Jaguar Night (20 page)

Dolan stiffened.
“Son of a
—”

Gausto smiled. “I see that you understand. I hope you’ll consider those to be worthy dying thoughts.”

Meghan needed protection. The Sentinels—they needed to know about this new manipulation of power, that which they now faced in the field. And if the Core got their hands on the
Liber Nex…

Screw dying. Dolan had things to do.

He dropped into hunter mode—changing nothing but attitude, barely shifting his stance—but Gausto saw it. His bodyguard sidekick saw it, hastily stuffing away the BlackBerry in search of his gun. But the forbidden workings had drained him, and he fumbled—

And by then Dolan was upon him, ripping the halfaimed semiautomatic out of his hand and using it to bash up under the man’s chin. No finesse, just power and speed against an opponent who hadn’t stood a chance of facing the jaguar within Dolan.

But as the man went down, Dolan followed. Agony doubled him over. Grit shifted beneath his hands, beneath his knees; his body clenched, banded in pain and fighting to breath. Only as his vision grayed did he finally gasp air into his burning lungs. Just that fast, a pointed boot in his ribs drove that precious air out in a grunt; he rolled away from the blow, grinding grit into
the stigmata of old wounds. A looming shadow told him that Gausto had followed.

Damned well not gonna happen
—Dolan barely made it to his feet, a low crouch from which he launched himself with a jaguar’s wiry strength—straight into the arc of another kick, one he took in the junction of crossed wrists to flip Gausto over on his back. Dolan threw himself down on the man, jamming his forearm over Gausto’s throat and fumbling inside that expensive suit coat for the baby semiautomatic lurking there. Finding it, Dolan flung the gun aside—far aside.

He sat back on his heels as Gausto scrabbled away, hunting the pistol—in no great danger of finding it, with Anica’s hand already closing around it. He wiped dirt from his chest, winced as his hand crossed the open stripes of wounds and spat grit as he climbed to his feet. “We’ll see who reaches her first,” he said, and turned away.

He’d half expected it; it hit him no less hard for that. The blood power washed over him, wringing out a deep groan; the knee on his weak side buckled. But he caught himself, and he whirled around…glaring at Gausto’s fisted hand, knowing the vial rested within. He said, “Two choices. I can come and get it, or you can let me walk away.” He lowered his voice. “Do you think you can take me out before I reach you? Do you think you can do it without killing yourself?”

Gausto looked to his men—a quick, reflexive glance, his mouth open as if he might actually command a dead man to act, or an unconscious man to give up the rest of his life.

“You shouldn’t have played with me,” Dolan said. “You used them up.”

He saw the reality of the situation reflected on Gausto’s face—the gun in Anica’s hands, one man dead, the other unconscious. But even then, defeat was no part of the man’s posture.

Dolan knew why. He lifted his own gaze to Anica, meeting her gaze across the yard. “Let them go,” he told her. He didn’t even need to see Anica’s surprise turn to stubbornness—and he didn’t blame her. But they could do nothing with Core prisoners. “If you turn him over to the cops, the Core will come for everyone here.”

Understanding wilted her. Only for an instant, and then her mouth tightened and her gaze narrowed. “All right, then. We’ll stay here in the barn until they’re gone. As long as they leave us be.”

Dolan eyed Gausto, waiting for the acknowledgment that would free him to leave. The nod that meant Gausto accepted the terms, and would live up to the Core’s own odd honor over standoff deals struck when it meant avoiding official notice. He spat again, discovered that somewhere along the way he had acquired a fat lip.

But the nod didn’t come.

Dolan tilted his head, eyeing the sullen inflexibility of this man. “I’ll do it,” he said softly. “We’ll both die. You know that.”

Fury burned behind Gausto’s dark expression. “Then I’ll wait for the next time.”

Dolan knew that fury…he felt it. His voice barely made it to a whisper. “Yeah. Next time.”

And he took the jaguar and bounded away, dripping blood and ire in equal measure—already reaching for Meghan, calling out in spite of the her absence, her lack of response.

’Ware, Meghan! The Core is here.

