by Stacia Kane
Then it was over. And she would never know if it ended because she wanted it to, or if it ended because Greyson punched Maldon squarely on the nose and sent him sprawling across the carpet.
The sliding glass doors behind the dining table exploded. Megan started to turn toward them but she was already falling, being shoved down to the carpet a few inches from Maldon’s feet. Demons ran everywhere, down the hall to her right, escaping from what, Megan didn’t understand.
Maldon stirred. Blood poured from his nose down his face as he tried to sit up, but Greyson was already grabbing his lapels and using them to lift his upper body.
“You set us up!”
Maldon swung his fist. Greyson’s head snapped to the side but he held on, managing to hit Maldon again in the process.
Porcelain shards filled the air as a vase shattered only a few inches from the men’s heads. Greyson dropped Maldon and ducked. Megan ducked too, covering her head and screaming as a wall of flame rose behind her.
“Megan! Go!”
Glass and china tore her stockings and cut the skin on her knees and palms as she scuttled away. The front door filled her vision, the front door and the promise of freedom from the hell this modern suburban home had become. Over the subtle roar of the fire and Greyson’s shouts she heard more gunshots.
No time to waste wondering who was doing the shooting. She had to get out, now, immediately, before the heat overcame her. Sweat poured down her forehead to sting her eyes, but she dared not stop even to wipe it away.
It felt like an eternity before she made it. Her hand slipped on the knob once, twice, three times before she realized the door was locked. She fumbled with the dead bolt, aware that as she stood in front of the ivory-painted door in her black dress she might as well have had a target painted on her back.
Other fingers covered hers, strong and sure, flipping the bolt. Greyson yanked the door open. Cold air rushed in, cooling the sweat on her skin. It felt wonderful, but not as good as knowing she could get out. She lifted her foot to take the first step toward freedom, then stopped short when the cold barrel of a gun pressed right between her eyes.
Chapter 15
Time froze while a thumb cocked the gun. It took forever for that movement to complete itself, while Megan’s mouth opened to scream. Instinctively she fell back to her knees, knowing it wouldn’t help her, it would only delay the inevitable by a few seconds.
She lowered her shields and let her power surge again, fueled by fear and rage and the desperate need to save herself. Simultaneously flames exploded around the gunman. Megan’s energy weapon hit the fire, turning it into a conflagration so bright it seared her retinas.
She rolled away, catching glimpses of the gunman as he fell backward, dropping the glowing, melting hunk of metal that had been the gun. The living room windows shattered. Jesus, how many people were shooting at them?
Greyson landed on top of her with a thud. His heart was beating so hard she could feel it through their clothes. “Are you okay?”
Megan didn’t realize she was crying until she tried to talk and nothing came out. She could hardly breathe, much less speak, but she managed a tiny nod.
The room fell silent.
“They’re waiting for us,” he whispered. She nodded again.
Sirens sounded in the distance, growing louder. For a second relief flooded her body, until she realized that if the police and fire trucks were coming, the gunmen needed to finish their work. Now.
Her thoughts were either right in unison with Greyson’s and their assailants, or only a split second behind. His fingers curled around her arm and ripped her up from the floor. A barrage of bullets sent chunks flying from the walls and blasted the picture frames on them, glass raining down on their heads like diamonds as they ran for the hall.
Light spilled faintly from beneath the doors. Megan had the sickening feeling they were heading for a dead end as the sirens grew louder and the gunshots started to slow, but Greyson seemed to know what he was doing. He dragged her through a doorway—past a very surprised demon brushing his teeth—and smashed through the small window at the other end of the bathroom, twisting his body so his back took the brunt and dragging Megan after him.
Together they fell onto the icy ground outside.
All she wanted to do was lie there and let the blessed cold seep into her body, but Greyson yanked her from the ground before she even had a chance to take a breath.
“Come on, we have to get out of here before the—”
Another gunshot, and another, but slower this time, as though only one gunman was left. Megan thought she was going to pee herself. The quiet suburban street had become a vast wasteland, with nowhere to hide. Greyson’s car was out front and she knew as well as the gunmen did that they had to get back in that car if they were going to escape.
Like mice they scuttled across the lawn. Megan’s legs burned and ached. Trying to keep her balance on the frozen ground in her high heels was not easy. Like most petite women she could handle heels just fine, but this wasn’t simply trotting across a rainy street. This was balls-out running, while the sweat soaking her previously overheated body started to cool and all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and hide.
Flashing lights reflected off the front of the houses down the street as the fire engine started to make its turn. Greyson yanked open the passenger door of the car and practically threw her into it, then jumped in himself, shoving her into the driver’s seat. He pushed the button on the console to start the engine.
“Go! Go!”
She’d never driven his car before. The seat was way too far back, but there wasn’t time to adjust it so she perched on the very edge. He shoved the car into gear for her and she slammed her foot on the gas, glad she knew how to drive a stick.
