Kiss Me Dead
Christian watched the dying girl and did nothing.
He longed to do something—anything—to save her, but it wasn’t his place, his calling, or his duty. His duty was to wait for her death, then act.
Giltine, Goddess of Death, had branded the girl for death, the mark on her cheek glowing like slick silver while wet moonlight clung to her breasts. Her flailing arms and flooded gasps forced Christian’s eyes to close and his hands to clamp over his ears.
Nothing could stop the sound of death.
He could taste the girl’s fear; blood-metallic, like pennies. Even though he yearned to run, he wouldn’t. He would stay. He’d wait for her death then reap as he was bound to do.
Inhaling, he closed his eyes, scenting Giltine’s addictive poison, a sweet nectar reapers craved. He was a slave to her and to his addiction, just as the girl was a slave to death. Neither could escape their fate.
But no matter how many times he tried to abstain and break his addiction, no matter how fervently he wished for death to claim him, to awake and find Giltine’s mark glowing silver on his cheek, he would continue to exist, if only to hunt for death.
The girl’s hands slapped the water. She slid deeper into the shadowy lake. Pulse in his neck throbbing, he swallowed, trying to remain detached and unemotional as a proper reaper should. Unfortunately, he was also human. His humanity made him suffer.
As he edged closer to the water, sweat formed along his hairline. The mark on the girl’s cheek shone brighter, sweeter. He licked his lips. It was almost time.
Trembling with need, he rubbed his thumbs along his pants’ seams. He’d gone too long without a soul-hit, and cold rotted him from the inside. The longing for poison that tightened his stomach also made his lips twist in disgust. Not wanting to watch this beautiful girl die with hungry anticipation, he turned his head away.
Water covered the girl’s mouth, sucking out one last, drowning breath before consuming her nose and fear-glassed eyes. She sank below the surface.
Christian sighed. It was done. The silence, however comforting, didn’t dispel the echoes of the girl’s dying breath lingering inside his head. He shuddered.
The girl’s stillness revived the nocturnal silence: the grinding cheeps of tree frogs, an owl’s chirruping hoot. Wooden docks stretched into the water like skeletal fingers. A red fox’s tail flashed. Not willing to enter the water, he waited on the shore for the girl’s soul to emerge. The spring lake water was snow-melt frigid, and he detested both the water and the cold, as all his kind did.
Moments later, like dust motes in a sunbeam, the girl’s soul appeared. Her skin shone with an ethereal glow, a result of Giltine’s poison, and her hair hung in damp ringlets. He could almost taste the sweet poison, so saccharine as to make his teeth ache.
He studied the drop of water that tickled the girl’s neck and trailed between her breasts. To him, her soul appeared as alive as her living form had been. He knew that once she crossed to the other side, the embodiment of her physical being would dissipate and he’d no longer be able to see her, feel her, smell her. Until then, however, she was real to him.
Realizing he was staring, he bit his lip and focused on the ground. The girl might be dead, might no longer care about decency or modesty, but he believed in dying with dignity. He scooped up her dress.
“Put it on.” His voice squeaked like an adolescent boy’s.
The girl hesitated then took the dress. He averted his gaze until she slipped it over her head. The dress was old, with a frayed hem and torn collar. Most of the buttons were missing, and it barely covered her nakedness. The loose flapper-style made her seem like a young girl, but he’d seen her nude, and her figure suggested she was one or two years older than him; maybe twenty-one.
Unable to stop himself, he slid a fingertip along her cheek, the silver mark sweet and sticky like icing on a hot bun. When he licked his finger, Giltine’s poison shot like bathtub gin down his throat and seared his lungs. His sigh bordered on a groan.
“Who are you?” She was pretty, with cat-green eyes and hair he was sure would lighten like honey when it dried.
“Christian.”
He held still, watching her while sweat collected along his back. Despite the aching need, and despite the small taste he’d just sampled, he couldn’t take her soul completely. He had to wait until he took her to the Void, and for her to make the decision to cross to the Other World. If he didn’t follow the rules, there would be punishment.
Lines wrinkled her forehead. Her pain leaked fragile ribbons that looped around his chest. His Other World senses allowed him just enough information to lure her there, and he could taste the earthy flavor of her confusion. Some might consider such knowledge cheating; Christian considered it a means to an end.
Christian watched the dying girl and did nothing.
He longed to do something—anything—to save her, but it wasn’t his place, his calling, or his duty. His duty was to wait for her death, then act.
Giltine, Goddess of Death, had branded the girl for death, the mark on her cheek glowing like slick silver while wet moonlight clung to her breasts. Her flailing arms and flooded gasps forced Christian’s eyes to close and his hands to clamp over his ears.
Nothing could stop the sound of death.
He could taste the girl’s fear; blood-metallic, like pennies. Even though he yearned to run, he wouldn’t. He would stay. He’d wait for her death then reap as he was bound to do.
Inhaling, he closed his eyes, scenting Giltine’s addictive poison, a sweet nectar reapers craved. He was a slave to her and to his addiction, just as the girl was a slave to death. Neither could escape their fate.
But no matter how many times he tried to abstain and break his addiction, no matter how fervently he wished for death to claim him, to awake and find Giltine’s mark glowing silver on his cheek, he would continue to exist, if only to hunt for death.
