Falling into Forever (25 page)

Steadying himself against the wall, he dropped the flashlight. He saw its beam flicker and bounce down the narrow stairwell behind him. As he twisted around, Callahan felt the left heel of his leather shoes slip against the tail of his cape. He fell, tumbling down the stairs. The sharp edge of each step stabbed his back. Finally he landed with a thud on the landing below, next to the flashlight. Grasping clumsily for the light, he heard the scratching sound once more on the roof. He pointed the beam on the attic door at the top of the stairs.

Again on his feet, pain seared through his left ankle. “Let's try this over,” he said aloud, resting his foot gingerly on the first step. But he never got up the stairs in time to see what was so noisy on the top of the house.

If Callahan would have made it to the roof of the old Victorian, he would have seen a solemn figure standing on the roof's peaked ridge, as steady as a bird perched on a wire.

“Destiny,” the figure on the roof called into the rain. “This is why I am still alive.”

Below in the road, Alexandra stood alone. Then the wolf abruptly leapt into the yard, his paws striking the muddy ground on his way to the street. Alexandra froze, seeing the massive wolf racing straight for her.

She recognized the hungry glint of his fiery eyes.
The
mongrel from the parking lot at school,
she thought
. Why did
I think I could face him?
In only a few seconds, he would be upon her. She saw the Jeep parked at the curb, but she realized that Callahan had the keys. Hoping it wasn't locked, she sprinted for the Jeep's door.

But it was too late. The wolf pounced on the hood of the car. The beast snarled, frothing at the mouth, watching his prey tremble. She smelled the pungent odor of his wet, musky fur. Alexandra closed her eyes, wishing for a miracle.

Help me,
she cried silently in her head.

High above them on the top of the house, the silent figure arched his back, rage burning in his chest. “If only I could, I would die for you,” he shouted as he spread his arms wide from his sides and bent his knees. With eyes wide open, he leapt from the roof into the rain, wings rising from his back.

The wolf reared on his haunches and swiftly pounced from the hood of the Jeep, landing at Alexandra's feet. “What do you want from me?” she moaned. His answer was to thrust at her neck with his jaws. The beast's hot, putrid breath stirred the fight smoldering within her. She clawed at the wolf's frothing muzzle and beat her hands against his massive head. He grabbed her hair in his mouth. Quickly dragging her to the gutter, he dropped her head, and her skull slammed against the pavement. Consumed with fury, the wolf ripped at her shirt and stripped the medallion away from her neck, hooking it in his teeth. Leaving her limp in the gutter, he bounded toward the cemetery wall.

But the wolf didn't get far. As he jumped over the stones, a fist yanked his tail and sent him soaring back into the street. Struggling to his four feet, he was slammed by a kick to his ribs. Panting hard, he bared his teeth. The wolf snapped his jaws as a hand reached for the medallion dangling from his mouth.

“Give me that,” said the winged figure, standing over the wolf. The wolf's fur melted away to reveal naked human skin.

The rain pelted down.

“Shape shifter,” hissed the winged figure.

The bruised and bloody man spat the medallion from his mouth into the gutter beside him. “What are you?” he shouted at the winged figure looming over him.

“Your reckoning,” the figure said, raising his fist over the man.

“Not yet,” the man said, as he rose on his haunches. “Dat girl a thief,” he said, pointing a long, bony finger at Alexandra, motionless in the gutter, water swirling around her.

“You fool!” hissed the figure, as he went to kneel beside her. His wings folded into his back and disappeared into his flesh under a ripped and faded black t-shirt.

“You da fool,” cried the shape shifter as he rose to his bare feet. He leapt past the kneeling figure and headed toward the cemetery wall. As he sailed into the air, his skin changed back into thick, brown fur.

Bounding hastily over the wall, the wolf sprinted into the dark, wet shadows of the cemetery. He ran deep into a bank of magnolia trees, stopping to recover his breath. The girl's scent lingered in his nostrils; and turning his nose into the wind, he sucked in the smell greedily. Her sweat and blood taunted his desperation.

