Race the Darkness (23 page)

His naive heart buoyed inside his chest. She had been trying to protect him, not leave him.

“Baby, I'll be all right. We'll be all right. But I need you to trust me.”

“I do trust you, but that's not what this is about. It's about my faith in a story. I want to believe the Fearless and Bear story. I want it all to be true. It feels like it should be true, but is it fact? No, I can't take a chance with your life. What I dreamed… You wouldn't be able to come back from it. You'd be dead. I couldn't live with myself if you died and I didn't prevent it.”

He wanted to argue with her, deny her words, but he didn't have a logical comeback.

She gripped his face with both of her hands and stared him in the eyes. “I don't
want
to leave you. I
have
to leave you. Or else you could die.”

Pain swam dark and deep inside her beautiful eyes, and he knew some of it—his refusal to let her go—was caused by him. That almost broke him. He had sworn never to hurt her. He fell to his knees, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pressed the side of his face to her abdomen. He opened his mouth to apologize, but that's not what came out. “I love you.”

The night insects, all the people around them, even the stars in the sky seemed to stop and pay homage to the words torn out of his soul.

“Xander…” She started crying, quiet sounds so filled with anguish that they punctured his heart. “I love you too. I always have. From my first dream of you. That's why I have to go.”

“I was a shitbox. Shouldn't have acted that way. It just pissed me off that he scraped off Camille like she was a leech or something, and… I hope you know he doesn't deserve you.” Kent started the truck. “Are you sure about this? Sure you want to leave.” He eased off the brake and pulled away from the main house. Killer whined and pawed at his carrier on the floor between her feet.

Isleen nodded, unable to speak through the knot of tears in her throat. For Xander's sake—for his survival—she needed to be away from him. She twisted in her seat belt to see Xander out the truck's back window. He stood in the driveway, arms hanging limply at his sides, desolation and loneliness wafting off him like greasy smog.

It tore her chest open, seeing him that way and knowing it was her fault. But she had to leave him tonight. If she stayed… She couldn't take the chance. She lifted her hand to the glass, touching his image. Kent drove around the first curve in the driveway, and Xander disappeared from her sight. She stared out the back window for a few seconds, then faced forward again.

“You don't have to do this. We could put extra guys on you both. Figure out something.” Kent glanced at her and then back to the driveway.

Her cheeks were wet. She palmed the wetness off her face, but the tears wouldn't stop flowing. “No. The only way he'll be safe is if we catch the person who killed Gran.”

“Jesus. You've got his blood on your hand and are smearing it all over your face.”

She didn't mind. She'd wear Xander's blood like war paint—a way to protect herself, ward off enemies, and carry him with her.

Kent leaned over, hand outstretched to the glove box. “I've got some napkins—”

The air fractured into an explosion of sound. The wheel jumped out of Kent's hand. He slammed the brakes. Her head whipped forward, her torso slammed into the brace of the seat belt, stealing her ability to breathe. Tires locked, the truck skidded through the gravel. And then she watched as they headed straight for the tree-lined ravine on the edge of the driveway.

She screamed. Kent yelled something, but his words were muffled and muted under the weight of what was before them. The headlights illuminated their horrifying path straight down.

Xander.
She shouted his name in her mind. Willed his image in front of her eyes and clung to it.

The truck crashed front end first into the ground with a cacophony of sounds. Weight smashing against solid earth. Metal crunching metal. The shrieking of bending steel. Her body's forward momentum abruptly, painfully stopped by the seat belt securing her torso and hips. Breath expelled out of her as if she'd been gut punched. Her arms and legs flopped around completely at the mercy of inertia.

And then, sweet silence.

Something in the engine pinged and popped, and she realized her eyes were clenched shut. Had she blacked out for a moment?

The dashboard had been blown out by the air bags. The windshield dangled off the hood in a mass of crackled glass. Beyond the front window was grass.

“Kent?” Her voice came out quieter than she'd meant. She cleared her throat.

He hung in his seat belt, arms on either side of the wheel, chin touching his chest. Seeing him gave her brain a framework for how she was positioned in the truck. She was suspended over the dashboard, facing out the hole where the windshield should be.

“Kent!” She shouted his name this time. He didn't move. Adrenaline pumped through her. She had to get him out of the truck. He needed a doctor. She probably needed one too. A quick body scan revealed that—yep—everything hurt.

