Jaguar Night (21 page)

Not me,
she didn’t add. She didn’t have to.

And then she felt what it was like when his spirit wrenched, his heart torn—his utter denial to what had in truth already happened. Utter determination to stop it from completion.
Coming…I’m coming for you…
Coil and lunge, lungs burning, legs heavy, muscles twitching—

But she was already gone.

Chapter 19

D
olan angled upward, bypassing the switchback trails in favor of barging straight up the mountain—leaping over the unexpected earth cracks, twisting around jutting stone, ducking the sharp, jabbing lower limbs from the junipers. Already drained by ancient and forbidden blood workings, still bleeding, he charged upward, hearing her voice, closing on her, hearing her cry of shock and fear echo down along the slopes.
Hold them off, Meghan, just one more moment, just one more breath
—

But Meghan never had a chance. He hadn’t warned her, hadn’t expected the Core to break so many rules of conflict in one fell swoop, hadn’t known they’d already embraced powers forbidden these long millennia—powers that would prepare them perfectly to capitalize on the
Liber Nex
if they stole it. No learning curve, no fumbling through the early process. If they acquired the
manuscript, they’d come out running. And they’d already crossed the moral line that would free them to do it.

They’d come a long way from
protecting the world
from the preternaturally capable Sentinels.

Dolan hit the main trail, swerved to follow it. Easy running—but he stumbled anyway, flanks heaving. He barely heard the thunder of hooves coming his way, had only enough time to spot a blur of white and pounding hoof—he flattened himself against the trail as Luka rounded the corner at a panicked gallop, every bit as startled to find a huge black jaguar in his path as Dolan was to be there. Dolan snarled a warning; Luka flung himself into a mighty leap, landing in an awkward flurry of missteps and almost going down. He regained his feet and his purpose and charged onward—homeward.

Dolan pushed back into a heavy trot. He emerged into the open, found the trail skirting the base of a steep slope. Here, they’d grabbed her.
God, Meghan!
Here, their scent mingled strongly with hers.
I’m here for you, Meghan!

He found the sign where Luka had gone down, great chunks of dirt and rock displaced on the trail, white horse hair and smudged blood on rock. He found the scent pools where the men had waited, felt the lingering taint of Core amulets. Plain old amulet-based incantations, mild enough to slip through the thin mountain wards. A glint of metal, a whiff of bitter herbs…he found it, jammed in among the stones where Luka had gone down.

And now, drifting in on the breeze, came the acrid scent of engine exhaust.

Meghan?

Silence. Dead, heavy silence.

But he hadn’t expected otherwise. She’d barely been
able to reach him in the first place, her natural resources drained dry. She’d been hurt—he’d felt it happen. And yet still he’d hoped—

She could be passed out. She could be drugged. She could have an amulet hung around her neck, isolating her.

Give her time.

She had the strength to overcome any Core nullification amulet…if she could only regain her strength.

Dolan’s legs quite abruptly went out from under him; he sprawled in the dust, panting heavily, half closing his eyes against the sun. Fatigue warred against the impulse to follow the ATVs against the knowledge that he had to let brevis know against…

The book.

She’d found it.

Dolan drifted away from the distractions of the outer world—the stripes of pain down his side, dull agony in abused limbs. Blood trembled on his whiskers; he licked it away, not sure of its source. With the tang of it on his tongue and in his nose, he focused on what she’d sent to him before she went silent.

The
Liber Nex.

She’d found it. She understood. She’d protected it the best she could. And there, embedded in that information, was the heart of Meghan. The demand that he find the book, that he protect it, that he keep it from the Core. That he do so
before
trying to find her.

And then another memory pounced, just as clear and just as stabbing.
Tell them not to put a scratch on her,
Gausto had said, his intent obvious in his voice and words.

He’d take Meghan for his own. He’d do whatever he wanted with her…and to her.

And the Gausto boys had a bad habit of killing their pets.

