Purpose (25 page)

Tristan lifted the lid of the box to reveal
several stacks of hundred-dollar bills, a pile of white envelopes,
some documents laying flat and a host of keys littering the bottom.
He placed the envelopes and documents on the table and started
picking through the keys.

“London, Athens, Hong Kong…,” he muttered
under his breath as he chose specific keys, each approximately the
same size as the one that had hung on my necklace. He looked up at
me. “Sydney?”

“Sydney what?” I asked stupidly.

“Do you think we might go to Sydney?”

“Australia? Oh, yes! Definitely! But not to
live. I want to live here, in Florida, if possible.”

“It might be a while before we can come back,
but we will.” He selected a few more keys and stashed them into his
jeans pocket. He also stuffed several bundles of cash into his
pockets, and then mine and Owen’s, too. Then he picked up the stack
of envelopes and started flipping through them. I peered over them,
noticing the flaps weren’t sealed. I could see passports and
driver’s licenses and realized they were various forms of
identification. Tristan stopped at one. “How about Nikolai
Skovorsky? Is that the father of Ms. A.K. Emerson’s son?”

I lifted an eyebrow. “How would she meet a
Russian, especially at nineteen?”

He shrugged and continued through the rest.
He stopped on the second-to-last one and grinned mischievously.
“Owen Allbright.”

Owen grabbed the envelope and pulled out the
documents. “You trying to steal my identity?”

I looked at the identification pieces—a
Montana driver’s license with Tristan’s picture and Owen’s name.
Tristan chuckled.

“Just for an emergency. You never know. But,
sorry, you’re not marrying my wife.” He snatched the papers back
from Owen and stuck them back in the pile. He looked at the last
one. “It looks like Jeffrey Wells. Does that work for you? A.K.
Wells?”

“As long as it’s not Tristan Knight, Owen
Allbright or some ridiculous name that makes no sense, I don’t
care. I just want to get out of here.” My fingers pressed against
my temples. I didn’t know if the vault’s stagnant air or the
tension of the day caused it, but my head thrummed, creating a dull
ache.

Tristan put everything away and Owen cloaked
us before calling for the banker. When she opened the door, she
looked at Owen, then around the room, as if expecting to find
someone else in here. She must have decided she’d been hearing
things, because she turned on her heel and led us back to the
lobby.

The drone in my head increased and the sound
itself multiplied, becoming several different buzzing sounds, each
with its own quality and volume. It felt like bees actually flew
around inside my head and grew agitated with no way to escape. The
sounds grew louder and more intense. A panicked feeling started to
rise in my chest with the onslaught, making it difficult to
breathe. I fought the urge to cover my ears and shut my eyes, as if
that would silence the ruckus.

A moan that would likely become a scream
lodged itself in my throat. I’d never had asthma, but I thought I
knew what it felt like now. My chest burned as I tried to draw in a
breath, but couldn’t. I felt Tristan’s arm slide around my waist
and he pulled me against him. I didn’t realize I’d been trembling
until I stopped as he comforted me. We finally left the busy lobby
and entered the garage. The hum quieted, leaving only the ache.

Once in the backseat of the car, I leaned my
head against Tristan and curled my body into his. I instinctively
knew right where he was and how to fit myself within his contours,
even when I couldn’t see him. It had already become second nature
again, as if we’d never been separated. His lovely scent and
calming touch soothed away my anxiety. As Owen drove onto the
highway, the headache dissipated.

“I have no idea what came over me,” I finally
said. “My head sounded like a beehive. And it kept getting louder,
especially in the bank’s lobby.”

“Where there were more people,” Tristan said,
and then added, “More thoughts.”

“You think all that noise…” I didn’t finish.
Of course, he was right. The buzzes, each with their own unique
sound, were others’ thoughts trying to enter my mind. My heart sank
at the realization of what it meant. “I can’t ever be around people
again. It’s too painful!”

Tristan gave me a squeeze. “You just need to
get used to it and learn better control. Rina can do it. I know
you’ll be able to.”

It wasn’t a question of whether I would be
able to. I didn’t know if I
wanted
to.

