Awry (The Archers of Avalon, Book Two)

by Fine, Chelsea

  Scarlet pressed her lips together.

  They didn’t look at each other.

  The rain grew heavier, beating against the roof like a thousand tiny heartbeats and the room felt tangible. Like Scarlet could pick up the air and swallow it whole.

  Tristan silently turned back to the fire, lifting the poker in his hands to the flames.

  Desire, fear, hope, regret…desire, fear, hope, regret…

  Several minutes passed before Scarlet was able to push words from her dry mouth. “What happened after?”

  Tristan jabbed away at the fire.

  “After we…kissed. What happened?” she probed.

  His back to her, Tristan softly said, “Scar, please don’t.”

  Scar. She wanted him to say it again. She wanted to hear her name on his lips over and over and over….

  “Don’t what?” Scarlet kept her eyes on his strong shoulder muscles. “Don’t ask you questions?” She paused. “Don’t I deserve to know what you know?”

  Tristan stood and turned around, looking down at her on the couch. “Yes.” He took a few steps back.

  “Then tell me,” Scarlet said softly.

  His eyes looked everywhere but at Scarlet. “You ran away.” He tucked his hands into his back pockets, the arm muscles peeking from beneath his shirt sleeve flexing.

  Ah, yes. Runaway Scarlet.

  She’d almost forgotten how she’d fled her last life without leaving a forwarding address.

  Scarlet was confused. “We made out. And then I…ran away?”

  His eyes were running over everything in the room. “Yep.”

  Scarlet felt extreme guilt and sadness wash over him.

  Her lips parted with a realization. “You think I ran away because of you.”

  Tristan blinked and finally met her eyes. “I don’t know what I think.”

  A loud crack of thunder boomed outside and the shack’s lights flickered.

  “I didn’t run away because of the kiss,” Scarlet said, somehow knowing it was the truth.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.” Tristan looked at the floor. “It was reckless and selfish.” He looked at her with stern eyes. “And it won’t happen again.”

  Scarlet let his self-hatred bounce around inside her for a moment, before she grew irritated by his attitude.

  Maybe Tristan wanted to forget about what happened—maybe he hadn’t enjoyed it—but Scarlet wanted to hold on to the memory forever. It was hot and beautiful and honest.

  She lifted an unashamed brow at Tristan. “Well, I liked it.”

  Tristan eyes flashed hot and dark as he stared at her. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

  Racing emotions streamed from Tristan to Scarlet, Scarlet to Tristan. Desire, passion, longing, need—

  Lightning lit up the sky outside, followed by another crack of angry thunder.

  The inside lights flickered again. Once. Twice.

  And then went out completely.

  Leaving Scarlet and Tristan standing in the dark shack with nothing between them but the dancing light from the fireplace, and a memory that burned hotter than the flames within.

  55

  A noise downstairs woke Gabriel up.

  He sat up in bed, listening. Heather was still beside him, sleeping peacefully with her pink facemask over her eyes. Her blond hair curled around her chin and shoulder and fell onto the pillow beneath her.

  She looked so small, sleeping in his bed. Small and vulnerable and—

  He heard the noise again.

  In an instant, he was out of bed and making his way downstairs. At first, he thought maybe Scarlet had returned to the cabin. But when he reached the main floor, Gabriel noticed two things.

  The power was out in the cabin.

  And the tarp used to replace the broken window in the living room was torn down and lying on the floor.

  Scarlet wasn’t in the cabin.

  An intruder was.

  Icy wind and rain swept in through the empty window frame, setting Gabriel’s hairs on end as he crept into the living room. The only light in the house was from the cloud-covered moon outside sending a pale glow into the room and casting shadows everywhere.

  Gabriel looked around for the nearest weapon.

  His eyes fell on a magazine, a pen and a plastic cup—none of which would do much to deter an attacker.

  Where was a heavy statue or a baseball bat when you needed one?

  He silently headed for the den, where he and Tristan kept all of their weapons, when a shuffling sound from the left had him turning to the side with raised fists.

