Stormfront (Undertow Book 2) (7 page)

As a Mortis, he could only enter a house if the owner granted him passage. I would never forget the day I invited Kian and Raef inside my home, though they had been inside 408 many times when they were human. Raef had helped build my home, including some of the furniture, including my four-poster bed. He had been a friend to Elizabeth, who had hired him as a young, gifted carpenter. The fact that he failed to protect her that night in the harbor haunted him, but he had been turned into a Mortis back then and didn’t recognize her as a friend.

“Please come in. Mae will be pleased to see you,” I said, stepping aside so he could enter. Raef, still unsure of Christian, moved slowly out of the way. The two
soul thieves sized each other up, but then Christian held out his hand to shake Raef’s.

My guard didn’t move.

“Raef - I am forever grateful for all that you do for Eila, and understand your reluctance with me. I’d want you to be wary of anyone that comes close to her. But I want nothing but the best for her, and that includes the men she loves. You should remember that when your mind wanders to certain things not related to her safety.”

Did he just slam Raef? Bastard – I think he did!

“Excuse me? You have no say in who I do or do not love. You need to rethink what you have just said,” I whispered, angry. I was seriously pissed.

Raef, unmoving and unflinching, wore a mask of stone. I couldn’t read him, but felt the tenseness of his body next to me. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and crisp, “You have been invited by Mae and she expects you, therefore I can’t toss you out into the snow. But you hold no rights to
Eila’s life, nor can you dictate her free will. My goal is to keep her safe, so that she may lead the life
she
chooses, with whoever she deems worthy.”

My throat tightened at his simple, yet elegant, pledge to me.

Christian, never loosing his cool, simply tipped his head graciously. “I think I will seek out the hostess. Please excuse me.”

He left us, standing together in the hallway, as he walked toward the parlor and the kitchen beyond. I heard Mae greet him with an enthusiastic hello, followed by a more subdued pair of greetings from Kian and Ana.

Raef looked down at me, a devilish gleam to his eyes, “Sure I can’t just kill him?”

“I’ll think about it,” I replied, with a wink.

An hour later, between bites of turkey and potatoes, I learned that Mae had accepted a job working for Christian as an antique real estate scout for North Star Historic Estates. She would get to travel all over the country and though she had some concerns about leaving me now and again, I could tell she was entirely thrilled.

I swallowed back my unease over Mae being so close to Christian and prayed it would all work out. Having Mae work for a Mortis would either keep her safe . . . or put her directly in the crosshairs of my messed up family tree.

During my recovery from m
y
stellar performance in the Breakers, my physician had recommended a physical therapy that could help strengthen my core muscles.

Most of her suggestions sounded downright annoying until she mentioned horseback riding. I had ridden most of my life in Kansas and loved the feel of a horse under me, the rocking motion being its own form of mediation. I jumped at the chance to ride again
, and Mae was able to find me a barn that could aid in my recovery – Blackstone Acres a few towns over from my house.

Raef hated the idea. I didn’t know why until he revealed that he couldn’t be around animals. He said t
hat as soul thieves, neither he nor Kian could safely come with me, or the horses might bolt and throw people in their panic. So MJ had stepped up to the plate and accompanied me in his human form.

Unfortunately my last riding session was today, the day after Thanksgiving, and MJ was still in the land of palm trees and scantily clad women. I had no problem going alone, especially since a quick one-on-one with Mae’s new employer, Christian, revealed absolutely no talk of the Breakers in the New England Mortis community. In the last five weeks, not a single soul thief came after me.

Plus, it was the off-season for Cape Cod, and when the tourists left, the soul sharks often did as well. Without swimmers in the water, hunting on the Cape became more of a liability for a Mortis. Hiding bodies on such a small peninsula wasn’t easy, but swimmers would just appear to have drowned.

So when the beachgoers vacated the cold Atlantic water, the Mortis did too. They favored the southern parts of the country, or the more remote Northern woods, where bodies would be taken care of by bears. How nice – I lived in their summer hunting grounds. Just peachy.

I assured Raef that I would be riding in the indoor arena, as always, and he finally accepted the fact that I was going. He knew he couldn’t dictate what I could and couldn’t do – no one can hold that power over you unless you let him. Sure, I could have skipped riding just to make him happy, but I loved riding. Plus, I wanted to prove to Raef, once and for all, that I could go places without him and come home in one piece.

By the time I got over to Blackstone it was early afternoon. I had agreed to meet sweet (but air-headed) Sarah, another rider and part-time instructor, around 2:30.

I pulled my horse, Porter, from his stall and brushed him down, checking him over for any ticks or stones in his feet. By 2:45 I was tacked up and ready to ride.

