Hero's Haven Page 4

  His dark eyebrows slashed down. Then slowly, he turned toward the television. “And that is you.”

  “What?” She coughed and shook herself, trying to be sober. She looked at the TV to see a pretty good composite drawing of herself wearing a hat next to the old Quade, the one with a beard and long hair. The announcer said there was a manhunt in Idaho and parts of Montana for the woman and her companion who’d injured a Shoshone county deputy in Idaho. It figured the cop would be able to draw. Panic caught her. What if her family saw the picture?

  She moved to the set, her heart thundering. No vehicle description and no license plates. Good. No color of her hair, and she’d worn her glasses to hide her odd eyes. That was good as well, when it came to the law. But her family would recognize her. At least she’d wiped down the cabin, so there wouldn’t be fingerprints.

  Quade moved to her side. “What is this box?”

  “Television.”

  “Who sees this besides us?” His voice lowered, sounding much more in command than he had so far.

  She turned to look way up at him. “Everyone watching.”

  The announcer read from a sheet. “The male being sought had one visible tattoo, and here’s a drawing.” A surprisingly accurate drawing of the K marking on Quade’s hand danced across the screen.

  “Fuck,” Quade muttered.

  Exactly. She turned to start gathering her belongings. “We have to get out of here—get to another state. Wyoming is the closest, but it’ll take several hours.” She swung to face him when he didn’t move. Instead, only his head turned toward the door, and his strong face lifted like an animal catching a scent.

  The frozen window by the door blew apart with a crash louder than thunder. She screamed.

  Chapter Five

  He’d forgotten their smell. Molding lemons. The Kurjans. Real ones. In less than a heartbeat, Quade pivoted, putting the female behind him before gauging the threat. Two soldiers, their red hair tipped with black; yellow eyes and nearly translucent white skin. Taller than he—and for the moment—broader as he regained his strength.

  Power, clean and free, ran through his veins with the comforting familiarity of a long forgotten song. One he’d missed more than he would’ve thought possible.

  His fangs dropped and he charged, the howl from his chest raw and feral. Pure.

  He hit the first soldier mid-center, propelling them both into the door, ripping it from the frame, and landing hard on the cold ground outside. Darkness shrouded them, pierced by only one streetlight in the far corner of the lot. The door skidded several feet over the ice, finally smashing into a snow-covered vehicle. Growling, he punched the male in the throat, putting enough force into the blow that his knuckles ripped apart muscle and bone, splintered through the wooden door, ice, and inches of frozen asphalt.

  Quade jumped up and finished the enemy with a bare foot to the neck, effectively decapitating him.

  He turned, his fist and foot bloody, to see the other Kurjan step through the demolished doorway with his arm banded around Haven’s throat, her body held captive in front of him.

  Quade stilled. The beast at his core coiled and bunched with anticipation. His chin lifted. “Let the female go.” Only a Kurjan would hide behind a female. Some things never changed.

  “No.” The meager silver medals on the Kurjan’s right breast showed him to be a mere foot soldier.

  Haven’s green eye had darkened, and the pupils of both eyes had widened. Her face was so pale as to be translucent, and a fine blue vein showed beneath the skin of her neck. She shook her head. “This can’t be happening.” Her hoarse voice trembled. She looked down the line of motel doors, but they all remained closed. The place must be nearly vacant.

  The Kurjan leaned down and inhaled deeply. His reddish black eyebrows drew together. “Demon?” He sniffed again. “What else is that?”

  Quade didn’t answer. While demonesses were rare, fairies had almost been a myth, even in his time. Unfortunately, this one didn’t know how to fight. How had no one ever taught her? “Let her go, and we can fight.”

  The Kurjan angled his head to view his dead comrade. “I don’t think so.” His chin lowered. “You’re a Kayrs. I saw the marking on television. Who are you?” He moved closer, forcing Haven to move with him, although she finally started to struggle a little. “I don’t recognize you from the dossiers we have on the family.”

