by Kristie Cook
I lost myself in it.
Epilogue
By the time we landed in Florida, night had settled in. I couldn’t wait to get home and we had to avoid the authorities anyway, so we flashed right off the plane and to the island. We appeared on the beach across the street from the safe house, Vanessa’s temporary home and where Dorian waited for us. My heart swelled with excitement to see my son and hold him again.
Then, after a few hours with him, Tristan and I would finally be able to enjoy some real time together. That kiss on the plane had only been a tease.
When we stepped onto the safe house’s property, though, I knew immediately something was wrong. I didn’t feel the little buzz of crossing through a shield. Had the mages left already? Perhaps Blossom knew we were home, and they could lower the shield. Maybe they’d done it so we could flash directly into the house. But there was something wrong with that possibility. Vanessa gasped and covered her nose and mouth with her palm.
“Everything was fine when I left,” Tristan said, feeling it, too.
Vanessa shook her head vehemently, and her voice came out muffled behind her hand. “Blood. Lots of blood.”
“Vanessa, stay here,” I ordered, my words tumbling out of my mouth in a rush as my body strained to run for the safe house. “Promise me!”
“I … I’ll be in the water.” She blurred toward the Gulf to immerse her senses in the salt water.
Tristan and I exchanged a glance, then flashed into the house.
Right into the scene of a horror movie.
A pattern of crimson splattered the wall of the common room. The bodies of the four mages from the colony lay crumpled on the floor, blood spilling from ripped-out throats and decimated wrists. Tristan blurred to each of them. Shook his head each time.
Oh, no!
“Blossom,” I cried out. “Dorian!”
“Alexis?” Blossom came running down the dark hallway, her phone in her hand. “Alexis! Tristan! They’re gone! Sheree …”
“Sheree?” I echoed, my voice several octaves too high.
“She’s in Sonya’s room. She’s okay. Not great, but okay.”
Tristan rushed past me for Sonya’s room to help the Were.
“Sonya?”
Blossom shook her head. “She’s gone. Heather is, too. Her mom just called, freaking out. Sonya …” Tears leaked from her eyes as she drew in a shudder of a breath. “She … she did this, Alexis. We couldn’t stop her. I’m so … so sorry.”
I took the witch’s hands in mine.
“It’s not your fault,” I said, as firmly as I could muster. My own emotional stability was on the line. This was supposed to be my safe house. I was responsible for it and everyone here. And now four mages were dead and a Norman missing, her life in grave danger. I sucked in a breath, trying to calm my own nerves. “Where’s Dorian? He’s okay?”
“I think so.”
My stomach rolled.
“What do you mean you think?” I shrieked, panic immediately surfacing once again.
“He hasn’t come out of the room where you left him. He probably heard the screams and hid. Sasha’s in there with him.”
I nodded, but the prickly feeling that something was wrong climbed up my spine. Dear God, please say my baby’s okay. I ran across the common room and into his wing. Blood smeared the walls, and I told myself it came from the mages. Everything’s okay. He’s just hiding. He’s fine. But the blood trailed all the way to his closed door.
My hand shook as I reached out for the knob. I gripped hard as though I expected it to be ripped out of my hand. With a deep breath, I slowly opened the door.
“Dorian?” I said as I peeked in. My heart sped, hammering against my ribs. I could barely speak, my throat too constricted to let the words out. They came out in a choked whisper. “Where are you, little man?”
No answer.
Tristan appeared next to me. “Is he in here?”
“I … I don’t know.” The suite was too big to see everything from the door, but when I reached out with my mind, I only found one signature. Not human.
Before I could say anything else, Tristan took off down the hallway, throwing open other doors. “Dorian! Dorian, come out!”
I stepped farther into the front room of his suite on shaky legs, my heart not accepting what my mind already knew. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and everything looked fine. But I knew everything was far from fine. Even with this knowledge, though, when I entered the bedroom, I gasped at the disaster area. The blanket had been yanked from the bed and the sheet shredded. Little white things littered the floor. My stomach clenched. Feathers. I told myself they were from the pillow. Down feathers. That’s all.
But then more blood.
I moved around the bed, following the trail, barely able to breathe.
“Dorian?” I choked out.
My son wasn’t there, I already knew this, but a small, white figure lay still on the floor.
“Sasha?” I fell to my knees next to her. She blinked and whimpered, but otherwise didn’t move. My hands fluttered over her broken body, not knowing what to do.
“Did you find him?” Blossom asked, running into the suite and to the bedroom doorway. Unable to speak, I shook my head, not knowing if she could see me or not. Not caring.
“Is he in here?” Tristan asked, right behind her. “Ah, fuck!”
A loud crash sounded behind me. He must have taken in the scene.
I still couldn’t speak. I just stared through the tears at the lykora, my son’s protector, as she lay there. Silvery blood gushed from where one wing had been torn from her back. I blinked back the tears that insisted on falling, and a silver glint next to Sasha caught my eye. Not her blood. But the tip of my dagger.