Unless the pet kills you first.
Dolan had done that, and now Meghan would pay for it. Meghan would be Gausto’s revenge, completely apart from whatever happened with the
Liber Nex.

Dolan opened his eyes, staring down the trail, absorbing the lingering scent. Two men on foot, Meghan in the air…the ATV already long out of reach, carrying her away.

Save Meghan.

Save the book.

Save—

Dolan snarled, a mournful and gut-wrenching sound. He dragged himself to his feet and headed up the hill to the old homestead.

Meghan woke in the back of a moving car, quite instantly aware that she’d fainted upon being lifted to a man’s broad and muscle-bound shoulders, but just as instantly aware that she’d had help to stay out of it so long. Something burned between her breasts—it felt like a last-ditch flare of power, a lightbulb filament glowing extra bright before it burned out. Even before she opened her eyes, she groped for it, her hands closing around a metal disk just warm enough to be uncomfortable.

Bigger hands closed over hers, pulling them away.

“Ah, leave her,” someone muttered. “If she’s awake, it’s burnt. They should have sent us with stronger’lets for this one.” The car shifted around a sharp turn and Meghan grabbed the leather seat to keep herself in place; she opened her eyes to find scenery zooming past the window of the small SUV. They’d made some effort
to arrange her securely on the backseat, a belt awkwardly crossed her hips; her leg stuck straight out on the seat, the swelling straining her jeans. The leg itself felt oddly, throbbingly numb; she had no idea what damage she’d taken. Gingerly, she wiggled her toes inside her riding sneaker. The movement sent shooting pains up her shin, but the toes complied.

In the front, the passenger twisted to look back at her, bracing himself against the middle console. Both men had obviously seen the same stylist—tailored suits, slicked-back hair and the faintest hint of kohl around their eyes. Both had an earring; both had olive skin and craggy features. A matching set.

She met the gaze of the one who looked back at her, found it cold but curious. Not much point in asking questions, then. Besides, she understood the situation. The Core had her. They’d somehow decided she was worth the effort when the Sentinels had not, and they thought they could get something from her.

Hell of it was, they were right.

Liber Nex.

Meghan held the man’s gaze, found the now-cold metal on her chest and the line of thin chain that kept it there. Deliberately, distinctly, she closed her hand around the amulet and yanked it from her neck; the chain snapped with the satisfying sound of broken links. With as much disdain as possible, she dropped it to the carpeted floor.

The man smirked. “You’ll see,” he said, and turned his back to her.

Not if I can help it. Not if
Dolan
can help it.

Bold thoughts for a kidnapped woman trapped in a
speeding car toward the bitterest enemies she’d only just discovered. But Meghan clung to those thoughts—those hopes. She clung to the memory of Dolan, knowing she’d told him to deal with the book first and knowing he’d do it—knowing he had to. But still…

She closed her eyes and thought of Dolan.

There was no more run in Dolan. His flank had stopped bleeding, but it burned with an unnatural ferocity; he suspected that Gausto’s insidious magic had left more of mark than it first seemed. He trotted onward with heavy steps and finally staggered down into a walk just outside the homestead grounds.

Here.
The book was here. It had been here all along. He’d walked right past it, lured to the chimney dead space just as Margery Lawrence had intended. No sign of the special warding within had leaked through the leaning, twisted walls of the outhouse. No hint of the deception had slipped through—not to him, not to the Sentinels, not to the Core. His whiskers tilted in brief, dark amusement. He’d have to make sure Gausto knew what he’d missed.

The outhouse door tipped open now, the interior lit by the merciless high desert sun. Dolan kept to the short noon shadows of the yard, brushing up beneath the pines, panting heavily from exertion and pain. He circled around the old building, hunting any signs of what Margery had left…any signs of what Meghan had done.

Damn. Like mother, like daughter.

But Meghan shouldn’t have been
that
good. Not yet.

Still, when he peered inside the outhouse, just as happy to stay in the jaguar for now, he discovered the
old catalog she’d pictured for him. Tattered at the edges, pages brittle and yellowed. It reflected nothing of her; nothing of Margery. Slipping into ward view showed him nothing more than the faint haze of a vaguely protected object.