The girl’s hands slapped the water. She slid deeper into the shadowy lake. Pulse in his neck throbbing, he swallowed, trying to remain detached and unemotional as a proper reaper should. Unfortunately, he was also human. His humanity made him suffer.
As he edged closer to the water, sweat formed along his hairline. The mark on the girl’s cheek shone brighter, sweeter. He licked his lips. It was almost time.
Trembling with need, he rubbed his thumbs along his pants’ seams. He’d gone too long without a soul-hit, and cold rotted him from the inside. The longing for poison that tightened his stomach also made his lips twist in disgust. Not wanting to watch this beautiful girl die with hungry anticipation, he turned his head away.
Water covered the girl’s mouth, sucking out one last, drowning breath before consuming her nose and fear-glassed eyes. She sank below the surface.
Christian sighed. It was done. The silence, however comforting, didn’t dispel the echoes of the girl’s dying breath lingering inside his head. He shuddered.
The girl’s stillness revived the nocturnal silence: the grinding cheeps of tree frogs, an owl’s chirruping hoot. Wooden docks stretched into the water like skeletal fingers. A red fox’s tail flashed. Not willing to enter the water, he waited on the shore for the girl’s soul to emerge. The spring lake water was snow-melt frigid, and he detested both the water and the cold, as all his kind did.
Moments later, like dust motes in a sunbeam, the girl’s soul appeared. Her skin shone with an ethereal glow, a result of Giltine’s poison, and her hair hung in damp ringlets. He could almost taste the sweet poison, so saccharine as to make his teeth ache.
He studied the drop of water that tickled the girl’s neck and trailed between her breasts. To him, her soul appeared as alive as her living form had been. He knew that once she crossed to the other side, the embodiment of her physical being would dissipate and he’d no longer be able to see her, feel her, smell her. Until then, however, she was real to him.
Realizing he was staring, he bit his lip and focused on the ground. The girl might be dead, might no longer care about decency or modesty, but he believed in dying with dignity. He scooped up her dress.
“Put it on.” His voice squeaked like an adolescent boy’s.
The girl hesitated then took the dress. He averted his gaze until she slipped it over her head. The dress was old, with a frayed hem and torn collar. Most of the buttons were missing, and it barely covered her nakedness. The loose flapper-style made her seem like a young girl, but he’d seen her nude, and her figure suggested she was one or two years older than him; maybe twenty-one.
Unable to stop himself, he slid a fingertip along her cheek, the silver mark sweet and sticky like icing on a hot bun. When he licked his finger, Giltine’s poison shot like bathtub gin down his throat and seared his lungs. His sigh bordered on a groan.
“Who are you?” She was pretty, with cat-green eyes and hair he was sure would lighten like honey when it dried.
“Christian.”
He held still, watching her while sweat collected along his back. Despite the aching need, and despite the small taste he’d just sampled, he couldn’t take her soul completely. He had to wait until he took her to the Void, and for her to make the decision to cross to the Other World. If he didn’t follow the rules, there would be punishment.
Lines wrinkled her forehead. Her pain leaked fragile ribbons that looped around his chest. His Other World senses allowed him just enough information to lure her there, and he could taste the earthy flavor of her confusion. Some might consider such knowledge cheating; Christian considered it a means to an end.
Fire in the Blood (Last Moon Rising #1)
I couldn’t sleep, though I’d been pretending for at least an hour. I thought Tuggin was asleep; his chest rose in an easy rhythm, with his hands folded on his stomach. Where was his knife? I couldn’t see it, but my guess was that he kept it close by.
I rolled up my blanket and tied it to my pack. I’d gone to bed with my shoes on so that I could jet at a second’s notice. I tip-toed toward the woods. I’d reached the edge of the clearing when Tuggin spoke.
“Going somewhere?”
I froze for a nano-second, then dropped my backpack and bolted. Branches slashed my face. I stumbled over rocks, but I sped on. Tuggin tackled me, slamming me to the ground.
“Let me go!” I shouted.
He flipped me over, crushing me with his weight, compressing my lungs with his forearm so that I couldn’t grab air.
“Let go!”
I tried to kick him, but he pinned my legs with his own. I sucked in a breath, the strength radiating from his body doing more to crush my resistance than fear. His knife flashed so close to my face the chill of steel paralyzed me.
“I warned you,” he said.
I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for him to slice my neck. Instead, he hauled me to my feet, and dragged me back to camp. I twisted, pulled, dug in my heels, but he was too strong. Clamping one hand around my wrist, he dug into his pack and pulled out a length of rope.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Tuggin looped the rope around a tree then started tying it around my wrist.
I jerked back. “I don’t think so.”
He grabbed my wrist, crunching my bones in his grip, and finished tying the rope.
“You can’t tie me up.” I yanked against the rope, and it tightened like a noose.
“Do not struggle,” he said. “The more you resist, the tighter the knot.”
Blood rushed to my head and pounded against my eardrums. I swung at his face with my free hand. Tuggin caught my wrist, and shoved me against the tree. His cheek muscles rippled, and his nostrils flared. He was very close, so close I could feel heat radiating from his body and smell his scent, like coconut oil basting bodies on a sunbaked beach. However, the ice emanating from his eyes dispelled any warmth.
