Alpha's Promise Page 3

  Ivar tried to reason with him. Was he mad? How could anybody have stayed sane here? “You’ll be free, Quade. Ronan survived the end of his world, and so will you. You can heal and find a new life.”

  Quade’s lids dropped to half-mast. “Already dead…Viking.” He stood and dragged Ivar to his feet. “You go now. Portals will open, keep following. Maybe you’ll get home.” Even with his body damaged so badly, his strength was beyond that of a normal hybrid. “Tell Ronan. Tell all my brothers…”

  Ivar clutched Quade’s arms, fighting the unholy wind that pierced through his skin to his soul. “Come with me,” he begged.

  “Tell them goodbye.” Quade pushed Ivar hard, sending him through a portal that swallowed him with a gleeful shriek. He screamed, but the void allowed for no sound. He hit ice in a new world, rolled, and came up fighting.

  Through portal after portal, through hell dimension after hell dimension, he hung on to Quade’s last words. Soon they were all he had. After a while, he vaguely remembered who he’d been. But Quade, he never forgot. Saving Quade, rescuing his brother, was the only thought that kept Ivar alive.

  Until he finally arrived back home, on a peaceful lakefront, with his brothers surrounding him.

  Ivar jerked back to the present as the police car patrolled again, this time slowing down in the cul-de-sac. The cop was talking on a phone, but his gaze was alert. Good.

  Ivar reached for more peanuts, needing the salt. When he went back in time to that period of being just an animal, a metallic taste always filled his mouth. Blood or adrenaline or just fucking fear. He wasn’t sure. But the peanuts helped.

  The car moved on, and he angled his head to see one light go out at the far end of the house. Dr. Promise Williams had gone to bed. What did a beautiful scientist like her wear to sleep? Something silky she hid from the outside world? Or something practical and comfortable? Either way, her full curves would be perfect.

  He shifted his weight in his suddenly tighter jeans. It had been too long since he’d touched a woman, and considering he’d just tried to kidnap that one, she sure as shit wasn’t going to give him a chance. Not that he could blame her. He sucked down more salt, trying to banish the bad taste that went all the way to his soul.

  A sound alerted him, and he stretched to his feet, remaining in the tree line as he made his way to the cliffs. He stopped short at seeing Promise on her back deck beneath a sloping roof, her arms hugging her body, her gaze out at the far sea.

  His heart cracked. Her melancholy stirred a part of him he’d long forgotten. His chest aching, he lifted his head to scent the wind.

  No fear. The woman wasn’t afraid. Just lonely. And her scent, wild purple heather, engulfed him. He inhaled sharply, taking in as much of her as he could. Light spilled out from the house, glimmering on her long curls and smooth skin. The almond shape of her eyes gave her a mysterious appearance, and the night masked the pretty bourbon color he remembered from the other day.

  He twisted to the side to get a better view, and a leaf rustled beneath his foot.

  She jumped and swiveled toward him.

  He held his breath, not moving. The trees covered him, but he was a predator, and most prey could sense danger. For his kind, humans were definitely prey.

  She searched the tree line and then turned, hustling back inside to shut her sliding glass door. The lock echoed loudly, and then curtains blanketed the remaining light from within.

  He let out his breath. Crap. He hadn’t meant to scare her. Damn it. He stuffed his mouth with peanut shells. It’d serve him right if he choked. Instead, his fangs worked on the shells, and he discarded them, eating more of the peanuts. Then he sank to the ground, scanning the rear of the home. The cops could watch the front.

  Would she have liked him before he’d gone to hell and tried to kidnap her? He’d been the organized member of the Seven. The guy who kept everyone else in line and secured headquarters and homes for them all. Heck. He’d even made sure Benny had his favorite red Swedish fish candy on demand.

  Then he’d ceased to be him. He closed his eyes, wondering how he’d survived. There had to be a bigger plan in play. He should most certainly be dead, even with his torso fused into a solid shield by the Seven ritual, forever protecting his internal organs. For the rest of his life, no matter how long he lived, he’d never forget the joy on his brothers’ faces after he’d fallen from hell. They’d lifted him off the ground, engulfing him in hugs. Benny and Adare had held on the longest, for they’d known each other most of their lives.

  He’d endured their touch on his destroyed body as long as he could, finally breaking free and backing away. His head down, feeling nothing but pain, he’d tried to escape. To go into the lake and just disappear.

  They wouldn’t let him.

  From that day on, they didn’t touch him. But they were always around. Benny telling jokes and Adare trying to engage in small talk. That alone was torture. Logan and Garrett, the two young members, had been thoughtful and kind. Welcoming with no pressure.

  But Ronan. Ronan had seen the torture in Ivar because he’d felt it himself. They had to get Quade free.

  It had taken Ivar a month to relearn how to speak, first in Swedish and then English. To make his vocal chords create sound that made sense. His body had healed, except for the burn scars down his neck and the ones inside his throat. His mind was another matter.

  Mostly he was lucid unless he was sleeping. But he made mistakes. Stupid ones like trying to kidnap Promise Williams.

