the other agreed. “Very, very high!”
“And then we’ll drop her!”
“SPLAT!” With bell-like laughter, they bore her off down the corridor as if she weighed no more than a soap bubble.
“Stop!” Arial yelled. “Why won’t you listen to me? Tracker, do something! They’re going to kill me!”
Over the sound of high-pitched laughter, she heard Tracker’s furious bellow. “What the hell’s going on?”
“I’ve lost control of my powers!” Psych’s voice was tight with strain as the two men charged down the corridor after Arial and her captors. “I can’t stop it!”
“Well, you’d better damn well regain control! You’re tearing her apart!” Tracker leaped forward and wrapped both massive arms around her waist, then curled himself around her, trying to shield her body with his. For a moment, Arial thought his weight was going to pull them both to the floor, but the ghost women swirled faster, dragging them higher.
He hissed in pain as a set of claws opened a gash across his right arm. “Jesus! Bloody hell, Psych, stop it!”
“I’m trying!” Psych yelled back.
One of the women darted in, malice distorting her lovely features, as she drew back a hand. Arial instinctively threw an arm up to shield Tracker’s face from those flashing claws.
Abruptly the tiger’s head thrust from his, jaws snapping. The ghost ducked and glared at it. “This is none of your affair, Beast! She threatens what is ours!”
“You’re nuts, lady!” Arial yelled over the tiger’s outraged roar. “I’m no threat to you!”
“Liar!” the ghost spat, dodging the big cat’s swiping paw. “You will tell him of us, and he will try to drive us away!”
Tracker yelped as ghostly claws scored his back. Instead of letting go, he curled tighter around Arial, tucking his head against hers. The tiger struck out with glowing claws, as the second spirit flashed too close. The creature spun away, laughing that chiming laugh before darting in again.
Frustrated rage poured through Arial. These two harpies were going to claw Tracker into hamburger, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to defend himself. He couldn’t even see what was attacking them.
Arial flung out an arm, teeth bared. “ENOUGH!” The roar tore her own throat like ground glass, it was so deep and inhuman.
A dragon poured from her hand.
Sinuous, iridescent, flaming scarlet, it slammed into the two spirits like a tornado, blowing them backward. Screeching curses all the way, they flew down the corridor to vanish into Psych’s chest. The impact knocked him off his booted feet and sent him reeling into a wall.
Arial and Tracker hit the cement floor like a bag of bricks. He took the brunt of the fall, but the impact still rattled her teeth. She yelped.
For a long moment, there was no sound except the desperate rasp of breathing.
When Arial dared lift her head at last, she found herself face to snout with the dragon. He wasn’t the classic winged reptile of English myth, but a Chinese dragon, with a long, elegant head, huge, intelligent eyes, and a square muzzle full of impressive teeth. A green mane surrounded his head, matching the long tendrils that waved around his snout and marched down his sinuous back. “Hello,” she said softly, stretching a hand toward him.
He gave her a dragon smile and arced upward, then flowed into the center of her chest. Warmth burst there like an explosion of sunlight, then poured through her veins at the contact. She drew in a breath in wonder.
If this was what being a Hyper was like, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all…
Well, except for the homicidal ghosts. Those, she could have done without.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Are you okay?” Tracker’s deep voice asked in her ear.
Arial shook off her astonishment. “I think so. A few cuts, but that’s all.” Rolling gingerly off him, she landed on her hands and knees and turned to study him. “You?”
“The same.” He grimaced and rose to his feet, then reached a hand down to help her up. “But I’m going to be sore tomorrow. Psych?”
His friend was sitting on the floor, his back braced against one concrete wall of the corridor. He raised a shaking hand to his head. “My skull feels like it’s about to split wide open. I haven’t lost control of my powers like that since my Transition. What the fuck happened?”
“That’s a good question.” Tracker gave Arial a searching look. “You were talking to someone…”
“More like screaming.” Psych climbed slowly to his feet, moving as if he felt just as battered as Arial did. His gaze sharpened as he eyed her. “Who was it?”
Arial sighed. “You’re not going to believe me.”
“Try us.” Tracker’s inflexible tone didn’t invite argument.
She raked a hand through her tangled hair and decided it was best just to spit the whole thing out. “They looked like ghosts. Spirits. Or, hell, for all I know, fairies. They came pouring out of Psych and attacked me.”
“Like this tiger you keep talking about.”
“Tiger? Spirits?” Psych threw Tracker that are-we-dealing-with-a-nutbar look.
