Darkness Possessed (Order of the Blade) Page 5

  “No. I can’t save Trevor from his rogue state.” Rohan’s voice was bitter, so bitter that it was almost convincing. Almost. “You, however, can save him.”

  “Me?” Zach snorted in disgust. “You’ve got some balls if you think that I’m going to help your man when my teammate is almost dead out there. You lost the chance for my loyalty a long time ago.” He snarled at Rohan. “I’m leaving, and don’t bother trying to stop me. We both know you can’t.”

  Again, a total lie, but Rohan didn’t know that.

  “No. You will not leave without helping Trevor.”

  “I’m here for Thano,” Zach snapped. “Nothing else.” Inadvertently sliding one last regretful look over the chained up warrior, wishing he was at liberty to help the poor bastard, Zach turned on his heel and strode back across the blue-lit area toward the place he’d entered. A part of him felt like he was betraying his own kind by not helping Rohan’s warrior, but at the same time, he’d taken an oath to the Order of the Blade, and to Thano. Nothing trumped that oath. Nothing.

  Rohan’s voice stopped him. “The same thing will save Thano and Trevor.” The words were heavy with meaning and intent. “If you save Trevor, you will also save your man.”

  Zach stopped in his tracks, inches from the edge of the darkness.

  Son of a bitch.

  Now he got it. Now he got it all.

  Rohan needed his help to save his teammate. Any good leader knew that his value was only as strong as the men who worked beneath him. Nothing was more important to Rohan than his mission, so he would be relentless to protect his team, which meant he would be relentless in forcing Zach to help him.

  Resentment coiled inside him, and he fisted his sai as he turned back. He opened his mouth to tell Rohan to go to hell, then his gaze flicked involuntary back to the dangling Trevor. He looked almost dead now, limp, like he was a meat carcass that had been strung up for carving. Was that Thano’s fate, too? The handful of Calydons Zach knew who had come back from the edge of going rogue had been brought back by the women they loved, reclaimed by sanity before they had truly gone rogue.

  Thano was completely rogue, and he had no woman to save him. There was no out for him. No way home.

  What if Rohan was right? What if he could save Thano? If Rohan really believed this task would save Trevor from the hell of being rogue, and Zach sensed that Rohan did, then he wasn’t lying when he said it would save Thano as well.

  Zach ground his jaw, looking over his shoulder toward where he’d left Thano and Apollo. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there, waiting for him to work a miracle and save the day.

  He knew then that he had no choice. If Rohan believed Zach could save Thano and Trevor, then there was a very real possibility he might be able to do it. Zach couldn’t walk away from even an infinitesimal chance of saving his teammate. Swearing, he lowered his sai and faced the man he’d never thought he would trust again. “Okay then. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Rohan smiled, a smug smile that settled in Zach’s mind like a thorn. “You have chosen well, apprentice. We have much to prepare, and then we will talk.”

  “Apprentice?” Zach narrowed his eyes as he shored up his mental shields. This was one warrior he wasn’t going to let into his head. “I was never Dante’s apprentice, and I sure as hell am no one’s apprentice now. Give me the details. That’s all I want from you.”

  “No. You were not Dante’s apprentice,” Rohan agreed. “You are mine, and you always have been.”

  Chapter 5

  Her street seemed darker than it had been the last time she walked down it.

  Rhiannon realized it had been a mistake to stay at the office until after midnight. She, a girl who had once thrived in the darkness, now couldn’t help but look over her shoulder as she hurried down the sidewalk. She froze suddenly when she thought she saw something move in the shadowy doorway across the street. She stared at it, her heart pounding, waiting to see if anything moved.

  Nothing did.

