THE EQUINOX STONE (Knights of Manus Sancti Book 2)

by Bryn Donovan

Jonathan winced. “I was sure it was only sprained.”

  “It’s hard to tell without an X-ray,” Dr. Morales said.

  Jonathan indicated an empty chair close to Cassie. “Sit down.” He took her crutches and helped her ease into it.

  The heat that burned between them often roused desire in Val’s own mind and body, though not directed toward either of them or anyone in particular. It might’ve embarrassed them had they known. The same thing happened when she was in close proximity to any two people with a strong sexual bond. She was happy for Jonathan and Cassie, but as a single person and a virgin, it inconvenienced her all the same.

  Right now, only a thread of sexuality glimmered between them, outshone by shared wonder—Michael’s return—and a purer devotion to each other of surprising intensity. Doing their first mission together must have had that effect.

  Need pulsed in Val all the same. What is wrong with me?

  Cassie looked over at Michael. “Is he—”

  “Still clueless, yeah,” Michael supplied, pressing the cotton ball Dr. Morales had set against his arm.

  His deep voice sent a fresh current of warmth through Val. She couldn’t deny it. His flirtation, born of confusion and nothing more, had incited a ridiculous response in her.

  Many times, she’d wondered if he would’ve been attracted to her had he not known her from childhood. She’d imagined what it would feel like to be the reason for his desire. Now she knew, and she loved it.

  But he didn’t know who he was, so it didn’t count.

  And he’d been through something she couldn’t even imagine. Nothing else mattered until they made sure he was all right. Certainly not her own desire. No one would know about that. Thank Goddess she was the only empath in the room…

  Wait. Morty Silva. The empath and ex-priest who’d consulted on the demon.

  “Is Morty still here?” she asked Capitán. “He might know something about this.”

  Capitán glanced over at her and nodded. He pulled out his phone and hit a button. In a moment, he said into it, “Despierta al sacerdote. Tráelo aquí.”

  Val guessed he’d called Mercedes Navarro, a Knight who’d just finished her twenty years of pledged service. She seemed to be functioning more and more as his personal assistant. Val approved. He deserved the help. But she doubted Morty would appreciate her rousting him out of bed at this hour and bringing him to the medical wing, as Capitán had ordered, unless she told him the reason why.

  Capitán asked, “West, did you pull up any of his memories?”

  Jonathan gave a shake of his head. “I just made sure it was him.”

  “Vega, go in and show him some of his past,” Capitán ordered her. “It could help.”

  She nodded. If she went into his psyche and showed him a few episodes of his life, perhaps his whole memory would come back to him. She would draw out ordinary or positive times. They wouldn’t look at the night a demon demolished him on the mesa.

  He would recall it, nonetheless, if she succeeded. And would he remember lying as countless particles of dust?

  “What if the amnesia is a defense? If he remembers the time when he was…” It was too awful to say aloud. Could a person survive with the recollection of being that destroyed, that abandoned? No wonder Nic had been so worried. “Maybe it’s better for him not to remember.”

  “He’s of no use to us like this.”

  Angry heat rushed to her face. No use? Michael was important whether he was of any “use” or not. And Michael’s father was one of Capitán’s closest friends, along with Val’s own parents.

  Michael himself took no offense at Capitán’s words. “I need to remember.”

  If she could help him, she would. And Michael’s psyche might be damaged or altered… She wanted to take a look. But when she turned to face him again, his psychic resistance rose, and his whole body tensed. Against her. It came as a shock. She’d Read him dozens of times. They’d known each other forever.

  But he didn’t remember anyone going into his psyche before earlier that same evening, when Jonathan had. Even under the best circumstances, being Read for the first time was an unnerving experience, and Jonathan must’ve suspected he’d been dealing with a demon or a revenant. He would’ve punched into Michael like a fist. It pinched her heart to think of it.

  “You won’t feel anything when I do it,” she told Michael, pitching her voice even sweeter and softer than normal. Her mother had taught her how to use that voice to assuage others’ negative emotions.

