“Because it’s likely to get you killed, and we need you too much to let it happen. You’re one of the most deadly warriors we have.”
“I used to be.”
“You still are. I saw you fight last night. Whatever rust might have grown on you during your paralysis, you’ve knocked it all off. You fight like the warrior I remember. Maybe even deadlier.”
“Then there’s no problem. You can report back to Joseph that I’m fine. I’ll come home when and if I’m ready.”
“I said you were deadly. Not careful. You took too many risks. And you weren’t watching your back.”
“I’m not suicidal, if that’s your worry. There’s no way to know what might happen to Grace if I die wearing this disk. We’re still connected, and as long as that’s the case, I’ll be careful.”
“If you call that careful, then you’re worse off than I thought.”
“Calculated risks, Nicholas. I’ve been fighting for a lot longer than you have. I know what I’m doing.”
“So do I, which is why you and I are going to be partners for a while.”
“I don’t want a partner.”
“I think I already mentioned that I don’t care what you want.”
“Don’t push me, Nicholas.”
He smiled, making his scars pull tight. “You think I’m afraid of you?”
“I think you should be.”
“Aww. You do care. How sweet. No wonder Grace was crushing on you.”
“Stop talking about her.”
“Nope. This is a deal-or-die kind of situation, and it’s my job to make sure you deal.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Let’s pretend it is, just for giggles.”
“I’m serious, Nicholas.”
“And that’s part of your problem. You need to lighten up.”
“The woman I love may be dying, and you want me to lighten up?”
“She might be dying. She might not be. But even if that freakishly powerful Brenya chick is able to heal her, she’s still human. She’s still going to die in the blink of an eye. That’s a fact, and you have to find a way to move on. I figure now is as good a time as any—before we lose you, too.”
“I don’t know how you can be so casual, talking about her death like it’s of no more importance than what you had for breakfast. I thought you were a better man than that.”
“Just because I accept reality doesn’t mean I don’t care. I risk my life for humans every day. But they’re different from us. We were never meant to be with them—not in the way you want to be with Grace. Letting her in was a mistake, and if you don’t believe me, then all you have to do is look to that ache in your chest for proof that I’m right.”
“So . . . what? I just stop caring?”
“No, you face reality. It doesn’t matter if she lives or dies today. She’s human. A few decades from now—a mere blink of time for a man like you—she will be gone. The leaves on your lifemark will have fallen. Your soul will die, and there’s not a damn thing that either one of you can do to change that.” Nicholas stepped closer, his voice dipping back to the land of pity. “She can’t save you, Torr. She can’t be what you need her to be for you to survive. All she can do is stand in the way of you finding the woman who can save your life and be your true partner. And if she really loves you—which her actions shout that she does—that’s not the kind of life she’d want for you. If she were here, she’d tell you to move on, too.”
“You can’t be that cold.”
“You can’t be that blind.”
“I don’t care if she can’t save my soul. I want to be with her anyway.”
“Well, you can’t. She’s worlds away, and not even your determination is strong enough to activate a Sentinel Stone and open a doorway to her. The only way she’s coming back is if Brenya allows it.”
In that moment, Torr realized the truth. Nicholas was right. Brenya was in complete control. She was the one who would decide if Grace lived or died. She was the one who would decide whether to let Grace come home. Brenya was powerful in a way Torr could barely comprehend. She knew the score. She knew that the Sentinels—men like Torr and Nicholas—were losing the war against the Synestryn, and that if they lost, Brenya’s home would be flooded by demonic beasts who fed on the blood and magic of her kind.
She wasn’t going to let that happen, even if it meant keeping Grace out of his reach forever.
Brenya needed Torr to fight to defend her home world, and the way he would do that best was if he sought out a woman like him—a Theronai who was compatible with his power and could take her place at his side in battle.
That had been Brenya’s endgame all along. He’d thought she offered to help Grace because he’d sworn to fight for Brenya in battle if she ever needed it. But he was already fighting for her. He’d been doing so for four centuries—since he’d been old enough to swing a blade. His vow to protect humans ensured that he also protected her.
The crescent-shaped mark she’d left on his shoulder—the one that allowed her to summon him at any time—burned with betrayal. She’d tricked him. Offered him hope. Kept him fighting rather than wallowing in grief.
She’d told him that so long as the disk on his back stayed in place, Grace was alive. Now he questioned even that comfort. What if Brenya had lied just to get him to do what she wanted?
Nicholas let out a long, sad sigh. “You finally figured it out, didn’t you?”
Torr nodded. “Brenya is devious. I bought her lie. For all I know, Grace is already dead.” Even saying the words ripped something vital from his chest.
Not even the scars on Nicholas’s face could hide his sympathetic frown. “Which is why you have to let go. Grace gave up her life so that you could have one. Don’t belittle her gift by squandering it.”
“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want Grace to sacrifice herself for me.”
“But she did. Of her own free will. The only way to honor her memory is to make sure the life she gave you counts. You owe it to her to live as long as you can and find some way to be happy. Fulfill your purpose. Find your mate and kill as many fucking demons as possible.”