“I always get what I want. I will get what’s mine.” Lucas’s words taunted me from inside my own head.
The rest of my dagger hid under Sasha’s normally white nuzzle, which was now stained crimson. She’d put up a fight. But she’d lost.
And Dorian was gone.
Tristan fell to my side and his arms swallowed me and he rocked me back and forth, back and forth, horrible, horrible noises wrenching through his throat all the way from his heart and soul.
“Maybe … maybe Dorian flew away,” Blossom said from right behind us, her voice a mere whisper, “just like we taught him. Maybe he’s hiding somewhere.”
Grasping at this fine thread of renewed hope, I opened my mind and searched for Dorian’s mind signature. I pushed beyond the safe house, forcing my mind outward, scanning through all the signatures for the only one that mattered,
past the shores of Captiva
over the sound to the other islands
to the mainland
as far as I could push my mental boundaries
but not him
not him
not him.
He was nowhere to be found.
They’d taken my baby.
About the Author
Kristie Cook is a lifelong, award-winning writer in various genres, from marketing communications to fantasy fiction. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, cooking, traveling and riding on the back of a motorcycle. She has lived in ten states, but currently calls Southwest Florida home with her husband, three teenage sons, a beagle and a puggle. She can be found at www.KristieCook.com.
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Series Website: http://www.SoulSaversSeries.com
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Want more Soul Savers?
BOOK 5
Coming Spring 2013
Stay tuned to the Soul Savers website at www.SoulSaversSeries.com and to the author’s site at www.KristieCook.com for updates on new releases, excerpts, special e
vents, appearances and signings.
If you haven’t read Genesis: A Soul Savers Novella, then you haven’t met Cassandra. Read on for an excerpt.
Genesis: A Soul Savers Novella—An Excerpt
Chapter 1
Cassandra picked her way through the sea of broken and battered bodies, the blood-soaked grass squishing under her sandals. She tried to ignore the warm wetness seeping between her toes as she searched for signs of life. She doubted she would find any. This skirmish had been short and vicious, the number of soldiers on either side not nearly as large as other battlefields she’d come upon—the Romans, Greeks and Macedonians had been fighting for as long as she could remember. She hadn’t seen any nearby camps in recent days and assumed these two groups had surprised each other while en route to joining their legions.
She’d heard the fighting while gathering berries this morning and waited several hours for it to end, listening—she could never watch the viciousness—with a knotted stomach as the last few surrendered. She then waited more hours for the field to clear as the survivors took their injured comrades with them and left the rest for dead. But she knew from experience there may be a few she could still help and so, even as twilight approached, she searched.
To her right, one soldier’s chest barely lifted and fell and she quickly knelt by his side. His head and unlined face were covered with dark hair and beard, both streaked with crimson, which pooled under his temple. His eyes remained closed. When she lifted his hand by the wrist, he didn’t stir. His heartbeat came slow and faint under her fingers and her shoulders sagged with grief. He’d be dead in a matter of minutes, too far gone for her to heal. With tears stinging her brown eyes, she stood and continued searching.
She wound her way across the battlefield, her heart sinking further with each body she passed. Occasionally she stopped to feel for a heartbeat or breath on her hand, but found none. Then, as she stepped over one dead man, another moved. Just barely—just a twitch of his finger. Cassandra hurried to his side. Please, God, let there be at least someone I can help.
He was young, barely more than a boy, with black hair and darkly tanned skin, as if he worked in the fields. When Cassandra’s eyes traveled over his body, her stomach clenched. The lower half twisted at such unnatural angles, it sickened even her, who’d seen the worst of injuries. She pulled a berry from the pouch hanging at her hip, squished it and slipped it into the young man’s mouth. It would help alleviate the pain until death took over.
With a heart that felt like a boulder in her chest, she reached the other side and turned to look out at the field. She swallowed the sob in her throat and scrubbed at her wet cheeks. She’d seen similar scenes over the years, but she never became used to all the carnage. She blew out a sigh heavy with grief and turned to head back to where she currently called home. As she stepped past the last body, only steps from entering the woods, a hand grabbed her ankle.
“Oh!” she cried out and fell to her knees next to a soldier covered in mud and blood. I almost missed him! He looked at her with half-closed eyes the color of green olives. He stirred, as if to sit up, but she held him down. “Don’t move. Let me see how badly you’re hurt first.”
“It’s just my leg,” he said, his voice rough. He pushed himself up onto an elbow, despite her protests. “And my throat. I’m so thirsty.”
She pulled a skin of water out of her pouch and handed it to him.
“What is your name?” she asked as she began assessing his condition.
Sweat mixed with dirt smudged his face, but it looked otherwise unscathed, except for a small scratch on his lip and a scrape across his chin. She pushed his dark brown hair back and found a lump on his head. She removed the protective forearm braces and found bruises covering his arms, but no open wounds. His legs had been protected with braces from ankle to knee. Gingerly, she pulled his chiton up just enough to reveal a deep gash in his lower thigh.