Fear strangled the breath in my lungs. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
Tuggin lifted his chin with the big breath he inhaled. He slowly exhaled, leaned so close that his breath skimmed my ear. “Then do not tempt me,” he murmured.
I couldn’t sleep, though I’d been pretending for at least an hour. I thought Tuggin was asleep; his chest rose in an easy rhythm, with his hands folded on his stomach. Where was his knife? I couldn’t see it, but my guess was that he kept it close by.
I rolled up my blanket and tied it to my pack. I’d gone to bed with my shoes on so that I could jet at a second’s notice. I tip-toed toward the woods. I’d reached the edge of the clearing when Tuggin spoke.
“Going somewhere?”
I froze for a nano-second, then dropped my backpack and bolted. Branches slashed my face. I stumbled over rocks, but I sped on. Tuggin tackled me, slamming me to the ground.
“Let me go!” I shouted.
He flipped me over, crushing me with his weight, compressing my lungs with his forearm so that I couldn’t grab air.
“Let go!”
I tried to kick him, but he pinned my legs with his own. I sucked in a breath, the strength radiating from his body doing more to crush my resistance than fear. His knife flashed so close to my face the chill of steel paralyzed me.
“I warned you,” he said.
I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for him to slice my neck. Instead, he hauled me to my feet, and dragged me back to camp. I twisted, pulled, dug in my heels, but he was too strong. Clamping one hand around my wrist, he dug into his pack and pulled out a length of rope.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Tuggin looped the rope around a tree then started tying it around my wrist.
I jerked back. “I don’t think so.”
He grabbed my wrist, crunching my bones in his grip, and finished tying the rope.
“You can’t tie me up.” I yanked against the rope, and it tightened like a noose.
“Do not struggle,” he said. “The more you resist, the tighter the knot.”
Blood rushed to my head and pounded against my eardrums. I swung at his face with my free hand. Tuggin caught my wrist, and shoved me against the tree. His cheek muscles rippled, and his nostrils flared. He was very close, so close I could feel heat radiating from his body and smell his scent, like coconut oil basting bodies on a sunbaked beach. However, the ice emanating from his eyes dispelled any warmth.
Fear strangled the breath in my lungs. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
Tuggin lifted his chin with the big breath he inhaled. He slowly exhaled, leaned so close that his breath skimmed my ear. “Then do not tempt me,” he murmured.
Strong Blood (Last Moon Rising #2)
Shallow breaths snagged in my lungs. I couldn’t budge Luke’s arm from my neck. He wasn’t going to let go. My friend. My ally.
My killer.
I stomped on his foot. Luke grunted, but hung on to my neck.
“Release her!” Tuggin demanded.
Luke loosened his grip and I dropped to my knees. Coughing, I crawled across the snow before standing, clutching my raw throat and grasping for breath. Tuggin stood behind Luke, his tahar pressed against Luke’s neck.
Luke raised his hands. “Generous pardons, Haley. Luke didn’t mean to hurt Haley.”
I rubbed my neck. My swollen vocal cords filled my throat so that little air could get through.
“You attacked her.”
“Luke didn’t.”
“You lie.” Luke’s neck dimpled when Tuggin pushed his tahar deeper into the skin. “You would steal her life.”
“Not Haley’s life. Haley’s Eyid stone.”
“Jahme.” Tuggin’s face was as cold and hard as his knife blade. Blood trickled from the point of his tahar, but Luke didn’t flinch.
My heart skittered at Tuggin jumping to my defense. Maybe he cared about me, just a little.
“It’s okay,” I croaked. “I told him to do it.”
“I do not believe you.”
“It’s true.” I wheezed in a big breath. “I asked him to teach me to fight.”
“What is this foolishness?” Tuggin’s cheek rippled for a few heartbeats before he removed his tahar and stepped back. “You have no need. I am a trained warrior.”
Luke swiped his fingers over his neck, and then studied his bloodied fingertips. “Luke didn’t mean to hurt Haley.”
Tuggin pressed his lips together. “It is my duty to fight; to keep you alive.”
His words knifed at my heart. All he cared about was his damn job. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, so you’ll get paid.”
A sneer twitched Tuggin’s lips. “I shall be paid, whether you live or not. The Eny will see to that.” He pointed his tahar at Luke’s chest. “You shall not touch her.”
With a flick of his hand, Luke released his hatchet from his belt. He swung it up so that the blade rapped against Tuggin’s tahar. “Luke doesn’t take orders from a moch.”
“I demand it,” Tuggin murmured.
I said, “Knock it off, you two.”
Tuggin clenched his jaw, not moving.
“Lower the blade,” Luke ordered.
Tuggin’s finger twitched on the handle, but he finally lowered it. Bending toward me, he whispered, “You must choose your… friends… more wisely, else you die.”
The little hairs on my neck tingled, and I held my breath until Tuggin pulled away. “I’d think you’d be happy to get rid of me.”
Tuggin rammed his tahar into his sheath so hard that I was surprised it didn’t shoot out the bottom. After a cold-blooded glare at me, he stormed into the trees.
“How’d Luke do? Luke thinks Luke won that fight.”
“You did great,” I murmured, watching Tuggin disappear into the woods.
