by Kristie Cook
I didn't have vampire skin, but close enough, and, just as they can cut through their own skin, vampire fangs could cut through mine. Vanessa's left a deep gash that didn't heal instantly, and they couldn't have been more precise on the vein. Blood spurted to the rhythm of my speeding heart.
And I was suddenly surrounded by ravenous vampires. Including ours.
If there was any blood even Amadis vamps with the highest control couldn't resist, it would be mine. Owen had called it an energy drink for vamps–and that was before the completion of the Ang'dora. Now it was more powerful, and the vamps could smell it. They closed in on me.
Tristan growled deafeningly, and the vampires flinched. At once, he held one hand out and hit the Daemoni vampires with his power, and with his other hand, grasped my wrist, lifted my arm to him and ran his tongue along the gash. I could feel it starting to heal before, but his saliva sealed it instantly, stopping the blood flow.
"Well, isn't that sweet," Vanessa sang right before Tristan swung his hand toward her. She disappeared with a pop.
Her retreat signaled the rest of the Daemoni. The vampires, disabled by Tristan, disappeared first. He hit the Weres the best he could without hitting our own as they fought, and the evil Weres ran away. We both aimed at the mages who shot spells everywhere, some hitting buildings, some hitting our people. We blasted them together, cutting off their spells, and they finally flashed, too.
The air hung still and silent long enough for me to take in the destruction–burning buildings and Jeeps sending smoke plumes skyward, injured Amadis moaning with pain and crumpled bodies lying motionless on the ground. But not long enough for someone to finish yelling "Shield!"
Popping sounds filled the air as a new round of Daemoni appeared. After all these years, I still recognized the leprechaun face of Ian, the former Amadis who'd told me about the arranged marriage between Tristan and me, and the narrator of the beheading video. He quickly threw his hands in the air, as if in surrender, as he'd done with Tristan so many years ago.
"Just deliverin' a message," he said with his Irish accent. "You two stay 'ere, we keep attackin'."
"You have no right," Tristan yelled. "These are innocents!"
Ian laughed his sick ogre's laugh, his red hair shaking and his pale blue eyes crinkling. "But you ain't! And … so's ya know … the boy is ours."
My breath caught. Dorian! The realization that he and Owen were supposed to be here slammed into me like a Mack truck. The thought of them in a burning building or among the bodies drained all of my sensibility.
"Dorian," I yelled, turning around in circles, the obliterated village spinning in blurs. "Owen! Dorian!"
A female vampire knelt in front of me and took my hand. "They're not here, Miz Alexis."
I turned to Tristan, jerking my arm away as the vamp sniffed at the drying blood. The gold in his eyes was dim, the green dark, his expression unfathomable.
"They have him?" I shrieked with near hysteria.
Ian laughed. And I couldn't help it. Every time I saw the disgusting ogre, he was laughing at my heartbreak. I didn't electrocute him, though. Ian hated the Amadis in a different way than other Daemoni–he held a vendetta for his own heartbreak by my mother, who rejected his advances. So I pushed all my Amadis power through my hand and directed it right at his chest. Love, hope and faith … everything good wrapped into a thick rope of energy that I jammed into his heart. He fell to the ground, writhing.
Maniacal laughter–laughter at his misery–bubbled in my chest, but I managed to suppress it. I'd torture Ian until he begged for mercy and would only let up long enough to take what I needed from his mind. And then I might kill the bastard.
The other Daemoni advanced two steps toward me as I continued with the force on Ian. I held my left hand up.
"Don't. Make. Me. Fry. You."
A warlock held his own hands up, threatening me with his magic. "Leave then."
"We leave after you do," Tristan said. "We're not abandoning these innocents."
"We're watching," the warlock warned. "You don't leave, we attack. Again. And again. And again … until you do."
Tristan cocked his head and I heard what he heard–with my ears and my mind–and my breath let out with relief. I let Ian go.
"Not a problem," Tristan said.
An old, rusty truck appeared down the road, heading straight for us and swerving for the Daemoni. They popped out of sight.