  They had no clue who he was—that was good. “Distant cousin,” he rumbled.

  “Hold up your palm,” the Kurjan ordered, tightening his hold on Haven until she gasped and grabbed his forearm with both hands.

  Fury heated his chest, but Quade held up his palm, showing the marking. “It is Kayrs,” he affirmed. His lack of knowledge about this new world was starting to piss him off. “You saw the television and knew to track me here?”

  “Saw the TV, went through video in surrounding areas, and caught you on-camera at the grocery store. That was stupid,” the Kurjan said, his hold such that Haven was forced up on her toes to keep breathing. “You have the marking, but this little one isn’t mated yet. I can barely scent you on her.” His smile revealed long yellow fangs. “She’ll be coming with me. With us.”

  Us? More soldiers must be on the way. “You do not want war with my family,” Quade warned, hoping to hell it was the truth and he still had family in this world.

  The soldier shrugged, knocking Haven’s head forward. “It’s true we’re at peace, for now, but you’re unknown, and that isn’t good. I’m taking you in, and then we’ll decide what you’re worth.” When Quade stepped forward, the Kurjan shook his head. “I’ll cut her head off.”

  Quade stepped closer, having no choice. His body thrummed with violence at the smell of Haven’s fear. “You do not want to cross me, Kurjan.”

  The soldier looked at the fallen man again. “You took his head off without a knife or sword.” He frowned. “Fangs?”

  Quade angled to the left. He was stronger than he’d been on his world, probably from fighting for survival for centuries. Or maybe the other place had changed him somehow. Either way, he now possessed skills, even as he tried to regain his full strength, that were unknown to him before. “Fist,” he murmured, leaping forward as fast as he could.

  At the same moment, Haven shifted her weight and punched the Kurjan’s groin with a satisfying thump as her fist landed. The Kurjan howled and pivoted, the momentum throwing Haven back inside the room.

  Quade grabbed his arm, ripping it from the socket with a loud crack. He secured the soldier’s knife from his waist, already slashing and cutting as he took the bastard to the ground.

  One final stab down, and he cut the head free.

  Sucking in air, his body rioting, he ran inside the room. The female was picking herself up off the floor. Good. She hadn’t seen him kill. “At least they weren’t Cyst. We have to go. Get the food. Now,” he ordered.

  * * * *

  The female drove out of the parking lot as if the hounds of hell were on her heels, which they seemed to be. After washing the blood off himself, Quade ate the two steaks with his hands as they drove, and the ache in his stomach began to disappear. He was still shirtless and bootless, but food was all that mattered. He reached for fruit from the bag. “You do not want anything?”

  She gulped and shook her head. “Not to eat. But my pills in my purse. I need those.”

  He rolled down the window, appreciating the gadgets in the vehicle, and threw out an apple core. “I discarded the pills.”

  She jerked the steering wheel and regained control, speeding up the ramp to the Interstate. “What do you mean? Where are they?” Her voice rose.

  He rolled the window back up, watching his finger on the button. Then he turned toward her, worried about that tone in her voice. “You said they made you forget me and not believe reality. Now you know the full truth. I threw the
m outside back at the cabin.” They’d turned the snow to a light blue and light yellow color before Haven and he had fled that scene, as well.

  “No, no, no.” She pounded her small hand on the steering wheel. “You can’t just quit antipsychotics and antidepressants cold turkey. God. What have you done?”

  “Cold turkey?” His body responded to her distress, tensing and preparing for an unseen battle.

  “Yes.” Her grip tightened until her knuckles turned a bluish-white. “Those pills affect body chemistry, and people need to be weaned from them.”

  He rubbed his smooth chin—an odd feeling after so long. “Like a calf from a cow?”

  “Sure,” she sighed. “Like a calf.” She wiped her eyes and bit her lip. Then she turned and faced him, taking her eyes from the snowy road for a moment. “You had no right to throw away my pills.”

