Alterant (22 page)

“Uh, Storm, that was sort of an accident.” She didn’t move, but she’d also taken a battle stance and had her fists cocked.

Always expecting to fight.

He kept coming at a steady pace, but he dropped his hands loose at his sides to show he was no threat.

Her wary tone switched to the angry one she pulled out whenever he made her nervous. “Served you right, though. If you didn’t want to get hurt, you shouldn’t have pinned me down.”

He could sense a lie faster than any man-made device.

She’d just told the absolute truth.

Someone had pinned her down at one time . . . and hurt her.

His jaguar roused, ready to hunt. Storm forced himself back under control, but if he ever found out who had hurt her, he would . . . what?

He knew what. That person would only live long
enough to beg for her forgiveness. He had a connection to Evalle he didn’t understand beyond the fact that she was under his protection for as long as he could stay.

When he reached the other side of the tracks, he stopped in front of her, heartened to see she didn’t back away. Her pride wouldn’t allow it, but he hoped that also meant she knew he’d never harm her.

His past could hurt her, though.

The woman he hunted still presented a deadly threat to Evalle if his visions were correct. They’d never been wrong yet. He intended to keep Evalle close while he found a way to stop that bitch who had killed his father.

Lifting his hand slowly to Evalle’s face, he ignored the surge of hostility that sheared off of her. He understood defense mechanisms a person turned to for survival. Sunglasses hid her green eyes, but he’d seen the glittering jewels set in an exotic shape. Makeup had probably never touched her honey-colored skin, and she didn’t need any. Straight black hair slid along her shoulders and halfway down her back.

And don’t get him started on her soft lips.

A natural beauty, but prickly as a cactus.

Carefully placing his palm on her cheek, he barely touched her.

That took the steam out of her hostility and replaced it with a blanket of confusion. Better. He liked her to be a little out of step at times, but he hated to see that haunted look in her eyes. “Sorry I crowded you. No harm done. Besides, you can’t hurt me.”

“What are you . . . bulletproof?”

“Maybe.”

“You might be bulletproof, but are you
Alterant
proof?” she tossed back.

Hearing her sassy confidence back in place gave him the opening to spin her off balance again. “The only thing in question is whether I’m Evalle proof.”

Her lips parted and curiosity skittered through her eyes before she clamped her lips together.

Smiling right now would probably get him knocked back over the tracks.

He didn’t care. He grinned.

She gritted her teeth then crossed her arms, tapping her foot. Thoughts pummeled her face, shifting her eyes with something she finally accepted with a shrug. “I get it. You’re being nice to me so I’ll help you find that woman.”

His throat muscles tightened against a growl of irritation. He
had
used that reason to convince her he needed her help. He did have to find the Ashaninka witch doctor who’d killed his father and still possessed both Storm’s and his father’s souls. His ability to determine if someone was lying or not originated with his Ashaninka roots.

The counter side of that gift was incapacitating pain that would stroke through his whole body if
he
told a lie.

He’d learned to be clever about his words when stuck between telling the truth and withholding information, such as a few days ago when he’d had to report to Sen about Evalle while they’d hunted the Kujoo . . . and this morning when she’d asked about her aura.

Shading the truth still hurt, but he could hide those aches. Blatantly lying brought on excruciating pain.

She looked up and down the dimly lit tunnel. “I’ve got to get rolling. Oh, crap!” She grabbed her head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing . . . give me a minute.” She gasped short breaths for a few seconds, then slowly lowered her arms. “I should have thought about how bad this would be in Atlanta.”

“What happened to you?”

She rubbed her neck. “Telepathy. Tzader probably has everyone trying to reach me. I had my mental shields up even in South America, but Trey just tried. He’s like a mega-powerful telepath to begin with and just had his power ramped up so high his call to me was like having a loudspeaker shouting next to my ear. Even with my shields beefed up to where I won’t hear anyone else, Trey’s voice feels like the constant thump of a bass drum.”

“Did he realize you were here?”