"Need a lift?" Owen yelled from the driver's side.
"Get in, princess," Jax called from the passenger's seat as the truck slowed down enough for Tristan and me to jump into the back. But I didn't move until I saw the little blond head wedged between Owen and Jax. He's safe. I sprang into the truck's bed.
"Take cover," Tristan yelled at the Amadis and the burning village instantly disappeared. "The truck, too, Owen!"
Owen thrust his hands up to shield and cloak the truck and then yanked the wheel in a hard left turn, throwing Tristan and me against the side of the bed. Several figures popped into existence in the direction we had been heading, but not able to see us, they gave up and disappeared again. Then the truck back-fired, slowed and stopped.
"Is something wrong?" My voice cracked on the last word as panic tried to grip me.
"Nah. This is where I get out, princess," Jax said. "I only came to show warlock here how to find Kuckaroo. He would have never made it in time, the direction he was going."
"How did you know?"
"My bird friend brought me a message about the Daemoni. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what they're looking for." He peered back the way we'd come, as if he could still see the hidden town. "I guess those are the closest I got to mates. I can't abandon them. Better see what I can do."
He took off down the road, no time for any of us to say long goodbyes.
"Thank you for everything," I called out.
"Any time, princess."
Owen jammed the truck into gear, and it lurched, then rumbled on. I jumped to the front of the bed and pulled Dorian through the open window to the cab, welding him against me, never wanting to let him go. I kissed all over the top of his head, every part that wasn't buried against me.
"Mom … can't … breathe," Dorian gasped against my chest.
I laughed, an unfamiliar sound mixed with joy and grief–joy to have my baby in my arms, grief for what we left behind.
"You have a plan, Scarecrow?" Tristan called over the truck's ear-splitting engine.
"You're the plan man," Owen yelled back.
"Can you still fly?"
Owen laughed. "Oh, yeah! Those were the only classes I didn't mind sitting through."
"There's a private air strip about a-hundred-and-fifty kilometers due west."
"Gotch'ya! It'll take a while with old Bertha here," Owen said, slapping the ancient truck's dashboard, "but we should get there before dark."
We rumbled along through the bush on no apparent road. The benefit of Owen's shield, besides the fact that it made us literally disappear in the Outback and lose the Daemoni, was that it magically protected us from the dust. Not that I could be any nastier with dirt stuck to the dried sweat and blood from the morning.
Tristan leaned against the front of the truck's bed, wrapped his arms around us and pulled us between his legs, Dorian still in my lap.
"I love you, ma lykita," Tristan murmured against my ear. "I'm sorry about earlier."
"Me, too. I have no idea what overcame me."
"Could have been Vanessa's mages messing with us before we saw them."
"Ah." I closed my eyes. Bitch. "You know I love you more than anything, right?"
"Of course."
"More than me?" Dorian asked.
I thought for a moment. How do I explain the difference to a seven-year-old? "Hmm … more than anything but Dorian. And Dorian, I love you more than anything but Dad. Okay?"
Dorian considered this for a moment. "Awesome. I'm the same as Dad."
I leaned my head agai
nst Tristan's chest and closed my eyes, tears silently seeping through my eyelashes. Another village attacked, more people dead. Because of us. And we couldn't even stay to help them. The best thing we could do for them was leave. And never return.
We were on our own.
Chapter 13
Tristan wiped my tears away and whispered in my ear, "At least we're together."
I nodded against his chest.
Those were the last words spoken for nearly two hours as Bertha bumped through the wilderness, her rusty moans and creaks filling the silence. Dorian fell asleep in my lap, my body cushioning him on all but the worst of the bounces while Tristan's body cushioned mine. After grieving for the Amadis we left behind, my thoughts switched to our escape, and I hoped Tristan was concentrating on the best solution to get us off this God-forsaken continent. My experiences so far marred my perception of Australia–wild, dirty and frightening.
