Terran Realm Vol 1-6

by Dee, Bonnie

  “How so?” The Destroyer’s voice was almost uninterested. Almost.

  She could feel Donovan tense beside her, but he played along. In retrospect, she should have said something … Winthrop didn’t need any kind of advantage. But hindsight was always twenty-twenty, so she pressed on. “She was playing both ends against the middle. If she’d taken the Sorhineth, she and Julian would have used it for their own gain.”

  “And you deduced this, how?”

  “The way she used Donovan so relentlessly. If she could do that to her best friend, there wasn’t anything stopping her from doing the same to you. She was cold enough, and Julian was nothing more than the muscle. Muscle she brought in.”

  “An interesting hypothesis, Warden, but one that can never be proved, and is a moot point, since I assume you’ve disposed of both.” Winthrop settled his attention squarely on Brenna. A chill swept over her as she felt him begin to probe her mind, her aura, but was blocked by the ward.

  “Stop that,” she snapped, although it wasn’t like she could do anything about it.

  Winthrop had the gall to look amused as he withdrew his presence. “Very well, Warden. I must say, you’re not what I expected.”

  “I could say the same, Destroyer.”

  Donovan shifted to stand even closer to her. Brenna felt him begin to gather power, and mentally crossed her fingers. They’d agreed the head Destroyer needed to be killed, and now that they were alone with him the distasteful duty could begin. But first, they needed to know more … fill out the picture that had become more and more apparent since they’d started this journey less than a week ago.

  Winthrop unknowingly aided them by cutting right to the chase.

  “Join us, as one of the inner circle.”

  “And why should we, when we’ve got the Sorhineth and you don’t?” Donovan asked, his tone even.

  “Because if you don’t become one of us, we’ll hunt you down and take the Warden and Sorhineth from you. I haven’t taken it yet because I’d prefer having you as an ally rather than a corpse. Perhaps you were correct about Jenalee and Julian, Warden. But as I said before, it makes no difference since they are dead and you still hold the Sorhineth.” Winthrop’s tone was just as reasonable, as if they were discussing the weather, or perhaps the stock market.

  “And just how would we benefit in selling our souls?” Donovan’s voice held distaste and a measure of disdain now.

  Winthrop took offense; it was evident in the flare of his nostrils and narrowing of his eyes. “You’ve enjoyed our prosperity, and now you feel fit to decry it? You’re a hypocrite.”

  “I paid my dues in blood, sweat and tears, not making money at the expense of innocent lives, you bastard.”

  “Innocent? Don’t delude yourself, Callahan. Everyone dies, even Terrans. This is America, and I daresay no one has been innocent here in a century. Money rules here, son, and you’d do best to remember that before you martyr yourself.”

  His words sparked something inside Brenna, made her think of some of Mark and Julian’s statements, and the pieces fell together neatly like a jigsaw puzzle. She fought and failed to keep the fury from her voice. “You allowed events like Loma Prieta to occur so you could make money. I see it now … Carlisle Winthrop, the great rebuilder. All those construction jobs, the corruption that allowed you to basically take every big project that came along. How very pedestrian. Was it worth it?”

  “Watch yourself, Warden. You speak of things you do not know.”

  “Oh, I think she’s on the right track,” Donovan said, picking up her train of thought unerringly. “I’ll bet even money one of KOTE’s subsidiaries is cleaning up Alaska right now, and there’s a Destroyer just like you in China, and you have the contract in Hurricane Hugo cleanup.”

  Winthrop’s lips tightened, but he said nothing.

  “What makes you think I’m not powerful enough to take you right now, and flush all of the Destroyers as well? I’d be doing the world a favor.”

  “Because I’ll kill your Warden first, the Sorhineth be damned. You aren’t coldhearted enough to watch yet another woman perish.” Satisfaction coated his words now, as if he held a trump card.

  Donovan let out a harsh laugh. “You think you know me, but you have no idea what I’m capable of. As for the Warden, we both know we’ll probably end up dead anyway.”