Sarah, however, was nowhere to be found. 

This was a problem since I didn’t have her phone number.

I looked around the barn. I could see a girl about 12 stalls down from me cleaning a saddle. I yelled down to her, “Hey – do you know Sarah’s phone number?”

The girl looked up from the leather she was polishing, “Does she own the mental-case Arabian?”

“Yeah. That’s her. Do you have her number?”

“No, I’m sorry,” called back the girl.

“Okay. Thanks,” I yelled back. I looked at my watch. It was now 2:50pm. 

“Screw it,” I muttered to myself.
 I wasn’t about to not ride because I was stuck without a riding buddy. I led Porter out of the barn and toward the indoor arena, but Saddle Girl called down to me, “The indoor is closed for now. They are going to be dragging it with the tractor to level the ground in about 10 minutes.”

Terrific. I looked to the tree
line and the clearing where the trails started. It was a beautiful day and the air was not that cold. Most of the snow had melted over the past 24 hours and the ground was no longer frozen.

I made a split decision to trail ride and lead Porter into the shadows of the trees. I swung myself on and adjusted my reins. “I just won’t tell Raef, that’s all,” I said to Porter, who was tossing his head excitedly. I took one last look at my watch, noting approximately how much time I had before the sun set, and rode off into the tall pines.

Blackstone had roughly 30 acres of trails that wound through fields, forest, and cranberry bogs.  Bisecting the expanse of land was a long, straight dirt track that ran for miles.  It was where the old railroad used to come through on its way to another part of town, but had long since been unused.  The actual railroad tracks had been removed and all that remained was a dirt lane, perfect for racing a friend on occasion, or so I’d been told.

As I came to the railroad lane, I crossed over it and cont
inued on into the woods that led to the cranberry bog.  The air smelled clean with a hint of brininess from the sea breeze.  All I could think of was frozen saltwater taffy.

Porter enjoyed our
leisurely pace, occasionally trying to pluck a dried leaf from a passing branch. It felt so fantastic to be back in the saddle, that simple rocking motion, and the rhythmic bounce of Porter’s head. It was easy to let my mind wander.

I started thinking about all that had happened to me since learning of 408 Main Street.
Of how different my life was now, and the simple fact that I was starting to really enjoy my new existence here (disaster in Newport excluded). Some people would say that the house was more like a curse than a gift, but I’d disagree.

I was born a Lunaterra, whether or not I returned to the Cape. And maybe, had I stayed in Kansas, I would have lived my entire life never knowing what I truly was. Never running into Mortis like Raef, Kian, and Christian, and probably never finding friends like Ana and MJ. Yes, moving here brought with it some catastrophes, but being here, surrounded by my friends and Raef, made me stronger.

MJ brought laughter and comfort to my life. He was that sweet kid who you knew could be counted on to make you laugh or save you from the side of the road when you ran out of gas.  He was a genuine, good soul – a rare find in a jaded world and I knew he would be a lifetime pal. Plus . . . he was a dog. I mean, seriously – how COOL is that? In his dog form, he was an incredible fighter and the boys trusted him to protect Ana and me without question. As the lanky high school senior that he really was however, he’d be snapped like a pretzel.

Then there was
Ana.  Despite her best efforts at being non-emotional, she too was someone who could be counted on to have your back.  Though she occasionally protested about the fluff in life and dressed as though she couldn’t identify a skirt, she was a beautiful, honest person. She cut you no slack, but at the end of the day, her brutal honesty was what made you a better person. Her gifts as a strange sort of psychic left me awed.

Kian I had judged unfairly when I first met him. He had seemed arrogant (okay – he still does), but was also a man of few words.
  In some ways, he was, and is, very similar to Ana – another locked vault. I couldn’t say I blamed him though – he, like Raef, had no competition in the good-looks department. But in my eyes, Kian redeemed himself a thousand fold when he saved Ana and me months ago. He did it selflessly, with no regard to his own safety. Every once in a while he would let me see him as he truly was – a man, damaged, but with a big heart.

And then there was Raef.
  Though I had hoped to make a friend or two once here, I never dreamed I would find a boy like Raef. He was handsome, strong, intelligent, caring, compassionate . . . come to think of it, I wasn’t sure he actually
had
any faults, aside from the whole “soul thief” thing. We had become so entwined with one another, that I could never imagine a future without him. To lose him would be to lose a huge part of who I had become. I was a better, more compassionate human being because of him.

Because of them all, really.