His beaten body morphed at his will, shape shifting back into the form of a man. As a human, he still was as wild as an animal, with the desire to rip flesh from bone. Clutching his chest, he heaved in violent spasms from his broken ribs.

“Mine,” he spat, sniffing the air. Hunger and desire growled in his belly. Examining his bloody wounds, he hissed, his tongue tasting the air while he willed his body to spasm and shape itself once again into a wolf.

19
Retreat

Hearing Alexandra's screams outside, Callahan struggled down the stairs and out to the porch. Across the street, a figure knelt over Alexandra and held her head tenderly in his arms. Callahan hobbled toward them.

“Grab the necklace,” the figure's deep voice yelled at Callahan.

Immediately Callahan searched in the gutter on his hands and knees in the pouring rain, hoping to recover the medallion before it washed into the drain. Finding it, he studied the etched metal. The illustration of a dragon man came into view on the pendant, and the metal felt warm nestled in his palm.

“The Dragon King,” Callahan muttered. “Iselin's medallion is real?”

“Are you so shocked?” the raven-haired man asked, holding Alexandra's limp body against his chest.

“My occupation does not allow me the indulgence of disbelief, but I am most certainly in awe,” Callahan explained, nodding his head as a fierce howl echoed from the cemetery.

“That filthy wolf was waiting under the porch,” the raven-haired man told Callahan as he stroked Alexandra's cheek. “He is clever for a shape shifter, and this attack is my fault.” He stared down at Alexandra. “I should not have underestimated his determination. He has been following her for several days, and I shall never forgive myself for not destroying him sooner.”

Callahan contemplated the man's regal square jaw and azure eyes. “What does the wolf want with her?” Callahan asked.

“If I knew that, she would not be lying in this gutter,” the raven-haired man admitted. Then he shouted toward the cemetery, “Death awaits you, coward!”

The rain dripped from Callahan's brow as he clutched the medallion in his palm. “He has tasted her blood and will return for more,” Callahan said, shoving the necklace securely into the front right pocket of his pants.

Alexandra groaned.

“I will destroy that beast,” the man muttered and raised her from the street in his strong, steady arms.

She blinked hazily but then closed her eyes again.

“She needs to go the hospital,” Callahan insisted. “She might have internal injuries. That vile creature dragged her around the street like a rag doll.”

“Will you take her?” the raven-haired figure asked.

“No,” Callahan shook his head. “I cannot protect her like you can, sir. My mortal coil is vulnerable to attack.”

The figure nodded his head in agreement.

“I have an idea” Callahan proposed. “Follow me.”

A pair of headlights illuminated the street and passed them, sloshing pooled water from the road on them.

Holding Alexandra against his chest, the man followed Callahan toward the house. “He is watching,” he called out to Callahan and sniffed the air. “He is not far from here. He is waiting.”

“Yes,” Callahan said, hobbling up the steps. “Hurry, get inside,” Callahan said, opening up the front door.

Locking the deadbolt behind them, Callahan swirled around and threw his back against the solid wooden door. “Let her rest over there,” he said, pointing to a sofa under the window in the living room. “There's a flashlight around here somewhere,” he mumbled, searching the floor in the dark.

The man gently laid Alexandra's limp body on the cushions, propping her head in his arm. “I will not let you go,” he whispered in her ear.

Callahan retrieved the flashlight and joined the man by the sofa. In the light they could see that she had been considerably wounded.

“Hold this,” Callahan said, handing the flashlight to the stranger.

At that moment, the stranger's eyes locked on the gold ring on Callahan's right hand.

“You're a knight?” asked the man.

Chuckling, Callahan said yes and then leaned close to Alexandra, listening to her heartbeat. He shook his head with approval. “She is quite strong.”

“She is,” said the man.

Callahan rested his fingers gently under Alexandra's jaw to check her pulse. Then he turned to the stranger and said, “But you are stronger.”

“You know what I am?” asked the stranger.

“Perhaps,” said Callahan. “What do you know of me?”

“The only men who wear such a ring are brothers of the Order of the Dragon King,” explained the stranger, rising to his feet.

