Interlude (The Stone Legacy Series Book 2)

by Theresa Dalayne

  “You must be crazier than we thought.”

  Malachi puffed his chest, tempting the tip to drive deeper. “I guess we can find out.”

  “Stop fucking around,” the tall guy said. “Just kill him and let’s get the girl.” He pulled out a burlap sack from his jacket and glanced over his shoulder. “Mr. Green wants her back before she crashes. Hurry up before he comes down here himself. Then he’ll really be pissed.”

  Malachi clicked with his tongue. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  A full-blown laugh bellowed from the Russian’s gut. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Malachi tilted his head. “Let’s find out, unless you’re too much of a coward.”

  The Russian scowled. He gripped Malachi’s shoulder, and with a swift thrust, drove the knife deep into Malachi’s chest.

  Tara gasped and suppressed the urge to vomit. Panic thrashed through her, pulling out a scream, which echoed through the empty streets of Moscow.

  Malachi stumbled back, staring down at the blade protruding from his chest. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and he fell to his knees, fingers curled around the weapon’s handle.

  The shadow of a man appeared in the alley’s entrance. It lingered a moment, then disappeared in the direction of the club.

  “Grab the girl and let’s get the hell outta here,” the tall thug said. “Shit. We have to make her stop screaming!”

  The Russian grabbed Tara by the hair and pulled her to her feet. “Shut. Up.”

  She instantly quieted, too terrified to disobey.

  They slipped the sack over her head and tightened it around her neck. Tara thrashed, peering through tiny gaps in the woven fibers. But she could only see shadows and not much else. The thug tied her arms behind her back and shoved her forward, but her legs gave out and she slapped to the pavement.

  “Damn girls,” said the taller man in his nasally tone. “I hate being the fucking collector.”

  “Move out of the way.” Strong hands gripped her and threw her over a shoulder, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Claustrophobia suffocated her every breath. The Russian huffed. “Let’s go.”

  Unconsciousness tempted her mind, pulling her in and out of awareness. The sweet, metallic scent of blood filled the darkness—Malachi’s blood. God. They’d killed him and just left him there on the dirty ground. She held her breath, too afraid to cry.

  The Russian spun around. Tara’s stomach churned from the sudden whirl. “Where is he?” the Russian bellowed.

  “What the…he was right there.”

  “I killed him.”

  A whisper caressed Tara’s ear. “Who? Me?”

  The Russian dropped Tara to the ground. Her head smacked against the concrete, making her ears ring.

  “What the fuck is that!”

  A horrific scream gave Tara the motivation to push to her knees. She shook her head, trying to lose the sack, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Get away from me!” the tall man shouted. “No! No!”

  She huddled against the wall and pressed her body as close to the cold brick as possible. When the stink of rotting flesh shot up her nose, she curled into a ball and pressed her face to her knees in a futile attempt to block the noxious reek. Instead, the putrid smell coated her tongue.

  Someone grasped her arm and pulled her up. She screamed and stumbled forward before falling to her knees. The skin under her jeans burned with road rash.

  “Calm down.”

  She gasped and froze, sure she was disoriented. She couldn’t have heard what she thought—Malachi’s voice. Yet it somehow brought a strange sense of relief.

  Her eyes wide, she strained to peer through the gaps in the sack. “Take this thing off my head!”

  He worked the tie loose and yanked it off. She stared into his face—the face of a man who should have been dead. She’d seen the Russian stab him. She’d watched Malachi fall to the ground.

  His eyes were nearly normal now, the dark circles almost completely gone. His clothes were stained with blood, but the knife wasn’t in his chest anymore and he was alive. Not just alive, but seemingly unharmed. How could he possibly be? She glanced down the alley.

  “Don’t look. You don’t want to see what’s over there.” He scooped her into his arms. “Relax, I have you. You’re about to crash.”

  Chapter Six

  The roots crawled around her legs, shooting pain through her body with each tightening coil. Unable to kick them away, and with her hands tied behind her back, she was left helpless to watch them slither toward the wounds on her legs.

  “Get away from me!” Massive red thorns extended from the vines and dug into her skin. They snaked up her limbs, and a woody tip brushed against the open wounds on her knees. Tara tried to rock to the side and flip the chair; she’d forgotten it was not an ordinary seat. Her efforts only exhausted what little energy she had left. She whimpered, and slumped forward in defeat.

  Delicate membranes clustered beneath the transparent bark and throbbed with thirst. Each capillary morphed into a deeper red as it invaded her body.

  Tara’s screams bounced off the stone walls, cueing the other inmates in neighboring cells to sob and wail.

  Barbed vines pushed deeper, elevating her skin as they slithered around bone and muscle.

  Her screaming was cut off by the nightmarish awareness of roots working up the inside of her thigh, and moments later, around her ribs.

  ***

  Light shined through the windows, waking Tara in a cold sweat. She had almost gotten used to peeling damp hair from her forehead and neck every time she awoke.

  Thankfully, the gold and burgundy drapes of Peter’s room marked a sanctuary, and her muscles relaxed into the down feather comforter.

