Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (52 page)

But where did McLaren bury the statue? She went back to the Treasure Hunters’ site. They usually tracked the lost art by the date of donation and the schedule of plantings. It seemed that McLaren tried to bring more and more complexity to the Park’s ecosystem by constantly introducing new foliage to see what worked best in the sandy soil.

Therefore, Greg and his fellow hunters had focused their search to the areas of the Park in 1916 that were planted with fast-growing species. The technique had proven extremely accurate and accounted for them locating over two hundred other items. However, this time they came up empty. Until this last entry, which implied that Greg had found a new method.

Leaning back, Sal stared at the screen. She might have discovered
what
the beast was after, but she needed to know the
where.

She clicked back to the picture of Mr. McLaren. A stocky immigrant from Scotland, he looked like he had just gotten off the boat from his homeland. Tweed jacket and cap, with a tartan vest, the Park supervisor seemed the pragmatic sort. Then why hadn’t he followed his usual pattern and buried the statue under the fastest-growing foliage?

A smile spread as Sal zoomed in on the highlander’s walking stick. The handle sported a meticulously carved Uriusg, a half-man, half-goat creature. Sal recognized it, since the Welsh equivalent were the Bendith, fickle fairies who could bless crops or blight your fields. Her father had told her bedtime fables of how you either made peace with their folk, or suffered the consequences. The Uriusg were the same, only they inhabited forests rather than meadows.

So McLaren not only carried the infamous Scottish pragmatism with him on his journey to the new land, but he brought his people’s superstitions as well. If he thought the statue to be evil, he might turn to his folklore to counteract its effect. Rapidly, Sal researched Scottish plants and their mythical properties.

The Bourtree popped out at her. It was a type of elderberry that reportedly had great protective powers to banish evil. McLaren couldn’t have wished for a better omen.

She went back to the Park’s exhaustive horticultural index. There, on page seventy-eight, she found the entry. Plant: Bourtree. Quantity: one. Quadrant: 16-A49.

Flipping to the Park’s detailed map, she found a little cross marking where it had been planted.

Sal knew the statue’s final resting place.

Though the real question became, did the beast?

* * * * *

CHAPTER 30

Sal crept across the sprawling greenbelt that surrounded the Stow Lake Boathouse. Mist clung to her and somehow seeped through three layers of clothes. The fog moved in thick swirls in a slow, sensual ritual, as if it sought to seduce the ground beneath it.

At times it was so thick that the world became nothing more than a gray canvas. When the fog did thin, the full moon overhead cast a silvery light that nearly matched an overcast day. She used these sparse moments to check her footing. The dewy grass was slick, and her cross-trainers weren’t meant for nighttime stealth.

Damp and scared, her impulsive plan to warn Tyr of the beast’s plan felt foolhardy. In her urgency to intercept Tyr and relay all that she had learned, Sal had forgotten the vastness of the Park, how junglelike it became after dark. Forget about the beast, there were real muggers here, just waiting to prey on the lone jogger.

Yet here she was, sneaking into the Park, angling toward the boathouse, the only structure even close to the bourtree. Ever since parking Richard’s SUV on Fulton Avenue, her bold plan felt more and more ludicrous. How could she think to outwit the beast and his hunter?

Heady with the thrill of deciphering the beast’s plan, she had snuck into the closet, grabbed Richard’s hiking pack, and then taken the SUV keys while he slept. She left a note blaming her unwritten charts for her absence, in case he awoke. Which Sal hoped he didn’t, since she wasn’t quite sure how she would explain the grass stains and soaked sweater.

Slowing, she approached the boathouse. It was mainly used to store paddleboats, a traditional San Franciscan family pastime. During the summer, if you wanted to hear the excited squeal of children and the corresponding laughter of parents, you came to Stow Lake. Now there was only the hush of the swirling fog, sending out its tendrils between her legs, seeming a thick carpet before her, only to disperse with each footfall.

She tried the boathouse’s side door. Locked. She tested a window.

Locked as well. The only cover left was a breezeway protecting a bunch of stacked barrels. Sal shimmied between them, holding her breath at the crinkle of the plastic tarp.

Sal stopped abruptly, heart pounding in her ears, trying to wish the sound away. Had anyone, make that anything, heard her? It took a few heartbeats for her to compose herself and tackle the tarp again. After several more panicked starts and stops, she was finally hidden. Tugging back a tiny corner of the tarp, Sal looked to the west, to the bourtree.

She couldn’t make out the individual tree amongst the oaken forest that spread out before her, but she had memorized its location from the Park’s map. She had even used Richard’s electronic compass to confirm her calculations.

The elder tree with its gruesome secret was located over that rise and deep within a grove of century-old oaks. Had she been braver she might have followed the compass out into that woods to see for herself, but Sal remembered her panic last night in the burgundy hallway. The fear that knocked her knees together. Even thinking about the beast’s growl made her lips quiver. No, the boathouse would do just fine.

That was when she heard a low, warning growl. Her body flattened against the boathouse’s wall. Sal could feel the tongue-and-groove structure against her back. The rough, unfinished wood pushed through her sweater. If only she could will herself through the barrier.

For the beast approached.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 31

It had never occurred to Sal that the beast would still be in the vicinity. For some reason, she had assumed it would already be acres away, deep within the oaken forest, hunting its prize. But she could hear him.

And feel him, for his guttural language spoke directly to her belly. It entangled her intestines, knotting them until she felt ready to burst. Despite the fact she couldn’t see the beast yet, the gray, neutral fog had taken on a sickly red pall. The beast neared, step- by-step, closer to her hiding place.