“I know this is hard to believe, but I’m telling you what I saw.” Arial told him. “Two women who looked like escapees from a Lord of the Rings movie just…flowed out of your body. They had claws, and they did this.” She pointed at the raking wounds across her cheek, then at the similar injuries on Tracker’s body.
Psych moved cautiously closer and examined the cuts. “My power has alwa
ys produced marks like that. I don’t know why.” He looked up at her, a frown on his face. “You said they looked like ghosts? Could you describe them in more detail?”
She shrugged. “Pointed ears, delicate bodies. They had this kind of Tinkerbell thing going on, but really pale. Except for the eyes. Big, black eyes that flashed red when they got pissed—which they pretty well were the whole time. They seemed to think I was going to tell you something they don’t want you to know.”
“Like what?”
“How the hell should I know? They didn’t say.”
An expression of profound unease crossed Psych’s face. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“This entire night hasn’t made any sense.”
A comforting hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Maybe it will become a little more clear after we all sleep on it.” Tracker gave her a smile that seemed to indicate he, at least, didn’t think she was crazy.
That was something, anyway.
“WHERE the fuck did they go?” Kali screeched. “One minute they were there, then they rounded a curve and disappeared!”
“I don’t know, but I’m freezing my ass off.” Daedalus shivered against her. “I can’t feel my fucking feet. We’ve been over this damn mountain a dozen times, and there’s no sign of them. Can we go back to the hotel now?”
“Might as well.” She snarled at the steadily climbing sun. “Somebody’s going to spot us if we hang up here much longer. We’ll bring the others back tonight and conduct another search. Maybe Cerberus can pick up the scent.”
“Kali, they’re in a car.”
“I don’t give a shit. Tracker’s here—I can almost feel him.” She curled her upper lip into a snarl. “And he’s not getting away from me again.”
PSYCH showed Arial and Josiah to a suite of rooms that Josiah recognized.
“This is where you put me the first time I was here. Once I was a little more sane, anyway.” Josiah carried Arial’s suitcase and put it on top of a familiar king-sized, cherry sleigh bed with a dark blue coverlet. The crystal lamp sitting on the bedside table was new, though. He’d broken the last one.
“Sane?” Arial’s delicate brows arched.
“He had a rough Transition,” Psych said with admirable restraint. Changing the subject, he gestured at a connecting door. “Bathroom’s through there. Tracker, you can use the bedroom across the hall if you like.”
Close enough that he could keep an eye on their guest, just as Psych had once watched over him. And he’d needed it. “Thanks, Psych.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Turning to Arial, his friend added, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for hurting you. I don’t understand how it could have happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Arial said in that luscious whiskey and velvet voice, giving Psych a smile that sent a stinging stab through Josiah.
Jealousy? He frowned.
“Yeah, I know—it was the killer fairies.” Psych’s tone was light, faintly mocking, but there was strain in the line of his mouth.
“Well, something sure as hell did this.” Arial gestured impatiently at the five raking scratches across her cheek. Marks that did look as if they’d been inflicted by a female hand.
With claws.
“Good point.” That was definitely unease on Psych’s face. “I’ll see what I can find out. Maybe some meditation…”
“Meditate later.” Josiah clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Sleep now.”
“Sure.” He gave them a troubled wave and started off down the corridor. “I really am sorry.”
Tracker watched Psych go with mingled feelings of affection and frustration. “He’ll be up for hours staring at his belly button.” Catching Arial by one shoulder, he steered her through the door to the utilitarian bathroom. “Let’s get you patched up. I don’t like the look of those scratches.”
“I’m not the only one who needs a box of Band-Aids, tough guy.”
“So I’ll patch us both up.”
She scanned the small room, taking in the simple white porcelain sink, toilet, and bath. The white vinyl flooring was scattered with tiny roses, and the shower curtain was clear plastic. Everything was so spotless, it shone. “Nice. A bit Spartan, but nice.”
“Decorating has never been high on Psych’s list of priorities. At least not down here.” He gestured to her to sit down on the toilet while he raided the medicine cabinet.
“Down here?” He wasn’t surprised she picked up on the implications. “As opposed to up where?”
“Afraid that’s classified.”
“Figures.”
When he turned around with his supplies, Josiah found Arial sitting slumped against the back of the toilet, a weary line to her delicate shoulders. The sight sent a shaft of tenderness through him. Between Phillips, him, and Psych, she’d had one hell of a night.
“Psych isn’t the only one who’s sorry.” He wet a washcloth in warm water and dropped to his knees in front of her.