“Tuggin doesn’t like Luke.” Luke didn’t seem a bit concerned, whistling while he hooked his hatchet back onto his belt.
“Tuggin doesn’t like anyone.” I fingered my neck, wondering if it was going to bruise. I studied the trees where Tuggin had vanished.
“Haley must give Luke generous pardon,” Luke said, brushing his fingers over my throat. “Haley’s right about Luke being strong. Luke’s strength surprises Luke sometimes.”
The touch of his fingers made my muscles tense. Now that Tuggin had left, a frosty nervousness settled on my shoulders and nausea burped in my gut. Luke suddenly seemed bigger, and stronger. The trees loomed over me, blocking the faint sunlight that tried to break through. A crow screeched from a treetop, echoing through the branches.
Nodding, I turned and headed back for my house. Luke’s whistling hung eerily in the quiet woods. Goose bumps jittered up my spine and sprawled over the back of my neck. I hugged myself and hurried on, unable to stop from searching the woods in front of me, hoping for a glimpse of Tuggin’s back.
Shallow breaths snagged in my lungs. I couldn’t budge Luke’s arm from my neck. He wasn’t going to let go. My friend. My ally.
My killer.
I stomped on his foot. Luke grunted, but hung on to my neck.
“Release her!” Tuggin demanded.
Luke loosened his grip and I dropped to my knees. Coughing, I crawled across the snow before standing, clutching my raw throat and grasping for breath. Tuggin stood behind Luke, his tahar pressed against Luke’s neck.
Luke raised his hands. “Generous pardons, Haley. Luke didn’t mean to hurt Haley.”
I rubbed my neck. My swollen vocal cords filled my throat so that little air could get through.
“You attacked her.”
“Luke didn’t.”
“You lie.” Luke’s neck dimpled when Tuggin pushed his tahar deeper into the skin. “You would steal her life.”
“Not Haley’s life. Haley’s Eyid stone.”
“Jahme.” Tuggin’s face was as cold and hard as his knife blade. Blood trickled from the point of his tahar, but Luke didn’t flinch.
My heart skittered at Tuggin jumping to my defense. Maybe he cared about me, just a little.
“It’s okay,” I croaked. “I told him to do it.”
“I do not believe you.”
“It’s true.” I wheezed in a big breath. “I asked him to teach me to fight.”
“What is this foolishness?” Tuggin’s cheek rippled for a few heartbeats before he removed his tahar and stepped back. “You have no need. I am a trained warrior.”
Luke swiped his fingers over his neck, and then studied his bloodied fingertips. “Luke didn’t mean to hurt Haley.”
Tuggin pressed his lips together. “It is my duty to fight; to keep you alive.”
His words knifed at my heart. All he cared about was his damn job. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, so you’ll get paid.”
A sneer twitched Tuggin’s lips. “I shall be paid, whether you live or not. The Eny will see to that.” He pointed his tahar at Luke’s chest. “You shall not touch her.”
With a flick of his hand, Luke released his hatchet from his belt. He swung it up so that the blade rapped against Tuggin’s tahar. “Luke doesn’t take orders from a moch.”
“I demand it,” Tuggin murmured.
I said, “Knock it off, you two.”
Tuggin clenched his jaw, not moving.
“Lower the blade,” Luke ordered.
Tuggin’s finger twitched on the handle, but he finally lowered it. Bending toward me, he whispered, “You must choose your… friends… more wisely, else you die.”
The little hairs on my neck tingled, and I held my breath until Tuggin pulled away. “I’d think you’d be happy to get rid of me.”
Tuggin rammed his tahar into his sheath so hard that I was surprised it didn’t shoot out the bottom. After a cold-blooded glare at me, he stormed into the trees.
“How’d Luke do? Luke thinks Luke won that fight.”
“You did great,” I murmured, watching Tuggin disappear into the woods.
“Tuggin doesn’t like Luke.” Luke didn’t seem a bit concerned, whistling while he hooked his hatchet back onto his belt.
“Tuggin doesn’t like anyone.” I fingered my neck, wondering if it was going to bruise. I studied the trees where Tuggin had vanished.
“Haley must give Luke generous pardon,” Luke said, brushing his fingers over my throat. “Haley’s right about Luke being strong. Luke’s strength surprises Luke sometimes.”
The touch of his fingers made my muscles tense. Now that Tuggin had left, a frosty nervousness settled on my shoulders and nausea burped in my gut. Luke suddenly seemed bigger, and stronger. The trees loomed over me, blocking the faint sunlight that tried to break through. A crow screeched from a treetop, echoing through the branches.
Nodding, I turned and headed back for my house. Luke’s whistling hung eerily in the quiet woods. Goose bumps jittered up my spine and sprawled over the back of my neck. I hugged myself and hurried on, unable to stop from searching the woods in front of me, hoping for a glimpse of Tuggin’s back.
Water Over Blood (Last Moon Rising #3)
When I woke again, I lay still and concentrated on the rise and fall of my chest. Slowly I inventoried my body, moving my toes first and working my way up. Aside from my head, which throbbed and buzzed like it was full of hungover bees, everything else seemed to be in working order. My skin felt warm and sticky, and there was a soft pressure against my forehead. My tongue was thick in my dry mouth.
