Yes, by All, she would be theirs.
But only if he could get someone—hell, anyone—to deliver their baby girl on the night of this Armageddon.
With the night-vision goggles fixed over his eyes, he scanned the perimeter of the battlefield but still found no one who could help. He'd hiked more than an hour, beyond the defenses of the day's skirmish and onto the next plateau. Blood, bodies, death. There wasn't a soldier he recognized who might help them, just devastating loss in every direction.
Falling to his knees, he lifted his hands in supplication. "Lord of All, please save my wife … our baby girl. Help them, I beg of you." Bowing his head, he reached with every particle of his being, every molecule of his essence and lifelong faith in the One who governed their destinies.
Help them. Take me, but spare them, please!
A rustling of wind caused him to adjust his night-vision goggles and glance up toward the tree line along the ridge. There, kneeling and bent over a fallen soldier, he glimpsed Rory Devlin, one of their strongest and best healers. How he'd missed the man before, he had no idea, but like a gift from above, Rory glowed bright green with energy through his goggles. Without another breath or thought, Scott took off running, sprinting with all his might toward that one gifted healer gleaming out of the darkness, the answer to his prayer.
Time. Just give me one more breath of it, he begged, stretching his shaking legs as long as they would go.
By the time they reached her, almost another hour had passed. An hour of heartrending, unstoppable moments that Scott Dillon counted off with every endless step. An hour of hiking and dragging their drained bodies over rough terrain, forcing themselves onward. Sighting Rory on the ridge had been a miracle, and for the first time in his quest, he'd allowed himself to truly believe that Hope and Leisa might have a fighting chance for survival.
Arriving back at their shabby encampment, he led the way into their battered tent, but none of his worst imaginings could have prepared him for what he saw: the love of his life, still and motionless. Rory followed quickly on his heels, gasping in shock, but Scott could only stare in mute horror, unable to process the unholy image before him.
"Hope," he whispered, falling to her side. "Sweetheart … love." Only then did he see the swelling bruise along her neck, the purpling outline of fingers around the pale and delicate column of her throat.
Her lovely gray eyes were closed, one hand crumpled across her forehead, the other cupping her full belly in a protective gesture.
"Gods in heaven!" Rory hissed behind him, but Scott could only laugh. Insane—hideous, wrong—but he couldn't seem to stop himself.
Rory grasped his shoulder. "Dillon—"
"Shut the fuck up!" he screamed, pressing his face against Hope's. She'd wake up; hell, of course she would. It was some kind of sick joke. What else could it be?
Nuzzling her, he whispered, "Sweetheart, knock it off. What're you trying to do to me, huh? Stop this right now!"
Rory tugged at his elbow, but Scott shook him off like he would a rabid dog. "Get the hell outta here!"
"Let me lay hands on her," Rory tried lamely, but Scott's tears blinded him senseless.
"Get out!" Scott screamed, and Rory backed out of the tent, leaving him alone with Hope.
Burying his face against hers, he kept murmuring to her, reaching for their bond. Anything just to wake her up.
"So it comes to this," a chilling voice spoke into the quiet.
Scott jerked his head sideways and saw a giant of a human in the far corner of the tent, sneering, the scent of Hope's death all over him.
For a long, distended moment Scott kept his face against Hope's cool one, time playing out, playing him for the ultimate fool. Until he lunged upward, slamming to his feet and to his fighting senses.
Without a thought or any rational process, he lunged toward the human stranger, both hands about the giant's throat as he tackled him to the ground, all awareness dimming. Struggling, he had the much larger man pinned beneath him almost instantaneously.
Scott sucked at the air all about him, gasping. "How could you … fucking … do—"
His opponent cut him off. "You know how!"
The stranger's human stench was unmistakable as he writhed within Scott's grasp, gurgling and laughing up into his face as they grappled, fought. His enemy had the weight and size advantage, but Scott had the advantage of hatred and fury, pinning the bastard beneath him, both hands stifling breath from the man's throat. Just as this enemy had stolen life from Hope's body.
The human actually half smiled up at him, smirking even as his life was being choked away. As if he knew a secret—as if he knew why. Why he'd killed Scott's wife and unborn baby.
And something about that sneer unlocked the berserker within Scott Dillon, caused him to delve deep within his nature as an Antousian shifter, taker of life and being. With one last glance toward Hope, her body lifeless—Leisa lifeless within her, too—Scott waged war upon the human. Probing deep within the stranger, into the marrow of his being, he determined to kill. To take. To murder, as his soul mate had been murdered at this dark man's hand.
Scott Dillon became everything he'd always sworn he would never be—something clicked inside him, something driven and dark. He would leave his own mortal body and take possession of his enemy's, thereby snuffing out the oilier man. He would abandon himself so he could choke out every bit of identity that the killer had ever known. He'd always reviled this about his kind, this ability to harvest another living being's body, forcing that person into oblivion. But blinded by grief and fury, it seemed right somehow. It seemed the only possible ending to the life-and-death battle that he waged against the human who writhed beneath him.
"You'll pay." Scott clenched his hands about the human's throat, eyeing him hard with his gazing ability. Searching him totally with his Antousian gift of stealing everything. A life, a body, an identity. Images invaded Scott's mind, flashes of a dusty road, a military installation, a corporate-looking office, a bar. A slashing staccato of mental photographs that he couldn't string together, not when his rational mind had deserted him so completely.
"Why would you kill them?" Scott demanded, tightening his grasp around the man's throat.
The human slugged at Scott's chest weakly, his eyes shutting, but said nothing.
This killer would pay, totally.
"You are ours," Scott hissed into the darkness of the tent. "You belong to Hope Dillon. Leisa Dillon. And me." He was crazed, unaware of his wife's lifeless body, of anything that smacked of goodness. He didn't give a hell's virgin for his soul, not then. Not for eternity. "You are mine," he swore.
And I am yours, he thought, feeling his own body blend with that of the murderous human's. We are one.
Reader Discussion Questions
How did Hope and Scott’s relationship drive the rest of the story?
Did your feelings toward Jake Tierny change as the story progressed?
What was your favorite scene in the book?
If you could go back and change a single event in your life, what would it be? How would it impact yourself and those around you?
What held you more: the romantic elements and characters, or the plot?
Who was your favorite character and why?
If you suddenly found a love you thought was long lost, how would you react?
What character did you feel the most sympathy for by the conclusion?
How does the book compare to other books in the series (or other books in a similar genre)?
What relationship resonated most with you? Hope and Scott, or Hope and Jake?
About the Author
Deidre Knight is a New York Times bestselling author, literary agent, mom, wife, novelist, and Southern woman, and proud to answer to all of those titles. She began her writing career at age nine, when her award-winning essay on Barbie was published in her hometown newspaper, and since that time has always written in one form or another. Her women's fiction nove
l, Butterfly Tattoo has won numerous awards, and both of her paranormal series are fan favorites, and have won prestigious awards.
You can visit Deidre on the Web at www.deidreknight.com and www.deidreknightbooks.com. Follow her on Twitter at @DeidreKnight.
Copyright Information
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2013 Deidre Knight
Original version released in 2007
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, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
eISBN: 978-193777-6701
Table of Contents
PARALLEL SEDUCTION
Prologue
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
Other books by Deidre Knight
Excerpt from Parallel Desire
Reader Discussion Questions
About the Author
Copyright Information
Parallel Seduction Page 33