Hero's Haven Page 2

  “Well,” she murmured out loud. “This is new.”

  Then his eyes opened. Deep and bluish-green and sizzling. “Haven,” he rumbled.

  Chapter Two

  Quade hurt too much to be dead. Damn it. Cold tinged his skin, and his head ached. He rubbed his ear, not surprised to bring back blood on his fingers. His vocal cords, not used for anything but screaming for so long, ached as he said her name. Instinct took over, and he grasped snow, bringing it to his mouth. The flakes disintegrated in his mouth, cooling down his damaged throat.

  A sound caught his attention through the wild storm, and he turned his head. Water. Planting his hand on the frozen snow, he shoved himself up and then ran toward the sound.

  “Quade,” the woman called from behind him.

  He could not stop. Not a chance. He grabbed the branch of a tree, a real tree, and barreled around it, leaping for the rushing water. Like an animal, he dropped to his knees and dunked his head. His forehead hit a rock, and he winced, but he kept drinking. Rapidly. So much water.

  Finally, when he could take no more, he lifted his head. The snowy world spun around him, and he shut his eyes to dispel the dizziness.

  “Quade?”

  He partially turned, acutely aware of his nudity and animalistic position. “Where?” he grunted.

  The female took a step back, her already pale face turning stark white. Even her lips had taken on a light blue color. She must be freezing.

  He shook his head, trying to grasp reality. Wiping water off his face, he stood again, wobbling a little. The air was lighter here. “Where am I?”

  She hunched farther into her coat. “Idaho.”

  Idaho? Where the hell was Idaho? He smelled pine. Real pine and fresh water. The scents of his youth. Eons ago, when he had endured the ritual of the Seven, he had crossed through different worlds, but none with a name. “Who is in Idaho?” His voice, rusty and hoarse, sounded odd after all this time.

  She eyed him as if he was a starving animal. “Um, we are?” She wiped snow off her face and shivered, her gaze staying above his neck.

  He had opened his mouth to ask more questions when dizziness blasted him between the eyes. He went down as if struck with a club, his knees smashing through frozen snow to hit the raw ground.

  “You’re going to freeze.” Apparently making up her mind, she kicked through the snow to reach him, grabbing his arm. “Come on. I have a Jeep over here.” She tugged, an ineffectual but stubborn little thing. Heat and a new, unexpected pain flashed along his right palm, and he pressed it into the snow. Steam rose. What the hell? He lifted his hand and looked. The marking. The Kayrs marking.

  It was impossible. He was not to mate. No matter what, the Seven would not mate, because their lives were not their own. They were sacrifices in the end.

  She looked down at the improbable mark and shook her head. “This is an over-the-top delusion.” Indecision and confusion clouded her pretty face.

  He nodded, staring at his palm and the raw brand of the letter K surrounded by a Celtic knot and jagged lines. The marking a demon got when he met his mate. It should not be on his hand. “You are real,” he murmured, looking up at her.

  “You’re not,” she retorted, pulling on his arm. “Though you feel real.”

  None of this was making sense. He allowed her to pull him up. “We require shelter.” The storm seemed to be getting worse. He tried to transport himself, taking her through time and space to the place of his youth, but his ability was gone.

  “This way.” Grasping his hand, the one covered in scars from the Seven ritual, she turned back toward the trees.

  He followed her, his steps light. The air around him was different from the world he had just left, making breathing and moving much easier. The female was small but trudged on with determination. He liked that about her. They emerged in an icy field with a snow-covered small shelter in the middle. Was it blue?

  She pulled him, her head down, her boots sliding. “Come on.”

  He tried to scout the area for threats, but the storm was too powerful for him to get a bead on enemies. She tugged him around the odd shelter and pulled open a door to reveal two thick chairs separated by a box. “Sit. Now,” she urged.

  How very odd. He slid onto the seat, which was smooth. The female pulled open another door behind him and retrieved a blanket off a long seat, which she planted over him. He clutched the material, which was soft and warm. “Thank you.”