She tilted her chin and let him blot the blood from the cuts on one high cheekbone. Brown eyes studied him, flecks of golden amber in their depths. “What do you have to be sorry about?”
“Letting Phillips nail you. If he hadn’t gotten away from me, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Arial snorted. “One thing I’ve learned over eight years as a cop—you do what you can do. You’re good, Tracker, but you’re not Superman.” He blotted at the cut again, and she closed her eyes, long dark lashes fanning against her cheek.
Josiah remembered the way she’d felt, her lithe little body cradled against his as invisible energies buffeted them. Remembered the ferocity in her gaze as she’d thrown out one hand and done—something. She had only a fraction of his strength, but he knew she’d been trying to defend him. He’d seen it in her eyes, in that moment when those claws had raked him.
And she’d succeeded. Somehow, she’d stopped Psych’s involuntary assault when neither man had been unable to do a damn thing about it.
Josiah wasn’t used to being defended. He was the one everybody expected to save the day. Yet she’d come through for him.
Before he knew what he intended to do, he was leaning forward. He had to taste that sweet mouth again.
Arial’s eyes flew wide as he kissed her, then slowly drifted closed. Her lips felt like damp satin, tasted of ripe, erotic heat. Unable to resist, he edged his tongue along the seam of her mouth until she opened for him with a sigh.
God, she really did taste exquisite.
Arial lifted a hand, rested it against his cheek. Her skin felt cool and silken against his.
It took an effort to pull back, but he knew it was best. He could feel his Beast rising again, fierce and hot. It seemed that having had her, the need had become even harder to resist.
“We need to finish getting you patched up.” Josiah forced himself to rise to his feet and step to the sink. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned on the tap and started washing out the cloth.
ARIAL watched Tracker, heat running molten through her body. She’d never felt the punch of a simple kiss with such intensity. Not even when he’d kissed her before.
What was it about him? It was more than the powers, more even than the impressive body. Something about the man himself called to her in a way that struck her as simultaneously dangerous and irresistible.
Tracker turned back to her and bent to blot at the scratches on her forearm. His hands were exquisitely gentle, his eyes intent through the eye slits of his mask. His scent was intoxicating. Leather. Masculinity. Honest sweat from his efforts to protect her.
She watched him as he worked, feeling breathless at the way his big body dominated the small space of the bathroom. There was no sound except the slow drip of the faucet, the rustle of leather. The soft tread of his boots on the ceramic tile.
She hadn’t even seen his face. She didn’t know his real name. Yet she could feel her nipples hardening. Heat gathered between her thighs, liquid and sweet.
Arial s
tirred, realizing she was unconsciously pressing her thighs together in an effort to soothe the ache.
“Bend forward. Something’s bleeding through your shirt.” Tracker’s deep voice seemed to vibrate in her body’s hidden places. She obeyed, dry-mouthed, and closed her eyes as he pulled her shirt up to clean a cut on her back. As he pressed on a bandage, he told her, “You were lucky. I don’t think any of these need stitches.”
“That’s good.” Arial opened her eyes to see blood running down his leg from a set of vicious scratches in his thigh. The ghost’s claws had ripped right through his tough armor. She frowned, eyeing it as she stood. “Your turn.”
He took a hasty step back. “That’s not necessary.” The tip of his tongue wet his lip. “I can take care of it.”
“Don’t be such a baby. Sit.”
He obeyed with visible reluctance. Glad to have something to do with her hands, Arial turned and busied herself getting another washcloth out of the drawer he’d pulled his from. “Pull down that suit. I can’t work on you if you’re covered in leather.”
She glanced around just in time to see heat leap in his eyes. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“I can withstand the sight of your abs without being overcome by lust.”
“You’re not the one I’m worried about.” He smiled, slowly, almost reluctantly. There was more than desire in that smile—there was a wry humor, a certain self-depreciation. She found herself smiling back.
His zipper hissed, loud in the stillness of the room. Arial watched him shrug one powerful shoulder out of the suit, then the other, before tugging it down to his waist.
Muscle flexed and rolled all up and down that gorgeous chest. His shoulders looked even wider out of the suit, all smooth, tanned skin. A luscious little ruff of chest hair spread from nipple to nipple, then narrowed to dive down past his navel. Luring her eye to the prominent bulge under his suit.
Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to promise not to attack him.
As if reading her mind, Tracker stood in a restless rush. “This is really not a good idea.”
Beyond the Dark Page 5