Only her grip on the wheel kept her from falling backward as the car practically leaped away from the curb. The fire engine bore down on them, but Megan refused to look at it, staring instead at the road in front of her as they raced away from the gunmen, the demons, and the fire.
“Fuck! Fuck! That miserable little—damn it!” Greyson glanced back over his shoulder. “You weren’t hit? You’re okay?”
She managed a nod, shifted into third.
“Where was that bar?”
“What?”
“The bar, the one you went to last night. We need to go there, immediately.”
He was in shock, that’s what it was. This was the final straw, he’d finally cracked. “We can send the boys out for something when we get back to the room, let’s just—”
“We need an alibi, Meg. I don’t doubt for a second Maldon’s going to try and pin this on us. We have to go—”
“But Tera and Brian—”
“Tera and Brian aren’t from here. Get us to that bar. No, don’t slow down!”
“How is that an alibi?” But she was already making the necessary turns, heading for Kelly’s Tap. At least it was a plan, and even in her frazzled state she knew he was right about Tera and Brian. Those two could claim they’d been holding a prayer revival at Bev’s Holiday Hideaway, complete with choir, and the local police wouldn’t give a fuck because they were her friends.
“I’ll hypnotize them and you’ll help me.”
“How can—we don’t really look like we’ve been hanging around in a bar all night.” Even in the dim light from the dash she could see his left eye starting to swell from Maldon’s earlier blow.
“I’ll get in a fight.”
“But—”
“I’ll be with you, won’t I? I’m sure someone will have something to say. They certainly did last night.”
The parking lot of Kelly’s Tap was about half full when they arrived. Megan recognized a few of the cars from the night before. Great. Bed had never sounded more appealing. Especially now that it started to dawn on her what exactly Greyson meant to do.
“Okay.” He took her hand and led her toward the door, then stopped just outside. “Remember how you r
eached for me at the house? With your power, not anything else?”
She nodded.
“Lower your shields and do it again.”
“I don’t understand—”
“I’m not sure I do either, but it works in the other direction, so we’ll give it a go.”
Heads inside the bar were starting to turn. Greyson’s hand tensed on the door handle. “Just try it, bryaela.”
Megan closed her eyes and focused. She’d done it before, she’d felt those things like tentacles inside her body sweep through her veins and break through her skin…but nothing happened. She was too cold, she was too scared, she couldn’t relax.
He let go of her hand and touched her cheek, tilting her face up. “We’ll try it this way then,” he murmured, and her eyes fluttered shut again as he kissed her.
Smoothly, calmly, as if they weren’t standing outside a crowded bar full of people who hated her while the cops could arrive any moment. After a second or two all of that disappeared, as she leaned into him, clutching him around the waist with both arms while his fingers tightened against her cheek.
She relaxed, no longer cold, no longer worried, and let him coax her mouth open so his tongue could slip inside.
The familiar rush of his power and heat flooded through her body, turning her sigh into a moan. Alibi, schmalibi. They should go back to the hotel. They should go back right now…
Usually he stopped here, holding back to let the pressure build until they both couldn’t take any more. Not now. He kept pushing, pressing that glowing energy into her head, into her body.
She started shaking, not able to control it. His hand on the back of her neck forced her not to pull back even when she thought her head might explode in a shower of sparks.
“Give it back,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Come on, give it back…”
Somewhere in the back of her mind enough sanity lurked to remember what he was talking about, to remember the time he’d put his power behind her abilities and read a roomful of people in seconds.
“Please, Meg, I can’t—”
Her abilities…she lowered her shield and started to read, but instead of focusing on the people around her she focused on Greyson, and Greyson alone. With all her strength she shoved at him with her mind, pushing into him, and somehow those tentacles sprang again from her head and reached, invisible and intangible but real nonetheless.
For a split second she thought it hadn’t worked. For another second she actually caught a glimpse of something, a fuzzy image of an imposing white house set back among flowering trees. Then a flurry of thoughts and pictures, of ugly feelings and happy ones, all smoothed over as Greyson hypnotized the entire bar.
He’d managed to open the door somehow before he pulled away from her. Megan turned, her vision still blurry from passion and the jolting unpleasantness of feeling the crowd’s emotions in her head, and saw them all standing calmly, staring at Greyson.
He blinked, and his mouth fell open slightly. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so surprised. “We’ve been here since seven. Go back to your seats.”
The little crowd nodded and started to turn away. Greyson moved his hand, a gesture almost like pulling a rope back into himself. Megan hadn’t realized the air around them was heavy and silent with power until it ceased, as quickly and definitely as a snuffed-out candle.
He took her hand and strode over to the bar. Tension crackled from his body. “Whiskey.”
The bartender’s heavy features twisted into a scowl. “Haven’t you had enough?”
“No.” Greyson pulled out his money clip, peeled off a hundred-dollar bill, and tossed it on the bar. “Give me the bottle and two shot glasses.”
Silence pressed in on them as the bartender obeyed, silence broken by increasing mumblings from the patrons. Greyson poured out two shots, handed her one, dumped the other down the front of his shirt, and proceeded to drink half the bottle in one long gulp.