Gingerly, he reached for it—one giant paw wielded with precision, claws neatly tucked away. He hovered on the point of touching it, ears flattening in spite of himself—and then he felt the first wash of Meghan’s touch, and he opened himself to it, and—

—
appalled understanding and terror and
have to stop them
and help me do this thing
—

And suddenly the wards were open to him, recognizing him, revealing their inner works and their incredible strength, finesse bound in thick ethereal steel. The impact of it reeled him; the implications of it sent him staggering back.
Meghan, what did you do?

He must have cried it out loud, for he heard her faint response, only the echo of a whisper over distance.
Dolan?

Meghan! What were you
thinking? Horror painted his inner landscape, splashing out to his thoughts.

Meghan’s wordless shock of response made him realize his carelessness—and made him realize she hadn’t known. Hadn’t known her own strength, hadn’t realized what desperation had driven her to do.

And it was his own fault. There was no way she should have been faced with this book alone, no way she should have been left to fend for herself with such raw but potent skills.

No,
she said, much more strongly now. He could even tell she was in a vehicle; he could tell that her leg had been hurt but not broken, that she was otherwise
unharmed.
You couldn’t have known I’d find the thing. If I’d told you what I felt…
She hesitated, gave a mental shake of her head.
No. I didn’t know, either. I kept thinking it was you, my awareness of you. Only when I got far enough away
—

Meghan
—He sounded broken even to his own mind, and struggled to keep his thoughts orderly—to protect her from the despair of them.
I can’t do anything with this book. No one can. What you’ve done here…it’s the
aeternus contego.
You’re the only one who can release it, and until you do…

Tell me,
she demanded. No longer dazed, though still terribly frightened—still completely aware she was in the hands of the Core, speeding away from safety.
There’s something you’re not
—

And then she said, a heartbroken little sound,
Oh.

The jaguar growled, a tiny yowl of sound, knowing she’d gleaned from his thoughts what he’d been trying not to say: that her death would also release the final lock on the wards.

Don’t let them find out,
he told her fiercely.
Whatever they do, don’t let them know! You give them everything about me, you tell them your mother’s life story
—
but you keep those wards to yourself! Keep the book to yourself!

Or they’ll kill you and come for it.

If I—
She stopped, tried again. He felt her sway with the movement of the vehicle, knew she was on a paved but sharply winding road. She never quite finished that thought, the implication of it hanging as she went on.
If that happened, then the Sentinels could take the book. Hide it again, the way they were supposed to have done before. Then this would be over.

No,
Dolan said fiercely.
It wouldn’t. Then I would have to live with it. Then I would have to live without
you.

His words rang between them for a moment, fully imbued with longing and despair…and the awareness that what lay between them wasn’t anything he could walk away from, not ever. And then Meghan laughed inside, and he could feel the smile on her lips.
Finally figured that out, did you?

Apparently so. Years of looking past human connections, of keeping the Sentinel mission so large in his mind as to make room for nothing else, so large he had to run rogue half the time to fill both needs and expectations…

Yes,
he told her.

Yeah,
she said, still smiling.
Me, too.
And then,
Oh
—! and a jolt of startled fear, the bruising grip of a cruel hand on her arm and
Dolan
—!

And she was gone.

Dolan snarled; he tore claws into ground and shredded caliche, lost in fury and grief. It didn’t last long…he’d been drained before he started. So he stilled—and then he froze, a jaguar about to begin the hunt, his gaze riveted on what he could see of the book from this vantage point.

What if first impressions had been wrong? What if he’d made assumptions? What if Meghan’s inexperience had left them an out, a way to crack those wards after all?

The jaguar had taken him, stalking the little building as if it were live prey. Dolan forced himself to straighten, to sit on alert with his tail wrapped around his body. Thinking. Considering. And this time when he moved, it was with casual assurance. Back to the book. Back to not quite touching the book.