She shook her head, then stopped with a grunt of pain. “I don’t think so. Can you track Tristan?”

“I can now.” The residue from that Alterant had been stinking up Storm’s nasal passages since they’d landed here. He pointed to his right in the direction of the train that had just passed them and started walking. “We’re going to have to get through this tunnel quickly—between trains.”

Evalle fell into step with him, quiet at first and staring ahead. She finally asked, “I said I’d help you and I will. What’s the deal with finding that woman?”

That woman. Storm enjoyed a moment over her little bout of jealousy. It soothed his own from earlier with Tristan. “She’s not a problem right now. I’ve got some time until I need to hunt for her.”

He expected Evalle to press him over not answering her question, but she trudged along with her own thoughts while he tracked. He
had
told Evalle the truth about seeing her in a vision with the Ashaninka woman, but he hadn’t explained why he needed Evalle’s help to locate her.

In his vision, the Ashaninka witch doctor intended to kill Evalle.

Not as long as there was breath in his body.

Storm just couldn’t pinpoint when to expect the witch doctor because his visions had no time element. Sometimes a vision would be realized within hours and other times it could take weeks or months.

When he’d had the latest vision just hours before Evalle had been on the way to meet with the Tribunal, Storm had come up with the only way she’d permit him to use his majik on her. He’d had to convince her that
he
needed
her
help or Evalle wouldn’t have agreed to let him use majik for her benefit.

She’d go to her death protecting the world.

He’d have hunted her down no matter what.

She’d raided his dreams every night since he’d first set eyes on her, to the point he woke up exhausted. His body searched for her when he was awake. Thankfully, she’d allowed him to mark her with his scent, though she hadn’t exactly realized what he’d been doing with the majik.

But why had the majik altered her aura from silver to gold?

Gold, silver or no aura, she was . . . exceptional, a fiery emerald you found tucked into a tight spot.

A gemstone that had to be lifted gently and held carefully, but when it glowed there was no equal.

He could accept lusting after a woman, but wanting more with any woman wouldn’t fit in his plans. Not with his unfinished witch doctor business.

But he’d be lying to himself if he called this intense desire for Evalle merely physical.

And if she knew how much he wanted her she’d run faster than a gazelle chased by a lion.

She tapped one hand against her thigh in a sign that she was churning mentally on something that aggravated her. “You never answered my question about this woman you’re after.”

Guess he’d have to give her something.

“My father met her when he went to South America to help remote tribes, sort of a Navajo missionary, if you will. He was a shaman, but he felt many in his tribe had abandoned the old ways and lost touch with their rituals. He wanted to help other tribes preserve their ways.”

“Why did he choose South America?”

Storm mentally picked through how much to share. “He had a friend who had started outreach-type programs for more primitive tribes to show them how to hold onto their culture while accepting aid to survive. My father decided to try it for six months, but he ended up staying. The Ashaninka welcomed him and treated him well . . . all but one. The woman I’m searching for repaid his kindness by stealing from him and causing his death.”

She’d tricked his father and stolen his soul, then killed him. When Storm had found his father’s cold body, he’d
been out of his mind with wanting to find the killer. She’d used Storm’s grief to convince him she could show him the face of his father’s murderer.

She had, right before she’d taken control of Storm’s soul.

But he was more powerful than his father and had attacked her before she’d been able to turn him into her personal demon. She’d escaped, but he would find her.

How would Evalle react if I told her I had no soul?
The few who’d known that about Storm back in South America had called him a demon and tried to kill him.

“What did this woman steal?” Evalle asked.

“We both have secrets. I don’t push you to share yours,” he said as gently as possible. When Evalle nodded, he changed the subject. “Let’s find your three Alterants, then we’ll look for my target.”

“
Four
Alterants now that Tristan is free.”

“He might not make it back to a cage,” Storm added darkly.

She cut eyes loaded with warning at him. “He’s the only one who knows where the other three are hiding. You can’t kill him.”

Yet.
Storm nodded his understanding, not his agreement.