Nothing.

He’d just have to find her in time.

Chapter 18

M
eghan found herself mounted upon Luka, moving out at a pace brisk and snorty enough to suggest that if Luka had his way, they’d be moving along even faster.
Where
—
?

For a moment she was mired in utter disorientation, not sure where they were or how they’d gotten here. How
she’d
gotten here. The pines surrounded her without context; she knew she was high above the ranch, but had no idea where. She’d been plunked onto a hillside on the back of her horse and—

Her fingers tightened around the reins, stopping Luka; she squeezed her eyes closed, searching for some distinct moment to pin to her
now,
to rebuild the past hours. And, without thinking, she reached out for an anchor.
Dolan.

Her stomach turned cold and heavy. There was no
response from Dolan…there was no echo of her own thoughts.
Dolan, are you there?
But the words thudded dully within her own mind, going nowhere.

On impulse, she opened herself to ward view.

Nothing.

What the hell had happened?

Luka swung his head around, reaching back to nibble in question at her foot, equal parts impatience and concern. She patted him, opening her eyes to search the trail. All she needed was a familiar rock, a downed tree, an unusual twist in the trail…then she’d know where she was. It wasn’t a matter of getting home—Luka would take her there without hesitation. It was a matter of knowing what had happened, these past hours.

Such things were no longer to be taken for granted. Whatever she’d been up to, she knew damned well it wasn’t a simple trail ride in the high pines.

Her gaze fell upon a split pine; relief washed over her. As fast as that, the terrain fell into place, resolving into familiarity. She knew where she was; she knew what lay ahead—and what lay behind.

The old homestead.

Wards and buildings and the book, the book, the book
—

She’d found it.

She’d found the book.

Fully initiated, barely trained but brimming with natural talent, she’d finally been prepared to hear its wards. But in finding it, she’d made a trail for others.

So she’d had to re-ward the thing.

For now, having touched it, she understood. She knew why Dolan had been so single-minded about his
pursuit of this manuscript, and why her mother had been willing to sacrifice her life to hide it. The faint, lingering taste of its howling darkness still clung to her, washing through her in a wave of vertigo. She clutched the saddle while Luka shifted uneasily beneath her.

The
Liber Nex,
disguised as an outhouse accessory. And she’d left it there. There was no fixing the door, so she’d used the facilities, creating a reason for the disturbance. And then she’d wrapped her awareness around her mother’s wards and painted her own over them, tapping the earth for unfettered, unfiltered power. She’d felt the difference in what she was doing, not understanding it until too late—until she’d given those wards something of herself, something that wrenched free from deep within, settling into the wards with a slight sizzle.

Power and swells of emotion and a startling shock of pain and—

And here she was. Finally coming back to herself in the wake of it—having tapped herself dry. For good?

The doubt came with sudden panic. Never to feel Dolan’s presence again? Never to hear his silent words?

She must have clenched her body; Luka gave a startled grunt and lifted both front feet off the ground, valiantly trying to respond to a mishmash of conflicting signals. “Shh,” she told him. “I’m sorry.” And she let him move forward rather than compound his frustration. She knew where she was now. She knew where she’d been.

She wasn’t at all sure where she was going.

After a moment, she worked up the nerve to try ward view again. Tentative, this time—no demand to it. All gentle and allowing.

She almost sobbed in relief when the faintest haze of it overlaid her normal vision. Maybe she’d just overreached herself…stunned herself with the power she’d wielded. It’s not as though she truly knew what she was doing. Maybe it would come back…

“Whoa,” she said out loud, which Luka quite rightly ignored because her body language said
keep going.
“Listen to my brain, Luka. What am I even thinking? I’ve had a handful of days with my mother’s Sentinel toys, and suddenly I can’t live without them?” A handful of days with Dolan’s fierce, pushy, intense presence, and suddenly she couldn’t live without it?

From deep within came an unexpected answer, as fierce as anything Dolan had ever said to her.
No. I can’t.

