by Bryn Donovan
This book wouldn’t have been possible without the support of my family and friends, and especially, my talented editorial team: Rhonda Merwarth, Eunice Shin, J.R. Boles, and my wonderful and brilliant husband and the love of my life, Gill Donovan.
Bryn
Copyright @ 2020 Bryn Donovan
Published by Almeris Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews—without written permission from the author. Thank you for your support of authors’ rights.
eBook 978-1-951952-00-6
Print 978-1-951952-01-3
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Dedicated to my niece Jillian,
who shares my appreciation
for stories about the supernatural,
with all my love.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SNEAK PREVIEW
CHAPTER ONE
He was naked in the wilderness at night, shivering from the cold. How long had he been out here? Maybe he’d been abducted. Or in an accident…although that didn’t explain what had happened to his clothes.
Why couldn’t he remember anything?
Head injury, maybe. As he walked, he gingerly probed the surface of his scalp and found no soreness or injury. He wasn’t hurt in any way, as far as he could tell, although he might literally freeze his dick off if he didn’t find help or shelter soon.
Rocks cut into the numbing soles of his feet. He could barely distinguish the ridges of the low mountains on the horizon from the sky. The wind kicked up, and he hunched over. Fuck, it was cold. Utterly bereft of dignity, he tried to cover his frozen nose and then his body with his hands. Maybe he should curl up in a ball on the ground—but no, that could mean death.
He kept moving, looking for a house, a road, something. If he’d had a phone, and if there were any kind of signal here, he could’ve called 911. Or called a friend…
What friend? He couldn’t think of even one.
How could he have been so abandoned? Desperation rose in him. He struggled to keep it in check.
Light in the distance. Headlights. Yes! He broke out into a run, his heart thudding hard in his chest. “Hey!” His voice sounded strange to his ears, deeper and more growly than he’d expected. “Over here!”
The vehicle came straight at him, bumping over the rocky terrain. He stopped still in his tracks. It pulled up close enough that he took a step back, shielding his eyes from the blinding glare of the headlights. Two figures exited the black SUV, leaving the engine running. and a back car door opened as they advanced.
One of the men was pointing a gun at him.
Shit.
He raised his hands in the air. In the headlights’ slanting beams, he could see them clearly. The one who’d been driving was of Asian descent, with shoulder-length dark hair, wearing a black leather jacket. The guy with the gun was white and taller, with a buzzcut, his eyes blazing with fear and hostility. “Hey, easy,” he said. It was hard to sound casual because his teeth were chattering. A smaller figure emerged from the back seat of the vehicle with a few awkward hops. “Just trying to get a little help here.”
The buzzcut guy’s mouth curled back in a snarl, and he raised the gun.
No! His brain lit up with panic.
The leather jacket guy said, “Don’t shoot!” Almost at the same time, the woman who’d gotten out of the back seat shouted, “Read him first! Make sure!”
Could he disarm the guy with the gun, now closing the short gap between them? He could envision the quick moves it would take, but he didn’t think he could do it and take on the leather jacket guy too.
The one with the gun grabbed his arm.
At the man’s touch, something crushed his skull like a walnut. He gave a guttural cry at the unexpected pain and squeezed his eyes shut. The coldness disappeared. I’m dead. No, he was still conscious, because his head still pounded. He opened his eyes again.
He and the gunman stood on a city street lined by three-story buildings under a violet twilight sky. Neon signs, no people. The unmistakable, vaguely sexual scent of the ocean.
What the hell?
The other man looked wildly around him, his mouth parted, breathing hard. He turned to face him again. His blue-gray eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “You’re alive.”
How was he supposed to respond to that? Obviously, he was alive. The man took hold of his shoulders. “What happened to you? How are you here?”
He’s crazy. Maybe we both are. Carefully, he asked, “Where are we?”
The man’s eyes widened as if the response shocked him, and then his expression softened. “You’re confused. It’s okay.”
Everything dimmed, and cold air hit him again, rattling him to the bone. He was back in the other landscape, where the guy still gripped his arm. The other two stood closer to him now, though the woman balanced on one leg, a hand on the hood of the car for support. She had long, dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, from which a few strands had escaped.
The guy who had somehow ripped him to a different dimension and back shoved the gun back into his belt. “It’s him,” he said to the other two. His voice came out rough and he swiped a hand over his eyes. “It’s Michael.”
Was he Michael? And why hadn’t they been sure of who he was, either?
The man pulled him close in a sudden, fierce embrace. “Christos, corín.”
Michael stiffened in shock, and he barely contained the urge to shove him away.
The man released him partially, still gripping him by the shoulders. “I’m sorry. It was all my fault. I—” A wave of pure amazement washed over his features. “You’re really here.” The leather jacket guy had a similar expression, and the woman was covering her mouth with her hand, tears standing in her eyes.