I continued to think back to the events of my rapidly changing life and rode on towards the cranberry bog. I must have lost track of time because once I had ridden around the bog, the sun seemed to have gone down alarmingly fast.  I realized that I had dawdled a bit too long and might be picking my way through the woods in the dark.  The idea was not appealing as I had visions of Porter getting tripped up on tree roots. I urged him into a fast trot and we headed back into the woods from the bog.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, but the ambient light still gave me enough visibility to navigate the woods at a trot.
  Soon enough, with the light fading fast, I came out to the railroad tracks.  If I followed the same route I came in on, I would get to the barn a little faster, but the woods would be far darker than the open lane. The railroad tracks would lead me out to the main dirt road that could also access the barn.  It was a bit longer, but a lot easier to see the ground.

I turned Porter down the dirt tracks and picked up a peppy trot. We had been only heading down the tracks for maybe a minute when Porter suddenly bolted to the right. I fell forward against the saddle, bracing my weight on his neck.
  I managed to quickly regain my seat, as Porter stood stone still and tense. He snorted at the woods and his ears were pricked high. I stroked his neck. “Easy, boy. Easy,” I soothed, now slightly uneasy myself. I scanned the woods, but the colors were seeping out of the tree line as the darkness started to set in.

“It’s okay Porter. Let
’s get going and get home. How’s that sound?” I said, trying to act calm.  Porter was not a spooky horse by nature. In fact, I would call him “bomb-proof” – nothing scared him.  The fact that something startled him badly enough to nearly dump me was worrisome.  His sense of smell was far better than mine and I worried that there might be a larger animal out there in the darkness. 

I tried to remember the wildlife section of the guidebook for the Cape I had picked up in Kansas. I didn’t recall bears to be on the list and quite frankly, bears were the least of my worries.

I gathered my reins and turned Porter back toward home. Just as I did so, I caught sight of it to my right: a blur of blackness and speed, moving fast between the trees about 40 feet into the woods. Porter saw it too and reared high, causing me to lose my seat. I tumbled out of the saddle, across his back, and slammed onto the dirt track, knocking the wind from my lungs. My ears were ringing and through my blurred vision I could see my stalwart steed hightailing it down the track. I was pissed that I lost my horse, and pretty sure I landed on a sharp stone, but then reality set in.

I wasn’t alone.

With my back and chest screaming, I rolled onto my stomach on the cold ground and blinked away the fuzzies in my sight. I scanned the tree line and slowly, gingerly dragged myself to my feet. I listened, carefully, for any revealing sound.

Then I heard it – something in the woods headed towards me. Something large. I braced myself for whatever was coming, but was shocked when the biggest man I had ever seen burst through the tree line.

He wore a long, dark jacket – almost like a trench coat with a hood pulled up over his head. He scanned the lane and then his eyes settled on me. His coat drifted open in the breeze and under it he wore a leather vest, crisscrossed with lacing, but his bare skin was showing under it, and he was scarred. It was as if he had been in a knife fight that went really, REALLY wrong. He had tattoos as well, all different symbols which no doubt meant something to him, though they looked faded and old. As if he had given up on them long ago.

He was basically
that
dude, from those creepy movies where you end up screaming at the dumb actress to run before he kills her. So not good.

He started walking towards me and I stood frozen for a moment, searching every inch of my body for a reaction to this huge man. In the past, my body would sometimes give a strange sort of warning signal when I came close to a soul thief, almost like a twisted form of mental
goosebumps.

But with this guy?
Nothing. I got zip.

Not even a regular tingle of wariness if this dude was just some teen-stalking pervert,
which was damned odd. And there was no way I was walking away from this guy in one piece if he meant me harm. He looked like a cage fighter for crying out loud! 

All my cockiness about being able to handle myself without one of my guards was quickly shriveling up like a
Shrinky Dink in a thousand-degree oven. I nearly launched myself clear out of my skin when he finally spoke.

“Are you al
l right? I saw you fall,” he asked. His voice was deep, velvet, but with a rugged quality. It held an aged, graveled undertone that spoke to the life he had lived. He looked to be in his late 20s and he reminded me of a warrior - rough, confident, and a bit worn through. He was Thor . . . if Thor came from the worst part of L.A. and hung with the Hell’s Angels.

“Did you hear me? Are you alright?” he asked again, slowing his approach and stopping well out of arm’s reach. He pulled his hood back, revealing a wide-set brow, chis
eled jaw edged with a short beard and goatee, close-cut dark hair, and huge neck. He was good looking – handsome even, almost like a military man from those romance novels. Thanks to Mae, we had quite a few of
those
books lying around the house.

“I, uh, lost my horse,” I mumbled like an idiot, but then I remembered why I got dumped in the first place. “Something spooked him.” I scanned the wood
line quickly, recalling the black shadow that tore through the woods. I didn’t care how big Thor was, if there was a Mortis around, life was going to get seriously ugly.