  He bit down a fast response that would get him punched. “I apologize. I did not realize that pills were like ale.”

  She studied him and then turned back to the window. “Okay. Good news is that I weaned myself off the old pills and these are fairly new, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  The female had the metabolism of a demon-fairy. “Have the human pills actually had an effect on you?” he asked.

  “Rarely,” she said, her voice grim.

  “Mayhap it is because you are not human,” he offered, trying to lighten her tension.

  Her sigh was heavy this time. “Mayhap,” she repeated with just enough sarcasm to raise the hair on the back of his neck. “Either way, I’m going to crash a little. We have to get to another state first. Farther from Idaho than we were.”

  “I can drive,” he said, wanting to get his hands on the wheel.

  “Right.” She turned the heat up and drove for several miles in silence. He could almost hear her thoughts winding through her beautiful head, but he patiently waited for her to speak. Finally, she did. “What were those guys?”

  He’d wondered which topic she’d attack first. “Those were Kurjan soldiers, and they’re the enemy of vampires and most demons. The attackers were decent soldiers but nowhere near the top, so they do not know who I am. Yet.” It made sense that they’d seen him on that television box and then investigated. “Unlike my people, they cannot go into the sun. It makes them weak.”

  “I’ve drawn them. Dreamed of them,” she whispered.

  That made sense. “Have you heard of the Cyst? Dreamed of them?”

  “Who are they?”

  “They belong to the Kurjan religious sect and are the most deadly soldiers. They all have a thin strip of white hair on their heads and down their backs—purple, black, or red eyes,” he said, wanting to hold his breath for some reason.

  She nodded but didn’t speak.

  How frightened she must have been. “My purpose, my destiny, was to inhabit one of the two worlds that trapped their leader, Ulric, in another world, or bubble. Since my world fell apart, it is possible Ulric’s did as well.” If Ulric was back on this world, danger was imminent. “My brother was in the other bubble, and I am aware that his failed centuries ago. He is supposed to be back here now.” What Quade would not give to see Ronan again. To see all of his brothers.

  She swallowed. “This is all crazy.”

  It must seem so, although she would have to believe her own eyes at some point. He patted her arm, wanting to touch her. Needing to touch her. “My new brother Ivar was somehow able to visit me briefly, and he left me some supplies, but I can barely remember what they were, or the news he shared. It has been centuries.” There had been pictures, right?

  She glanced his way. “I’m sorry you were alone for so long.”

  Ah, she was truly a sweetheart. “I am sorry you did not know your heritage and that the humans hurt you.” Someday he would pull the entire story of her childhood from her, and then he would seek vengeance. For now, they required safety and shelter. “If we could find my family, we would have more knowledge than we do right now.”

  “We can search on the Internet when we get to Wyoming.” Her voice was weary. Somehow sad.

  He did not know what the Internet meant. More importantly, he did not know how to offer comfort. Even before enduring centuries alone in hell, he was not an emotional male. But he wanted to try for her. What words should he use? Eons ago, he would have vowed to protect her and their children through eternity, but they were not to mate, so he could not promise her such. “I am sorry that I killed those males in your vicinity.” That was the truth, at least. “I wish to shield you from violence.” It was his duty and his right.

  “I can handle violence,” she muttered. “Well, maybe not that kind of violence. I did see part of the fight. You punched right through that guy’s throat. Are you like a specially enhanced fighter or something?”

  “Yes.” That seemed to be the truth, as well.

  “What was he talking about when he said I wasn’t mated?” she asked, watching the swirling white outside and not looking at him.

  Ah. It was time they discussed this topic. Just being near her in the Jeep shot desire through him until every inch of his skin ached. Until his body pulsed to a tune he could not place but wanted to find. He looked down at the branding on his palm. “When immortals mate, it is forever. A demon’s marking appears on the palm—mine is K for Kayrs—when he meets his mate. The brand is transferred during sex and binds the two forever.” To him, it already felt as if they’d been bound for a millennium. For her, time probably felt different. He could sense her desire and interest in him, but he had no idea what the courting rituals were these days. Killing in front of her probably was not the correct path.

