Heart of Stone (32 page)

It's what he would do.

But nothing happened on the ride to the airport. They got the boxes loaded on the Montanas' private plane without so much as a stubbed toe. Ben boarded, and Adrian waved off the luggage handlers as he hefted his bag and Ben's and headed for the stairs to the plane.

That's when the attack hit.

Three Warriors sprang from nowhere. He dropped the bags and spun just in time to block a strike from a guy with a black eye. Adrian punched Black-eye and sent him stumbling. Two other Warriors charged him. These looked to be the same bunch who took him on in the restaurant parking lot the other night. He sent one sprawling while the other took a swing at him. He blocked the blow and kicked the Warrior away.

Where the hell was Montana's security detail? Where was airport security, for that matter?

He could see airport personnel moving around near the hangar, but no one seemed to notice what was happening. The Whisperer. Had to be. Only a Whisperer could convince that many people that they didn't see anything. Which explained why only three Warriors attacked him. There had been four outside the restaurant that night.

No sooner had he taken out one than another came. He kept fighting, hoping to lay all three out long enough to get on board the plane. If they could just get airborne, everything would be okay. But these guys kept coming, three Warriors to one. Eventually they might wear him out. He needed an ace in the hole.

One got in a lucky punch and knocked him down. He hit the pavement with a hard whoosh of air from his lungs. They scrambled for him.

He chanted beneath his breath, gathering power. The tattoo on his chest began to burn and throb. He yanked open his button-down shirt.

The Warriors grabbed him, one on each arm, and hauled him to his feet. Black-eye sauntered over, a smirk on his face.

“You don't want to do this,” Adrian said in Atlantean.

“Oh, but we do,” Black-eye said in the same language. “Azotay wants a word with you.”

“Azotay risks the wrath of the Leyala,” Adrian replied. “As do you.” As expected, mention of the Leyala, the elite group of Warriors who handed out justice to other Warriors, made the grin fade. Black-eye shoved open Adrian's shirt.

The tattoo over his heart, three triangles connected at each base by a circle with an Atlantean symbol in the middle, rippled like living scar tissue and glowed.

Black-eye fell back a step. “Leyala,” he whispered.

“Leyala,” Adrian agreed. “You have been judged.” He flipped backward, breaking the hold of the other two Warriors. Rather than attack him, they backed away. Black-eye charged him, fingers curled, aimed for his throat. Adrian blocked, grabbed Black-eye's arm and twisted it up behind his back. Black-eye thrust out his chest, back arched, trying to ease the pressure. He twisted, swung his fist up with the momentum.

Adrian slapped his left hand against Black-eye's chest and spat the Word of Judgment.

His tattoo flared, power surging down his arm into the other Warrior. Black-eye howled, jerking with spasms as if electrocuted. He dropped to his knees, head lolling. Stayed there.

Adrian looked at the other two, who were inching away. “Take him.” He strode to the plane, scooped up the bags he'd dropped, and jogged up the steps. Ben waited for him in the doorway, his eyes wide as he looked down at the Warriors on the tarmac.

“What did you do, Adrian?”

“Judgment.” Adrian dropped the bags on the floor and turned to shut and lock the door to the plane. “Get buckled in. We're out of here.”

“Okay.” Ben took his overnight case and shoved it in the overhead compartment. Adrian did the same with his duffel bag, then dropped into a seat and buckled his seat belt. He hit the intercom to the cockpit. “Bob, let's get out of here.”

“You've got it, Mr. Gray,” the pilot answered. The plane began to move.

They'd been in the air for about fifteen minutes before Adrian's intuition flared. Warriors were not only stronger and faster than normal humans, they had the acumen and instincts to go with it. Warriors were masters of strategy and logic, and sensitive to the slightest hint of danger. Right now his senses were screaming that something was very wrong.

They should be heading west, but the sunset was on the right side of the plane, not in front of it. They were heading south.

Something was wrong.

“I'm going to talk to the pilot,” he said.

Ben nodded, flipping through a magazine. “Would you get me a soda on the way back?”