He gave an awkward laugh. “Look, man, I’m sorry,” he said to the guy who’d hugged him. “I have no idea who you are.”
The guy’s mouth fell open. Then he turned to the driver. “He’s disoriented. He’s freezing.”
“Get in,” the leather jacket guy told him. “I’ve got a blanket in the trunk.”
Riding with people who’d held him at gunpoint wouldn’t have been his first choice, but it was his only one. He was freezing. His head was s
till pounding, and he felt like he might fall over if he didn’t sit down. Maybe that was the crazy guy’s fault.
He got in the front seat.
The leather jacket guy jogged back to get the blanket. He snapped at the woman, “Cassie, I told you to stay in the car! Don’t put any weight on that.”
“I won’t.” She hopped to the back door.
The buzzcut guy rushed to her side. “Here.” He opened the door, scooped her up in his arms and settled her into the back seat. Clearly, those two were together.
She looked up at the guy, her eyes glistening. “How is this happening?”
“I don’t know.” Awe colored his voice. So why had he been so threatening at first?
In a husky voice, she said, “This really is a hell of a mission.”
Mission?
The leather jacket guy opened the front door again. “Wrap up, and we’ll get you home.” He was good-looking, Michael noticed now. Sharp cheekbones, and the jacket hugged his strong, lean frame. He’d been barking orders, but as he handed the blanket to Michael, his gaze was filled with concern.
It seemed fake, though, because he was a stranger. Michael grabbed the blanket. “Where’s home?”
The man frowned and then turned to his companion. “Jon, can you drive? I need to make some calls.”
“Uh.” The guy blinked a couple of times, as if he’d been shaken out of a dream. “Yeah, okay.”
Michael slammed the car door shut and pulled the woolen blanket around himself. It was cold too, but it would hold in his body warmth, and he felt a rush of gratitude to the leather jacket guy. Just being out of the wind relieved him to his core. He asked Cassie, “What’s wrong with your foot?”
“I sprained my ankle. I fell a couple of hours ago.”
Why were they driving around with an injured woman? Who were these assholes? He turned to the one called Jon, who was climbing into the driver’s seat. “She needs a doctor.”
He snorted. “No kidding. So do you.”
Maybe that was true. Besides the cold and the throbbing headache, his stomach was churning. Jon slammed the car door and turned the key in the ignition. Air circulated from the vents, and Jon turned the dial for the heat all the way up. “We went back for you.”
Michael tried to process this. “You forgot me?”
“No,” all three of them said at the same time.
The SUV was still parked. Jon flipped on the light and reached over to turn Michael’s face toward him. Michael knocked his hand away. Jon pressed his lips together, as if it was a personal rejection, but what did he expect? He studied Michael’s face for a moment, then grabbed his hands and looked at the fingertips. The guy had no sense of boundaries. “No frostbite here,” he said.
Michael pulled his hands back. Now that Jon mentioned it, he was glad to hear it.
Jon asked, “What about toes, anywhere else?”
“Uh…” His toes and his dick no longer felt numb. They stung, which he took as a good sign. “I don’t think so.”
Jon put the SUV into gear and turned it around. “How do you feel otherwise?”
“My head hurts.”
“I’ll bet. You’re still shivering. Nic, is there coffee or anything?”
“No,” the leather jacket guy said. Then he looked up from staring at his phone. “Wait, Val gave us tea. It’s in the door, your side.”
Jon fumbled around with one hand in the side pocket of the door and then handed Michael a thermos with pastel rainbow stripes. Not exactly what he would’ve expected from this crew.
“Wait till we get back on the road, or you’ll spill it.” This struck Michael as strangely parental in tone, but it was sound advice, considering how the SUV jostled over the rocky terrain. From the backseat, Nic spoke quiet, rapid Chinese into the phone.
“I’m dreaming,” Jonathan blurted out, looking around him.
Now what?
“Eyes on the road,” Nic snapped at him before saying something else in Chinese into the phone.
Was Nic in charge, then? He’d ordered the woman around too, and she’d taken that in stride—and so had Jon, who was either her boyfriend or her husband. But no, it wasn’t that clear. Power fluctuated between the two men. There was obviously respect between Jon and Nic—and maybe something like brotherhood, or at least a shared history.
Loneliness made a hollow space in his chest. He didn’t know anyone.
Jon obeyed Nic, focusing on the road, but a muscle corded in his neck. “I’ve dreamed this before. Him being alive.”
Cassie reached forward to squeeze his shoulder. Her eyes welled up. “If you’re dreaming, I’m dreaming.”