  Peter’s room had become her favorite, no matter where in the world they were. Not the room itself, but his energy in it. It blanketed the space with tranquility.

  Her inner peace vanished when her mind snapped back to the last time they’d spoken. She’d broken his heart—and hers. He probably thought she didn’t want him, which was the furthest from the truth.

  A man cleared his throat. Tara startled and sat up to see Renato, sitting on a fabric chaise on the opposite side of the room, his ankle crossed over his knee and a pipe in his mouth.

  Tara gripped the blanket and pulled it over her chest. She still had on her tank top and jeans, but for some reason felt indecent.

  “Good morning.” Renato’s tone seemed calmer than normal. He examined her with a placid stare. “Tara, why did you keep your struggles from us?”

  She swallowed. “I guess Peter told you.”

  “He did, though he waited much too long.”

  She hung her head. “It’s not his fault. I didn’t want him to.”

  Renato sat silent for a moment, puffing his pipe. His gaze was lost to the view of Moscow through the arched window, seemingly contemplating his next words. “Tara, do you not trust me?”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that…I didn’t want to be the crazy girl again. I spent my whole life with doctors telling me I have PTSD, and that my self-confidence was stripped away by…well, my past. Someone was always trying to fix me.” She dropped her gaze. “I just wanted to keep my clean slate, I guess.”

  “And Peter? Do you have any idea what kind of stress you put him under, asking him to withhold that kind of information?”

  “Peter,” she whispered, the fresh wound in her heart tearing open again. “Where is he?”

  “In the lobby. I asked him to allow us to speak privately.”

  She exhaled, hoping some of the heartache would lessen with it. No such luck. “As long as he’s okay—”

  “I did not in any way imply that he is okay.” Renato uncrossed his legs and placed both of his feet firmly on the floor. He leaned forward. “What you did to assist us in finding Sarian was a brave act.” He slowly rested his back against the chaise again, his fingers gliding absentmindedly over the etchin
gs of his bone pipe. “But refusing to inform us of your deterioration has come at a price. I spoke with Marzena and there is nothing she can do to lock your memories away now. There is nothing anyone can do.”

  “So…” She bit her lip. “I’m stuck with them?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. But now—” He stood and walked toward her, stopping at the foot of her bed. “Now we are faced with yet another puzzle. Who is the boy?”

  Flashes of a dark alley, the gleam of a blade, and the metallic smell of blood darted through her mind. “Malachi.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “I don’t. I mean, not really.” She’d nearly forgotten about the entire incident. “Is he here?”

  “No. But he did press the panic button on your cell phone. Peter and I tracked the satellite signal to a bus stop, nearly three miles away.”

  She twisted the blankets in her hands, hoping Renato hadn’t noticed her cheeks flush with heat. It served her right. She didn’t have anyone to blame but herself.

  “Malachi was following me around. Then Mr. Green and those guys…” She could still hear the Russian’s blood curdling screams.

  There was a knock on the door. Renato’s features tensed. “I believe that’s Peter.” He gave a chastising stare. “It would be humane of you to offer him some explanations. I have never seen him so torn.”

  His words cut through any ounce of self-pity she had. As if a lead weight had been slammed against her chest, she could barely breathe. Renato was right. She’d crushed Peter and given him every reason to hate her.

  Renato opened the door and silently left the room, passing Peter in the hall. Peter lingered in the doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets and his head hung low. Tara’s heart nearly collapsed with guilt.

  He ground the toe of his sneaker on the carpet in silence.

  “I…” She wasn’t sure exactly what to say. But whatever it was, she didn’t want to shout it across the room. “Can you come closer?”

  He hesitated before dragging himself to the center of the room, several feet from her bed. His eyes were hidden under layers of shaggy brown hair.

  “Peter…” She would have to talk to him while he treated her like the plague, not that she deserved better. “I don’t know what to say—”

  “Is he why you said no?” His voice was quiet, but clearly streaked with pain. He met her gaze for the first time. “Is he why you don’t want me?”

  “God, Peter, no. I swear to you, I have never…” She pushed to her knees while on the mattress and planted her hands on his chest. His heart raced under her fingers.

  Every cell in her body urged her to grovel and beg for forgiveness, but she couldn’t give in. He deserved to be with someone who wouldn’t break his heart. She had to do the right thing, even if it tore her apart. And after, she would spend the rest of her life in regret. Regret that she would forever miss the scent of fresh rain when they kissed. Regret that his gentle touch would someday fall over someone else’s cheek.

  No matter how much she desired to be with him, there was one thing that would never change.

  He was eternal, and she would never be anything more than an ordinary girl.

  Nothing special about her.

  Not immortal.

  And certainly not good enough.

  Tara bit her lip. “What do you want me to say? That I love you?” She shook her head. “I’ve never loved anyone so much.” Tears welled in her eyes. “And I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone like this again.”

  “But you said—”

  “What I said…” Her muscles screamed to wrap her arms around him and hold him close. “You deserve better, Peter. Someone not…used. Someone who will never leave you.” She hung her head. “I can never be the girl you really need. I’ll always be damaged, and worse, just human. Someday I’ll die and you’ll be left alone. That’s not what you want for yourself, really. You just don’t know it yet.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” He hooked his finger under her chin and tilted her face up. “What do you mean, used?”