Her hands shook so violently they practically blurred the air.
Calm down. Caallmm doowwnn.
She sucked in a slow breath and reached for the seat belt release. Her fingers trembled, and she couldn't figure out where to press—

Her body went weightless, her head smacked on the roof, and she tumbled out of the truck and down the hood, landing in a messy jumble of arms and legs. She rolled onto her back. Overhead, the night sky was brilliant in its dark beauty. Starlight pierced the black velvet, winking and glittering like the facets of exotic jewels. If this had been another time, another set of circumstances, she would've enjoyed just lying there watching the show.

But her head throbbed, her body didn't feel right, and she needed to get Kent out of the truck. She inhaled a breath of pure determination and pushed herself upright to kneeling and then got to her feet. The world swayed, then evened out.

Kent. Have to get Kent.
She stepped up to the hood of the truck, grabbed hold of the opening where the windshield should have been, and hoisted herself up next to him.

A shivery, whimpery whine snagged her attention. Killer. She reached down, grabbed the carrier, and then maneuvered it out of the truck, leaning out the windshield to set it on the ground. It was the best she could do for the little dog until she took care of Kent.

“Wake up.” She knelt on the dashboard and shook his shoulder. Nothing. She reached out, grabbed his head in her hand, and tilted his face toward her. It was hard to see in the dark, but he seemed to have a bruise on his temple. He groaned.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up.” She raced through the words, hearing the frantic tone swelling in each of them.

“Imwake.” His voice slurred.

“What hurts?”

“Evrythn.”

“I need to get you out of the truck. It's not good for you to be hanging like this. What if there's a gas leak or it explodes or…” Enough with the worst-case scenarios. “Can you move your arms?”

He flopped his hands through the air like they were rags instead of flesh and bone. She almost laughed. At least he was trying to cooperate.

“Now, find the steering wheel.” She guided his right hand to the wheel and waited until his left one found it. “Hold on tight. I'm going to release your seat belt, and I don't want you falling out of the truck and injuring yourself. Ready?”

“Mmm…”

She braced her arm across his chest to help hold him. “Hold tight. I'm releasing it now.” She jammed her finger into the seat belt release. His body, with her arm underneath, slammed into the steering wheel. Pain burst through her arm and shoulder. She cried out. Bad decision—thinking she could help brace over two hundred pounds of male with only her arm.

“Srrree.”

He pulled back enough for her to slide her arm out from underneath him. It flopped down at her side, useless. She tried to raise it, but it refused to move. Was it broken? Odd that it didn't hurt. “Kent, look at me.”

His body was draped over the steering wheel, head half hanging out the front window. He didn't look at her so much as turn his head in her direction.

“I need you to slide your legs toward me, get them up and over the dashboard, and then we can get you out of here.” With her only useable hand, she reached down to his leg and guided it in the right direction. He followed her instruction, twisting and turning his torso and hips until his legs hung out the windshield.

“Okay. Hold on. I'll get out and help you down. Just stay here.”

She positioned herself next to him in the same manner and slid down the hood, landing on her feet, then falling back on her ass. “Oomph.” The landing jarred her arm, sending stabbing pain racing up and down the limb. Numbness had definitely been favorable to the throbbing ache.

She got to her feet. Fell. Didn't even know why she fell. She just blinked and was back on the ground. Slower this time, she stood and walked to Kent's bottom half dangling from the front window. “Okay, now slide down slowly. You only have a few feet and you'll hit the ground.”

No movement.

“Kent?” She reached out to shake him, but his entire backside was right there. What did it matter? She smacked him on the butt. “Kent. Wake up.”

Nothing. She tugged at his belt, tugged harder. His body began to slide. Yes. And then it was sliding too fast, and she had two options. Let him fall on the ground and possibly injure himself worse, or try to catch him, a.k.a., be his cushion. Her hesitancy made the decision for her. He fell back into her, and she fell back—into arms.

Strong, sure arms caught her from behind before she landed on the ground. Kent slid harmlessly off her. Not a graceful fall, but not one that would injure him.

“He's hurt. He needs a doctor.”

The grip on her tightened. The pain in her arm ignited again. “Ouch. My arm.” The way Xander held her didn't feel right—too firm, almost painful. “I think it's broken. But Kent needs…” Xander's touch had always brought her comfort, but now she felt the opposite of comfort.

A terrible truth pressed into her mind. It wasn't Xander behind her, holding her.

“The Dragon would put another's needs before its own?”