The air smelled damp, and water dripped nearby, the soft plops echoing hollowly. Birds tweeted and chirped, and a chorus of hawks sounded nearby. Air cooled the sweat along my hairline, and I shivered so violently my elbow rapped the ground. A slight scuffing sound, like a boot on rock, and then the air beside me stirred. My nose flared at the burnt cinnamon and wood-smoke scents.
I struggled to lift my lids. A shard of sunlight pierced my eyes, seeming to explode inside my head. Wincing, I squeezed them shut and then flicked them open. I blinked my watering eyes until I could focus on the guy kneeling next to me. My dark angel.
He slid a cloth from my forehead. He dunked it in an animal-skin bucket, wrung it out, and put it back on my forehead. Then he sat back on his heels and studied me.
I ran my tongue over my cracked lips. “Water?”
A small canteen was slung over his shoulder. He pulled it over his head and held it out.
When I raised myself on one elbow, the cloth tumbled to my lap. Lightning stabbed the inside of my head. Nausea swirled in my stomach. I held my breath, trying not to puke.
“Sucks to be me,” I muttered, my voice raspy and dry.
He didn’t respond.
When my head cleared, I reached for the canteen with a shaky hand. I took a long drink, and then took an even longer moment studying him. His green gaze was steady, focused, unblinking. His hands hung relaxed between his knees. He didn’t seem to have issues with the drawn-out silence.
“You got a name?” I asked.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “You don’t recognize me?”
I tried to draw from the dark well that substituted for my brain. No matter how hard I squeezed my eyes closed, all I got was a big, fat, blank brain fart. “Should I?”
He rubbed his fingertips together. “Do you remember your name?”
I took another swallow of water, ran my tongue over my teeth, shifted my gaze from his face to the floor and back to his face. “No.”
“It’s Haley.”
I waited for a ping, a light, anything to appear on my brain-blackboard. My stomach squeezed when nothing happened.
“Are we friends?”
He shook his head. No.
He took the canteen and screwed the cap back on. My gaze traveled from his sexy, dark hair, to his green eyes, and then over his gray shirt with the frayed hem and long sleeves; the drawstring cord hung loose so that his chest was partially bare. I tore my gaze away and moved down to his black pants. His knees weren’t quite poking through the worn fabric… yet. I thought he looked to be about eighteen or nineteen years old.
He was beyond hall god, more like a god of the hall gods. My stomach fluttered.
“But we know each other,” I said.
He gave a short nod then stood. His knees were dusty from kneeling on the ground, and I thought his boots were black, but they were so scuffed and dirty it was kind of hard to tell. My eyes wandered up. His lightweight pants fit snugly, highlighting his leg muscles. His hips were narrow, his shoulders wide. My gaze lingered over his square jaw and full lips before catching his gaze. He gave me a half smile. Heat flashed across my cheeks, and I quickly studied my fingers. I frowned. What the hell happened to my nails? They were cracked, torn, and dirty. So were my hands.
He turned away. My heart tugged. I wondered how we knew each other. If we weren’t friends, why were we together? I pulled at the vacant edges of my mind. Nothing.
He strode to a fire, shifted a warped pot so it nestled on a bed of coals. The cave we were in was gloomy, water trickling down the sides to dampen the floor. Daylight filtered through an opening, tunneling through the gloom and highlighting backpacks leaning against the wall—one red, one black, and the other a dingy gray.
The coolness triggered goose bumps. I rubbed my arms, realizing my shirt was not only sleeveless, but dirty and torn and missing a couple of buttons. My pants were made of tan suede, with a major tear up the side of one leg, exposing shredded skin that had begun to scab. I wore brown, leather, lace-up ankle boots.
I sat a little straighter, and the movement sent pain flicking against my eardrums. “Shit. How big was the elephant that sat on my head?”
I pressed a palm to my temple and felt something sticky. I studied the orange goo covering my hand before looking at him. “What happened?”
He rummaged through the gray backpack, holding up glass bottles filled with different-colored contents. He squinted at each one, muttering to himself. He finally opened one, sniffed, and dumped some of the contents into the pot.
He stirred for a few moments before ladling lumpy, mud-looking stuff into a metal cup. He pressed the cup into my hands.
It smelled like dirt and mushrooms and mold. My stomach rolled. “Gross.”
“Drink,” he said, nudging the cup. “It’s for the pain.”
I held my breath and sipped. Once the moldy taste hit my tongue, I spit it out, spraying my lap. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. My head spun, flinging darts of pain at my brain. I took deep breaths, trying to calm my stomach.
“Drink it, Haley,” he commanded.
I sucked in a deep breath, and then downed the contents in one shot. Gagging, I smacked him in the gut with the cup. When he headed toward the backpacks, I wiped my tongue on my shirt.
I lay back down on the thin blanket. A cool sensation filtered through my veins. My stiff muscles slowly relaxed.
“What’s your name?”
“Dane.”
“Where am I, Dane?”
He leaned against the wall near the entrance and gazed outside. “On the Ashar River, near Lake Zuhaar.”
I rubbed my scratchy eyes. My lids felt so, so heavy.
He continued. “Yesterday, I found you lying half in the river, unconscious.”
My eyelids drooped. “Dark angel to my rescue,” I slurred, and then darkness claimed me again.