  And even though they’d spoken of this in The Drake, had known the very real possibility of it happening, it still scared Brenna to think he was probably right. Their secret weapon weighed down her backpack, zippered securely in the front pouch where Donovan could get to it quickly.

  “But there’s no need for it. Hand over the Sorhineth, and you and your Warden will be secure, happy and rich for the rest of your lives.”

  “At the cost of our consciences?" Donovan's headshake was small, but firm. "I don’t think so.”

  Winthrop sighed. “Then this conversation has gone on far too long. You’re too naïve to ever be an asset to us, both of you.”

  Brenna felt the full force of his power as he curled a fist of air around her, hampered by the protection spell, but still reaching through, squeezing the breath out of her incrementally.

  Donovan shifted back as he poured more energy into the protection spell, unzipped the backpack and pulled the Beretta out. He chambered a round and swung the weapon, pointing it directly at Winthrop.

  *

  Donovan tightened his finger on the trigger without any hesitation. This was one death he wouldn’t regret. He looked into Winthrop’s eyes, and saw them widen in surprise. Just like Julian, he hadn’t expected the physical threat. He had Brenna and the way she’d dealt with Jenalee to thank for that.

  “Goodbye, asshole.”

  The ground beneath him jolted sharply, pulling his attention from Winthrop for the split second it took the Destroyer to vault over the reception desk.

  Donovan shook his head as pain lanced through him, setting his body on fire.

  The building swayed sickeningly. Hayward Fault, his Earth Element genes screamed, and it took everything he had to maintain the protection spell draped over them rather than channeling his power into the wounded earth.

  He looked for Winthrop, but the damned Destroyer was still cowering behind the desk, and Donovan could feel him strengthening his weave on the air, cutting off Brenna’s oxygen and beginning to infringe upon his own.

  The earth jolted again and he realized he had to make a choice. Brenna or San Francisco. Protector or Earth Elemental. His life and his beloved’s or the lives of thousands, perhaps millions. And if he chose Brenna and himself, then he was no better than the Destroyers who had precipitated all of this in the first place.

  All of these thoughts took a flash in time, but he could feel the instability along the fault growing more tenuous by the millisecond, and knew intuitively that Winthrop had nothing to do with it. The Earth was rebelling all on her own.

  “Do it,” Brenna gasped, as if reading his mind, and held her hand out for the gun.

  He dipped his head and pressed the gun into her palm, even as his heart overflowed with love for her. Then he cast his soul into repairing the rift miles beneath his feet, abandoning his all-too-human mate to the full force of Winthrop’s power. As he did, he felt the jewels in the key chain course to life, adding an almost divine energy to his channeling.

  Winthrop’s spell hit him full force, pushing the air from his lungs with a visceral punch.

  From the periphery of his vision he could see Brenna step forward haltingly, the Beretta raised. He knew she had to be on the last reserves of breath, but she struggled ahead. A distant part of him hated the fact she was doing what he should be, but even the scant amount of attention he drew away to keep tabs on her lessened the impact he was having on stabilizing the ground beneath him. So, with great regret, he let it go, let everything go, and fed his very being into his Earth Elemental genes.

  As he did, it was as if a great light beamed down on him, filling his s
enses with peace, with overwhelming power. And in that moment he knew. Brenna had been right. He was the Spirit Talisman, the Terran who had been Seen those many years ago. A dull roar sounded in his ears, and he wasn’t sure if it was a lack of oxygen, or a greater power. He didn’t really care. Let the dice fly high; there was nothing left but try his damndest to do the right thing.

  He sluiced all of himself into the earth, coaxing the tectonic plates together, soothing Mother Earth with everything he had in him. And as he did, he felt her answer in return, settling back on her haunches and considering him. Then she smiled, and it was a balm to his soul. By sacrificing himself and Brenna, he had given the Bay Area another chance.