Callahan noted that the man's height exceeded his own; the stranger was over six feet. Raven hair fell past his shoulders over a faded black t-shirt that bulged under broad shoulders and a thick chest. His face had a glow and the softness of youth. But his dark, brooding eyes betrayed an old, wizened soul.

“Yes,” agreed Callahan, standing to meet his gaze. Pulling Alexandra's medallion from his pants pocket, he gazed at the figure etched into the bronze. “You have been searching for this.”

“Longer than you will ever know,” the man said, staring at the necklace. “The medallion belonged to someone I . . .” His voice cracked. After a pause, he said merely, “It has found its way to its rightful trustee.”

Kneeling beside the sleeping girl, Callahan tied the leather strap around her slim neck. There, a bruise in the shape of her attacker's mouth swelled black and blue against the pale skin. The dangling medallion nestled itself into the folds of her mud-stained, button-down shirt.

“Thank you for watching over her,” the raven-haired man said, resting his hand on Callahan's shoulder. “I failed to heed the signs of danger and will never forgive myself. You will be rewarded, knight.”

A bemused smile crossed Callahan's face. “Meeting you has already been more of a reward than I ever dreamt of in my years of service to the Order. When we have defeated that beast,” Callahan said, turning his eyes toward the window, “you can tell me your tale. But I am guessing that you are a time-walker?”

The man nodded yes and lifted his faded black t-shirt to reveal a scar, a relic of an ancient battle. “It is true. I was bitten by the dragon. My body,” he revealed, lowering his shirt and shaking his head in disgust, “is immortal.”

“I have read a legend,” Callahan said, “of a man with magnificent wings and raven hair.” He squinted at his guest. “But that immortal disappeared ages ago into a cave. He hid from the world. He had grown to detest the world, the longer he was condemned to walk upon it.” Callahan paused, studying the furrowed lines across the raven-haired man's face. “Do you have a name, time-walker?” Callahan asked.

“I did a long time ago,” the man muttered.

“Please,” Callahan insisted. Standing close to the stranger, Callahan recognized the pungent scent of wood smoke emanating from the man's skin. His pants looked like Army-issued fatigues, and his black shirt had been ripped ragged down his back.

“My name is Kraven,” he answered solemnly.

Callahan gasped and bowed at his waist.

But their introductions would be cut short, because in the street outside the window, a patrol car slowed down to a crawl as it neared Callahan's yard. Shining a spotlight on the broken-down Jeep parked at the curb, a police officer turned his patrol car into the driveway and illuminated the wall behind the men, their shadows stretching like giants across the living room.

“Get down!” Callahan whispered, pushing Kraven toward the floor. Peeking through the window curtains, he saw a young officer with short, blond hair step out of the vehicle holding a flashlight in one hand, while his other hand hovered above a pistol dangling from the belt around his waist.

“Officer Marion,” Callahan chortled softly. “So we meet again.”

The officer approached the porch steps warily, shining his flashlight across the wet, trampled yard and the front door. In the corner of his eye, he saw the curtains move behind a window overlooking the porch.

“I know how we can get Alexandra to the hospital, no questions asked,” Callahan told Kraven while they knelt on the floor beside her.

Kraven nodded, and Callahan retreated down a dark hallway behind them. In the back of a high kitchen cabinet, his fingers found a glass bottle. A rag lay on the counter, and he shoved it in his pants pocket while a heavy knock pounded on the front door.

“Pull that over her,” Callahan indicated to Kraven, pointing to a blanket on the back of the sofa. He returned to the living room. “Duck into the corner over there, behind the curtains, so that he can't see you.”

Callahan unscrewed the bottle's tight cap and then peered through the door's peep hole. “Just a second, officer,” he called through the door. “I can barely see to unlock the door.”

Officer Marion held the flashlight up to the peephole.

“Open the door. We need to talk about that Jeep on the curb.”

Stealthily retrieving the rag from his pocket, Callahan poured a clear liquid from inside the bottle to the cloth and unbolted the door. He poked his head around the edge of the door as it creaked open slowly.

“Good evening, sir,” he greeted the impatient officer. Callahan blinked in the bright beam of the flashlight pointed directly at his face.