“Sure.” Adrian went up to the cockpit. He opened the door, and the pilot jerked his head around.

“You're not supposed to be up here, Mr. Gray.”

“I'm getting drinks. Did you want one?”

“No, thank you.” The pilot checked his dials. “You should have allowed a flight attendant.”

“You're right.” Adrian glanced at the instruments and saw his supposition was correct. “Are you aware you're heading south? Sedona is west.”

“I know how to get to Sedona, Mr. Gray. It is my home airport.”

“I know, which is why I'm wondering why we're going away from it.”

Bob's face flushed red. “We're not going away from it. Clear skies all the way there. No reason to divert. We are headed to Sedona.” He tapped the console. “It's right here, and if you were a pilot, you'd see that.”

“I am a pilot.” Adrian placed a hand on the back of the copilot's seat. Bob's forehead beaded with sweat and his hands trembled. Completely out of character for the normally placid man he'd come to know.

“Well, if you're a pilot, you can see for yourself we're on the right course.” Bob waved a hand at the instruments.

“Maybe you should take a break, Bob. You don't look well.”

Bob whipped around as far as the seat belt would let him. “I'm fine! Now get out of my cockpit, Gray. You have no business here.”

“You seem sick. I could take over for you, make sure we get home.”

“Is that what this is? You're trying to take over the plane? Hijack it?” Bob yanked out a gun and pointed it at Adrian. “Get out of here, Gray. Back to your seat.”

“You don't want to do this, Bob.” His instincts flared into battle mode, his senses becoming more acute, a dozen strategies playing through his mind. The Whisperer. He hadn't been with the rest of the Warriors sent to ambush him. He must have gotten to Bob.

The only way to break a Whisperer's compulsion was physical shock.

Adrian braced himself and swung. The door behind him opened.

“Hey, Adrian—” Ben said.

Bob pulled the trigger. Adrian's fist connected with Bob's jaw. The bullet zipped past Adrian. Bob slumped in his chair, unconscious. The gun clattered to the floor.

Adrian flipped the switches to make sure they were on automatic pilot. Turned.

Ben slumped in the doorway, blood soaking his T-shirt.

“No!” Adrian sprang forward to kneel beside Ben. The older man's eyes were closed, his breathing labored. Adrian pressed his fingers to Ben's neck, found a pulse. Ripped open Ben's shirt. Bullet to the chest, oozing blood. Too much blood. Too close to the heart. “Damn it, Ben, stay with me.”

The older man's breath wheezed through his lips, each shallow inhale and exhale pumping more blood from the wound. He remained unconscious.

“Don't you die on me,” Adrian muttered. He found the first aid kit and taped the bandages tightly against the wound to try and stanch the bleeding. Then he turned to the pilot's console and flipped the oxygen control to manually drop the oxygen masks in the passenger compartment. Lifting Ben in his arms, he settled him in the first available passenger seat, buckled him in, and fastened the hanging oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

Then he went back to the cockpit to fly the plane.

*   *   *

Coil by coil, bit by bit, Faith cleared more of the thousands of years of trapped emotions from the Stone of Igarle. She wouldn't be done today. Maybe another week if she could keep up the pace.

And if she could stand being with Darius for that many hours, every day.

She sensed him nearby through their mate link, could see him in the dark morass of the stone's black memories as a shining blue light, just like before. If his empathic powers really were neutralized in proximity to the stone, then it must be the mating bond that allowed him to stay connected to her, even when she was this deep in the rock.

Why him? Why did she have to always fall for a man who could use his power to manipulate her? First Michael and now Darius. How much of what she had felt for him, the constant sexual hunger, had been real? Or had it all been manufactured by him, the empath? She'd seen what he'd done to Rigo. He'd told her himself he could take a scrap of emotion that already existed and exaggerate it. Had he done that with her attraction for him? Blown it up into this craving that haunted her now, convinced her it was a mating bond? Would he really use her in such a way in order to get her to help his family?

Maybe those legends about Seers hadn't been as fabricated as she'd begun to believe.