  The acceptance and support of his brothers had helped him to regain his sanity, and his brain was probably as good as it could get. He could mimic humor and other emotions, but he wasn’t sure he fooled anybody.

  His soul was something else altogether. He had never given much thought to the soul—not until his had been ripped apart by forces not found in this world. Even now, pieces of it had to be still struggling with those shards of ice and boiling flames so far from this peaceful rainy night. He didn’t know much, but one thing was absolute.

  He’d never be whole again.

  Chapter Four

  Promise finished her coffee, facing Detective Jones across the desk in her office at the university. It was Saturday, and the faculty hallway was silent, just the way she liked it. “That’s all I remember,” she reiterated. “I told the other detectives all of this last night.” Then she’d barely slept, even though the police had patrolled her private road all night.

  Her one dream had consisted of running through a forest, away from the kidnapper with the cunning blue eyes. Even in her dreams, there was something about him that intrigued her. How in the world did that make any sense?

  The detective, a sixty-something black man with reassuring brown eyes, sat in one of several leather chairs in the room. The only one not stacked high with books and papers. He flipped another sheet of paper over in his slim notebook. “The only connection we can find between you and Victory Rashad is that you work at the same university. You have nothing else in common.” He looked her over, his gaze intent. “Not the same age, race, religion, or anything else.” He leaned forward. “What I’m trying to say is that our profiler doesn’t think your kidnapping and her murder are related.”

  She swallowed. “But the kidnapper said—”

  “The guy was obviously high on something and nuts—while hanging out in a cemetery.” Jones had a kind voice, and he was apparently trying to be gentle. “None of what he said to you in that car made sense, and the fact that he ran away after hitting the ground so hard proves he was on a strong hallucinogenic drug. He should’ve been in too much pain to breathe, must less flee.”

  Promise tossed her latte cup in the garbage, which was already overflowing with discarded papers. Light filtered through the wall of windows, dancing through dust motes in the air. “You’re saying you don’t believe I’m in danger?”

  He fli
pped his notebook closed. “I’m saying we don’t know. The guy saw you and tried to kidnap you, but he didn’t say anything specific about you, did he?”

  She slowly shook her head. The would-be kidnapper hadn’t said anything that would lead her to believe that he actually knew her personally. Sure, he’d said he wanted her brain. But had he just been under the influence of drugs? She had been the person to mention Dr. Rashad, and all he’d done was agree. “There was just something about him.” She couldn’t explain it to herself, much less this man.

  The detective stood and slid his business card through stacks of papers and a couple of books on the teakwood desk. “We do think this was random, a crime of circumstance.”

  Promise’s pulse sped up. “What about Dr. Fissure?” He was still missing, although he’d disappeared in a different country. The coincidence was interesting but probably not connected to her.

  The detective shook his head. “We talked with Scotland Yard, and so far, it looks like Fissure took off for Scotland with a grad student. Doesn’t seem to be related to this incident.”

  That did sound a little like Gary. The guy was a known flirt, but even so. Promise rubbed a bruise on her arm from the airbag. Her entire body had been sore all morning from the crash. Her kidnapper had to be in worse pain, and he deserved it.

  The detective smelled like citrus cologne. He gave her a reassuring smile. “We’re a small police force, and we can’t provide protection for you based on these facts. Perhaps the university can arrange something?”

  “I’m not sure,” Promise said. The university security force was composed of three retired police officers—all in their mideighties. Student organizations volunteered as designated drivers and campus escorts after dark. “I’ll look into the matter.” How? She didn’t have any idea.

  Jones nodded. “All right. Please call if you remember anything else, or if you see him again.” He pushed his chair back and stepped lightly over the different stacks of books and research covering her office floor, wincing as he had to hop to avoid two open notebooks illustrating diagrams she’d created to show students that supersymmetry could be consistent with unification as well as warped extra-dimensions theory. “You, ah, study dark matter and planets, right? My niece plays video games with stuff like that.”

  She needed to finish those diagrams before class next week. “Yes. I’m interested in elementary parcels and fundamental forces, as well as extra dimensions of space.”

  “Um, okay.” He safely neared the door. “I’ll call you if there are any developments on your case or on that of Dr. Rashad. Which, again, we think is probably unconnected.”

  That statement did not sound promising. She watched him leave after he successfully avoided two more piles of books.

  Was the kidnap attempt random? It hadn’t felt like it. She turned and looked out the window at the vibrant fall colors. Red and gold spread as far as she could see from tree to tree and even covered the ground. As a leaf fell, she automatically calculated the air motion necessary for it to land among the other crumbling leaves.

  “You ready?” Mark poked his head in. “We’re running late.”

  Right. The grants. How could she have forgotten? “Yes.” She claimed her briefcase and maneuvered around the piles of books, grabbing her raincoat by the door and heading through the quiet hallway to the breezy fall day outside. The staff parking lot was right around the corner, and she kept silent until Mark opened his car doors. “We have a good chance at getting at least one of these grants,” she said, attempting conversation as she sat and shut her door. These were the biggest grants ever created for the study of the cosmology of extra dimensions, multiverse theory, math, and quantum mechanics.