“It’s not enough,” said Torr. “It will never be enough.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But it is your duty to try.”
“You clearly already have opinions on where I should start, don’t you?”
“I do. Rory and Cain located a system of caves down south in desperate need of a good cleaning. Thought you could join us.”
Torr opened his mouth to respond, but before he could pull in a breath, the air around him shifted. The flickering fluorescent glow of his hotel room morphed into a brilliant, fiery swath of light. The drops of shower water drying on his bare back heated, adding to the thick humidity creeping across his skin. The floor beneath his boots disappeared, leaving him feeling weightless for a split second before he once again felt substantial.
A giant wave of dizziness slammed into him. High-pitched female screams of fear and the pounding of rushed footsteps echoed in his ears. The smell of dirt and smoke choked him.
Torr blinked to clear his swimming vision, but all he could see was color and light. Metallic blue streaked with brilliant orange.
His hand curled around the hilt of his sword, its cool, rigid contours a welcome familiarity. He didn’t dare draw the blade for fear that some innocent might be close. Instead, he planted his feet and shut his eyes in an effort to locate the cries for help.
A warm hand settled on his shoulder. He tried to shrug it away and face the potential threat, but the grip was too tight.
“Settle, young Theronai,” ordered a familiar feminine voice.
Instantly, the world stopped its whirl and he was once again able to focus.
The sky was orange. The trees were covered in shiny bluish leaves that looked more like metal than plant matter. One sun burned high in the sky, and below it, smaller and more distant, a second one cast its light low over the ground
.
Wherever Torr was, he wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
Chapter 2
Torr spun to face the woman who’d touched him.
Brenya’s long silver hair whipped around her shoulders as she grabbed his arm and started to run, forcing him to follow where she led. A layered mess of fur, coarse fabric and leather covered her body, frothing around her calves with each hurried step.
They ducked into a rough hut made from inky black sticks and thick, stiff grass the color of gunmetal.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“Temprocia, the world I now call home.”
“Where’s Grace?” demanded Torr.
“No time for that. We are under attack.”
No way. Torr might get only one chance to find the woman he loved, and he was not going to waste it. “Your attack can wait. Where is Grace?”
Brenya pulled aside a leather hide covering a window and pointed across the clearing. Several huts dotted the area. One large fire burned in the center of the clearing, ringed by pink stones. Just on the other side of the fire crawled a reptilian animal twice Torr’s size. It had six legs that sent it slinking across the ground like a centipede, but faster. Its long tail was forked, and each prong moved independently of the other. Both were thick and covered in bonelike spikes. Its elongated head was filled with rows of conical teeth meant for ripping apart meat and crushing bone.
“Your Grace is dead if you don’t help. Now go forth and slay the beast before it reaches my baby girls.”
A small child with white-blond hair raced toward a hut, but her chubby little legs weren’t fast enough to carry her out of harm’s way. The beast saw her and charged.
Torr drew his sword as he bolted out of the hut. A bellow burst from his lungs, drawing the creature’s attention away from the child.
It hissed, tensed its body and a second later used that massive forked tail to fling itself toward him.
Torr leapt out of the way, rolling as he hit the ground. Rocks and sticks dug into his bare back, grinding the disk against his spine. The pain of it was a distant, inconsequential thing that he gave no attention to.
He came out of his roll, landing on his feet, his sword level and ready to swing.
The creature was only a few feet away. He could see now that it had massive eyes the color of swamp water. Its skin seemed to shift on its frame, creating a dizzying pattern of movement that drew his attention.
Nicholas was right. Torr was way too easily distracted.
From the corner of his eye he saw movement. A woman sprinted across the ground to scoop up the little blond girl and carry her to safety. For a second, Torr thought he recognized the woman. She almost looked like Andra, but younger.
Tori? It was possible, but the woman he saw was too old to be the same one who’d left Dabyr with Grace only a few months ago.
Now wasn’t the time to worry about who she was, not when the beast was preparing to charge.
Torr shifted to his left, using the fire to protect his back. There was no way to know if this creature was alone, and the last thing he needed was a nasty surprise.
Another hiss erupted from the reptile, and its tail curled up under it, preparing to launch it into the air again.
Torr held his ground. The thing charged through the air. He stepped cleanly out of the way, letting it jump headfirst into the roaring fire.
No! called Brenya, her voice a resounding boom inside his skull. Not the fire!
Torr had no idea what she meant until he saw that the creature wasn’t screaming in pain. It wasn’t even moving fast to escape the blaze. All it was doing was burning as it turned around for another attack.
That’s when Torr realized what Brenya meant. Fire wasn’t hurting the creature; it was simply giving it another advantage. Because now, he wasn’t just fighting a giant flying lizard—he was fighting a giant flaming flying lizard.
And he wasn’t fireproof.
The creature launched itself toward Torr again. He spun out of the way, but the beast came so close that it left a singed patch across his bare ribs.
Blade in hand, he turned to face it, angling away from the fire and the surrounding huts. The lizard followed him, one huge eye focused on him and the other moving, scanning for more danger. Or prey.
