by Deadly Game
The wind rose to a shriek of protest, throwing everything in its path into the air. Arms and legs tangled as men went down or slammed into the sides of the buildings along with the debris. Jonas could hear screams and grunts of pain as their enemies, caught out in the unnatural tornado, were tossed about in the fury of the wind.
Jonas stumbled and managed to catch himself, but pain and the waves of dizziness and nausea were his enemies now. His stomach heaved and the ground tilted. Blackness edged his vision. He stumbled again, and this time he was certain he would go down, his legs turning to rubber. But before he could fall, he felt the pressure of the wind nearly lifting him, supporting him, wrapping him up in safe arms.
He let the wind take his weight and carry him to the ladder. Jackson stepped back to allow Jonas to go up first, all the while watching the alley and surrounding buildings, squinting against the force of the wind.
Jonas reached up toward the last rung of the ladder and white-hot pain burst through him, driving him to his knees. At once the wind caressed his face, a soft fanning, as if a small hand touched him with gentle fingers. All around him raged a virtual tornado, yet tendrils broke off from the spinning mass and seemed to lift him up in strong arms.
He let Jackson help him to his feet, buoyed by the wind, and he tried again, working with the Hannah’s windstorm, allowing the strong updrafts to aid him as he bent his knees and leapt to close the gap between him and the lowest rung. The metal struck the palms of his hands and he closed his fingers in a tight grip. The wind pushed and he reached for the next rung before his body could absorb the shock of taking his weight.
Somewhere far off, he heard someone’s hoarse cry of agony. His throat seemed ripped raw and his side felt on fire, but he let the wind push and push until he was moving up the ladder to the roof. He crawled onto the roof, praying he wouldn’t have to get up again, knowing he had no choice.
Jackson dropped a hand on his shoulder as Jonas knelt on the roof, fighting for air. “You got another run in you?”
His ears were ringing so loudly, Jonas almost missed the thin whisper. Hell no. Did it look like it? He nodded and set his jaw, struggling back to his feet. The rain was relentless, pouring down on them, driven sideways by the wind, but still they seemed wrapped in a cocoon of protection.
Below, they heard shouts as a few of the braver men tried to follow them up the ladder. The wind built in strength, slamming into the building so hard that more windows shattered and the fire escape rattled ominously. The ladder rocked with such force, the screws and bolts began to shake loose and drop toward the street below. The wind caught the small metal pieces and sent them hurtling like lethal missiles at the men attempting to scurry up the rungs.
Men screamed and let go of the ladder, jumping to the ground in an attempt to get away from the blast of bolts rocketing toward them. A few of the bolts drove deep into the wall and others into flesh and bone. The screams grew frantic.
“Damn, Hannah’s royally pissed,” Jackson said. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” He got his arm around Jonas and half-lifted him to his feet.
Jonas had to agree. The wind was Hannah’s favorite medium to work with and she could control it. And man, was she controlling it. He didn’t want to think too much about how much of that anger might be directed toward him. He’d promised the Drake sisters he wouldn’t do this kind of work anymore. They’d know he’d dragged Jackson right along with him, and telling them Jackson had insisted on coming along wouldn’t do anything at all to get him off the hook.
He concentrated on his breathing, on counting steps, on anything but the pain as Jackson dragged him across the roof to the opposite edge. Jonas knew what was coming. He was going to have to jump and land on the other rooftop where they could climb down to the street and to safety. Hannah would hold off the Russian mobsters as long as she could, but only Sarah was in the country to help aid her, and Hannah’s strength would eventually give out. She’d be all alone up on the captain’s walk in the cold. He hated that—hated that he’d done that to her.
“Can you make it, Jonas?” Jackson asked, his voice harsh and clipped.
Jonas pictured Hannah standing on the captain’s walk overlooking the sea. Tall. Beautiful. Her large blue eyes fierce as she concentrated, hands in the air, directing the wind as she chanted.
If he couldn’t make it, he wouldn’t get back to Hannah and he hadn’t once told her he loved her. Not once. Not even when she sat by his hospital bed giving up her strength for him to recover had he actually said the words. He’d thought them, dreamt of saying them—once he’d even started to—but he didn’t want to chance losing her, so he’d remained silent.
He protected people—it was what he did, who he was. Above all, he protected Hannah—even from himself. His emotions were always intense: his beserker rages, his need of her, the stark desire he felt when he thought of her. He had learned to shield his emotions from her almost from the time he was a boy, when he’d realized she was an empath and it hurt her to read people all the time. He’d been hiding his feelings for so long it was second nature to him, and no matter the opportunity, he always fell back on the old excuse that his job would put her in danger.
It seemed pretty stupid now—especially when he called on her for help. He pulled his hand away from his side and looked at the thick blood covering his palm. Not bothering to answer Jackson, Jonas took a breath and leapt, the wind behind him, pushing hard so that his body was flung onto the other roof. He couldn’t keep his feet or even attempt to land gracefully. He went down hard, facefirst, the air driven from his lungs and pain burning through his body like a hot brand.
The dark closed in, fighting for supremacy, trying to drag him under. He wanted it—the peace of oblivion—but the wind whipped around him carrying a feminine voice, soft, entreating, enticing. She whispered to him as the wind ruffled his hair and caressed his nape. Come home to me. Come home.
His gut clenched and he fought his way to his knees, his stomach heaving again. Jackson hooked a hand under his arm. “I’ll carry you.”
