Darkness Awakened (Primal Heat Trilogy #1) (Order of the Blade) (3 page)

“So, he killed me.” Quinn shrugged. “That doesn’t mean he’s rogue, and if he is, that doesn’t mean he can’t come back.”

Gideon swore. “Quinn, let it go. It’s been five hundred years and no rogue has ever come back. Whatever you think you saw back then was a kid’s imagination. Elijah is done. Look at what he did. See for yourself.” He gestured to the carnage, but Quinn didn’t bother to look.

He knew the evidence was there. He’d seen it. But he would not believe Elijah deserved to die, not until there were no other options. “He wouldn’t go rogue.”

Gideon raised his brows. “If he wasn’t rogue, that means he did this in his sane mind.”

“Then he had a reason.” He would not condemn his teammate, not the man who’d been through hell and back with him. “Something else is going on, and I’m going to find out what it is.” Quinn reached inside the de-weaponed trainee’s jacket to find his ID tag. He made a point of not learning their names, in case he had to kill them someday.

It was hard enough to do his job when a Calydon or a kid he didn’t know went rogue. It was a hell of a lot tougher when they were friends, so he tried not to get personal if he could help it. It was the only way to survive his mission.

Gideon ground his teeth and didn’t move to help him. Quinn could feel the turmoil inside Gideon as he struggled to understand what had happened. It was the same way he was feeling.

“I’m not due to report to Dante on the trainees’ progress for two more days,” Quinn said evenly. “That gives me forty-eight hours to find Elijah.” Quinn located the ID brand on the youth’s left pectoral muscle, where it would have stayed unless he made the Order. Then it would have shifted to the back of the shoulder and updated to the double crossed hook swords of the Order brand.

Quinn frowned as he read the ID tag. “Ajax Drachman.” Drachman. The name sounded familiar. He knew he’d heard it before tonight, before the kid had shown up at his door. What was the kid’s deal? Quinn checked another trainee. Roger Filcox. The name meant nothing to him. Not like Drachman. “Why did my weapon and Drachman’s get stolen, but not the others?”

“Six dead innocents.” Gideon ignored Quinn’s question as he strode over to a trainee and yanked the kid’s shirt open so he could record the tag. “I’m reporting Elijah to Dante. We need to send out everyone to find him. He has to die.” His voice became hard as he said the words. “We have no choice. It’s our duty.”

“Screw that.” Quinn gave Gideon a cold stare across the bodies. “If Elijah can be brought back from the edge, we’re going to do it. We owe him, like we all owe each other.”

A shadow passed over Gideon’s face. “You two aren’t the only ones I owe. I have a duty to the innocents he might kill next. Innocents like these kids.”

“For hell’s sake, Gideon, this is
Elijah
. You can’t condemn him outright. You know you can’t.” Quinn walked among the bodies, studying them, trying to think, trying to figure out Elijah’s motivation, but he came up with no answers. There were no excuses for what his blood brother had done. The only explanation was that he had gone rogue, and, for him to murder his best friend, he had to be so far over the line that there was nothing left of the man who had been his friend. Quinn swore and slammed his sword into the earth in frustration. “I don’t get it.”

“Me either.” Gideon walked up and slammed his hand onto Quinn’s shoulder. They stood side by side at the edge of the clearing, guarding the bodies they’d sworn to protect when the trainees had been given over to them. The kids they’d failed. The youths that Quinn had led to their death.

Why had he led them the wrong way? He was always right, but he’d made the wrong choice. Why? What had screwed with his instincts? Quinn listened to the wind whirling through the tree, and he opened his senses to his woods, trying to uncover the mask that had rendered his instincts inoperable. The forest smelled of death and treachery, and Quinn stood straighter. “Can you smell that? There’s a shift of equilibrium. An imbalance. Something’s not right.”

Gideon’s eyes narrowed, but he turned his head to the woods, closed his eyes and raised his face to the breeze. Quinn picked up the slight vibration as Gideon opened all his senses, reaching out on a metaphysical level to test the world.

After a moment, Gideon opened his eyes, staring into the forest. “You’re right. I feel something dark lurking beneath the surface of the earth.”

Hot damn.
Quinn slammed his fist into his palm, psyched by the discovery. There really was something else going on. “We need to find Elijah and get answers,” he said. “Killing him straight up isn’t the solution. He’s involved. He’ll know.”

The muscles in Gideon’s jaw were working, the tendons in his neck rigid. “What if he kills other innocents while we search for him?” His eyes were dark with the agony of what he knew he had to do. “I can’t let you go after him.”

Quinn knew it was tearing Gideon up to make the decision that would result in the death of either his friend or maybe more innocents. Screw that. Quinn didn’t have the same morals or ethics as Gideon, and he sure as hell had never claimed to be the most devoted follower of the Order’s rigid code of conduct.

He was here for one reason, and that was to make sure the past didn’t happen again. Now was his chance. He was certain Elijah was innocent. How and why, he didn’t know. But his gut told him that Elijah needed a chance, and there was no way Quinn was walking away from his friend. He hadn’t listened to his gut five hundred years ago, a choice that had led to the death of the man he considered his father.

Not again. Not this time. Today, there was only one choice Quinn could live with.

“It shouldn’t be like this,” Gideon said. “He shouldn’t die without a trial. He shouldn’t die at anyone’s hands but ours.”

“He isn’t going to.”