When I woke again, I lay still and concentrated on the rise and fall of my chest. Slowly I inventoried my body, moving my toes first and working my way up. Aside from my head, which throbbed and buzzed like it was full of hungover bees, everything else seemed to be in working order. My skin felt warm and sticky, and there was a soft pressure against my forehead. My tongue was thick in my dry mouth.
The air smelled damp, and water dripped nearby, the soft plops echoing hollowly. Birds tweeted and chirped, and a chorus of hawks sounded nearby. Air cooled the sweat along my hairline, and I shivered so violently my elbow rapped the ground. A slight scuffing sound, like a boot on rock, and then the air beside me stirred. My nose flared at the burnt cinnamon and wood-smoke scents.
I struggled to lift my lids. A shard of sunlight pierced my eyes, seeming to explode inside my head. Wincing, I squeezed them shut and then flicked them open. I blinked my watering eyes until I could focus on the guy kneeling next to me. My dark angel.
He slid a cloth from my forehead. He dunked it in an animal-skin bucket, wrung it out, and put it back on my forehead. Then he sat back on his heels and studied me.
I ran my tongue over my cracked lips. “Water?”
A small canteen was slung over his shoulder. He pulled it over his head and held it out.
When I raised myself on one elbow, the cloth tumbled to my lap. Lightning stabbed the inside of my head. Nausea swirled in my stomach. I held my breath, trying not to puke.
“Sucks to be me,” I muttered, my voice raspy and dry.
He didn’t respond.
When my head cleared, I reached for the canteen with a shaky hand. I took a long drink, and then took an even longer moment studying him. His green gaze was steady, focused, unblinking. His hands hung relaxed between his knees. He didn’t seem to have issues with the drawn-out silence.
“You got a name?” I asked.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “You don’t recognize me?”
I tried to draw from the dark well that substituted for my brain. No matter how hard I squeezed my eyes closed, all I got was a big, fat, blank brain fart. “Should I?”
He rubbed his fingertips together. “Do you remember your name?”
I took another swallow of water, ran my tongue over my teeth, shifted my gaze from his face to the floor and back to his face. “No.”
“It’s Haley.”
I waited for a ping, a light, anything to appear on my brain-blackboard. My stomach squeezed when nothing happened.
“Are we friends?”
He shook his head. No.
He took the canteen and screwed the cap back on. My gaze traveled from his sexy, dark hair, to his green eyes, and then over his gray shirt with the frayed hem and long sleeves; the drawstring cord hung loose so that his chest was partially bare. I tore my gaze away and moved down to his black pants. His knees weren’t quite poking through the worn fabric… yet. I thought he looked to be about eighteen or nineteen years old.
He was beyond hall god, more like a god of the hall gods. My stomach fluttered.
“But we know each other,” I said.
He gave a short nod then stood. His knees were dusty from kneeling on the ground, and I thought his boots were black, but they were so scuffed and dirty it was kind of hard to tell. My eyes wandered up. His lightweight pants fit snugly, highlighting his leg muscles. His hips were narrow, his shoulders wide. My gaze lingered over his square jaw and full lips before catching his gaze. He gave me a half smile. Heat flashed across my cheeks, and I quickly studied my fingers. I frowned. What the hell happened to my nails? They were cracked, torn, and dirty. So were my hands.
He turned away. My heart tugged. I wondered how we knew each other. If we weren’t friends, why were we together? I pulled at the vacant edges of my mind. Nothing.
He strode to a fire, shifted a warped pot so it nestled on a bed of coals. The cave we were in was gloomy, water trickling down the sides to dampen the floor. Daylight filtered through an opening, tunneling through the gloom and highlighting backpacks leaning against the wall—one red, one black, and the other a dingy gray.
The coolness triggered goose bumps. I rubbed my arms, realizing my shirt was not only sleeveless, but dirty and torn and missing a couple of buttons. My pants were made of tan suede, with a major tear up the side of one leg, exposing shredded skin that had begun to scab. I wore brown, leather, lace-up ankle boots.
I sat a little straighter, and the movement sent pain flicking against my eardrums. “Shit. How big was the elephant that sat on my head?”
I pressed a palm to my temple and felt something sticky. I studied the orange goo covering my hand before looking at him. “What happened?”
He rummaged through the gray backpack, holding up glass bottles filled with different-colored contents. He squinted at each one, muttering to himself. He finally opened one, sniffed, and dumped some of the contents into the pot.
He stirred for a few moments before ladling lumpy, mud-looking stuff into a metal cup. He pressed the cup into my hands.
It smelled like dirt and mushrooms and mold. My stomach rolled. “Gross.”
“Drink,” he said, nudging the cup. “It’s for the pain.”
I held my breath and sipped. Once the moldy taste hit my tongue, I spit it out, spraying my lap. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. My head spun, flinging darts of pain at my brain. I took deep breaths, trying to calm my stomach.
“Drink it, Haley,” he commanded.
I sucked in a deep breath, and then downed the contents in one shot. Gagging, I smacked him in the gut with the cup. When he headed toward the backpacks, I wiped my tongue on my shirt.
I lay back down on the thin blanket. A cool sensation filtered through my veins. My stiff muscles slowly relaxed.
“What’s your name?”