Owen drove us back to Key Largo. He didn’t
drive as fast as Tristan did and I could feel Tristan’s impatience.
He didn’t say anything, though, and just held me, for which I was
grateful. I felt a strange tension hovering just beyond us, as
though waiting for Tristan to let go of me so it could seize
control of my body.

Before we separated so Tristan could flash us
back to the beach house and Owen could return the car, we drove
down a dead-end street, to a small beach in Key Largo. The sun hung
in the western sky, still more than an hour from setting, providing
a perfect back drop for pictures of the author with her long-lost
lover. Owen turned the car off and we all just sat there for
several long moments.

“It’s as good a place as any,” Tristan
finally said.

Owen turned around in the seat and waved his
hands at us. I felt relieved to see Tristan again. I decided I
didn’t particularly like this cloaking device. It was convenient
and even necessary, but it had been too long since I’d seen my
love’s face for it to keep disappearing.

I wished my sixth sense would fix itself or
return or do whatever it needed to do so I could rely on it again
and feel a little less vulnerable. It was near dinnertime and the
beach appeared to be deserted. A pier with a grass-roofed gazebo at
its end jutted over the water, but no fishermen dangled rods from
its edge. There was no one around to sense their intentions or for
their thoughts to buzz into my head. Yet I felt exposed, as if
someone—or some
thing
—watched from out-of-sight.

“They don’t need to be good pictures,”
Tristan instructed Owen as we walked out to the sand. “In fact,
people should have to look closely and just assume that it’s her.
The vaguer and blurrier the photos are, the less likely they might
recognize us in the future.”

Tristan and I walked up and down the small
beach, Owen staying behind us to catch our profiles and nothing
more with the camera. Though I hadn’t made any public appearances
for a few years, we didn’t want to take any chances of recognition.
Tristan and I held hands, walked arm-in-arm, kissed a couple times
and even pretended to play at the edge of the water. It shouldn’t
have been hard to look like the reunited couple we really were, but
my nerves were on edge and I couldn’t completely play the role.

When we finally turned to cross the hundred
yards to the car, the beehive grew in my head again. Just a low
hissing sound at first, but the noise quickly grew louder, into a
hum and then a buzz.

“
Him.
”

“Who?” I looked up at Tristan. We’d been
walking in silence. Why would he suddenly blurt that out?

He peered down at me. “What?”

I realized that though the word had come
clearly, the voice was unrecognizable. Not Tristan’s.

“
They’re here.
” Again clear, but an
even different voice.

My heart picked up speed as I looked around.
I saw no one. But I knew we weren’t alone. The buzz grew louder and
I clamped my hands over my ears to block it out. It didn’t do any
good, of course. The sound came from within.

“Alexis, what’s—” Tristan didn’t finish his
sentence. He stiffened and his eyes scanned our surroundings. He
sensed their presence. “Owen!”

As soon as Tristan called out his name, the
buzzing exploded into different voices and random words and
phrases, as if that one word had broken some kind of dam holding
everything back.

“—
I’ll wait—
”

“—
yes—”

“—
she’ll come—
”

“—
maybe we should—”

“—
no—”

“—
stupid moron—”

“
Ha! How lovely!”
Even drenched in
sarcasm, the words sounded like a breeze caressing silver chimes. A
musical voice. A voice I’d already come to know too well.

“Vanessa,” I whispered. “She’s here.”

On the other side of the car, under the shade
of a clump of mangrove trees, a white figure emerged. She remained
in the shadows, but I could feel her evil eyes on us. Her
stone-white lips stretched into a grin. Then I noticed the other
figures behind her. Vanessa stayed in the cover of the trees, but
the others started moving toward us.

“Go!” Owen yelled. “Before they get too
close!”

He thrust his hands out at the approaching
Daemoni and one of them collapsed to the ground. Someone laughed.
Then a blur of a figure shot toward us.

The next thing I knew, Tristan had me scooped
into his arms. Then I felt that pull on the air in my lungs and a
fraction of a second later, I sucked in a chest-full of air. Before
I could take another deep breath, Tristan leapt several yards. Then
he set me on my feet and pulled on my hand. I stumbled over wild
ferns and other brush, scraping my arm against a palmetto’s fronds.
Our beach house stood thirty yards away. We were within the safety
of the shield.