  “Maybe.” Mark slammed his door, started the engine, and pulled sedately out of the quiet parking lot. “The money involved is impressive.”

  She let Mark drive, her pitch forming in her head. “If we get either of these grants, we’ll have better resources than MIT, Caltech, Montana Tech, and Harvard put together.” She’d studied at all the schools but had decided to teach at her alma mater, West Coast Technical University on the Oregon coast. It was a coincidence that both of her parents had taught there. Although, sometimes when she was working late at night, she remembered them doing the same thing at the same place. As silly as it was, she somehow felt closer to them in those moments. When was the last time she’d placed flowers on their graves?

  It was the proper thing to do, and the flowers looked pretty. But why was that a tradition? Her parents were long gone, and only dust and bones remained in that place. Her parents weren’t there.

  Mark drove through the campus arches and headed toward town. “You ready?”

  “I think so,” she said, patting the briefcase at her feet. “They have our applications; now they just want to talk. I imagine it’ll be like defending a dissertation, and that’s not very difficult.”

  “For some,” Mark muttered.

  She kept her gaze out the window, running through arguments as to why her university should win at least one of the grants. Pressure pounded through her and elevated her heart rate. For some reason, she flashed back to seventh grade, when she’d brought home an A− in advanced calculus and ended up grounded for three months.

  Her knees shaking in her uniform, she forced herself to walk into her father’s study. Unlike her mother’s office, which was light and stacked with books, her father’s study was pristine and organized, surrounded by heavy mahogany shelves. His dark hair was cut short, and his black beard neat. He looked up from behind his desk, his dark brown eyes covered by perfectly cleaned glasses. “What is it, Promise?”

  She took one step inside and threw up all over the antique Persian rug.

  “Right?” Mark’s voice yanked her right back into the present.

  She coughed. “Right.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I was thinking about my childhood.” Her father had been a brilliant mathematician. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings yesterday. I’m not good with people.” She never had been. Science and discovery were so much easier.

  Mark sighed. “Was it something I said or did?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. “No.” Supersymmetry made her breath catch and her mind expand. Mark was just a body to see a movie with. Would she ever feel about another human being the way she did about dark matter? “I have the characteristics of a sociopath,” she murmured.

  Mark snorted out a laugh. “You are not a sociopath. I’ve seen you sad and I’ve seen you more than empathetic with students. Sympathetic, even.”

  That was true. And she’d cried when her fish had died in high school, so there was that. “Thank you for not being angry with me any longer.”

  “No problem.” Mark drove into an underground garage, slowing down to reach a parking spot near a clearly marked elevator. He cleared his throat. “I think you should stay with me until they catch the guy who tried to kidnap you. No pressure. Just some protection.”

  She tilted her head. “The police think the attack was random.” Though his offer was sweet.

  “What if they’re wrong?” Mark put the car in park and shut off the engine.

  That was a good question. She’d dreamed about the kidnapper the previous night, but in the dream, he was holding her hand and showing her wild purple flowers by an ocean. Maybe she had hit her head in the car accident. She smiled at Mark. “I’ll think about your offer. For now, thank you for the ride.” She stepped out of the vehicle and took note of the several brand-new, shiny black SUVs also parked in the private garage.

  “Anytime. Good luck today.” He locked the doors and walked her way.

  “You too.” It was a good thing they had applied for different grants. How awkward would it be to compete against each other? She shrugged and led the way over the new cement to the elevator, which opened instantly. Then she pushed the button for the top floor. “I’ve r
esearched this company. They have a good reputation for supporting the sciences, but I can’t quite figure out what they manufacture.” They seemed to create products for rockets and other vehicles, but even that limited information had been difficult to ascertain.

  The elevator doors closed, and it smoothly lifted. Mark straightened the beige tie that melded into his light shirt. The blue suit jacket and khaki pants made him look like the studious professor he was known to be. “So long as they give us millions, I don’t care what they do.”

  Excitement flushed through her, and she calmed it. “I’m sure we’re competing with every university out there that has physics and math departments.”

  “Yeah, but we’re due. And we’re the best.” He finally smiled, reminding her why she’d found him appealing in the first place. Well, besides the fact that he understood supersymmetry and could argue general relativity with the best of them.

  The elevator opened, and they walked out into a bright reception area with muted tones and new furnishings. The place smelled like unwrapped furniture and new paint. Even a small hint of drywall and construction cleaner wafted around.

  “Hi.” The receptionist, a twenty-something redhead with one green eye and one blue eye, smiled from behind a wide bamboo counter. Petite with pale features, she looked like a sprite in a bright green suit with topaz jewelry. “I’m Mercy O’Malley. You must be Drs. Williams and Brookes.”

  An ice pick of pain slashed into Promise’s nape, and she gasped, her vision blurring from the outside in. She stopped cold and then swayed.

  “Whoa.” The woman rushed around the desk and reached for her arm.

  The pain increased, exploding into red bursts behind Promise’s eyes. Blackness followed the red, and she dropped to the ground, with one final thought that gravity wasn’t as weak as astrophysicists believed it to be.

  Unconsciousness took all the pain away.

  Chapter Five