  “Sure.” She shut his door and ran around the front.

  What an odd shelter. Would they just sit in it and stare outside until the storm passed? He knocked on the clear glass. Glass. He remembered that vaguely.

  Haven opened her door and took her seat, shutting them in. A wheel was in front of her. Silence descended inside the shelter. She reached to the side of the wheel for something dangling and twisted her wrist. The shelter rumbled and bumped.

  Quade froze, his chest filling.

  She pulled on a knob in front of her, and heat blew toward him from vents. He dropped his head, looking inside. “There is a fire in there?” How was all of this possible? “Where are we?” He truly did not understand.

  “We need to find you clothes.” She looked over his blanket-wrapped body. “Nothing I have will remotely cover you.” She turned back to the wheel, moved a lever between them, and the shelter began to move.

  Shock filled him, followed by a chilled heat that made his heart thump harder than it had in years. Then Quade Kayrs, one of the most dangerous and feared hybrids in any existing world, fainted like a virginal maiden.

  * * * *

  Haven drove through the storm, her shoulders hunched, her eyes squinting as she peered into the swirling mass of white. Even so, she glanced at the man sleeping beside her. Biting her lip, she reached out and nudged him on his muscular bare upper arm. He felt real. Everything felt so real.

  How could this be another dream?

  When he’d shown her his palm and the striking K tattoo, she’d nearly jumped out of her boots. For years, she’d been drawing that symbol. Painting it, even.

  Of course, if all of this was in her head, if she’d finally disengaged from reality, that made sense. Nothing else did.

  Her car dinged, and she started, looking at the gauge. Shit. The compulsion had taken her, and she hadn’t checked the gas tank. It was almost empty, and when her old Jeep started dinging, she had less than a couple of miles left. She was way too far along the river road to make it back.

  Okay. She could handle this. Probably none of it was real, anyway.

  She drove for another half mile until she could make out a rough snowy drive off the road. Holding her breath, she turned the vehicle and drove over bumpy ice toward the river, twisting several times and wincing when tree branches scraped the sides of the Jeep. She took a final turn and drove up to a dark and weathered A-frame cabin surrounded by snow. Nobody had cleared a path, and the cabin appeared winterized with windows boarded up.

  She parked and silently debated whether to turn off the vehicle or not. It probably didn’t matter. She didn’t have enough gas to make it back to the main road, so she left the heat blowing on the sleeping giant before jumping out and softly closing the door.

  The storm fought her, and she had to struggle through drifts of snow, but she finally reached the weathered wooden door. She bent to look at the meager lock and then removed her gloves before taking out a couple of bobby pins from her purse. Picking locks was an ability she’d learned at one of her foster homes, along with picking pockets. Both were skills she hadn’t had to use in quite a while.

  The lock gave easily. She pushed the door wide open and quickly moved inside, studying the space. A sliding glass door let in light from across the main room, revealing the winding river. While eaves protected the door, snow had piled high on the porch and narrow deck beyond.

 
; The faint scent of lemons still hung in the dusty air. She moved forward and removed a plain white sheet from a cedar log sofa that faced a stone fireplace. A small kitchen lay behind the sofa with a bathroom to the right. Wooden steps with a hand-cut log railing led up to a loft, where the bedroom probably was situated.

  Logs were arranged perfectly in the basket to the side of the fireplace, probably more decorative than practical, but they’d work for now. Long matches in a pretty box were next to the logs. She ducked down and started a fire, using bark for kindling. Another lesson learned in a different foster family. Gently, making sure the flue was open, she leaned in and blew on the sparking fire until it caught.

  She stood up and pinched her arm. Nope. Not sleeping. Maybe in a psychotic state?

  “The fire burned out in your moving blue shelter outside.” Quade stood in the doorframe, his shoulders touching each side, the blanket wrapped around his hips. His chest and abs looked as if there was a steel chest plate right beneath his skin. Hard and ridged and beyond masculine. Four scars, deep slashes, cut over his heart. What had attacked him?