  She started walking again, then whipped around, and looked at the doorway again, trying to catch someone who might have moved when she’d stopped looking. Again, she thought she saw a whisper of movement, like the slipping of a wraith into a crevice, but then there was nothing. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

  It was faintly windy, and a crumpled paper towel tumbled down the street, bouncing around as if invisible fingers were flicking it along. A newspaper flapped against the street post, trapped by the metal base. A hissing sound caught her attention, and she looked up just as something black streaked past, above her head. A bird? A bat? Or something that didn’t belong in the city?

  Her skin prickled in fear, and she looked back at the doorway. Nothing moved this time. Nothing at all. Just a shadow —

  Something moved to her left, and she spun around, searching the tiny fenced yards of the brownstones that flanked her street. A squirrel sprang out of the bushes and bolted across the street, moving fast, too fast. Since when did squirrels come out at night?

  No. She needed to chill. There was nothing out in the street tonight. It had been only five hours since her appearance on the balcony. Not enough time for word to get out. Not enough time for anyone to find her. She was being ridiculous, letting old fears rule her.

  God, she’d forgotten what it felt like to feel so jittery. She hated that José still had that kind of power over her, even though she was thousands of miles away and he was dead. But even as she thought it, a flicker of worry settled in her gut. Was he dead? Truly? He had to be.

  But she didn’t know for sure.

  She forced herself to turn away and start walking down the street again, trying to stay calm. But she couldn’t keep herself from walking quickly, and she couldn’t keep herself from looking into every shadow, and jumping each time one seemed to move. The clouds were heavy across the moon, making the shadows drift and dance. Once, she had loved the shadows. They had provided cover for her. Now all she could think was that they provided cover for something else. For someone else. For the nightmare that had never left her.

  As she hurried down the quiet street, she slipped her hand into her bag and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her dagger. She couldn’t exactly run around holding it ready in the streets of Boston, but she would be prepared if she needed it.

  She covered the last two blocks to her house at a run. Each time she looked back, shadows moved. Trash whipped past her, driven by the wind. A soda can banged against her ankle, making her jump. Even as she chastised herself that her fear was groundless, she vaulted up the six stairs to her building in one leap, no longer calm enough to hide the athleticism that an ordinary human should never have.

  She jammed her key into the lock on the front door and slipped inside. The light in the entryway was out, casting an eerie dark glow around the foyer. She swallowed, knowing that in the six months she’d been here, no light had ever been out. She’d chosen to live in this building because the man in charge of maintenance lived on site, and he was fanatical about keeping it up.

  And now the light was out.

  Her heart pounding, she raced up the stairs to her third floor apartment. More lights were out in the hallway, and the stairs creaked under her feet. Had they always made so much noise? She’d never noticed it.

  No lights shined under the doors of her neighbors. They were all asleep. She felt completely alone, even in this building full of people. She reached her apartment door and slipped her key inside the lock. She turned it but when she went to grasp the doorknob, the metal was cold. It felt as cold as if it had been outside in a cold Boston winter, not inside in a stuffy old brownstone.

  She jumped, even as she forced herself to smile. Because it was not cold that came with her nightmares. It was heat. A cold doorknob should make her feel better, not worse. But right now everything felt off, and everything that wasn’t as it should be felt dangerous.

  She hurried into her studio apartment, and all the lights we
re blazing, as they always were. Every closet door was open, every cabinet was open, and she could see under her bed even from the front door. There wasn’t a place that anyone could hide that she wouldn’t see them from the entrance to her apartment, giving her time to flee. No one was hiding in her home.

  Satisfied that her apartment, at least, was still safe, she kicked the door shut behind her and threw the six locks closed. She dropped her bag on the floor by the front door and sprinted across the studio. Ten minutes, she told herself. She would give herself ten minutes to gather all she could and then be out the door.

  But as she grabbed the duffel bag from under her bed and began to shove her meager belongings into it, a sense of sadness settled in her heart. She didn’t want to leave this time. She’d felt like it had been long enough that it would be safe to stay here. She realized that she’d actually let herself believe that she wouldn’t have to run again. She had begun to think of it as her home. A home that was safe, where she could sleep soundly and not be terrified of what she would find had been done to her when she woke up. A place where she could eat when she wanted to, sleep when she wanted to, choose who touched her, and who she touched. A place where she belonged.