“Dane.”
“Where am I, Dane?”
He leaned against the wall near the entrance and gazed outside. “On the Ashar River, near Lake Zuhaar.”
I rubbed my scratchy eyes. My lids felt so, so heavy.
He continued. “Yesterday, I found you lying half in the river, unconscious.”
My eyelids drooped. “Dark angel to my rescue,” I slurred, and then darkness claimed me again.
Blood Tied (Last Moon Rising #4)
I floated in the anasalar, the fog clinging to my skin, damp and warm. The scent of wet dirt was thick in my nose, and occasional streaks of color shot through the mist. It seemed like only minutes before I was rolling across the hard ground like a tumble weed. My elbow rapped against a rock as I jerked to a stop, a poof of gray dust billowing around my face. Dust clouds and grunts signaled the other Eyid-emos funneling out of the cave behind me.
I rubbed dust out of my eyes. Slowly, I stood, my mouth dropping open and my elbow aching as I stared at the destruction.
"What he hell happened?" Axel asked, coughing.
"Fire," I whispered.
If I didn't know I was standing in Kent Falls State Park in Kent, Connecticut, I wouldn't have recognized it. The forest had been annihilated, the towering treed reduced to shadowy, crippled skeletons in a gray landscape. Rocks were scarred with scorch marks, and a thick layer of ash coated the ground like dingy snow. The lingering stench of old smoke saturated what was left of the forest. The silence throbbed inside my head: no chattering squirrels, no singing birds, no breeze sighing through the leaves. Just the silence of death.
A ball of lead seemed to sink to the bottom of my belly. Beside me, Telsa growled.
"You think Ian was here on some kind of pay-back mission?" Axel asked.
The ball of lead dropped to my toes. My knees felt loose, rubbery. I locked them to keep from dropping. As a unit, we all looked at Dane. His green eyes glittered bright in the gloom, but he stayed silent.
"Why would Ian bother with Earth?" Telsa's voice sounded tight, as though she'd had to force the words through her pinched lips. She white-knuckled a knife tied to her thigh, which trembled. As Land Eyid-emos, dead trees didn't sit well with her.
Elana ran a hand through her hair. "Because... "
"My house."
My immobility snapped like a rubber band, and I jetted down the mountain, veering toward a large scorch-marked rock, the only familiar landmark left. Ash billowed from my feet as I ran, twisting around me as I tore through the blackened trees. The others followed, feet pounding.
I slowed when we reached what used to be a pine needle-strewn path, now winding through the bleak landscape like a dusty. narrow road. To my left, what should have been the rumble of Kent Falls sounded more like a water-saving shower. No time for that now. I veered off the path and headed toward home.
Or what used to be home.
I halted suddenly, and Axel bumped into me.
"Sorry, love," he said.
"Oh, shit." I covered my mouth with one hand, and gripped my stomach with the other.
This couldn't be my house, the place where I grew up, the place where I'd hiked for hours, the place where I'd filled bird feeders and collected leaves and caught snowflakes on my tongue. It was gone, nothing left but a chimney standing like a headstone over a blacked foundation. It yawned like a grave, burying my memories, my childhood, my life as I once knew it. The large oak tree next to the house stood scorched and shriveled, one limb hanging like a broken arm.
"Sorry, love," Axel said again. He patted my back.
My body shook. My heart pumped. My lungs expanded and energy flowed through my veins. A breeze kicked up ash, swirling it into dust whorls that skirted the ground.
"I'm going to kill him."
I panted, energy rising, my skin burning with the fevered urge to hurt the rat bastard, and hurt him bad. The breeze intensified, wind whipping my hair against my cheeks. The broken tree branch snapped, crashing to the ground. Cyclones of ash whirled.
"Who?" asked Elana.
"Ian."
"Why?" Telsa demanded.
I whirled toward her. A tornado of ash, following my movement, made Telsa's curls bounce.
"Because the bastard burned my house down!" I clenched my fists.
"You don't know that." Dane's voice was low, smooth, calm.
"Yes, I do. It was him. I know it."
"Ach, you don't know, you think it."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "And you're defending him... why?"
"I'm not defending him. I'm trying to get you to calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down." Even as I said it, I knew I sounded like a tool. I took a deep breath, calming the tension in my blood. The wind died.
Telsa kicked a burned branch, which crumpled to dust beneath her boot. "Does Haley have proof Ian did this?"
I chewed my lip. "No, but I know it was him." I was nothing if not stubborn.
"Why would he do this?" Dane tilted his head, waiting for my answer.
"He's pissed because he can't win. He can't beat me, and he knows it." Plus, I'd kind of wrecked his home, but not on purpose. We'd been fighting, and my powers had gone out of control, blowing his house down.
"Does he?" Dane murmured.
I pulled my head back. Of course he didn't. He was numb-nuts crazy, delusional, and no matter how many times I kicked his ass, he'd pursue me and his plan until one of us died.
I lifted my chin. "Of course, he does."
I turned my back on him and stared at my house. Even though I now lived on Eyidora, my connection to Earth hadn't been broken. Earth was as much a part of my ancestry as Eyidora. Thankfully, Mom was safe on Eyidora, and as far as I knew, the house had been left empty since we'd left. A quick scan of the area confirmed that none of the few neighboring houses had been spared. I hoped that no one had died.