She dropped the reins over Luka’s crested neck, pulling up the hem of her shirt to wipe her face. Tears she hadn’t expected, sweat she’d worked up while also working wards. “Okay, buddy,” she said to him. “Let’s get home, then.”

Whether she used mundane words or regained her connection to Dolan, she had a lot to tell him.
Oh, by the way…found the book thingy. It’s disguised as toilet paper. You want it?

And then the Core would have no reason to dog her, and she could settle down to integrating her new awareness with her old life. And Dolan…

Just because she suddenly knew she couldn’t live without his touch in her life didn’t mean he felt the same. Or that he’d stay once he had the book.

“Sucks,” she muttered to Luka, who shifted his weight back to handle the steep, rocky trail shunt before them, the one that would dump them back on a main
trail. She gave him free rein as he snorted his opinion of such steepness, and they moved out into the open, a bare patch with pines above and gnarled cedars and junipers cropping up below. They balanced in tandem, Luka tucked together like a cat, Meghan leaning back over his quarters and swaying with his movement, never interfering with his efforts.

Until he flung his head up, stopping short to sit back on his haunches so hard, so steep, that Meghan’s stirrups touched the ground. “You’re fine,” she told him, soothing him…not at all sure she’d convinced either him or herself. For Luka didn’t spook at the trivial. He barely spooked at the significant. But now…

He was spooked. Ready to fling himself into stupidity.

With care, without pushing, she eased into ward view.
Yes.
Not yet normal, but stronger. But it showed her nothing. The wards in this area were nothing more than scattered lines of awareness, sensitive only to intruding energies. So she came out of it, patted Luka’s neck and encouraged him to move forward.

Even as he responded, she tried one more time, reaching out to Dolan. Gently…not pushing it. A whisper, just looking for that connection.

Meghan.

She gasped with relief, barely able to take the emotions behind his single word of response.
Fear and exhaustion and pain…
She shot back a quick, hard query—felt it hit dead air, and forced herself to take a breath and go gently with it.
What’s wrong?

The Core,
he said—and that was all for a long moment, until even more faintly he added,
Coming…

The Core. Meghan lost the feel of him, washed away by her pulse of fear.
The Core is here.

And Dolan was coming. But not with strength—with determination alone. She’d heard that much.

Luka’s neck jerked up; his nose flipped against the reins. Still angled steeply down the rocky slope, he somehow lifted himself up—an impossible rear under an impossible situation. Meghan cried out in futile protest as the footing skittered out from beneath him; he fell backward and sideways, front legs flailing as the bulk of his body rolled onto Meghan’s leg.

Flesh ground into rock with shocking clarity as Meghan grabbed mane. If she could stay with him…if she could stay on him…she could still get home, no matter her leg—

But Luka made no attempt to rise. No panicked scramble, no shuddering heave. He lay half on her, half off, his front legs propped against the hill and trembling hard.

Meghan!
Dolan came stronger now, his fears more clear. She understood then that it had never been fear for himself; it had been fear for her.
Of this.

“Luka,” she crooned, and it came out dry and croaky. She swallowed, tried again—finding enough strength in jellied limbs to tap his side with her free leg, her complete focus on his neck and ears and the back of his head, reading his frozen uncertainty. “Come on, son. Let’s go. Let’s go home.”

But Luka flung his head up and lurched, shifting over her trapped leg so she cried out even though it didn’t hurt yet—didn’t yet feel anything at all.

Hands closed around his reins beneath the bit, effectively capturing his head. And Meghan, her vision still
filled with Luka’s neck and head and the blur of shock, abruptly realized that they were not alone.

Meghan!
Dolan’s cry held an anguish she’d never heard before, reached out and captured her and drew her into his world for that instant—the burning pain of his flank, the smell of blood, the strain of powerful muscles never meant for endurance charging endlessly uphill. Coil and lunge, giant paws sinking into thin soil, skidding off bare rock, coil and lunge and—

Too late.

They knew it—as one, they knew it.
The book!
she told him, as hands reached for her. She showed it to him. She
shoved
it at him. She gave him her understanding of the stakes, of the absolute need to keep the manuscript from the Core. And she told him,
Go save it.