Burning Darkness (30 page)

Here’s a sneak peek at
Book Five
in the Offspring series!

Petra Aruda leaned back and surveyed the woman in front of her with a critical eye. “You are so going to knock ’em dead.”

Sharla’s eyes lit up, which was saying something now that they were properly lined and shadowed, just a hint of mascara. Perfect for a job interview.

Sharla took in her reflection and let out a whistle. “You sure know your stuff. Were you a model or something?”

Petra was jotting down makeup tips. “Or something.” Not that she was embarrassed about having been a Hooter’s waitress. It was why she’d become one that bothered her. She handed the paper to Sharla. “Good luck. You can do it.”

“Thank you for doing this.” She gestured to the outfit Petra had chosen, a professional suit and skirt from the store at the Women’s Center for Independence.

“I enjoy it.” Actually, she loved it.

She smiled as Sharla gave her a quick hug and zipped off, looking at her reflection for as long as she could.

Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl” trilled from Petra’s purse, a big plum bag she’d bought yesterday to go with her witchy boots. She pulled out her pink phone and stared at the number: no one she knew. She almost tossed it back into the bag but something stopped her. If it were a telemarketer, she’d just hang up.

She answered, and a man’s low, smooth voice said, “Petra?”

Her breath hitched for a second before she realized it wasn’t
him
. “Yes?”

“It’s Pope.”

Pope. It took a moment to register. She’d only met him once, but the man had gone against the rules to save her and the lives of those she cared most about. They hadn’t heard from him in three months, since he went home to his dimension to face the consequences.

“You’re back? And all right?” she asked.

“I’m back,” he said, not answering the second question. “Eric gave me your number. I need to meet with you as soon as possible.”

Her heart plunged, sucking away her breath.
No, not again. No more running for her life, getting shot at.
“There’s not . . . we’re not . . .” She couldn’t even utter the words
in
danger again
.

“You’re all fine. I’ll explain more when I see you. Can we have lunch?”

“Sure. Do you know where Sally Sue’s is?” She gave him the general location.

“I’ll find it. See you in a few minutes.”

Her throat was tight as she looked for the shift supervisor. The Women’s Center helped those who were out of work and needed a makeover, job skills, and more importantly, self-confidence. Petra volunteered her time and skills as often as her classes allowed.

“I’ve got a family issue,” she told the woman in the office. “I’ll try to get back before my afternoon class.”

What could Pope want to talk with
her
about? The question weighed heavily in her chest as she got into her bright yellow VW Bug and drove to Sally Sue’s in downtown Annapolis. If he needed help, he could ask any of the other Rogues, like the ones who had balls, literally or figuratively. She wanted to forget about those six weeks of Hell with a capital H. Being hunted by the government, having someone mind-control her into trying to kill herself, running around with guns . . . H-E-L-L. All caps. The last time she thought it was finally over, they’d had to go back to the Tomb and hide again.

Yes, everything about those six weeks, she reminded the little voice that whispered,
Are you sure you want to forget about him, too?

She was in full fidget mode by the time she walked into the noisy seafood restaurant that overlooked the docks in downtown Annapolis. Pope was sitting at a table near the window, and her gaze was drawn to him as though he’d mentally flagged her down. Well, he probably had. She sat down across from him and forced a smile. Her brother, Eric, had pretty much squashed her habit of cracking her knuckles, but she’d picked up a new one: braiding her hair.

His light violet eyes held not a trace of anything to give her a hint about the reason behind his cryptic summons.

“You came back,” she said. “Does that mean things went well over there?”

Please, please let things have gone well.

People glanced over at them, though it was Pope who commanded their attention. At six-foot-five, with a shaved head and dramatic, defined features, he was striking. He seemed to either ignore or not notice the attention he garnered.

Pope shook his head, and only spoke when the waitress came over to take their order. He ordered nothing but ice tea; she ordered a latte, glad when the waitress departed so she could hear more.

“I stood before the Collaborate and had to explain why I used my powers in a deadly way,” Pope began. “They can track us while we’re in this dimension, at least when we use our major powers. They didn’t believe that their agents had turned bad. They mind-scanned me and saw deception. They locked me away, neutralized my deadly abilities, intending to do a SCANE on me. Something like your lobotomy, only they extract your memories, your knowledge. That the subjects usually don’t survive it is a nice side benefit for them.”

She inhaled a deep breath at the thought of it, and of his facing the panel of leaders who resembled a powerful United Nations. “How did you escape?”

“It took several weeks, as my counsel tried to appeal, dragging out the process much like your own legal system here. When their appeal failed, I escaped. Now I am a Scarlett.”

Only then did she see a flicker of emotion, perhaps disappointment or shame.

“An outlaw.” Like those he had been tasked to hunt during his tenure with the Collaborate.

Her hand automatically went to her chest. “You saved our lives but put your own in danger. I’m sorry.”

“I can live with that. Or . . . not.” He actually smiled, that grin that looked so out of place on him. “But the Extractor they’ve sent to hunt me down is very dangerous. He is what you call ‘evil’ here. I have known him for many years. He came here on independent business before he joined the C.”

“You want our help to get rid of this guy? Because we will. You helped us, after all.”
Oh, boy.
Here comes that scary feeling again.
Three months of being normal was addicting. She wasn’t sure she could give that up.

“Just one of you.”

Her eyes widened. “Me? B-But I’m not all that great at this killing stuff, and I don’t have any deadly powers, just healing and hearing, and I’ve got this habit of—”

“Rambling?”

“Yeah, and freaking out.” Already her fingers automatically worked the long strands her hair.