Owen must have grown bored after two hours of driving through the barren terrain–he broke into song. He had an unbelievable voice I never knew about, imitating the singers perfectly, from Elvis to Chester Bennington, and even the instrumental parts. It was the closest we had to a radio, so we didn't mind. As he finished Shadow of the Day, the sun already low in the western sky, he slowed Bertha, eventually bringing her to a stop.
"Is this it?" Owen asked.
I opened my eyes and almost whooped out loud when I saw the homestead. Bertha sat in front of an old farmhouse, facing a faded red barn. My mind was already inside, drinking a cold glass of water and then standing under a hot shower. But as I looked around more closely, my heart sank to my lap. Siding hung off the dilapidated barn, and the roof was caved in. The fields and stock pens were overgrown and unkempt. Paint peeled off the walls of the house, and grime tinted the windows a yellowish-brown color. A tiny, old airplane sat at the end of what once may have been a dirt runway, but now was littered with overgrown weeds and potholes nearly the size of Bertha. This can't be it.
"Yep, this is it," Tristan said, pushing me forward so he could stand up.
Owen turned in the driver's seat, and his face looked how I felt. "Dude … seriously? I think the owners abandoned this place decades ago. Probably ran away scared."
"Perhaps. I haven't been here in … a lifetime." Tristan hopped out of the truck. "Come on. Let's check it out. There's nothing here you can't fix, Scarecrow."
"True," Owen agreed, sliding out of the driver's seat, "very true."
Somehow, Dorian slept through the loud screech and bang of the truck's door closing. I stayed with him in the truck bed and listened while Tristan and Owen explored. Their discoveries didn't sound good. Based on their comments, Owen was right–the owners apparently took off years ago, leaving everything behind as if they were going to the store, including trash and dishes in the sink. The pipes creaked as they tried to turn the water on, but it sounded as though only a few drops actually dispelled from the faucet. So much for a drink or a shower.
Tristan suddenly appeared beside the truck, and various screeches, pops and bangs came from the house. I stiffened. It sounded as if Owen was fighting something.
"You left him in there?" I whispered anxiously to Tristan.
"Sure," he said with a shrug. "He's fixing it up."
Of course. Some things–such as Owen being a warlock–I still had a hard time remembering as real. To me, he was simply … Owen.
"Running water?" I asked, my voice mixed with doubt and hope at the same time.
"That's most of the noise–the pipes are a disaster. If Owen can't fix it, though, no one can."
"Good to go," Owen said, emerging from the house. He raised an eyebrow at me, questioning my doubt in him. "Including running water."
"Dibs on first shower!" I handed Dorian to Tristan and scurried out of the truck.
The house still looked the same on the outside, but when I walked through the front door, it could have been a model home … from the 1970s. Though outdated, the plaid-upholstered furniture appeared as though it'd just come off the delivery truck, and the avocado-green carpet as if it'd recently been laid. The orange kitchen appliances gleamed, and water poured out of the faucet … brown water.
"Ew. Can you fix that?" I asked.
"You sure do ask a lot," Owen teased with a grin. "It already looks better than it did. Just give it a few minutes."
The water eventually ran clear and hot, and I finally became clean and felt human again. Well, as human as I could be. With the dirt scrubbed away, my face looked perfect–no more bruises or any sign I'd been whacked by a kangaroo. Whew. A raccoon face wasn't the best disguise for our escape–a little too memorable. The gash on my arm from the morning's fight had also disappeared. I was as good as new … almost. Some decent sleep would take care of the rest.
Dinner consisted of snack food Owen and Dorian had in the truck, and as soon as he finished eating, Owen crashed in one of the bedrooms. Besides Dorian, he'd need the most sleep, and we had to leave in the middle of the night and travel in the dark. After putting Dorian to bed, Tristan and I loaded the luggage Owen had brought for us in the six-passenger airplane. I didn't know how it would ever get off the ground–it looked as though it'd been sitting for decades. Tristan and Owen had worked on it while I showered and then bathed Dorian, but they could do nothing about the old fuel. Tristan told me to have faith.