  And as he lost consciousness, he hoped Brenna’s family would have the wisdom and absolute heart she did, and would use the Sorhineth as it had been meant to be … for good, for right, for Earth. Claire and Mark would be the new face of KOTE. They had to be.

  Lhiannan, my mate, my everything, he thought, and then he was gone.

  *

  Brenna fell to her knees and forced herself to crawl onward, Beretta dangling weakly from one hand, breath sawing in and out like a bellows. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, and she felt, rather than saw, Donovan collapse, and knew they were done, one way or the other. But she was taking that son of a bitch Winthrop with them.

  Pure energy hummed in the air around her, more pure than Destroyer magic, but it was dimmed by the way her body was shutting down.

  She rounded the corner of the reception desk and saw Winthrop crouched in the knee space, eyes closed as he frantically recited under his breath.

  The pistol rose as if by its own volition.

  “This is for Donovan, you coward,” she rasped out, and pulled the trigger.

  The gun bucked in her hand, and she had the gut-deep satisfaction of seeing his head explode before the spots coalesced into a dark veil.

  Her last thought was of Donovan, and the knowledge they would be together again, even if in the afterlife.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Jesus, they’re both dead.”

  Donovan heard Mark’s whisper as his friend crouched over him, and cracked open one eye when Claire’s protection spell dropped over them like a shroud. The room spun around him.

  “Brenna…” he rasped, and tried to push himself up, but failed. If Brenna was gone, there was no reason for him to live anymore.

  “Shhh,” Claire soothed, dropping to her knees beside him. “Mark’s checking on her.”

  “She’s alive. Shocky as hell, but alive.” Mark’s voice was a study in pure relief, and Donovan closed his eyes, letting them continue to talk around him. If Brenna was all right, then it had all been worth it.

  “Claire, help me move her. I don’t want her waking up to that sight.”

  “What sight… Oh shit.” Donovan had to smile at the obvious disgust in her tone.

  “We need to get them out of here, now. We can do clean-up later, if we have a chance to.”

  Mark looped an arm under Donovan’s shoulders and pushed him into a sitting position. “Donovan, talk to me. Is there anyone left we can trust?”

  “Brenna’s family. Get them out here,” he croaked, and opened his eyes. The spinning had stopped, and he slowly turned his head to see Brenna lying next to him, her face far too pale, pulse beating weakly in her throat. He laid a shaking hand on her forehead, deluging her with all the love he felt, just as he had with Mother Earth.

  Her eyes fluttered open and her hand rose to grasp his wrist.

  “We won, my lhiannan. We won.”

  * * * *

  They reached the lobby of the Transamerica Building unaccosted. Donovan was pretty sure Claire had cast an invisibility spell, but he was too damned tired to really give a damn.

  Brenna was still weak as a kitten, but at least now she was standing on her own, although she was hanging on Mark like a lifeline.

  The street was packed with people of all races and economic types, united by the Christmas spirit and the second earthquake in less than three months. They wound through the crowd unnoticed, just another set of survivors among the many.

  If only they knew.

  The Jag was just where they’d left it on the street, and Donovan slid into the back seat with a relieved sigh. Brenna joined him, snuggling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Where to, boss?” Mark was behind the wheel, Claire riding shotgun with Brenna’s backpack and the Sorhineth tucked between her feet.

  “The Drake.”

  “But Julian’s still there. We left him unconscious and so bound he couldn’t move an eyelash if he tried,” Claire countered.

  “I know. Just take us there. You’ll understand in a few moments.” Donovan wondered if they thought he was going to kill Julian. It would make sense, but was the last thing on his mind.

  “Did you contact my family?” Brenna asked, her voice expressing her obvious exhaustion.

  “Not yet. We, ah, decided to bind Julian and get an idea of what was happening first. The quake hit just as we pulled into the parking garage.” Mark shot Donovan a quick look in the rearview mirror. From the look in his eyes, he expected to be chastised for going against Donovan’s order.

  “We’re good, Mark. No worries.”

  His friend let out a quick huff of breath and nodded sharply, then started the car.