  Michael’s amiable lust rippled through her again. He smiled. Goddess, his smile was hard to resist. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Valentina Vega.”

  “Valentina Vega.” He seemed to savor each syllable. Her stomach fluttered. His beautiful blue eyes, fringed with long lashes, looked her up and down. “It fits you.”

  Jonathan’s discomfort pricked her. For him, it must’ve been like witnessing his brother flirt with their sister.

  She said, “Everyone calls me Val.”

  “You made the tea.”

  It had been the best blend she could think of for a winter battle against a demon. Ginger, to stave off cold and nausea; limeflower, which her mother had always given her as a remedy for nightmares; golden root, to decrease fatigue; and all her hope for Jonathan and Cassie’s safety. She couldn’t do much when they faced a powerful enemy, but she did small things when she could.

  “It was good,” he said. “You don’t like being called Valentina?”

  “I do like it.” Growing up, she’d hated it when people shortened it. “But Val is easier.”

  A lazy, seductive grin spread across his face. “You’re worth the trouble.” He needed to stop this, especially in front of everyone else. He didn’t even seem to care what they thought. But why would he? He didn’t know them. “I like your hair.”

  “Thank you.” Her dark-brown curly hair swept her shoulders, but she always dyed one streak in the front. Currently, it was bright pink. “Let’s get started.”

  “Be gentle. It’s only my second time.” Flirting like that was so like him. That had to mean his memories were in there somewhere. His large, warm hand enveloped hers. She startled, her heart speeding up. “You need to touch me, right?”

  Jonathan needed physical contact to Read people, so Michael had assumed she did, too. She withdrew her hand. “No, I’m stronger than him.”

  Michael raised his eyebrows at this. Maybe she looked weak. She was short and plump. Jonathan was a trained warrior in peak condition, but that had no bearing on psychic talents like Reading, and hers far outstripped his or anyone else’s. She could even compress the time it took to do a Reading, making a session in someone’s psyche take only a few moments on the outside.

  She closed her eyes, reached the barriers of Michael’s self, and floated through them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Michael found himself standing with the pretty empath, Valentina Vega, on the city street he’d been on once before already, under a night sky the color of purple plums. It shocked him less this time. He studied his surroundings more closely.

  Some of the buildings boasted wrought-iron balconies and ornate facades. Others looked new—sleek rectangles of steel and glass—and some were all curves and pastels. The neon signs in different languages advertised music, drinks, food, and less legal pleasures, along with fortune telling and karate.

  Valentina stood so close to him that her soft, full breasts, scarcely covered by the robe and the skimpy gown she wore beneath, almost touched his chest. She didn’t step away.

  “That was painless,” he said. When Jonathan had somehow split his head open and transported him here, it had been excruciating. If anyone else had suggested doing that to him again, he would’ve told the person to go to hell. It was bad enough having his blood drawn while people barraged him with questions and stared at him as though he were an alien.

  But maybe they could help him remember who he was. And he’d trusted Valenti
na immediately. It might’ve been her kind voice, or the caring in her big brown eyes.

  When she’d first run over and hugged him, all soft and sweet and smelling a little of flowery soap or perfume, he’d been sure she was his girlfriend, but no such luck.

  “This has changed,” she said, gesturing to the street scene that surrounded them now. “But do you remember it at all?”

  He shook his head. He hated feeling like such a dumbass, especially when he was alone with someone he couldn’t help but want to impress.

  “This used to be a crowded street. There were performers. A juggler, a violin player. Groups of friends walking around laughing—they’d all have their arms around each other. Like they were drunk on vacation. And couples kissing under the streetlights.” She looked away as she relayed the last part.

  This street stretched empty, the signs shining for no one and buzzing in the silence. “I still don’t get what this place is.” Nothing looked normal—not here, and not their military compound under a desert floor. But what did normal even look like? All he could think was that none of this could possibly be his life.