Sal tried to hold her breath, but fought a losing battle. An exhale and sharp inhale brought it another step closer. The beast’s path led right past the boathouse. She had no illusions that the tarp could keep her hidden from him. He was a beast after all, on a hunt, only now she would become his prey. A little snack before he claimed his prize.

Ever so carefully, Sal tried to back away, putting the boathouse between her and the beast, when a hand wrapped around her neck.

“
Silence,” Tyr hissed.

She might hate the man’s edicts, but Sal felt glad that her breath no longer rattled like a reed in the wind. She also appreciated that the crackle of the plastic had vanished, leaving only the quiet murmuring of the lake. Sal knew she couldn’t speak, but what else would she say besides “thank you”?

The red glow grew until it filled her vision, then Tyr shifted his weight, blocking her view. No, he wasn’t blocking her view, but the beast’s. His wide frame all but concealed her. Their bodies crushed together as his hand rested up her neck. Their rib cages moved as one.

Sal wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that she could hear the beast’s movements so near, yet not see him. The creature drew so close that she could feel his breath washing over them in hot waves. Then the beast paused, sniffing at the air. Only inches away. Those claws surely ready to strike them down. To let their blood.

Could Tyr’s Praxis really keep them safe?

Her heart raced, yet there was no external evidence of her panic.

A moist footfall. Red light bathed the barrels. How could the beast not see them?

Tyr pulled her even closer, pressing her cheek against his chest. Sal didn’t resist being swallowed by his presence. The leather, sweat, and musk were now hers as well. His hand cradled her head, seeking to protect her, but what good would it really do if the beast attacked?

What protection could his flesh serve against the beast’s claws?

* * * * *

CHAPTER 32

A snort from the beast straightened her spine to the point of pain. Did the sound indicate an action of resolve, or frustration?

Then the moist heat moved on. At first a step at a time, then a heavy trot, until the reddened glow died off altogether. As Tyr released his hold, Sal braved a glance toward the west. With unnatural speed, the beast’s glow disappeared into the thick of the oaks.

She turned to ask how the beast could move so quickly, but found Tyr’s jaw clenched. Fury played across his chiseled features. Back in Richard’s den, she had imagined a very different reunion. Like Tyr would actually be grateful for her help rather than chastising her.

“
Have you misplaced your senses?” Tyr demanded. “I used your blood upon my blade.”

Sal could only shrug. Tyr’s silence command still held her throat.

Tyr’s tone dropped as deep as the beast’s growl. “You have marked him,” he said, staring into her eyes. “Do you understand?”

She struggled to speak, but couldn’t.

Tyr seemed to realize that his edict still held sway. “Speak.”

“
So he … he knows my scent?” She stuttered out, her throat still not sure it could work properly. How did Praxis like that work? Did Tyr convince her brain that she had no voice, or did it impair her vocal cords? Such things were easier to think of than Tyr’s frustration.

“
You are a part of him. He can sense you.” Tyr ground his teeth. “I used the last of his blood to mask your presence.”

Sal could sense that the situation was far worse than his words implied.

“
I don’t understand.”

“
Then you shouldn’t have fought my command,” Tyr hissed.

Sal couldn’t help but sound tinny and defensive. “I didn’t, damn it. It was the laptop.” Her voice gained strength, as he looked confused. “The scrying box
you
awoke. It awoke me.”

She watched his shoulders slump, the anger gone out of his posture.

“
It made me remember everything, because it recognized a pattern to the deaths.” Tyr’s expression gave her no clue whether he understood or not. She continued, “And from there, I think … I … I think I figured out where the beast is headed.”

“
The beast has no purpose. It hunts and feeds.”

That was Tyr’s mistake. Just like she had underestimated her laptop, he was woefully ignorant of the beast’s capability.

“
Then how do you think I found you?”

For the first time, surprise registered on Tyr’s face. He opened his mouth, but as if he were under the silence command, he simply shut it again.

“
He wasn’t tearing through the City haphazardly. The deaths were leading him to a statue. One used in a gruesome murder nearly a century ago. It is buried among those oaks under an elder tree.”

Tyr’s face clouded. “Those killed, were they women?”

“
Yes,” she answered, but wasn’t sure why that mattered.

“
Did they trust the man who killed them? Did they love him?”

“
I guess. I mean, Theo was courting them. That’s how he lured them to the church, under the guise of a marriage proposal.”

Tyr stumbled back, his words barely a whisper. “It cannot be.”

“
I don’t see the significance.”

Tyr seemed beyond her words, lost in his own thoughts.

Finally, when he did speak it was with a tone as soft as the fog nestled around them. “To leave one’s time is not a simple thing, but if you have the knowledge, you need only have the blood of bitter grief.”

He looked up into her eyes. “But to go back? To find your exact place along the axis of the stars … that you need the blood of not only one with the purest love, but of one who has been betrayed by that very love. You must collect the essence in that singular moment, when the heart is torn asunder.”

Sal began to comprehend why the beast coveted the sculpture. She had thought he wished it for the horror, but its desire was much more complicated than that.

Strength infused his voice again. “He must not be allowed such power.”

* * * * *

CHAPTER 33

As direct as Tyr’s words were, his body seemed conflicted. A brewing storm clouded his normally crystalline eyes. A struggle raged within. What a titan battle it must be. She could feel duty clash with desire.