  Out of nowhere, a dark shadow charged at him.

  The figure plowed into Gabriel, knocking him to the floor and attempting to pin him.

  Like hell.

  Gabriel grabbed for the stranger’s throat and tossed him to his back, gaining the upper hand. From the light of the moon, Gabriel saw he was wrestling with an Ashman.

  The Ashman’s skin was chalky and pale and his eyes were bloodshot and dull. His hair was thin and sparse, making him look older than he probably was, and his teeth and fingernails were an ill shade of yellow.

  Where are these weirdos coming from?

  Adrenaline pumped through Gabriel’s veins as he wrestled with the foul-smelling intruder, choking him mercilessly. The Ashman struggled beneath Gabriel, his limbs rigid and odd.

  A sharp pain sliced through Gabriel’s side, causing him to involuntarily lighten his grip on the Ashman’s throat.

  Taking advantage of Gabriel’s weakness, the stranger wiggled out from underneath Gabriel and swung at his face.

  Gabriel dodged the swing, wincing in pain as his muscles stretched against the gash in his side. He swung back and connected with the Ashman’s face.

  The Ashman stumbled back, knocking over an end table, and held up a knife dripping with Gabriel’s blood. A knife with a blue blade.

  He lunged at Gabriel a second time.

  Ignoring the pain in his side, Gabriel moved out of the knife’s path, but the intruder was relentless, slashing at the air between them in fury.

  Lamps fell over, art fell off the walls and blood from Gabriel’s rib leaked onto the floor as he evaded the Ashman’s advances over and over again.

  Wind and rain invaded the cabin, making the floor slippery.

  Despite his best attempts at outmaneuvering the stranger, Gabriel was still unarmed, giving the Ashman a severe advantage.

  For a brief moment, Gabriel wished Tristan had never left. No one stood a chance against both Archer brothers.

  But one unarmed Archer brother? That was a different story.

  The intruder shifted his weight and pulled the knife back, aiming at Gabriel’s chest. The moonlight glinted off the sharp blade and Gabriel found himself backed up against a wall.

  There was no escape. Gabriel was going to have to bear the pain of a knife through his chest. He could do it. He would wait until the knife entered his flesh and then he’d snap the Ashman’s neck in half.

  Yeah. That was a good plan.

  Just as the knife came toward Gabriel, the Ashman grunted and pulled back, taking a few wobbly steps before falling to the floor.

  Nate stood to the side, his hands on a large sword jutting from the Ashman’s back. He yanked out the sword, leaving the stranger’s body limp.

  Nate stepped toward the Ashman’s body, looking him over timidly.

  Without warning, the intruder rolled over and pulled himself up off the floor. Nate jumped back, lifted the sword in defense, and made a loud noise that sounded something like, “Arrrhh!”

  Still clutching the bloody knife, the Ashman looked back and forth between Nate and Gabriel. Seeing he was outnumbered, he turned and ran back through the destruction of the living room. Jumping out of the gaping hole from
the missing living room window, the Ashman disappeared into the storm

  A moment passed as Gabriel and Nate stared after their attacker, both of them out of breath.

  Still badly bleeding, Gabriel turned to Nate and looked at the weapon he held. The sword was oversized, extra shiny and had a very ornate handle. “I don’t remember ever seeing that sword in our arsenal before.”

  Hunched over and trying to catch his breath, Nate said, “That’s because it’s from my arsenal.”

  “So, you just had that,” Gabriel nodded at the weapon, “laying around?”

  Nate righted himself and shrugged. “I’m a Zelda fan.”

  “Ah.” Gabriel nodded. “And the noise you just made?”

  “That was my battle cry.”

  “Really?” Gabriel winced as he took a step forward. “It sounded more like the cry of a wounded animal. A cat, maybe. Or a small monkey.”

  “Shut up.” Nate looked at Gabriel’s bleeding torso. “Are you okay?”

  Gabriel looked down at where blood poured from his side. “I should be soon.” He touched the wound gingerly and grimaced at the pain lashing back at him.