“Crazy fucker,” someone muttered.
“What d’you expect? He comes in here with her, after we tole her—”
Greyson grinned, a singularly unpleasant smile that sent shivers down Megan’s spine. He gripped the whiskey bottle by the neck, crossed the room to the mutterer, and smashed it over his head.
Brian picked him up from the police station first thing in the morning. None of them thought it was a good idea for her to go, having barely escaped being arrested herself. She still wasn’t sure why he’d allowed himself to be—he’d never even had so much as a speeding ticket and, given the way he drove, it was impossible to believe he’d never been pulled over.
And if she were honest…he’d scared her a little bit. Or rather, she’d scared her a little bit. Watching the insane glee with which he took on the entire bar, feeling the energy in the air as he fought, smelling the blood and the sweat and the pure ozone-driven violence—it went to her head more than the whiskey. It turned her on, much as she hated to admit it, whether it was because of some demon desire or because there was a heretofore undiscovered violent streak beneath her skin. It had almost been a relief when the police arrived, and now she didn’t know what to say to him as he stepped out of the shower.
She should tell him. She should tell him everything. He had to know something was going on. There’d been too many glances, too many suspicious looks. Too many coincidences, and after Maldon’s house and the kiss outside the bar…There was no way he couldn’t have picked up on the fact that something was going wrong with her power, something was changing inside her.
“Anything in the paper?” He wrapped his towel around his waist and kissed her forehead as he walked past.
“Just that there was a fire. Maldon survived with minor injuries.”
“More’s the pity. It would have been a lot easier for him if he’d died.”
“How’s that?”
“You know what he did, don’t you?”
She nodded. “He tried to kill me. And he set us—you—up. The gunmen…he hired them, right?”
“I don’t think so. But you’re right, he did try to kill you and he did set us up.” He finished buttoning his shirt and started fastening his cuffs. “Which means before we leave for the cabin we need to meet with his Gretneg.”
“Right.” Maldon would be punished, severely. She didn’t even want to think about that, especially since she couldn’t help feeling he deserved it. He had tried to kill them both.
It was the way things were done in the Meegras, a way she’d been fighting when it came to her own demons. Now she wondered if she was wrong. It was a lot easier to have principles when your life wasn’t in danger if you held to them.
“So why did you let them arrest you?”
“Because I wanted to make sure everyone knew where I was, just in case.”
“In case what?”
He opened his mouth, but the pounding on the door interrupted whatever he was about to say. “It’s Tera, open up!”
“Oh good, she has her voice back,” he said, undoing the bolt on the door.
Tera fixed him with a sour look, but her hands twisted together in front of her waist as if she were playing with invisible beads. Her bruises had disappeared almost as cleanly as Greyson’s. Only a few faint shadows remained around her throat. “I have some bad news, Grey. Or, well, maybe it’s good news for you. I guess it is.”
“Tera?” Megan stood up, reaching for her friend. “What’s wrong?”
“Templeton Black is dead.”
Greyson didn’t move. “Dead?”
Tera nodded.
“How?”
“Um…they’re not sure. He left a note like a suicide, but there weren’t any marks on him to say how he did it. They won’t know anything for sure until they do the hynelin. It’s like an autopsy,” she added, glancing at Megan.
“No autopsy.” Greyson slid his tie around his neck. Megan glanced at him, but he was watching his own reflection in the mirror as he fashioned a knot.
“Wha
t? That’s not—”
“You can’t autopsy him, Tera. Can’t remove anything from him, can’t disturb the body. It’s against our rules.”
“He’s—he was—in our custody, and we think a crime has been committed.”
“Doesn’t matter what you think. Vergadering has the authority to jail him and to investigate, but not to do anything against our Trianad. Defacing the body in any form is against Trianad.”
“But that means if he drank poison or was murdered, we have no way to find out.”
“If he drank poison or was murdered,” Greyson said, putting on his jacket, “then you witches better get to work figuring out how you let it happen.”
Megan hadn’t expected this many people to be at the reading. Her mother and brother, of course—and Dave was with an attractive dark-haired woman Megan assumed was his wife—but the small crowd that greeted her and Greyson when they entered the outer room of the office made her shoulders hunch.
It wasn’t just the number of faces—not that many, really, once she got over her shock enough to notice it—but the sheer disapproval on each and every one of them. She half-expected them to pick up torches and come running after her.
“Megan.”
Megan jumped. Her mother stood right next to her, as if she’d materialized there. Greyson’s fingers tightened around hers.
“Hi, Mother. Am I late?”
“No.” Diane’s gaze took in every detail of Megan’s plain black dress and low pumps, then shifted to Greyson, her expression changing from extreme disapproval to slightly less disapproval as she examined the hand-tailored Savile Row suit, the Italian shoes, the subtle tie.
Greyson just stood impassively under the scrutiny, watching Diane with those dark eyes of his as if she were a piece of dust on the floor. Something for a servant to deal with.