  Man, he was tall. And broad. And seriously dangerous looking. She shook her head and tried to focus on his words. “The heat stopped in the Jeep? Yeah. We’re out of gas.”

  He looked around the cabin and stepped inside, his eyes stark and his hair a wild mass around his head. A gust of wind sprayed snow inside. He moved closer and shut the door behind himself, his gaze not leaving hers. “Are your people anywhere near here?”

  Her voice took a moment to work. “I don’t have people.”

  One of his impossibly dark eyebrows rose. “You are a demoness, no?”

  Shock and pain slashed into her so quickly, she swayed. “No. I am not a demon, nor am I possessed.” How dare he? The memories of those times her family had tried to exorcise demons from her still caused her night terrors. “You’re a demon,” she snapped.

  He straightened. “Well, just half.”

  What? She placed her hands on her hips. “Excuse me?” Was he messing with her? Or rather, was her own hallucination messing with her?

  He kicked snow off his bare feet and strode toward the fire. “I’m half vampire, half demon. I assumed you knew that.”

  “Huh.” She nodded, her shoulders going down. “That’s it, then. I’m totally crazy.” She’d been told she’d eventually go insane, so it wasn’t a huge shock. As a delusional state, this wasn’t bad. The fire was nice.

  “You could be crazy,” he agreed. “Most demonesses are.” He glanced down, way down, at her. “But you have one black eye and one green, and your hair has some honey in it. Purebred demons have all black eyes and white blond hair.” He turned toward her and dropped his head, sniffing her. “Interesting.”

  Her breath caught, and she took a step back. In her haste to leave the motel earlier, she’d forgotten her colored contact.

  He reared up, his eyes widening. “Holy hammock. You’re half fairy?”

  Was that horror in his tone? It was worse being a fairy than a demon? Man, she’d had no clue her imagination was this good. Who knew? “I guess it’d be better to be a fairy than a demon,” she mused, turning back to the fire.

  “Fairies are crazy, even more so than demonesses, which is nearly impossible,” he muttered, also turning to face the fire. “No logical person would ever want to be a fairy. A demoness would be preferable, though barely. Surely you know that.”

  “Nope.” She might as well kick back and enjoy this delusion. The man did have a spectacular body, so at least she’d have something to draw. Her supplies were still in the SUV. “Why don’t you go through the cupboards and look for any cans of food that might still be here? I’ll get my stuff from the car.” Without waiting for an answer from somebody who wasn’t really there, she headed for the door.

  He stopped her with one strong hand on her arm. “Wait. Is there danger here?” His palm and that tattoo heated her skin, even through her jacket. This close to him, she could smell cinnamon and more pine. How crazy was that?

  She gulped. “I don’t know the rules of this world. I mean, we’re in my head, so there’s probably no danger.”

  He turned to her, his eyes now a burning green. An unreal green. “In your head? I do not understand.”

  Her fingers itched for colored pencils. “Doesn’t matter.” She had to draw him. Now.

  Chapter Three

  Quade settled on the sofa as the female stirred the pot set into the fireplace, his long legs encased in soft material called sweats they had found in a box up the stairs. A ripped gray T-shirt covered his chest, and even though the material smelled dusty, he had never felt clothing this soft.

  Firelight danced over Haven’s pale hair and angled features, turning her into a goddess. Her earlier words still failed to make sense, but he had not spoken to another being in centuries, so maybe the communication problem was with him. The marking on his palm ached, and his head felt light, but being near her centered him. She had found some cans and dumped their contents into the pot, cooking for him. While the food bubbled, she drew with colors on paper—many pictures of the world they left behind—blowing up into nothingness. The female was talented.

  His mate.

  But it was not to be, and the truth ached through him in a lonely trail. He had been in too much of a daze to fully grasp the fact that he was not dead. This world was much like the one he had left behind so many lifetimes ago. “Where are we, Haven?” he murmured.

