Heart of Stone (2 page)

“The training wheels have to come off sometime.” She jerked at her arm, but his grip only tightened.

“Not until I say so.” He leaned closer. “
Babe
.”

“I'm leaving, Michael.” She jerked at her arm again, but he hauled her closer.

“Oh, yeah? Go ahead and try it.” He leaned in, his scent familiar, his demeanor a stranger. “They say sex amps our powers, but that never happened with us. And I finally figured out why.” He caressed the bare fingers of her left hand. “Your wedding ring. You never wear it when you work energy.”

He knew
. Still, she played it off. “Any other stone is a distraction and might disrupt the flow. You know that.”

“Nice try. The wedding ring's a blocker, isn't it? To keep you safe from other people's powers. All the times we've made love and never once did our powers merge. Not. Once.”

“Michael, we can talk about this at home.” She tugged at her hand, but he held it fast.

“And I can't help but think about where you got that ring, who made it for you.
My dad
.” He shook his head. “The two of you felt you needed some sort of protection from me. From
me
!”

The edge in his voice warned her he was losing control. She couldn't predict what he'd do next. But she wasn't playing his game anymore. “Yes, your father made it to my specifications, and I sang the energy into it.”

He reared back, astonished enough to let her go. “You admit it?”

“Your father told me how your mother died. It was just a precaution.” At the time she'd thought Ben had been overreacting. Now she silently thanked her father-in-law for his foresight.

“My mother? She died in childbirth.”

“Yes, she did.”

“What's that got to do with—”

“She burned to death,” Faith said. “Burst into flames. They told your father that the strain of the birth must have activated your powers—”

“Which amped up hers. Wow.” A slow smile crept across his face.

She recoiled. “Michael, your mother died a horrible death!”

“I did that, and I was just a baby.” His grin widened.

She shouldn't have told him. He seemed too well pleased with this news that would have horrified a normal person.

“I'm all grown up now,” he whispered, snagging her wrist before she could dart away. And slammed into her mind with the full force of his gift.

She screamed. He seared through her mental defenses—defenses
he
had taught her—as if they were tissue paper, boring into her mind like a white-hot laser. She yanked at her wrist, tried to avoid his relentless invasion, turned away as far as she could, straining to get free. He grabbed her long hair and jerked her face around to kiss her, plunging his tongue into her mouth with a force she'd never experienced at his hands. The physical, sexual contact flared the power between them, his ability slicing its way to the core of hers with the precision of a scalpel.

His lust for domination, to be respected, to be feared—it all polluted her like the sludge of a strip mine. He would stop at nothing to get what he so desperately craved.

She could not let him win.

She lifted her hands, her tattoos throbbing and burning with the molten power of the planet's core, and grabbed his head, the song vibrating in her throat a high-pitched, keening wail. She opened up the channel full-on and let the Earth speak.

He screamed and reared back, his eyes wide, but her hands glowed white-hot, and he could not break away. For her, it all seemed to happen at a distance. Some part of her, the spark that made her who she was, stood apart, her emotions sealed within the protection of earth and rock. Her heart felt like a hunk of ice in her chest, the confusion of emotion removed, the dispassionate power of the Earth taking over as she let the energy flow through her and into him, doing what must be done. Distantly she could feel him fighting to free himself, but the sheer strength of the force flowing through her held him in unbreakable manacles. His eyes glowed like hot emeralds, his body stiffening as she ripped through the channel he had opened and tore back what he had stolen.

He screamed. The shriek echoed off the mountains around them, and she released him, her song dying in her throat as his body crumpled to the ground.

She stood staring, her limbs trembling, as the power ebbed back through her, settling like a calm sea where moments before an ocean had raged. The dam holding back her emotions burst, and she choked on a sob, her knees giving way as she sank down beside Michael. Her husband. Her first love. She pressed shaking fingers to his neck, but she already knew, could tell by his staring eyes. He was dead.

She was a killer after all.