  “Do you remember what a Mage is? How some of them can go into other people’s psyches?”

  “Yeah.” Oh. “This is me.”

  “Jonathan didn’t tell you?”

  He shook his head. Everything had moved so fast. “He was about to shoot me, but the other two yelled at him not to, and he slammed into me.” She winced. “Have you done this before? Been in me, I mean.”

  “It’s part of my job.” What the hell kind of job was that? “How much did Jonathan tell you about who you are?”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled audibly. “He said we’re brothers. And Knights, but I don’t know what that means.”

  “You’re in Manus Sancti, a secret organization.”

  “The tattoo,” he said, half to himself. “And we fight demons?”

  She nodded. “And malevolent ghosts, brujas—all kinds of supernatural evil things.”

  Well, that all sounded horrible. “Why did I take this job? Do you know?”

  She pursed her lips, considering the question. “You were born to it.”

  So he hadn’t had a choice? “Where was I born?”

  “Saint Augustine, Florida. You partly grew up there,” she said in Spanish. Then she switched to Arabic. “When you were a teenager, your family moved to Cairo, around the same time as mine.”

  He nodded slowly, although none of it stirred any recollections. Had she been a teenager then too? She looked young. Also in Arabic, he asked, “Do I know any other languages?”

  “A little Tagalog,” she said, switching to English. “Even if you didn’t remember how to speak the other languages, you’d still understand me now, because we’re in here. But you do know how to speak them.”

  “I must not have spoken much Spanish in Cairo.”

  “You did some. All of us speak Spanish and English. And then you went to college at University of Miami, so you got even more practice. You competed in the UFC—mixed martial arts—for a little while after that. Lots of people think that’s good training. Of course, that was all under an alias.”

  “Of course.” His voice was dry.

  “You’ve been here at El Dédalo—the headquarters—for about five years. Except they outposted you to Manila for a little while.”

  “Where’s the headquarters?” She blinked, confused at his question. “And where was I when they found me?”

  “Oh. New Mexico.”’

  “New Mexico,” he repeated under his breath. Maybe all of this was a bizarre science experiment, playing out while he laid strapped to a bed and hallucinating.

  “Let’s try accessing your memories.” She lifted her hand slightly to flutter her fingers, and he felt something leave him. “What happened when you first got to El Dédalo?”

  A black screen appeared large in the sky, like the world’s biggest television set. No, it wasn’t completely black. He was at that security checkpoint with Jonathan, Nic, and Cassie, right after they’d come into the building. Jonathan had carried Cassie inside in his arms and had settled her in a chair, kneeling to ease off one of her boots. Nic had stripped off his clothes and walked through a scanner.

  The guard said to Michael, “You’re next. Take off the blanket and go through.”

  Michael felt pathetic enough, clothed only in a blanket, and at this, he drew it closer around him. “Fuck you.”

  The guard drew his gun and stepped toward him.

  Jonathan rose to his feet. “No one touches him.” The unmistakable low grate of command in his voice surprised the guard and Michael both. Nic, still shirtless and barefoot, strode back through the scanner toward them, zipping up his jeans. Michael didn’t know if he was about to side with one or another of them, or smooth things over.

  Michael didn’t want to be the cause of anyone getting hurt. “Fine, I’ll do it,” he muttered, dropping the blanket.

  The memory disappeared abruptly. Val lowered her hand. She’d somehow dismissed it with a gesture. “You usually don’t mind being naked,” she said.

  Oh, really? “You know me really well,” he ventured.

  “We grew up together.”

  “How old are you?”

  She blinked. “Twenty-two. You’re twenty-seven,” she added, anticipating his next question.

  “So we’re not that far apart in age.” He was deeply glad to realize it.

  “It used to seem like a big gap,” she said. “Now, let’s see…what should I show you?” Obviously, the question was rhetorical, as she scrunched up her face in thought. “Do you remember the dog who got his paw caught in the gate?” She fluttered her fingers again.