Nic moved the phone away from his mouth and said to Jon, more sympathetically, “Whatever this is, it’s happening.” He went back to his phone conversation, switching to Spanish. Who had he called, the United Nations? He’d cupped one hand over the phone, and over the noise of the blasting heater made noise, Michael caught only a couple of phrases. Sí, estoy seguro. Yes, I’m sure. No recuerda nada. He doesn’t remember anything.
Jon shook his head again, looking lost in wonder. He was a soldier, clearly. It wasn’t just the haircut or insulated field jacket, but the way he carried himself. Both he and the other guy looked tough. If he’d attacked Jon, he would’ve faced both of them; he wouldn’t have stood a chance. The woman wore a green Army jacket over a Henley shirt. She might’ve been a formidable fighter, too, when she wasn’t wounded.
“Who are you guys?” They’d talked about a mission. Terrorists, maybe.
Jon cast him a keen sidelong glance as he drove the SUV toward the road now visible in front of them. “Who are you?”
“I—” His brain yielded no clues, and he bit back his frustration. “I don’t know. I was in an accident or something.”
Jon gave a shaky laugh. “You could say that.”
“Brief him,” Nic said from the back before returning to his conversation.
“Who is he talking to?” the woman asked Jon quietly. “Has this ever happened before?”
“No.” Jon pulled onto the highway, accelerated, and then glanced at Michael again. “Drink.”
He was thirsty. He removed the thermos top, which doubled as a cup, and filled it up halfway. Steam rose.
Behind him, Nic was saying, “Español o ingles, por favor.”
He raised the cup to his lips, then hesitated. “What’s in this?”
“I don’t know. She makes her own blends.”
That hardly seemed reassuring. He gave it a cautious sniff; it smelled like citrus and spice. “How do I know you’re not drugging me?”
Jon grabbed the cup from him, downed its contents, and handed it back to him. “Tastes like ginger. Drink some. Dehydration can make you confused.”
“Fine,” he muttered, and poured another cup. He wished the guy hadn’t already drunk out of it. Who did he think he was?
“My name’s Jonathan West. You’re Michael West. I’m your brother.”
“You’re…” This couldn’t be right. He’d know. “You’re lying.”
The woman said, “Look in the mirror.”
He flipped down the visor over the seat and then turned on the light over the dashboard to see better. He had blue eyes and light brown hair, the same age as Jonathan, or possibly younger. In the cast of his features, he could see a strong resemblance, but that wasn’t the reason his stomach did a sick roll.
This face? He’d never seen it before in his life. After being lost and freezing, threatened with guns, and having his brain messed with somehow, for the first time he felt like he was in a nightmare.
“You all right?” his brother asked.
“Michael West,” he repeated. The name meant nothing. He glanced in the backseat again. “And he’s Nic.”
“Yeah, Dominic Joe,” Jonathan said. “He’s, uh, we work together.”
“I’m Cassie,” the woman told Michael, though he’d already caught her name. “Jonathan’s told me so much about you!”
“We don’t know each other?” Michael asked.
“No! You were… He should explain.”
Michael drank more of the tea. It seemed to be settling his stomach.
Jonathan took a deep breath and exhaled. “You and I were up here on the mesa to fight a demon.”
Michael stared at him. “Why were we doing that?”
“Because we’re Knights.” When Michael didn’t respond, he clarified. “It’s our job.”
“So…” He couldn’t figure out which of the dozen questions swirling in his mind to ask first. “Go on.”
Jonathan kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “I have some shielding ability. I can keep myself, and usually someone else, barricaded against demon possession. I was shielding you, but the demon hit me hard, and my control slipped. It possessed you, and then…blew you up.”
“What do you mean, blew me up?”
Jonathan’s jaw twitched. “I mean, you exploded in a cloud of dust in front of my eyes. There was nothing left of you.”
“A demon can’t do that.” It was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. Throw you off a balcony, make you stab your best friend, sure, but turn you into a tolvanera—a dust devil? Impossible.
“He still knows about demons,” Cassie blurted out, and then tilted her head thoughtfully. “But he’s not like me. He always knew about them.”
So she hadn’t always known about demons? Why?
“It seems like he knows about everything,” Jonathan said. “Except his own life.” He looked over at Michael again. “You don’t remember at all?”
Anger flashed through Michael. Just because he’d lost his memories didn’t mean he was an idiot. “This is all some kind of mindfuck.” Could he grab Jon’s gun right now, while he was driving and distracted? “No, I don’t remember. It didn’t happen!”
“I wish.” The vehemence in Jonathan’s voice gave Michael pause. Jonathan had apologized earlier, and he hadn’t understood why.
“How long ago?” he asked, still not truly believing him.
“Seventy-three days.”
“Why would you know exactly how many days?”
“I told you. You’re my brother.”