 

CHAPTER ONE

Old Town Albuquerque, New Mexico

Three years later

 

The bear figurine glowed in the rosy light of the setting sun streaming through the window. Faith set down the soft black pouch in which the gift had arrived, unable to take her gaze from the polished stone in her hand. Lovingly carved of caramel-colored travertine with little turquoise eyes, the fetish warmed in her palm, sharing both her body's heat and its energy. Like a whisper, the carving's song trickled into her mind, soothing and protective.

Her eyes stung with tears, and she closed her fingers around the stone figure as she absorbed the love and caring infused in the stone by its maker. Ben Wakete still worried about her, had made this to protect her, and she couldn't stop the curve of her lips. A harmony rose in her throat, a counter to the sweet song of the stone.

“Faith, are you still back there?”

Lucita's raspy voice jerked her back to her surroundings. Sucking in a shaky breath, she blinked and looked around. She was in the rear room of the shop, unpacking the newest delivery of handmade jewelry and crafts from the pueblo. Her father-in-law, Ben, had brought the box himself, smiling that mysterious smile of his and reminding her of their dinner date as he'd slipped the pouch into her hand and disappeared.

He'd kept her sane these last three years after Michael's death, always supportive yet letting her find her own way.

“Faith?” Lucita appeared in the doorway from the front of the shop, her gray-threaded braids and weathered, bronzed skin a testament to her mixed Spanish and Native American heritage. She took the part of Old Town merchant seriously, dressing in long skirts and a multicolored shawl for the tourists, though Faith knew darn well she wore jeans and sneakers when not at work. “Didn't you hear me, child?”

“I did. Sorry, Lucita. I was wool-gathering.” She slipped the fetish into the pocket of her jeans. She knew Ben had made this for her, not to be sold in the shop. The energy he'd woven into it spoke volumes. “I'm almost done here.”

Lucita snorted. “More than likely you were dazzled by whatever gorgeous things Ben brought. Well, we'll have to admire everything tomorrow. It's closing time.”

“I don't mind staying a little later, Lucita.”

“No, you won't. You know the rules. We close at sunset.” She peered at Faith with knowing dark eyes. “You aren't going to live your life for work, child. Not while I'm breathing. A young girl like you needs to enjoy life. See friends. Go to parties.” She winked. “Maybe have a little romance.”

“Romance? No way.” Faith gave a laugh. “You're the only friend I need, Lucita.”

“Bah.” Lucita waved a hand. “I'm old. You need friends your own age. Go dancing. Be happy and silly and young.”

Faith shook her head. “Not interested.”

Lucita pursed her lips, clearly weighing her words. “I'm going to say something, child, and then I'm going to never mention it again. When Ben asked me to give you a job, I knew you were running from heartbreak.”

“Lucita—” The other woman held up a hand, and Faith fell quiet.

“Losing a husband like you did is bad, no doubt about it, but you can't let tragedy cut your life short before it's begun. Things happen, child, and then you have to live afterward.”

Faith started repacking the new merchandise, unable to look Lucita in the eye. The shop owner thought her a grieving widow, and while Faith hated lying to her, the omission of certain facts kept Lucita safe. “I am living,” she said. “Living it up here in the big city.”

“I'm serious.” Lucita shook her head. “Big city or not, working here is a job, not a calling, Faith. You can't shut yourself away. Life—and love—has a way of finding you, like it or not.”

“What if I don't want to be found?”

Lucita laughed. “Good luck with that in this world. Not a day goes by you're not leaving a trail on the Internet or being tracked by the GPS in your cell phone or being caught on a traffic cam somewhere. I think the days of being able to truly hide are gone.”

“Still, it would be nice.” Faith paused with her hands on the flaps of the box she was about to close. “You know, if you want to head home, I can lock up. I'm meeting Ben for dinner down the street.”

Lucita gave her a long, hard stare, seemed as if she wanted to say more. Then she shrugged. “All right, then. I've said my piece, and I can see you don't want to talk about it. That's fine. But I'm still your boss, and I'll be checking up to make sure you weren't here all night. You know how I feel about all work and no play.” She wagged a finger. “And I have my spies.”