The backs of my eyes burned. Though I still loved Earth, there was nothing left for me here except memories.
"Let's go," I said, my words sounding constricted in my tight throat.
I floated in the anasalar, the fog clinging to my skin, damp and warm. The scent of wet dirt was thick in my nose, and occasional streaks of color shot through the mist. It seemed like only minutes before I was rolling across the hard ground like a tumble weed. My elbow rapped against a rock as I jerked to a stop, a poof of gray dust billowing around my face. Dust clouds and grunts signaled the other Eyid-emos funneling out of the cave behind me.
I rubbed dust out of my eyes. Slowly, I stood, my mouth dropping open and my elbow aching as I stared at the destruction.
"What he hell happened?" Axel asked, coughing.
"Fire," I whispered.
If I didn't know I was standing in Kent Falls State Park in Kent, Connecticut, I wouldn't have recognized it. The forest had been annihilated, the towering treed reduced to shadowy, crippled skeletons in a gray landscape. Rocks were scarred with scorch marks, and a thick layer of ash coated the ground like dingy snow. The lingering stench of old smoke saturated what was left of the forest. The silence throbbed inside my head: no chattering squirrels, no singing birds, no breeze sighing through the leaves. Just the silence of death.
A ball of lead seemed to sink to the bottom of my belly. Beside me, Telsa growled.
"You think Ian was here on some kind of pay-back mission?" Axel asked.
The ball of lead dropped to my toes. My knees felt loose, rubbery. I locked them to keep from dropping. As a unit, we all looked at Dane. His green eyes glittered bright in the gloom, but he stayed silent.
"Why would Ian bother with Earth?" Telsa's voice sounded tight, as though she'd had to force the words through her pinched lips. She white-knuckled a knife tied to her thigh, which trembled. As Land Eyid-emos, dead trees didn't sit well with her.
Elana ran a hand through her hair. "Because... "
"My house."
My immobility snapped like a rubber band, and I jetted down the mountain, veering toward a large scorch-marked rock, the only familiar landmark left. Ash billowed from my feet as I ran, twisting around me as I tore through the blackened trees. The others followed, feet pounding.
I slowed when we reached what used to be a pine needle-strewn path, now winding through the bleak landscape like a dusty. narrow road. To my left, what should have been the rumble of Kent Falls sounded more like a water-saving shower. No time for that now. I veered off the path and headed toward home.
Or what used to be home.
I halted suddenly, and Axel bumped into me.
"Sorry, love," he said.
"Oh, shit." I covered my mouth with one hand, and gripped my stomach with the other.
This couldn't be my house, the place where I grew up, the place where I'd hiked for hours, the place where I'd filled bird feeders and collected leaves and caught snowflakes on my tongue. It was gone, nothing left but a chimney standing like a headstone over a blacked foundation. It yawned like a grave, burying my memories, my childhood, my life as I once knew it. The large oak tree next to the house stood scorched and shriveled, one limb hanging like a broken arm.
"Sorry, love," Axel said again. He patted my back.
My body shook. My heart pumped. My lungs expanded and energy flowed through my veins. A breeze kicked up ash, swirling it into dust whorls that skirted the ground.
"I'm going to kill him."
I panted, energy rising, my skin burning with the fevered urge to hurt the rat bastard, and hurt him bad. The breeze intensified, wind whipping my hair against my cheeks. The broken tree branch snapped, crashing to the ground. Cyclones of ash whirled.
"Who?" asked Elana.
"Ian."
"Why?" Telsa demanded.
I whirled toward her. A tornado of ash, following my movement, made Telsa's curls bounce.
"Because the bastard burned my house down!" I clenched my fists.
"You don't know that." Dane's voice was low, smooth, calm.
"Yes, I do. It was him. I know it."
"Ach, you don't know, you think it."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "And you're defending him... why?"
"I'm not defending him. I'm trying to get you to calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down." Even as I said it, I knew I sounded like a tool. I took a deep breath, calming the tension in my blood. The wind died.
Telsa kicked a burned branch, which crumpled to dust beneath her boot. "Does Haley have proof Ian did this?"
I chewed my lip. "No, but I know it was him." I was nothing if not stubborn.
"Why would he do this?" Dane tilted his head, waiting for my answer.
"He's pissed because he can't win. He can't beat me, and he knows it." Plus, I'd kind of wrecked his home, but not on purpose. We'd been fighting, and my powers had gone out of control, blowing his house down.
"Does he?" Dane murmured.
I pulled my head back. Of course he didn't. He was numb-nuts crazy, delusional, and no matter how many times I kicked his ass, he'd pursue me and his plan until one of us died.
I lifted my chin. "Of course, he does."
I turned my back on him and stared at my house. Even though I now lived on Eyidora, my connection to Earth hadn't been broken. Earth was as much a part of my ancestry as Eyidora. Thankfully, Mom was safe on Eyidora, and as far as I knew, the house had been left empty since we'd left. A quick scan of the area confirmed that none of the few neighboring houses had been spared. I hoped that no one had died.
The backs of my eyes burned. Though I still loved Earth, there was nothing left for me here except memories.
"Let's go," I said, my words sounding constricted in my tight throat.