  His hand slid from her face when she lowered back down to the mattress. “Peter…” She pulled her knees to her chest. “I’m not the shiny new penny you want. I’ve been…” Her skin crawled. “Spent.”

  “Damn you, Tara.” He grabbed her shoulders firmly and pulled her off the bed to her feet. “If I hear you say anything like that again, I swear…” His furious gaze was hazed with desperation. “I love you, no matter what happened before, and whether you’re human or not. That doesn’t matter. You’re not used or broken or damaged, and as long as you’re alive, I want to be with you.” As he searched her face, his eyes softened. “You’re an angel.”

  She pursed her lips, trapping in a sob.

  He cradled her against his chest.

  Her heart mourned for her innocence robbed, for the years spent feeling dirty and ashamed, and most of all, it mourned for what she was about to do.

  Even if Peter did accept her, it would be impossible to escape time.

  She gently drew away from him. “What if we did get married? What would our kids be like? Have you ever thought about that? Would they be like you, or me? Maybe one would be Riyata, and the other would be ordinary. You’ll have to not only bury me, but our child. Is that what you really want?”

  “Kids?” A soft smile played over his lips. “I didn’t know you thought about that already.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Peter.” Her tone became sharp. “You don’t realize what you’re asking for. You don’t see that marrying me would screw up your entire life.”

  Peter’s grin vanished. “So you don’t want to be with me anymore? Just like that?”

  “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what’s right.” She had to be strong. The more upset she appeared, the harder this would be for him. If she could just mask her grief for a few moments, she could force herself to walk out the door and do him the biggest favor of his life. “The point is, if you really love someone, you want what’s best for them, not what’s best for yourself. And what’s best for you is to be with someone who won’t leave you. If we end this now—” The words nearly scalded her tongue, but she forced them out. “It’ll give you time to get over us, and move—” She gripped her stomach that cramped with protest, and drew in a deep breath. “You can move on.”

  Peter shook his head. “You don’t mean that.” He took a step back, his finger jabbing the air. “I know you love me, Tara. I know you do, and you can’t do this!” His hand dropped to his side. He whispered, “Please, don’t do this.”

  She put more space between them as she walked toward the door. “One day you’ll see that I’m doing you a favor. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but one day, you’ll look back and thank me.”

  ***

  The next day, Tara walked through the sunny streets of Moscow, watching the locals browse the produce market in the food district. The first time she visited this area, she and Peter were searching for Contessa. The temptress lived just a block away, but if Tara never saw that woman again, it would be too soon.

  Mounds of colorful fruits were piled on wooden carts. Market workers weighed, priced, and handed over the merchandise before waving goodbye.

  If only she could be one of those people. Anyone. A young woman with a scarf covering her hair hovered her nose over a peach. A warm smile cast over her lips while she counted several into a bag. She would be fine. The woman looked so peaceful. Why couldn’t Tara simply snap her fingers and be the woman with the scarf? Have a completely different life.

  She sighed.

  The bitter smell of cigarettes pulled her out of her daydream. Tara coughed and waved her hand in front of her face, fully aware who was nearby. “You know that habit will kill you.”

  Malachi grinned. “I highly doubt that.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You really have to stop appearing out of nowhere. You’re like a freaking phantom.”

  His winked. “I’ll take th
at as a compliment.” He flicked the ash from his cigarette and took another drag. “So, are you better today?”

  “I guess I owe you a thank you, don’t I?”

  He shrugged.

  “Well…” Another nervous itch ate at her arm. She scratched it, and glanced at him. “Thanks.”

  He silently watched the crowds of people, inhaling another drag.

  It was time to get to the bottom of this. “Who are you, Malachi? Really.”

  “In what way are you asking?”

  “Is there more than one?”

  “Yes.”

  She examined the lack of black under his eyes. “You toned down the makeup today.”

  He flicked more ashes from his cigarette. “It’s not makeup.”

  “Really? So all the black around your eyes is…” She shrugged one shoulder and waited for him to respond.

  “A curse.”

  “A curse,” she said, more as a statement than a question. He stepped forward, his gaze locked with hers. In the light of midday, the black shadows were hardly noticeable. But when she looked more closely, it didn’t seem like makeup at all. The darkness was buried deep in his skin. Tara backed away. Maybe she should hear him out. “What kind of curse?”

  Malachi gestured to the fruits stacked on the stands. “Did you come here to buy something?”

  “Not really.” She examined at the peaches, and then gripped her stomach. “I’m not hungry.” The truth was she’d give anything to be able to eat one of the fruits. Just a bite.

  He nodded. “Yeah, me either. Not anymore.”

  There was something really, really wrong with this guy. What he did to protect her the night before was certainly not normal. But she still had no idea why Mr. Green’s men had gone after her. If she wanted to find out, she’d have to stick around. “What did those guys want?”

  “Let’s walk.” Malachi paced down the sidewalk. Tara followed, jogging to catch up before she fell into stride.