  As they pulled away from the curb and navigated between the mass of humanity, Donovan propped his head against Brenna’s and deeply inhaled the scent of her.

  He had many things to say to his mate, but it could wait until they were alone. Now he was going to ponder what had happened while it was still fresh on his mind, and try to figure out where they went from here.

  Winthrop was dead, but the war was still on, and Julian played right into his plans.

  * * * *

  Julian was awake and fighting mentally against his bonds, his face beet-red with exertion, though he hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “Release him,” Donovan said, as he settled onto the couch, facing his former employee. Claire and Mark stood by the bar, ready to jump into action if they had to.

  Brenna sat next to him, lending what little support she could as she wondered what he was up to. Whatever it was, it would be the right thing, of that she had no question.

  She’d spent the car ride over thinking about what she’d done. She’d taken a life. Granted, it was a completely justified action, but it still grated at her soul. She knew it was something she’d relive over and over again, but in the end she was glad. Glad she’d done it, that Donovan had had the inner strength to do whatever the hell he’d done, that they’d come out of this alive.

  “It’s over, Julian.” Donovan’s voice, quiet and authoritative, brought her back to the room.

  “Obviously, if you’re sitting here.” The Destroyer had regained all of his hatred, his malice, in the short time they’d been gone.

  “KOTE is mine now, by right, and I’m taking it … taking it all.”

  Damn, Brenna thought, he was laying it all on the table. If she didn’t absolutely know Donovan’s true nature, as recognized by the key chain he now dangled from one hand, she’d swear he sounded like a megalomaniac corrupted by his taste of power. But maybe that’s exactly what he wanted Julian to think.

  “And you’re telling me this … why?” Julian sneered, but his bravado was a façade Brenna could easily see through. He was scared, and he had every right to be.

  “Because you’re going to spread the word. Let them know they’re welcome to come after me now … you know where we’ll be. Tell them the Spirit Talisman has taken over the helm, and damn anyone who thinks we’ll be doing anything but what we should, as Terrans. Starting today, we go back to the old ways … with the weight of the Sorhineth, the Warden, Claire and Mark behind us. No new identities, no more money, no more anything for anyone who reeks of Destroyer taint.”

  Holy shit, he’d done it! Brenna stared at Donovan with wonde
r and awe. He’d not only accepted he was the Talisman, but had lobbed the ball firmly back in the Destroyer’s court by offering the challenge.

  “So you’re letting me go, just like that?” Julian asked, obviously looking for a trap.

  “Just like that. I never want to see you again. You have three hours to leave San Francisco. If you’re here after that, you’re dead. All Destroyers have twelve hours to clear out. By noon tomorrow, we go hunting.”

  “But that’s not enough time,” Julian whined, and the change in him was startling. Donovan’s death threat had had the desired outcome. It gave Brenna no little satisfaction to see the Destroyer reduced to a sniveling hulk.

  “It’ll have to be. You have a network, don’t think you can delude me into thinking you don’t. Start as soon as you get home. I don’t really care one way or the other, but I’d rather not spill more blood the day after Christmas. I will if I have to. I don’t know what kind of game you and Jenalee were playing, trying to double-cross Winthrop, and I don’t really care. She’s dead, he's dead, and you will be in three hours. Now go.” Donovan stood and motioned Julian to his feet. “Go, and don’t ever pollute San Francisco with your presence again.”

  Julian shuffled to the door, casting one last look over his shoulder as if he expected Donovan to attack him from behind. He closed the door quietly behind him, and Brenna let out a sigh of relief.

  Donovan sank down onto the couch with a tired huff. “I could really, really use a drink right now.”

  “Coming right up, boss.” Mark’s voice was full of unrestrained glee.

  Brenna feathered a hand over Donovan’s cheek. “You did it.”

  He turned his face into her palm. “No, we did it.” Then his eyes turned haunted. “I’m so sorry you had to kill him. It should have been my job to do.”

  “No, love. You had more important things to take care of, like saving a few million lives.”