After draining the water skin dry, he finally answered. “Niko.”
“You’re very lucky, Niko,” she said, pulling out another skin of water to clean the wound. Then she retrieved a bundle of cut plants from her bag and spread them on her lap. She selected the ones she needed and tore the leaves, then pressed them into the wound. The soldier sucked his breath through clenched teeth. “You seem to be the only man alive here and with barely any injuries, at that.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” he said. “It’s all about skill. And I am quite skilled.”
She looked up at his face and her herbs seemed to be already working because he managed a confident grin, causing a patch of dried mud to crack around his eye. With a spare piece of cloth soaked with water, she began cleaning his face, trying to ignore how his eyes never left hers. Each swipe of the cloth revealed more of his true appearance and by the time she reached his full lips and square chin, her hand trembled and heat crept into her face. Hiding under the grime was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
Her eyes dropped, skimming over his strong, warrior’s build and she blushed even harder. She was used to looking at soldiers’ bodies, assessing them for injuries, touching and prodding them. But now, for the first time, she saw more than a subject to heal. She saw someone who made her heart race and her stomach do odd little flips. And now she felt shy looking at him at all.
“Your hair,” he said, lifting his hand. She flinched and her fingers flew to the braids on the sides of her head. His hand fell. “It’s just … I’ve never seen such a beautiful color. Like a chestnut.”
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Then she hurriedly began gathering her supplies, unable to remain under his gaze any longer. What’s happening to me?
“I’d better be going,” she mumbled.
“Please, don’t,” Niko said, but then he sighed. “Forgive me. You probably have a husband to return to.”
She didn’t look up at him. She couldn’t stand for her stomach to flip anymore, an absurd reaction she didn’t understand. And she couldn’t deny his words, although she didn’t have a husband. She’d always admired the love her father and mother had shared, but never thought it possible for herself. According to her brother, most girls were married off by their fathers to men they’d never met. Father had no reason or desire to do that to her, though. He believed she would find the right man for herself when the time was right, just as Mother had found him. But she’d never even met a man properly—only those injured and dying on the battlefield, not exactly the appropriate time and place for romantic thoughts. So how could she possibly be having them now?
Niko’s assumption made sense, though. She appeared to be the age of a young wife who should be bearing children, but she was actually much, much older. Her explanation for not being married yet would make no sense to this stranger.
“Those herbs will heal the cut,” she said, evading his comment. “You’ll be fine by morning.”
He sat up all the way and she sucked in a breath. Maybe not. A bloodstain blossomed down the side of his torn tunic. He’d been lying on it, so she hadn’t seen it before.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
He looked down and frowned. “I don’t feel anything.”
He gripped his chiton at the neck and tore it in half, letting the pieces drape over the belt at his waist. She inhaled sharply again. Not at the injury—a superficial scratch—but at his muscular chest and torso. Trying to ignore the pounding of her heart and the quivering in her belly, she cleaned the wound and smeared an herbal paste over it, his eyes on her again the entire time. A pleasant tingling ran through her fingertips and up her arm when she touched him, and when he sighed, not a sound of pain but of pleasure, she wondered if he felt it, too. By the time she finished, her hand trembled once again. Overwhelmed with these inexplicable feelings—why him?—she sprang to her feet to leave.
The sound of movement froze her in place. The sun had nearly set and she could barely see the shadows of two men as they approached the far side of the battlefield.
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br /> “Could be the Romans,” Niko whispered. He staggered to his feet and, in no condition to fight again, limped several paces into the dark woods, gesturing at Cassandra to follow.
They peered around a boulder and watched the men, who apparently hadn’t noticed them, as they slowly picked their way through the dead bodies, just as Cassandra had done. Not healers looking for signs of life, though, nor Roman soldiers. They must have been savages here to pillage the bodies.
They stopped at the man with the dark hair and beard who had barely been breathing. They crouched next to him and exchanged words too low for her to hear. Then one bent closer, held his hand over the dying man’s mouth and seemed to whisper into his ear. The soldier’s arms flailed and his body bucked, as if in pain.
Cassandra gasped. Niko clamped his hand over her mouth.
“They’re giving him a quicker death,” he whispered in her ear. “Putting him out of his misery.”
Before long, the soldier fell limp against the other man, who wiped the inside of his forearm across his mouth, then held it to the dead man’s lips. Cassandra peered at Niko, whose brows knitted together, looking just as perplexed as she felt. After several moments, the two men stood and found the only other person who’d shown any signs of life—the youth with the twisted body. This time the second man stooped down and pressed his mouth against the boy’s ear. Or was it his throat? Cassandra couldn’t discern in the darkness. The youth reacted the same way as the first. They repeated their unusual ritual, then the two men left the way they’d come, leaving any loot behind.
“I’ve never seen—” Cassandra started to say, but couldn’t put words to what they’d just witnessed. It was too strange.