“
They’re back! But not Owen. I don’t smell
him. Where is he? I need him!”

Panting, I leaned over, my hands on my knees
and my elbows locked to support me, as I tried to figure out what
was going on. The words made no sense. I didn’t recognize the
female. Nobody should even be here. Was I confused? Was the
adrenaline shooting through my veins messing with my head? Had
Swirly decided to return?

“
If Owen doesn’t get here, Seth will kill
me!”

I shot up and stood perfectly straight,
frozen in place. Only the Daemoni called him Seth.

A string of profanity flew out of Tristan’s
mouth. He didn’t need to hear the female’s thoughts. He knew she
was there. His nostrils flared. His eyes sparked. He crouched in
front of me, in a protective stance. I didn’t know if my mind put
up some kind of wall to block her thoughts out of fear, if her mind
went blank or if she’d disappeared, but the female’s thoughts fell
silent.

I opened my mouth to ask what happened to
Owen, then clamped it shut when an unfamiliar scent wafted below my
nose, the odd mixture of honey, mesquite and dirt. Then I saw
movement in the brush about ten yards away and froze. The top of a
sapling wavered. Something snapped, the sound of a thick branch
breaking under a heavy weight. Then a face appeared next to the
rough bark of a palm tree. My heart sputtered. I blinked several
times. The figure wasn’t human. It wasn’t even an animal that
belonged on this continent, except in a zoo.

Large, yellow cat eyes stared back at us,
framed with black and white stripes. A long, orangish-tan nose
ended in a rounded muzzle with whiskers poking out of the sides.
Round, black ears, pointed backward, twitched and then rotated
forward. The huge feline head dipped down, but the eyes never
ceased their careful watch on us. An orange paw as big as my head
moved forward. Tristan soared at it.

“Tristan! That’s a freaking tiger!” I
shrieked.

He landed on the big beast’s back and his
arms wrapped around it. They rolled twice and stopped with Tristan
on top. His muscles bulged as he squeezed the barrel chest. The cat
struggled under him. Long claws dug into the dirt. Its tail whipped
side to side. Lips pulled back, revealing curved fangs as long and
nearly as thick as my index finger. But the tiger never growled or
lashed out at Tristan.

“Tristan, wait!” Owen yelled from right
behind me and I spun on him in surprise. I hadn’t even noticed his
return, too worried about Tristan. His blond hair stuck out
everywhere and black smudges marked his face. A slash in his jeans
gaped open just above his knee.

I turned back to Tristan and the beast, just
in time to see the big cat begin to shrink. The orange, black and
white fur appeared to retract into its skin. The limbs narrowed and
transformed. The claws became fingers. Tristan jumped to his feet,
landing fifteen feet away, his palm faced toward the morphing
shape.

“Easy, Tristan,” Owen said, taking a few
steps toward them. “It’s okay. She’s with me.”

The figure became a naked woman, long and
lean, thin but with well-defined muscles. She lay on her stomach,
her long, dark hair shrouding her face. Bruises covered her
body—some new, probably from Tristan, but others a greenish-gray.
She didn’t move and for a moment I thought she was dead. But it was
Tristan holding her still with his paralyzing power.

Tristan kept his hand toward her, even as
Owen rushed to her side. He pulled his shirt off, knelt beside her
and lay his shirt over her, trying to tuck it in under her.

“What do you mean, she’s with you?” Tristan
growled. “She’s a fucking Daemoni!”

The woman whimpered.

“Can you at least let her sit up?” Owen
asked.

Tristan’s eyes blazed, but he must have let
up. The woman rolled into a sitting position and tucked herself
into a protective ball. She slowly lifted her head to look up at us
and I recognized the young woman’s face. Her brown eyes were full
of the same fear I’d seen in them the other night in Key West, when
the vampires were threatening her. But then she froze and I assumed
Tristan paralyzed her again. Her head twitched, as if she’d tried
to move but couldn’t against Tristan’s power.

“She wants to convert,” Owen said. “She
doesn’t want to be one of them.”