Off the roof. Down to the street. Jackson would do it too, but Jonas wasn’t going to take any more chances with his best friend’s life. He shook his head and forced his body to the edge. He had nothing left but survival instinct and sheer will. He found the fire escape ladder and began his descent, every step jarring, his body screaming. The waves of dizziness and nausea began to blend together until he couldn’t really tell them apart. His head felt light and the ground seemed far away, reality distancing itself farther and farther away until he simply let go and floated.
Somewhere far away he thought he heard a woman’s cry. Jackson echoed it and a hand caught the back of his shirt roughly, the sudden jar sending him right over the edge into the darkness. The last thing he heard was the sound of the wind rushing at him.
Hannah Drake stood on the captain’s walk overlooking the dark, churning sea, arms raised as she drew the wind to her, channeled it, and sent it racing across the night to Jonas Harrington. Fear and anger mixed together, two powerful emotions thundering through her heart, racing through her bloodstream to make a high-octane brew, adding fuel to the power of the wind. Tiny pinpoints of light lit up the sky around her fingers as she continued to gather and direct the force to her bidding.
Far below her, sea spray rose into the air as waves crashed against rocks. The ocean heaved and rocked, spawning small cyclones, twisters racing across the surface, twin columns of whirling water raging right along with her.
Hannah.
She heard Jonas’s voice in her head, the sound a caress, a soft brushing note that both warmed her and sent a chill through her body. It sounded too close to good-bye. Sheer terror swept through her. She couldn’t imagine life without Jonas. What was wrong? She’d woken up with her heart pounding and his name on her lips. She’d known something terrible was happening, that his life was in danger. Sometimes it seemed to her that his life was always in danger. “Oh, Jonas,” she
whispered aloud, “why do you feel the need to do these things?”
The wind snatched her question and flung it out over the sea. Her hands trembled and she bit her lip hard to maintain control. She had to get him home in one piece. Whatever he was up to, it was terrible. When he opened his mind to hers, when they connected, she only caught brief glimpses inside, as if he had compartmentalized his feelings and memories as hastily as possible. She saw pain and blood and felt his rage in a brief cataclysmic flash that he cut off abruptly.
She needed direction to keep him safe and she found and maintained it through Jackson. He was more open to a psychic connection when Jonas was too worried about her using her energy up. Jackson let her see the layout of the alley, the condition Jonas was in, the building they had to climb.
She sent a small acknowledgment, using warmth and color, knowing Jackson would understand, and once again lifted her arms. She commanded the five elements: Earth, the most physical of all elements; fire, both powerful and frightening; air, always moving, her favorite, her constant companion and guide, providing visualization, concentration, and the power of the four winds; water, the psychic mind; and of course spirit, the binding force of the universe itself.
Hannah, baby, it’s now or never.
Hannah took a deep, cleansing breath and harnessed the power of the wind, aiming and focusing, using her mind to draw the elements to aid her. She whispered a small prayer of thanks and opened herself to the universe and all the potential force she could gather to aid Jonas. The air above her thickened and darkened, clouds beginning to boil and bubble in an angry brew. Electricity flashed and sizzled along the edges of the heaviest clouds and the wind began to pick up even more, so that the cyclones out at sea grew taller and spun faster across the water.
Terror squeezed her heart and knotted her stomach. She couldn’t imagine her life without Jonas in it. He was arrogant and bossy and always wanted his way, but he was also the most protective and caring man she’d ever met. How many years was this going to go on? How many times would he risk his life before it would be one time too many?
Be safe. She whispered it in her head, sent Jonas the message, wrapped it in soft, warm colors and hoped the simple request would convey so much more. The wind picked up on her fear, on her anger as she received another flash of sight from Jackson. The two men were going up a ladder and Jonas faltered. Her heart stuttered as she saw him go down.
Hannah. Baby. I don’t think I’m going to make it home to you.
Her heart nearly stopped. For a moment there was a lull in the storm and then fury swept through her and she let it build, that terrible need for retribution that was a well inside of her, bursting open, shattering every restraint she kept so carefully on herself. She built the wind to a ferocious pitch, a shattering fury that raced through the night to crash down like a hungry tornado in that backstreet alley so far away.
The gale chased hapless men with puny weapons that were useless against the forces of nature. The violent gusts smashed windows and sent glass raining down. Boards were picked up and thrown as if an unruly child throwing a tantrum. Sweet, angelic Hannah directed it all, her flashes of fury sending Jonas’s enemies crashing to the ground, helpless under the onslaught of wind and rain and icy hail.
In the midst of it all, she felt Jonas slip, move farther from her, pain knifing through him—through her, the connection beginning to tear. She sent a steady airstream to lift him, the currents carrying him higher, shoving him up the side of the building to the roof and to freedom. She teased at his face and neck with ruffles of a smaller breeze to try to keep him alert long enough for Jackson to get them both to safety.
She felt him gathering himself for one last huge effort and she sent one final blast of wind to coil around him and take him across one rooftop to the other. She felt the burst of tearing pain, an agony knocking her to her knees. She gasped, tears blurring her vision, running freely down her face. Come home to me. Come home to me. The plea was edged in reds and golds, blazing with light and need.
She felt his reaction, the struggle to his feet, the fight to keep dizziness from taking over—the determination that he would make it back in one piece. There was another burst of pain and he slipped even more, darkness edging her vision. Desperate, she sent the wind, a rush of air to wrap around him and then the darkness took her too.