  All that was gone, all because she’d lost her cool and gone after a bastard tonight. It was her fault. She’d been stupid.

  Seven minutes later, she was packed. She was just grabbing her car keys when she heard something rattle against her window. She whirled around, facing the glass panes as she whipped her dagger out. After a long, terrifying moment with her pulse pounding in her ears, she realized rain was battering against the glass, a gentle pitter-patter that reminded her of home.

  This time real homesickness filled her, a longing for the world that she truly belonged to, the world she could never go back to.

  Rhiannon paused for a moment, then sheathed the knife and walked over to the window. She grabbed the sash and threw it open. The damp air washed across her, and she closed her eyes, inhaling it deeply into her lungs. There would never be anything as beautiful as the feeling of being in the rain, and breathing in the air saturated with dampness. It eased into every cell of her body, and she felt herself relax. As long as it was raining, she felt like everything would be okay.

  She rested her palms on the windowsill and leaned out. She had long ago removed the screen so that she could feel the outdoors just like this. She closed her eyes and let the rain splash across her face. The rivulets ran down her cheeks like the tears she had long ago stopped shedding…until tonight.

  Laughter drifted across the night toward her, and she opened her eyes. Rounding the corner of the next building was a young couple. The man was tall but lean, and he had his arm around the shoulders of the woman with him. Her hair was plastered to her head from the rain, and both their clothes were completely soaked through. Neither of them was wearing a coat, and it was apparent they had been caught unprepared by the sudden deluge.

  But the woman was looking up at the man, her lips parted in joyous laughter as he gazed down at her. He wiped the rain off her cheek and then bent his head. The kiss was so innocent and so happy that Rhiannon felt it slice through the shields on her heart. The raindrops on her cheeks mixed with tears as she rested her chin on her palms and watched the couple kiss.

  There was something so magical about the joy they were sharing. It was obvious that the woman was happy, and that she trusted the man whose arms were wrapped so intimately around her. She was kissing him because she wanted to with all of her heart, and the way his hands were resting on her hips was a sweet statement of the trust and connection between them. He wasn’t trying to dominate her. She wasn’t afraid of him. As the girl’s arms slid around his neck, a sad envy settled in Rhiannon’s heart. What would it be like to be excited for a man’s kiss? What would it be like for a man to hold her gently? What would it be like to have the ability to choose who to give herself to? To kiss without fear?

  The couple broke the kiss, and the woman was staring up at him with an almost radiant smile on her face. The man took her hand and tangled their fingers together. Together they began to walk again, taking their time as they splashed through the puddles and let the downpour saturate them—

  A hand closed around Rhiannon’s throat and yanked her back into the room. She gasped for air as she grabbed the muscular forearm, trying to pry it off as she was slammed backward against a hot, muscular body. “José knew you weren’t dead,” a low voice snarled.

  Dear God. She knew that voice. José‘s deputy, Raoul, one of the twisted bastards who had tormented her for so long. Terror ripped through her. He’d found her. “No!” she screamed her protest as she twisted violently, tearing herself out of his grasp. She leapt for the window, but he caught her bun and jerked her back. Pain tore through her scalp as he dragged her across the floor, ripping her tight bun out of its carefully coiffed prison.

  Writhing against his grip, she grabbed her hair, trying to protect herself from the pain as she fought to get free. Frantic, she stretched out her hand, reaching for the potted ferns near her window. Help me! A wind began to rattle through the room, and the ferns began to grow—

  “Fuck that!” Raoul hurled her onto the wooden floor, and immediately jerked her hands behind her back. She felt the cold rush of metal against the backs of her hands, and knew that he was going to put on gloves that would block her power. Fear tore through her and she screamed, fighting desperately to get him off her. But as always, he was so much stronger than she was, his weight easily keeping her crushed against the ground, pushing the air right out of her lungs.