Her blood froze into a thick sludge. Her heart rammed against her chest, trying to force the congealed liquid through her body. That voice belonged to the man who killed Gran. To the man who killed Xander in her dream. To a man connected to her and Gran's torture inside that trailer. No one had ever called her the Dragon, except for Queen.

She thought about struggling out of his grip. She thought about running. But she wouldn't leave Kent defenseless against a murderer. “Who are you?” The question popped out before she had a chance to censor it.

“I am but a sorry soul sent to fulfill my duty to the Lord.” He spoke slowly, resignation and sorrow giving his tone a drowning sort of weight.

Resignation and sorrow? As if
he
needed sympathy. Anger flicked into flame inside her, but she smothered the blaze before it consumed her. She needed her sanity, sense, and shrewdness to deal with this man. She needed to find a way to keep Kent safe and keep this man from hurting Xander. She needed to figure out how to capture him. “Kent needs medical attention.”

“I carry a gun in my pocket. If you run when I release you, I will be forced to use it on the young man.”

“I won't run. I just want to make sure he's okay.” She didn't need to try to sound cooperative. She was cooperating. For Kent.

He released her and moved to Kent without looking back. She stared after him for a moment, then followed, kneeling on the opposite side of Kent while the man checked Kent's vitals. She watched, ready to attack with her good arm if he tried to hurt her friend, but the man seemed sincere in his ministrations.

For a murderer, he looked surprisingly friendly. His face was square and pleasant, and his eyes crinkled slightly in the corners, giving him a harmless appeal. His hair was thick and almost white in the starlight—the kind of hair a bald man would pay for. A large, squared-off gold cross hung from his neck.

And despite how he looked, she hated him. Her fingers and toes tingled with the force of her loathing.

“Was he wearing a seat belt?” The man's voice carried concern.

“We both were.”

“Has he regained consciousness since the accident?” He patted his hands along Kent's body, feeling for any broken bones.

“Sort of. His words were slurred and sleepy sounding. He tried to cooperate with the plan to get him out of the truck, but I think he passed out at the end.”

“I don't feel any broken bones. But I do suspect he has a concussion. Internal injury can't be ruled out yet, but the odds are in his favor since he was wearing a seat belt.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small pendant the same shape as the one he wore around his neck. He placed it in the middle of Kent's forehead. “He will live.”

“Who are you?” This time her voice carried a bit of bafflement. “You're treating Kent as if his life matters, and I'm glad for that.” Her tone filled with hatred, contempt, and loathing. “But what makes his life more important to you than my grandmother's?”

“You've had a vision.”

His words startled the anger out of her. How did he know about the dreams?

He sat back on his haunches and stared at her. “All life is important to me.
Especially
yours and your grandmother's.”

“Huh?” Did she hear that correctly? She replayed what he said, searching for a hidden meaning to his words. But there was no other message. She felt her face twist in disgust. “How can you say that? You know that Queen called me the Dragon. That means you were involved with what happened to Gran and me in the trailer. You know what she did to us. You killed Gran. And you expect me to believe that Gran's life mattered to you? That my life matters to you?” If her tongue hadn't turned to sandpaper, she would've spit at him. So much for keeping the anger under control. “You. Are. A. Liar.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as if she'd just defeated him in some battle of wits that she hadn't known they were playing. “From the moment I took you, I have been trying to save your life.”

She reared back, his words slapping her. Neither Gran nor she remembered anything about being taken. They'd both gone to bed in their little house in the country and then woken up in their prison. “You? You took us? Gave us to Queen to torment and torture at her pleasure? That wasn't
saving
us.” He had to be crazy. Her voice rose and fury flowed out. “How could you think being locked in that room for years, being beaten, starved, and drained of blood was saving either of us?”

“I was trying to save your souls.” His voice hitched as if he were trying not to cry.

“By killing us?” She screeched the words at him.

“By killing the demon inside each of you.” He clutched the squared-off cross hanging from his neck.

His words hung in the air between them.

What? Ookkaayy…

What should she say to that? Should she ride along with him on the crazy train, waiting for an opportunity to save Kent and herself? Or should she try to convince him of his insanity?

He raised his gaze to the sky. “There shall be none among you who practice occultism, no seers or spell casters, nor any who use prediction, prognostication, or prophecy. Whoever commits these acts is an abomination to the Lord. And the Faithful shall drive out the demons to become righteous in the eyes of the Lord.”