  She spooned the contents from the pot into bowls and handed him one, along with a spoon. “I told you. It’s lunchtime in northern Idaho in the USA on Earth.” Her grin warmed something inside him.

  Then her words registered. Earth. Hope swelled through him. “My people called it Ertha.” He was home. Really home. She had come for him, and the female, his female, had brought him back to his people. “Thank you,” he said, his heart thumping. Hard.

  “It’s just a can of corn combined with a can of mixed veggies,” she said easily, sitting next to him on the lone sofa, one leg tucked beneath the other. She smoothed her hair behind her ears. “There are more cans of vegetables in the cupboard, but nothing very interesting.”

  She smelled like a spring meadow in full sunshine. He cleared his throat, set the bowl to his lips, sliding the food down to his stomach. Warmth exploded there, moving out, and he closed his eyes. When had he last eaten? The memory of food was too distant. The sofa shifted, and he opened his eyes to see her dig through her pack and draw out several small beige bottles. “What are those?” he asked.

  “My pills.” She tipped the bottles and then lined up four differently colored small bubbles on the narrow table between them and the fire. “They’re supposed to make me sane. Make it so I can’t see you and places that do not exist.” Her sideways glance was contemplative, her eyes deep pools of sadness. The real kind. “They’re not working.”

  Her words struck him. Deep and hard. He halted her hand as she reached for the first pill. “Fairies can transport themselves to other worlds, and one with demon blood might be able to stay here physically while making the journey mentally.” His mind had been mulling it over since she had saved him.

  She jerked her hand free. “I am not a demon.”

  Sure she was. Half, anyway. He took her hand again, holding firmly enough that she could not break free. “Is there a reason you deny your heritage?” If he had all the facts, he could fix this. It was his duty, and one he would gladly accept.

  “Heritage?” She swung toward him. “I was adopted by psychotic assholes who spent the first many years of my life trying to exorcise the demons from me and then putting me in different asylums. I’d give anything to be able to forget my heritage.”

  “What does ‘adopted’ mean?” he asked, frowning as her hand trembled in his.

  She sighed. “It means that my biological parents, whoever they were, ga
ve me up, and I was taken in by a fanatically rigid pastor and his placid wife. They figured out pretty quickly that something was wrong with me.”

  He shook his head, and his long beard moved with him. “Somebody left you with humans?” The idea was unthinkable. Where were her people? Where the hell were his? “Tell me that is not true.”

  She coughed out a quiet sob that sliced his heart in two. Maybe three. “Now I’m arguing with my own delusion.”

  He grasped her arms and lifted her into his lap, facing him. Both of his hands wrapped around her biceps, and he pulled her toward him. “Do I really feel like a delusion to you?” His voice, already hoarse, dropped lower in his attempt to keep from growling like an animal. Rage, one darker than he’d ever felt, heated through him, forcing his still-battered brain to focus into blade-like sharpness. Whoever had abandoned her, and whoever had hurt her, would bleed. “I am real.”

  She placed her palms on his chest, her head cocking. “I sure can make them up. You’re all muscle. Lean and tough.”

  He tightened his hold until her startled gaze lifted to his. “You are not human. Demons, vampires, fairies, witches, and shifters all live on this world with you. They are just different species from humans.” At least, they had eons ago. “The reason you can travel to other worlds, at least in your mind, is because you are not human. That is good. Neither am I.”

  “Right.” Her thighs bracketed his, awakening parts of his body he’d long forgotten. “Giving in to the delusion means there’s no way back.” Her tone mimicked somebody else, and he didn’t care who.

  Decades. The female had spent her life being told she was crazy, learning to tamp down her true nature. How could he get through to her? He released her arm and slid his hand along her smooth jaw, groaning at the soft skin there. “How have you survived this?” The pain echoing in his voice made him wince.

  She shrugged, her smile lopsided and sad. “I just keep trying. It’s all I can do.” Her eyes lightened. “Plus, I paint and draw. That helps center me, usually.”