  Her finger slid inside the glove and she screamed, twisting desperately to try to get free. She couldn’t even focus enough to concentrate on calling the ferns. They sat there in their pots, yards from her, doing nothing but drifting in the breeze from her open window. Her knife was sheathed, out of reach. She had nothing to protect herself. Nothing.

  Panic assaulted her, sheer, raw panic, as she felt the all-too-familiar restraints taking away her freedom. With a shout of fury, she bucked her hips, shoving him off her so she could scramble out from under him. She fell on her face as she tried to stand up, and the one glove that had been partially on her hand slipped off.

  She lunged for the plants by the window, and her jaw slammed into the pot as she fell. A fern brushed her cheek, and she commanded its response, praying that being so close to it would give her enough power to control it. “Now!” she commanded, just as Raoul grabbed her shoulder and dragged her away from it.

  The ferns didn’t respond. Her fear was too deep, paralyzing her and cutting her off from the very source of her power. The plants just sat there, useless, as Raoul jerked her back. She slammed her knee into his crotch, and he roared with pain as he grabbed his balls. She tore herself out of his grasp and raced for the front door. It flew open just as she neared it, and in burst another one of José‘s men. She skidded to a stop, scrambling backwards as he lunged for her. His meaty fingers locked around her wrist and yanked her forward—

  A loud crack exploded through the night, and suddenly the man holding her fell to the ground with a loud crash.

  “Really? You still think I can’t help you?”

  Rhiannon looked up sharply to see Jordyn standing in the doorway, a handgun in her right hand. Her boss was standing with her feet spread, her jaw tense. She looked far more than the manager of a shelter for battered women. She looked like a warrior, the kind of woman Rhiannon had grown up around. Warmth flooded her, and for the second time that night, she felt like this woman could be her friend. Behind her, she could hear Raoul’s moans of pain as he writhed on the floor. “Thank you.” Her hands were shaking, and she could barely breathe.

  “So? You going to stay now?” Jordyn casually walked over to Raoul and pointed the gun at his heart as he started to stand. She pulled the trigger, and he dropped to the floor, blood from his body pooling on the floor. Her move was utterly cool, without remorse, as if she’d taken down many men in he
r life.

  “I wish I could stay, Jordyn, I really do. But this isn’t over.” Rhiannon picked up her bag, and looked down at her assailants. There was a bright red stain on each of their chests, but she knew it wouldn’t last for long. “They’ll heal that in less than a minute. I have to go.”

  Jordyn’s eyes widened as she glanced at the man on the floor. “A minute? I hit them both in the heart. They should be whining about the injury for at least a half hour. It’s not like they’re rogue.”

  “It takes a lot more than that to hurt that kind of Calydon.” Rhiannon hurried past Jordyn and started to run down the stairs.

  Jordyn followed her, moving as quickly as Rhiannon. “Why do you have Calydons hunting you? I thought they usually hunted other Calydons. Rogues.”

  “Generally, yes. But these are different.” She reached the front door and yanked it open, hurrying out into the rainy night. “These hunt me.”

  “Why?” Jordyn followed her to the street where Rhiannon tried to flag down a cab. It sped by her, not even slowing down.

  Rhiannon shook her head as she tried to wave down another cab that breezed by her. Dear God, she had to get out of there now. She heard a crash in her apartment, and looked up sharply. Shadows were moving and she knew the men would be after her in seconds. “Jordyn. I don’t have time to talk. José is alive. He’s going to come find me. There’s nowhere to hide. I have nowhere left to go that’s safe.”

  Jordyn glanced up at the apartment, and her eyes narrowed. Not with fear, with focus.

  “What are you going to do?”

  God, she didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want it to be real. But there was no other choice. José was alive. And now he would know that she was alive. There was only one option.