Though a little crowded in the queen-sized bed with Tristan and Dorian, I slept amazingly well and was wide awake after four hours of sleep, my body feeling completely regenerated and renewed. The guys could sleep another hour before we had to take off, so I crept outside and sat on the front porch steps. I gazed at the unfamiliar sky with more stars than I'd ever seen, feeling close enough that I actually reached up and waved my hand across the sky, nearly expecting to scatter the sparkly jewels. Of all the places in the U.S. Mom and I had lived, no starry night compared to that of the Australian Outback. The beauty mesmerized me.
But the diamond-studded sky couldn't distract me from the anxiety of the search. I couldn't wait to return to the States and begin looking for the girl. For our daughter. The last four days of escaping the Daemoni were four more days lost, four more days we were separated. Every day seemed to count now.
Just as Dorian had celebrated his seventh birthday less than three months ago, so had she. Seven years … How long would they have let it go? Would I have ever known? Surely I would have learned at some point, but they might have kept her hidden until she went through the Ang'dora–thirty, forty, even fifty more years.
I licked my lips and tasted the salt of stray tears. I still couldn't believe the betrayal by Rina and some of the council. And then the sadness turned to quiet anger. Those same council members who hid our daughter suspected both Tristan and me as traitors. They accused us of betrayal when they hid the hope for the Amadis' future from the very people they served, the people whose lives depended on that future.
I heard a soft catch of the door's latch behind me and expected Tristan, but Owen sat next to me.
"Pretty insane stuff going on, huh?" he said quietly when he saw me wiping my eyes.
"It's nothing like I expected. I knew we'd be on the run a lot and I knew we'd have to fight to be together, but I never thought it'd be this bad."
"It won't be for long. The Daemoni are still throwing their tantrum after Tristan's escape. They'll get bored, quiet down and abandon the hunt, especially when they won't be able to find us."
"That would be a relief. We have other things to focus on without worrying about them." I sighed. "They're not the only ones we have to fight for our love. Some of the Amadis don't want us together. Some don't want us at all. They'd probably celebrate if the Daemoni captured us."
"I wouldn't go that far …"
"They think we'll betray them, Owen. For some reason, they think I have more loyalty to the sperm donor I've never met than to the Amadis, to my only family. And they think Tristan will go back, too. Why do they doubt us?"
Owe
n scrubbed his hand through his hair and scrunched his eyes. When he spoke, the seriousness of his tone and his word choices gave a rare indication of his true age. "There are some who always worried about both of you. You have strong Daemoni blood. So does Tristan. Some believe that even if he wanted to convert, it's not possible. When he tried to kill you after the Ang'dora … that only fuels their beliefs there's still something under the surface, waiting for another opportunity to attack. And then there are a few who think he never wanted to, that he's pulling the ultimate spy job on all of us … and that you'll go along because you love him so much."
"What? That's completely absurd. How could they …?"
He shrugged. "He was such a formidable Daemoni warrior for so long, attacking our people, humans … innocents. That's how they remember him and they can't believe he could ever change."
"That was Seth, not Tristan," I said.
"You and I know the difference, as do most of the Amadis. The ones who don't knew him much longer as Seth. Some served him before their own conversions and saw the worst of him."
"But he didn't like himself then. He never wanted that life. You'd think they'd know more than anyone how much he wanted out of it."
Owen cut his eyes sideways at me. "Alexis, the Daemoni are cunning deceivers and Tristan was the best. He did what he had to do to make them happy just to stay alive. If you think he sulked around and defied them all the time, you're fooling yourself."
I pressed my fingers to my temples and squeezed my eyes shut, pushing away the images trying to surface–images of Seth's horrible acts, which Tristan had inadvertently shared with me the night I tried to save Sheree, the were-tiger. "I don't want to talk about this. My point is that's not him now. How can anyone not see that?"
"Some people need time. Others … well, they might not ever believe. They might not want to believe. Just as in the Norman world, there are always a few who like to stir the pot."