  Nate tried to throw on some lights, but gave up. He went to a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out two flashlights.

  So that’s where they kept the flashlights.

  Nate also retrieved two lanterns from the pantry floor and turned them on in the kitchen.

  He walked over to the nonexistent window with the giant sword still in his hand and looked outside. “I think he’s gone. Was that an Ashman?”

  Gabriel nodded as he carefully stepped toward the kitchen. With every step, his wound exploded in pain.

  Nate sniffed. “Tristan was right. They smell weird.”

  Gabriel grunted as he entered the well-lit kitchen. “Can you go check on Heather? I don’t want to track blood up the stairs.”

  Nate’s eyes got big. “Oh, yeah. I forgot there was a girl in the house.” He ran upstairs and quickly returned with a flustered and confused Heather.

  “O-M-G! Gabriel, are you okay?” With her sleeping mask pushed up on her forehead, Heather scurried over to Gabriel. “An Ashman broke in and stabbed you?” She caught sight of his wound. “O-M-G. You need a doctor and a hospital and some disinfectant—”

  “Heather, I’m fine. I’m immortal. I’ll heal.” Gabriel clenched his teeth as he tried to lower himself to a kitchen chair.

  Nope. That wasn’t happening.

  Instead, he sat on the edge of the kitchen table and slowly leaned back.

  Nate looked at the floor and sighed. “Dude, you’re tracking blood everywhere.”

  Heather’s mouth dropped open as she eyed the bloody floor. Scooting her fuzzy, pink slippers away from the red pools at her feet, she started hyperventilating. “O-M-G, O-M-G, O-M-G.”

  Gabriel looked down at his gash, blood still oozing out of him. “Why am I not healing?”

  Nate eyed the wound. “Your skin should have already started to close up.”

  “Maybe it’s deeper than it looks?” Gabriel said.

  Heather was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “O-M-G, O-M-G, O-M-G.”

  “Heather,” Gabriel said with a pinched smile. “Please shut up.”

  She nodded and stopped chanting, but her eyes remained wide and glassy.

  Gabriel looked at Nate’s sword, now resting against the far wall of the kitchen. “I can’t believe you stabbed that guy through the chest and he just got up and ran out of here like nothing happened.”

  “I know.” Nate nodded. “You know what else is weird?” He picked up the sword and pointed to the clean blade. “No blood.”

  Gabriel stared at the shiny blade. “What does that mean?”

  “It means our intruder has no blood. Which rules out human. Or vampire. Or werewolf.” Nate looked at the sword. “Which is a shame because I totally know how to take down vampires and werewolves. These Ash creatures, though…they’re a whole new monster.”

  “Ashmen,” Heather whispered the correction. “O-M-G, O-M-G—”

  “Heather.” Gabriel glared at her and she shut her mouth. Looking back at the sword, he narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to get a closer look, but a throbbing pain assaulted his rib and he sucked in a breath. More blood gushed from his wound.

  Heather squeaked.

  Nate shook his head. “You’re not healing at all, dude.”

  Gabriel grunted. “That’s impossible.”

  Nate inhaled. “Is it?”

  Heather kept her eyes on the bloodstained floor, and began practicing—what Gabriel could only assume were—yoga breathing methods. She raised her arms in the air and inhaled deeply, then exhaled with her eyes closed and brought her hands to her chest before repeating the motion.

  Girls were so weird.

  When ten minutes passed and Gabriel’s wound still hadn’t closed, Nate said, “You gotta stitch it up, man. You’re bleeding too much and it’s really messy.” He looked at the bloody table with a frown.

  Sucking air in through his teeth, Gabriel agreed. “Hand me the med kit.”

  Nate retrieved the med kit he’d used on Scarlet just weeks before and brought it to Gabriel.

  Nate said, “You want me to do it or—”

  “No.” Taking several deep breaths to calm his shaky fingers, Gabriel carefully cleaned his wound and began to stitch it closed. Nate was definitely a more practiced doctor than Gabriel, but when it came to sutures, Gabriel and Tristan were just as skilled as their friend. And Gabriel didn’t feel like letting anyone else near the searing pain in his side.