He held Tristan responsible for the trouble Evalle was in with the Tribunal. Tristan clearly intended to use what she’d shared about her chance for freedom to cut his own deal with the Tribunal. Tristan should have thought about his future when he’d teamed up with the Kujoo.

Storm tracked Tristan’s scent up and down the tunnels. After a while he started thinking Tristan had taken
precautions in case Evalle had found a way to follow his teleporting. By late afternoon Storm was sure of it. He literally hit a wall in tracking, a concrete one where Tristan’s trail ended, meaning he’d likely teleported away or to the other side.

Why had he spent the time leading them on a chase? Why hadn’t Tristan just teleported again in case he could have lost her at some point?

“That’s it for his scent,” Storm announced. “What do you want to do?”

She brushed loose hairs off her face with an absentminded move. Her sunglasses hid any signs of exhaustion in her eyes, but no matter how often he’d adjusted his speed for her, she’d limped and lagged behind most of the last hour.

She finally admitted, “I’m beat and hungry.”

“There’s a service exit up ahead. The last two we passed were locked. Think you can open that one?”

She gave him a sly arch of her eyebrow. “I’m insulted you have to ask.”

At the exit door, she raised her hands and moved her fingers in the air. A click on the inside of the door sounded, then the door swung open to expose a long hallway.

He followed her inside, noting how she closed and locked the door kinetically without even turning around. After passing through another door, they mingled with a crowd headed toward the wide concrete stairs that led to street level.

Putting his hand out, he stopped her, pretty sure he’d heard an encouraging sound upstairs. “Give me a minute.”

“For what?”

“To see what the weather looks like up there. The sun hasn’t set yet.”

“Oh, that’s right. My body clock is way off.”

He ran up the steps, glad to see dark clouds to go along with the thunder he’d heard rumbling. Hurrying back down, he snagged her arm. “We’re good. Bad weather coming.”

“I feel guilty about being glad when it’s going to make traffic worse,” Evalle said. Her torn jeans received several double looks before being dismissed with pity reserved for the destitute.

Once he reached the sidewalk along Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta, he casually offered, “We could go to Six Feet Under for a quick bite, and you can crash at my place if you don’t want to run into Tzader or Quinn.”

The hard part of having Evalle that close would be not touching her, but he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.

She stepped out of the foot traffic and turned to him with suspicion riding the frown on her face. “Did someone tell you Six Feet Under is my favorite restaurant?”

“I had an idea it might be one of your favorites.”

“How?”

“When we were searching Piedmont Park for the Ngak Stone, I asked Quinn for a place to eat. He said you and Tzader liked that restaurant, which means—now that I think about it—you being out in the open isn’t a wise idea. We could go somewhere else like . . . my apartment. I could order something delivered.”

She chuckled. “Your apartment? Right. No. I need to stay out of sight, and I’ve got to head home for a bit.”

He didn’t like the idea of her being alone for even a few hours. Not that he’d expected her to say yes to going home with him, but it had been worth a try. “Why don’t you let me grab some food and meet you at your place?”

“Let me think about that?” She tapped a finger against her cheek and looked up, mocking him. “Uh, no.” She checked her watch. “Can you meet me in three hours back where we teleported? Inside the North Avenue Station?”

“Sure, but you look like you need more rest than that.”

“You know what they say about getting all the sleep you need when you’re dead. If I don’t find Tristan soon I’m guaranteed plenty of rest,” she said around a yawn. “And don’t say anything to Tzader or Quinn about me being here or what I’m doing, okay? The Tribunal said I couldn’t ask anyone from VIPER for help. I’m hoping they won’t construe your help in any way to get you in a jam, but I didn’t ask and I couldn’t stop you.”

She had that right. “I understand.” His cell phone had been vibrating since he’d returned. If he answered any of the calls, he’d either have to abandon her or lie to the caller.

He’d just as soon not inflict pain on himself by lying, and he had no intention of leaving her.

Before she turned to go, Storm stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t react to his touch, he lowered his head as though he had something to tell her and whispered, “Sweet dreams,” right before he kissed her.