  She coughed. “You said I’m a demoness. Saying I believe you, will I get the mark on my palm?”

  If so, she would already have the branding on her hand. “You’re half fairy, sweetling. They do not have markings, and since only one species is dominant in an immortal, I believe you are more Fae.” Even though one of her eyes was a fathomless black, like a demon. He waited until she finally looked at him. “I wish that you would one day wear my marking, Haven. But that is not my path.”

  Chapter Six

  The motel in Wyoming was off the Interstate in the middle of nowhere and barely had cable television, so hopefully they were in the clear for now. Quade was once again in a hot shower, and in the living room, Haven drew frantically with charcoal, her soul crying out for oil paints. She’d have to find a store but couldn’t drive until she got some sleep. Even so, right now, she couldn’t quit drawing. She had gone nearly twenty-four hours without sleep, without dreaming. A part of her was afraid to close her eyes.

  If Quade’s world had exploded, where would she go in her dreams? Nowhere? Was it possible? Were those crazy night travels over?

  After his declaration that he could never mate her, which she hadn’t asked for anyway, they’d driven silently for hours, until finally he’d fallen asleep. The violence she’d witnessed seemed far away, as if she wasn’t really there. Every instinct she possessed screamed that she should be frightened of him and that she should run and now. But she was just so damn tired. Besides, violence was easy to escape from.

  Just as she’d done when her parents, in her early years, had tried to exorcise the demons from her. Turned out she was part demon. A sob, slightly hysterical, escaped her as she drew, not seeing the paper. She’d been removed from her adoptive parents’ home at the age of fourteen after another failed exorcism and put into foster care. That hadn’t gone well either. After two years, she’d escaped and run north.

  To Mark’s Mountain, a wonderful commune of people living off the land. There she’d fallen in love with a man named James. Everything had been perfect.

  She picked the apples off the ground and placed them gently in her basket, humming happily at her new name. Haven. She’d chosen it because she’d finally found one. No more drugs and no more
attempted exorcisms. Though she might not be normal, here, she was loved.

  Daisy, her best friend, laughed and ran by, heading for the blackberry bushes. “Incoming,” she whispered on her way, disappearing quickly.

  “That one is bruised,” James said, leaning over her shoulder and smelling like the trees around them.

  She turned and brushed her lips across his cheek. “We all have a few bruises.” Happiness bloomed inside her like the sun. She never wanted to leave this place.

  “True.” He kissed her cheek and moved down the trees, reaching up for laden branches.

  Her breath caught as the real sun touched him, turning his blond hair almost to gold. When he pivoted and smiled, showing even white teeth, her gaze caught on his impossibly blue eyes. “How are you even real?” she whispered.

  He rolled those eyes. “You know my story.”

  Yeah, but he didn’t know hers. Not even half of it. “You were a rich kid, your dad got caught in some bank scam, and he went to jail.” Somehow, fate had brought James to the mountain. He was nineteen and she seventeen, but that was close enough in age. It was a world of no judgment. “You’re perfect somehow.”

  A shadow crossed down the long row of trees, and she shuddered. A new member, one older than they, maybe in his thirties. The guy looked at her as if he knew her secrets, and she tried to avoid him every chance she got. His name here and now was Pierce, and it fit him. She couldn’t help but wonder if her parents had hired him to find her. Why else would he pay such close attention to her?

  “Want a boost?” James asked, looking up at a particularly fruitful tree.

  Glee filled her. “Yes.” She set her basket to the side and moved to him, enjoying every moment. He was so strong and sure, and his beauty mesmerized her. When he set his hands on her hips, desire warmed her. The good and true kind. Then he lifted her, and she scrambled up, climbing a tree as she hadn’t had a chance to do as a kid.