  “Are you stitching yourself up?” Heather’s sounded awed.

  Gabriel winced. “Yep.”

  “That’s scary,” Heather said. “And…kinda hot.”

  When he had sewn his flesh back together and covered the wound with a bandage, Gabriel looked at Heather.

  She looked terrified. Truly and utterly freaked out.

  Her big lips quivered. “Did that Ashman just walk right in and start attacking you?”

  Gabriel made a face. “Sorta.”

  Nate looked at the hole in the living room wall, then at the tarp on the floor. “Apparently, windows are good at keeping out more than just woodland creatures.”

  Gabriel shut his eyes as throbbing pain washed over him again. “The new window is supposed to be here tomorrow.”

  “Perfect timing,” Nate muttered. He looked at Gabriel. “So the Ashman has a weapon that can injure an immortal, huh?” He exhaled. “That’s a bummer.”

  This realization had settled upon Gabriel sometime between the knife cutting into his side and the two pints of blood that had fallen from his body onto the wood floor. “Yeah.” Gabriel nodded. “And the blade was blue.”

  “What?” Nate froze. “Do you think…? Do you think that’s what Bluestone weapons are? Weapons that can injure immortals?”

  Dread sucked at Gabriel’s lungs. “That would explain why I’m not healing. Go get the arrow Tristan tried to kill himself with. Let’s check out the tip.”

  Nate disappeared down the hallway with a flashlight and quickly returned with the arrow in his hand. He and Gabriel examined the arrowhead in silence.

  The tip of the arrow was blue.

  Gabriel cursed. “How did we not know about immortal-killing weapons? Where are they coming from?”

  Nate shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “That’s so scary,” Heather said. “Does that mean you’re not…you guys aren’t immortal?”

  “I don’t know.” Gabriel looked at Nate. “What do you think the Ashman wanted?”

  “The map,” Nate said matter-of-factly.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Nate shrugged. “It’s the only memory Heather had trouble with. It makes sense. Laura�
��or whoever—probably snagged the memory and sent the Ashman after the map.”

  Heather gasped. “Is this my fault? Am I the reason Gabriel got stabbed?” Her lower lip quivered again. “O-M-G, O-M-G, O—”

  Gabriel shook his head. “Of course not.”

  “It is.” Heather nodded with sad eyes. “If you guys hadn’t let me join Team Awesome, then I wouldn’t know where the map was and no one would have used a Head Ghost on me and that Ashman wouldn’t have hurt you tonight.”

  “Heather.” Gabriel looked at her. “You didn’t do this. An Ashman did this. A curse did this. None of this is your fault.”

  Heather covered her mouth with her hands. “Do you think he found the map?”

  Nate shook his head. “Nah, it’s up in my room. But he might come back for it.”

  Gabriel winced again as he repositioned himself on the table. “So what do we do now?”

  Nate twitched his lips as he looked around the bloody kitchen and the wrecked living room. “Find a mop?”

  Gabriel stared at him. “What do we do about the Ashman? And the Bluestone weapons?”

  “Oh.” Nate took a deep breath. “I have no idea.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “Me neither.”

  They needed a plan. And manpower.

  They needed Tristan.

  56

  Tristan looked around the dark shack and bit back a curse.

  Still seated on the couch, Scarlet looked around. “I don’t suppose you have a generator?” Shadows from the fireplace—the only remaining light in the room—danced on her cheeks.

  Tristan exhaled. “Nope.”

  His eyes caught on hers and neither of them spoke. Scarlet had remembered what happened between them in her last life. Which wasn’t bad.

  But it also wasn’t safe.

  If their connection was strong enough to suck him into a flashback with her, then….

  Well, then they definitely shouldn’t be having any sleepovers.

  He took a deep breath. “Since we won’t have a heater tonight, you can sleep out here by the fireplace and I’ll sleep in the bedroom.”