  Something quavered on the edge of his vision. He looked up in that direction. But no, everything was still: a rooftop terrace, strung with party lights.

  She frowned. “I thought maybe I could help you remember things this way, but I can’t pull it up.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “It’s not important.”

  “I don’t have any memories,” he said. “Give me one.”

  Once again, her eyes filled with sympathy for him. “It was when we were kids in Saint Augustine. Your neighbors weren’t home, and their dog got his paw stuck in the gate…he was wailing. I was little, and I started crying. But you stayed calm, and you figured out how to lift the gate up on its hinges to get his paw free.”

  The story was flattering to him. Maybe that was why she’d chosen it.

  “Let’s try this one,” she said. “You and Jonathan were in Kansas, and you drove past a sunflower farm.”

  “Were you there too?”

  She shook her head. “I saw it in your memories when I debriefed you after the mission. The job itself was pretty gruesome, but…” She fluttered her fingers once more, looking up at the empty sky, and then sighed. “A mile of sunflowers, about six feet high, all in bloom. You really don’t remember?”

  How he wished he did. He shook his head.

  “I’ll help you,” she promised. “We’ll fix this.” Her voice was high and sweet again, triggering the strange, pleasurable tingling feeling. He imagined making her moan and cry out in that soft voice of hers. Stripping that robe and silk slip from her body and caressing and kissing her body.

  Her cheeks darkened in a blush. Empath. She could tell when he had thoughts like this, though he didn’t think he could help it.

  “I love your voice,” he said. “It gives me…tingles in my head. And going down here.” He touched his chest.

  Her mouth curved upward. “Some people get that reaction from certain kinds of voices. I didn’t know for sure that you did.”

  He couldn’t resist. “You know about the other kind of reaction, though.”

  She pressed her lips together in an apparent attempt to remain professional. “I can always sense arousal, yes.”

  The heat inside him burned brighter upon being acknowledged. “Can you tell when it’s for you
?”

  He heard and saw her breath hitch. “Yes, if you’re close enough to me. It’s like…being able to see who you’re making eye contact with. If that makes sense.”

  He took a step closer to her, their bodies almost touching. “Are you and I just friends?” He would’ve almost sworn the feeling was mutual. “Did we ever—”

  “No.”

  “You turned me down?”

  “No.” Now she was blushing even harder. “You never asked.”

  “Why not?” He was mystified. “Are you seeing someone else? Am I?”

  “No. And you’ve never been in a real relationship,” she told him. “You’ve had one-night stands and…more casual things, I guess. Mostly women, some men.”

  A dark suspicion clouded his mind. “But I don’t use people?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Well. When you were a teenager, you kind of did. You broke some people’s hearts, and Jonathan was always furious with you…” He must have had a look of dismay on his face, because she added, “But you learned better! You don’t lead anybody on. You find people who want to have fun, like you do.” She shrugged. “You’re hardly the only one. Some Knights don’t want to settle down, because it’s so dangerous.”

  He didn’t even know his own character. It made him feel like less than a human. And how could he trust himself? “Am I…” He hesitated. “Am I a good man?”

  Her mouth fell open. “Yes. Michael, people love you.” Her eyes shone with sincerity. “You put yourself in danger to help people. You’ve saved dozens of lives. And you joke around a lot, but it’s never in a mean way. Any time I’m feeling down, just being around you makes me feel like everything will be all right.”

  Her words reassured him, but his heart ached. He wanted his half of the memories she shared with him.

  She looked down at her bare feet. “We were all devastated when you were gone.”

  Something eclipsed his awareness. Cold. A nameless, starless void…

  A deafening roar went straight through his body. The pavement beneath their feet bucked, throwing them both to their knees. Valentina gasped.

  Then he shouted in pain. His skull was cracking apart. He grabbed the sides of his head and was surprised to find it still intact. The agony far surpassed what he’d felt when Jonathan had broken into his head. He thought he might vomit. Was she doing this? “What’s happening?”