The waitress brought their drinks. Petra looked at her. “Nothing else for me.” The thought of eating turned her stomach.

The waitress looked at Pope, who waved away any order he might have as well.

When she left, he said, “You did well, Petra. You overcame a lot.” He gave her that smile again. “But it is not your help I require. Cheveyo is the one I seek.”

His name thrummed in her veins, which was quite annoying. “Cheveyo? Why him?”

“The rest of you have been through enough.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of her. “You got that right.” She must be schizo, because she actually felt let down that he wasn’t asking for her help. “So you’re telling me this because . . .”

“I’ve heard you have a connection to him.”

She rolled her eyes. “You talked to Eric.”

“He said you two had a . . .” He waved his hands, but he was having trouble saying the words. Had he ever been with someone romantically? Had he been in love with someone and felt the ache of their loss? Probably not.

Finally he said, “Something about you being gooey and dewy whenever you saw him. Can you explain the meaning?”

“Never mind.” She rolled her eyes. “Argh. Eric, who gave everybody a hard time about falling in love while we were in danger and then fell the hardest.” That still stung, that her boneheaded little brother found love, that everyone she knew was all cozied up in their lives—except her.

Pope was watching her with curiosity. “I sense anger from you.”

“You can sense my feelings?”

“Since our feelings have been bred out of us over recent generations, they are that much more apparent in humans. Like a loud sound in a quiet marsh.”

She forced a smile. “It’s not anger, only frustration.” She waved it away. “Anyhoo, I saw the man twice. Yeah, maybe I was a little gooey and dewy—hate that expression—but that’s only because he’s mysterious and sexy, and he looks so much like Lucas, who I had a crush on for years. Not to mention that Cheveyo saved my life, and we kissed.” The memory still gripped her, just as it did every time she thought about the damned kiss, which was hardly ever. “I haven’t heard boo from him since he said goodbye when he thought we were all going to die.” Yeah, she was rambling again. “I mean, three months have passed, life is back to normal, and still, not even a lousy call.” Okay, it hurt. She thought she’d shored herself better. “He’s never told me why we can’t be together, other than it being dangerous for all of us. Whatever that means. I’m not gooey and dewy anymore.” She latched onto her braid again. “I’m so over him.”

Except for when she dreamed about him every now and then. Not the kind of dream where he actually came to her, just ordinary dreams where he touched her, and she woke up all hot and bothered.

Pope tilted his head, a puzzled expression on his face. “What am I feeling now from you?”

She was
not
going to explain sexual frustration to him. “Just annoyed, or I was annoyed when I wanted to see him, but I don’t want to see him anymore.”

“I’m not sure if that is a good thing or not.”

“It’s a good thing. I don’t kick my couch anymore or punch pillows.” She gave him a forced smile because she’d said too much. “I have a date tonight. A date with someone who hopefully hasn’t killed anyone or been hunted by the government or has any kind of psychic ability.”

“A date.” He nodded. “So you have no troublesome feelings for Cheveyo?”

“None at all. Just a lingering frustration, and only because I never found out why he couldn’t contact me. It’s like, you know, when you date someone once or twice and never hear from him again. You just wonder why.” She smiled. “Have you ever been on a date?”

“No. That’s never been part of my assignment here. Not my desire, as I see the chaos it creates in humans.”

She snorted. “Probably a good idea. You want to know about Cheveyo? I really can’t tell you all that much.”

“I need you to contact him. Your untroubled feelings for him will make that easier, right?”

“I don’t understand why you need me. Can’t you, like, teletransport to wherever or whoever? Or did you lose that ability?”

“My transport skills are still weak. Even when they were fully operational, I could not go to him. He’s different.”

Yes, he was. “He can turn into a panther. Did you know that? He did it in front of me once. It was freaky, sexy, cool, even if I am afraid of large animals with sharp teeth.” Pope’s mouth twitched slightly, making her replay the words she’d just said. “Anyhoo, he seems more advanced than any of us.”

“Indeed. Since he trusts you, I want you to bring him to me.”

Her chest tightened at the thought of contacting him. She hadn’t even tried, out of pure pride. If he couldn’t be bothered to contact her, why should she be the one to go begging him to come see her?

She shuddered. Cheveyo, damn him, wasn’t easy to forget, but she was sure trying. Taking a college program on esthetics, accepting a date with a guy who couldn’t do amazing, crazy things with his mind. She could pretend she was totally normal and that she loved her life the way it was.

No, not pretend that last part. She did love her life now.

So why was the prospect of seeing or even talking to Cheveyo pumping up her heartbeat?

“I’ll try, but he absolutely refused to even come down to the shelter and talk to Lucas, even though he’s his half brother. What do you want me to tell him?”

“It might be better not to tell him about me until you get him to our meeting place. I’ve tried to find him over the years, and I think he suspects I’m an enemy.” His mouth twitched again. “Use what you call here feminine wileys, if you must.”

Now her mouth twitched. “Wiles, you mean. Yeah, well, I don’t really have any of those.” People seemed to think that just because she was pretty, that she was (a) easy, (b) had tons of dates, or (c) was a man stealer. “If you think this will be easy because we have some psychic connection to each other, that doesn’t seem to mean anything to him. Or me,” she added.
Anymore
.

Pope merely gave her a Mona Lisa smile. “I think you’ll be able to bring him to me.”

Pope had confidence in her. Cheveyo had once told her she was stronger than she thought, and he’d been right.

“I’ll try. That’s all I can promise. Are you going to tell me why you’re having me summon him?”

His smile faded. “Do you want to be involved?”

“No.”

“Wise answer. Bring us together, and your part will be done.”