Gideon shot him a sharp look, and knowledge flared in his eyes as he realized what Quinn was about to do. He started to call out his axe to stop Quinn, but then his loyalty to Elijah made him hesitate, the barest pause. That split second of doubt gave Quinn the chance he needed.

Quinn belted Gideon in the back of his head with the butt of his sword before Gideon could recover, knocking out his blood brother. He caught his friend as he slumped, then eased the Calydon to the muddy ground. “Sorry, mate, but I couldn’t let you make a choice we’d both regret.”

He’d held back on the blow, so Gideon would be out for only about half a day, giving Quinn time to get a good lead on tracking Elijah. Once Gideon awoke, he’d do as he should and go straight to Dante, but they both would rest better with the knowledge that Quinn had a head start on finding Elijah first. The team would be dispatched after Elijah within minutes of Gideon’s report, and the race would be on.

Quinn checked to make sure Gideon was still breathing, then started sprinting toward his cabin to gather what he needed to go after Elijah. He had to slow after only a few steps, still reeling from the death blow Elijah had delivered him.

Nice. The life of his best friend was at stake, and he was going into battle with only one sword and a hangover from hell. He was at a fraction of his regular strength, and a posse of the most deadly warriors alive would be on his tail in less than a day.

Time to man up.

His weapon shimmered brightly, then dissolved into the air. His brands burned like fire as the sword returned to his body, resting until the next time he needed it.

His blade sheathed, Quinn broke into an easy lope, forcing blood to surge to his muscles. If he did find Elijah, could he even bring him back? Or would he have to do what he did to his uncle so long ago?

Quinn swore.

There was no room for mistakes, not this time.

Because that’s exactly what Grace could be if she lost control: a threat to humanity.

The night settled darkly around Grace as she began to walk down the long driveway. Her boots scuffed on the pebbles, and her feet sank into the muddy earth. A cool mist drifted against her cheeks, and she shivered, pulling her jacket more tightly around her as the woods thickened. She wished she’d brought a heavier coat and warmer clothes.

God, she wanted to be home right now, not heading down some god-forsaken path into who knew what hell. But what did she have to go home to?

She’d already been fired from her job at the yoga studio, because having one of their instructors related to an Otherworld murderer had seriously cut down on class attendance. Not that she’d minded. She couldn’t afford to be noticed, and the news was too high profile. She’d taken her yoga mat and quietly slid off into the shadows, praying that somehow, someway, she could fix this without being noticed by the wrong people, the people who had been hunting her since she was fourteen.

As tempting as it was to run back to her home, crawl under her light blue comforter and hide, what was the point? What was there to return to?

To more news reports on the murders her missing sister was being held accountable for?

To another death threat for being related to a rumored killer with metaphysical powers?

To more nights in the empty house she shared with Ana, dreading the phone call that her sister had been apprehended and killed?

No.

Sitting around waiting for news of Ana’s death wasn’t an option. Grace was going to find her, prove her innocence, and bring her back safely. The house would remain empty until both sisters were back in it.

Grace wiped her palms on her jeans, hunched her shoulders against the damp wind, and crunched over the broken sticks that littered the driveway. She winced with each loud crack of another stick, knowing Quinn would be aware of her presence long before she reached his house.

He probably already knew she was there.

She glanced into the dark pine trees lining the road, wondering if he was in one of them.

Stalking her.

A trickle of fear crept down her spine and sudden pressure began to dig at her temples, signaling the ominous building of another illusion.

Oh, crap.
Not now.
Grace dropped to her knees and pressed her palms against her head, fighting against the swell of fear that was so dangerous to her. She tried to call upon years of practice to quell the emotions that would trigger the side of her that was so destructive, so deadly, the stuff of nightmares.

Normally, easy enough.

Now? The pain in her head intensified, like needles hammering relentlessly at her. Too many weeks of fear and stress were wearing down her defenses, and the threat of Quinn stalking her was too much. Her protective instincts were being triggered. Too strong. Too fast. The illusion was her body’s natural defense to threats: throw up a mirage and run away while her attackers were caught in its thrall.

Grace’s illusions wouldn’t simply distract her adversaries. They would
kill.
The enemy, sure. But also friends, loved ones, and possibly even herself. Illusions were impotent unless you believed they were real, but Grace’s were so vivid and powerful that even she couldn’t convince her subconscious that they weren’t real. The result: torture, agony and death to anyone unlucky enough to witness them. A great way to start any day.

She absolutely did not have time to kill herself right now. Who would save her sister if she was dead? Seriously! “Come
on
, Grace!”

She had to calm down. Had to slow her heart rate. Had to chill. She pressed her palms to her eyes. “My life is fine,” she said. “Quinn’s not going to kill me. Ana’s going to be fine—” Raw fear for her sister’s safety churned in her belly, and the pressure in her head became stronger. Faint blue light began to pulse in the air around her, a light that was the final precursor to one of her deadly illusions. “Dammit!”

She breathed deeply, inhaling the fresh, earthy scent of damp ground that reminded her of where she grew up, and she forced her mind back to the past, to the happy memories that always soothed her. She envisioned playing with her sister in the Vermont woods when they were little. Watching Ana create fun illusions in the meadows. She saw Ana’s butterfly illusions, the bunny rabbit ones, all those happy images her sister had made for Grace when she’d been struggling. Her dear, sweet little sister, gifted by some miracle with uplifting illusions instead of dark ones.