Torr growled and thrust his sword at the creature, making sure he was the most dangerous target around. The little blond girl was safely hidden inside one of the rough buildings, and Brenya had the good sense to stay out of sight. A couple of flimsy doors were cracked open enough for Torr to make out people watching. The woman who’d rescued the little girl was struggling against the hold of two other women, who barely managed to restrain her from combat. Her short sword gleamed under the orange sky, but she was unable to break free without using it on them—something she was apparently reluctant to do.
Good. The last thing he needed was another distraction, and an unknown partner in combat was definitely that. The odd patterns on the lizard’s skin were more than enough to absorb his attention, especially now that they seemed to be moving faster under the flames coating its hide.
He kept backing up, drawing the beast away from the women.
The ground beneath his feet became softer. The humidity hugging his skin grew thicker. Shadows enveloped him, and heavy drops of warm water hit his bare shoulders.
He’d entered the edge of the surrounding forest. As thick as the trees were here, the lizard was going to slam its head into a trunk if it tried to come flying at him again.
The creature’s skin hissed as water dripped onto it, but the flames remained steady. There was too much humidity here for the brush to ignite. At least Torr hoped that was the case.
A thick black tree trunk loomed on his left. A low branch ran nearly parallel to the ground, supporting a rustic swing made from rough rope and a warped plank of wood. The tree’s metallic leaves reflected the firelight in a dazzling display of indigo and gold. If not for the hissing creature and its flaming skin and bone-shattering teeth, Torr would have found this place strangely beautiful.
He slowed to a stop, choosing a location just inside the tree line. The dense tree growth was going to impede his blade, but not nearly as much as it would the beast’s flying trick.
Torr charged, keeping his sword angled to fit between the surrounding branches. He went airborne at the last moment, avoiding the lizard’s open jaws as he leapt over its head. A razor-sharp tongue flicked out, slicing cleanly through the fabric of his jeans. He landed on the creature’s back, ignoring the searing lick of flame singeing his skin. All he needed was one clean blow—one single jab into the lizard’s brain and then he’d deal with his burns.
Staying atop its thrashing back, he gouged the tip of his sword right between the swamp water eyes. Rather than sinking cleanly through meat and bone, his blade merely skittered off the thing’s tough scales with a shower of greenish sparks.
No way was he going to be able to bash through that hide without a sledgehammer. He needed a soft spot.
The searing heat drove him off the beast’s back. He jumped up onto a low branch, out of the lizard’s reach. The tree swayed with his weight, raining fat drops of water that had pooled on leaves above him.
He swiped the water from his eyes and watched for an opening below.
The lizard reared up on its forked tail, obviously preparing to launch itself into the tree after Torr. He stood still, flexing his fist around his sword in anticipation.
As soon as the beast became airborne, Torr spun himself around the trunk with one arm, putting the solid girth of the tree between him and the lizard.
It slammed into the wood with a hard thunk, followed by a screaming hiss of pain. By the time Torr eased himself to the ground, the lizard was on its back, thrashing in the matted, metallic leaf litter that covered the ground.
He didn’t hesitate to take his shot, keeping out of range of that sharp tongue. He slammed the tip of his sword into the thing’s chest, feeling his blade shift as
it slid between two ribs. With a savage burst of strength, he changed the angle of the sword and shoved it deeper into the lizard’s rib cage.
Thick orange blood poured from the wound. Its body convulsed, and the heavy forked tail hit Torr like a battering ram.
He flew through the woods a few feet before coming to a painful, abrupt stop against a tree trunk. His head rattled with shock so fresh that there was no pain yet. But it was coming. The wind was knocked from his body, and it was all he could do to still the panic of suffocation. Only the need to be sure the lizard was dead gave him the will to regain his feet.
The pain arrived like a speeding freight train—massive and completely unstoppable. A wave of dizziness caught him off guard. His eyes refused to focus enough for him to tell if the animal was moving or if it was just a trick of the eyes.
He stumbled forward, sword ready. His chest burned with the need for air. Pain radiated out from his spine and skull. His legs were strangely weak, reminding him of the time he’d been paralyzed and helpless.
Torr had promised himself he’d never be helpless again, yet here he was, falling to the ground, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it.
Chapter 3
Torr woke up inside a dimly lit hut with Brenya’s face hovering only inches above his. Even this close he couldn’t tell her age, but she looked older than when he’d last seen her, and more tired.
Movement within her eyes caught his attention, reminding him that this woman was neither Sentinel nor human. She was Athanasian—an ancient race of beings who’d birthed his kind as well as the Sanguinar and Slayers.
She didn’t blink, and he swore her irises looked exactly like leaden waves kicked up by a storm.
Like all the Athanasians he’d met, there was an unearthly quality to her—a kind of power that radiated out of her that he could only imagine possessing.
The disorientation cleared, and the spinning in his head slowed until he remembered where he was. “Did I kill the lizard?”
“Yes. We will eat well tonight,” she said, easing back out of his personal space. Bits of fur and feathers were laced through her long silver hair. It swept over his bare chest as she moved, and the branches of his lifemark—the image of a tree embedded in his skin—trembled in response to her power.
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