She could hardly believe she still wanted him so much even after his duplicity had been exposed. What was wrong with her that she could not follow the path of self-preservation and keep her distance? Why did she long to be close to him, to feel his arms around her, to feel safe again? It made no sense. How could she ever truly feel safe knowing she could not fully trust him? Yet her heart urged her to seek solace in his arms.

She dove deeper into the stone, singing away its pain. Wishing she could do the same for herself. It was tempting to stay here, to allow herself to be absorbed into the rock, to become as hard and durable as it was. But part of her resisted the impulse. She might never come back out, and she would not let him see how much he'd hurt her.

He was an empath, so he probably knew, but as long as the Stone of Igarle kept his empathy turned off while she worked on the stone, she could have privacy in her grief for the love that might have been. Face the knowledge that she had been a fool … again.

Resign herself to a life alone. Why had she even dared to hope otherwise?

A cell phone rang from far away. The low rumble of voices.

Faith
. Darius spoke directly into her mind.
You need to come back
.

Not yet
. She wasn't ready to let go of the quiet, of the one place where she could be truly alone with her thoughts and emotions.

You have to come. It's Ben. He's hurt
.

The song she keened stuck in her throat. The energy fluctuated, flared. She struggled to maintain some semblance of control, to calm the energy, even with her breath frozen in her lungs. Please, no. Not Ben.

Go,
whispered Igarle.

She found the radiant blue pillar of light that was Darius and the link that led to him. What had once looked like a thread now resembled a swiftly running creek. She followed it, found him. Disconnecting from the stone, she gulped air as if she'd been held under water. A warm hand closed over her shoulder. She knew that touch. She laid her hand over his and opened her eyes to look at him.

Those gorgeous blue eyes, sober with concern. Even with all that had happened, she couldn't deny his soothing presence. That feeling that everyone would be okay as long as Darius was there. With the stone present, she knew he couldn't be using his empathy to make her feel this way, so it must just be him. Just Darius. Was she weak for wanting to believe he could really make everything better, just for now? For taking comfort that he was there with her?

“What happened?” she asked. “Where's Ben?”

“The hospital. He was shot. Adrian had the EMTs meet the plane when they landed.”

She stood up, and his hand slipped away. “I'm going to the hospital.”

“Rigo will drive us. Go get your purse, and I'll lock up the stone.”

“Meet you out front.” She ran from the room, Rigo on her heels.

Darius picked up the stone and put it in its wooden case, then locked it in the cabinet. Whatever pain hung between them, he knew Faith was going to need him.

Whether she wanted to or not.

*   *   *

Faith ran up to her room and grabbed her purse, then charged out the door again. She met Tessa in the hallway.

“Faith!” Tessa grabbed her arm. “What happened? Someone got shot?”

“Yes. Let me go.” She wrenched her arm free and ran toward the stairs.

“Wait!” Tessa fell into pace with her, then darted in front of her, forcing Faith to halt. “Who got shot? Faith, was it Adrian?” Her voice caught.

For the first time, Faith noticed how pale Tessa was, the anxiety in her eyes. Tessa's former hostility was completely absent. “No, it wasn't Adrian. It was my father-in-law, Ben.” The tears sprang, unwanted. “Please, just let me pass. I have to get there. Have to get there in case—” She couldn't say the words, sucked in a shuddering breath.

Tessa squeezed her arm. “We'll go together. Come on, Rigo's pulling the car up out front.”

Faith nodded and sprinted down the stairs, Tessa next to her. She didn't wonder about Tessa's about-face; there was time to consider that mystery later. All she wanted to do now was get to Ben … before it was too late.

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Darius hated hospitals. So many emotions flying around, grinding against his empathic senses like unoiled gears. Grief, worry, fear, pain. They bombarded him as he, Rigo, Faith, and Tessa came through the emergency room doors. Faith's feelings were the most powerful of all, washing over him both because of her proximity and through their link.

Gray met them in the waiting area. He had a couple of bruises on that pretty face of his, and his dark eyes were somber. He was worried about Ben, but guilt and anger rippled off him. Guilt about Ben getting shot while under his protection, and anger at himself for letting it happen.