Faith managed a grin. “I'll be gone in ten minutes, tops. I promise.”

“Then I'll see you in the morning. Good night.” Lucita turned away.

“Good night.” Faith closed up the last of the boxes, listening to her boss's quiet steps as Lucita headed to the front of the shop, then the tinkle of the bell as the older woman left the building. The front door shut with a click of the latch, letting Faith know she was finally alone.

She stopped where she was, hands clenched on the edges of the last box, and closed her eyes, inhaling a slow, deep breath. Lucita meant well, but the older woman had no idea about the complications of Faith's true heritage. Friends? Romance? Not for her. Not as long as the Mendukati pursued their mad obsession for superiority. Not as long as they saw a Stone Singer as an important key to obtaining their goals.

She wanted no part of this war and never had. Being a Stone Singer made her a target, and she longed to disappear, where those looking to take advantage of her powers could never find her. There had to be a place, even in this world of constant surveillance.

Michael had not been the first Atlantean to try and manipulate her into using her powers for his gain, but he'd been the most clever. She'd never seen it coming, just blindly followed his lead as he “helped” her learn about her abilities, believing all the while he had her best interests at heart, that he loved her. But as he'd demonstrated on that ridge three years ago, all that had been a lie. He'd just wanted to exploit her powers for his cause. And he'd died for it.

Her heart still sank like a rock in her chest as she remembered his staring eyes.

If not for Ben, she might have gone mad that day. He'd dealt with the body, protected her from the backlash of Michael's death with her people, helped her move away from the Mendukati to the human world in Albuquerque. And he'd forgiven her, though she'd killed his only child. He knew Michael's nature. He'd tried to talk them out of getting married, but she wouldn't hear of it. So he'd made her that ring. And even after that day on the ridge, he'd continued to protect her. To watch over her as if she were his own flesh and blood.

But even he couldn't save her from the stain on her soul. The way the act had changed her. What she had become.

A murderer.

A laugh sounded from outside, and she jumped. Just tourists. Her shoulders relaxed. Normal foot traffic in Old Town. Nothing to worry about.

Shaking her head at her own edginess, she turned off the light in the back room and headed into the front. Glancing at her watch, she leaned down to get her purse from beneath the register. She was looking forward to a nice, peaceful dinner out, and maybe a beer to go with it. She'd missed Ben. Her father-in-law's trips to Albuquerque were becoming less and less frequent as he traveled to more galleries and art shows in other states to sell his work. He could certainly have sent his handmade jewelry and carved fetishes along with one of his younger cousins or nephews. But she knew the only reason he made the trip at all anymore was because he still worried about her.

The bell on the door chimed while she was still bent behind the counter. She sighed, shoved her purse back into the small cabinet, and straightened. There was almost always a last-minute tourist who stumbled upon the tiny shop at the end of the Old Town street just as she was trying to close up.

“May I help you?” she called to the woman perusing the pottery near the door. “I was just getting ready to close.”

The woman turned and smiled, a baring of teeth that lent an edge to her girl-next-door, blond good looks. “Hi, Faith.”

Cold swept over her. “Corinne.”

“Long time, no see.” Corinne sauntered toward her, hands clasped behind her back—always a dangerous sign for a lightning thrower. “Took awhile to find you.”

“Didn't know I was hiding.” She knew why Corinne had come. Faith glanced down at the case in front of her, at the turquoise and tiger eye and boulder opal jewelry displayed there. She could pull power slowly from the gems without being obvious about it. Hopefully Corinne, with all her flash and flare, wouldn't notice something so subtle.

Hopefully Faith wouldn't need the power to defend herself.

“Oh, come on, now. You practically fell off the Earth after Michael died.” Corinne clicked her tongue. “Understandable, I guess. What was it again? Energy overload?”

“That's what they said.”

Corinne flashed her a knowing look from cat-green eyes. “Occupational hazard for an Echo.”