Fierce Dawn (2 page)

"Four days ago," Holly said, her gaze wavering. The flames in her hair licked higher. She smoothed the locks
,
but attraction for him emanated off of her. Her stress must be making her vulnerable to his ability to attract immortals and humans alike, like bees to honey.

Elijah tried to invert his magnetism further. Lust between friends sounded like a new layer of
H
ell neither of them needed at this point. Plus, the glancing girl was beginning to stare.

Holly had sent for Lyric four days ago. They were running out of time. Crusoe had been gone hundreds more than just four days.

"Elijah, I know you don’t want to hear it
,
but I’m on the verge of believing Crusoe is truly gone.” She took a shuddering breath. “Dead. I’ll go crazy if we wait any longer. Not if Lyric can help."

“
I know.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “When will he get here?"

Her hair sparked but Holly didn't answer. She didn't have to. Elijah heard the feeder's approach, recognized his vibration’s pitch. “Nevermind.” He examined the compass. Speak of the energy sucker. Lyric looked to be within a mile of the building, skyward. His pulse hitched.

He hadn’t seen Lyric in more than a year and the last time had been ugly. The last thing Elijah wanted was a spectacle. Would the feeder still be volatile?

"How much does Lyric know?" He kept his voice low and his energy even keel. The smattering of mortals present
wasn’t
evolved enough to detect flames and wings, but violence and danger
were
palpable to any human brain.

"The barest bones. That Crusoe is still missing. That we are still trying to find him. That we need him. I haven’t told him about Sadie yet if that’s what you’re worried about."

Elijah absorbed what she said. And the implications. Though Lyric had left them before Crusoe’s disappearance, he doubtlessly heard of Crusoe being linked to the Illeautians and their anti-human activity.

He honed in on Sadie, who was in the building, coming up the elevator. Was it her? Was she in danger? He was far from a messenger and would never claim to have that kind of prescient power
,
yet his gut was warning him of something. “We can’t meet him here. If he really has been blood using, even if not, he could give in and feed off her energy just for a fix.”

He hated the very thought that his former friend and teammate had gone vampire. Blood addiction might be the scariest, most
devastating
downfall Elijah had ever witnessed for any immortal. And in a hundred years of hunting criminal immortals, he’d seen plenty.

“
You don’t know he’s ever used. Not for sure. And if he has, he’s sober now.

“
How would you know?”

“
I asked. He promised me.”

“
And you trust the word of an addict?” Elijah kept his eyes on the elevators. Any moment now, he’d glimpse them opening through the racks, Sadie exiting one. In truth, trusting Lyric’s ability to control his powers was only one of his concerns. "What happens if he can't sense any more than I can in Sadie? Have you considered that?"

“
I did. Of course I did.” She put a hand on his arm
,
but she sparked against his skin and pulled it away. “And
i
f he tries to get a fix off of her, I’ll help you shield her.”

Loathe as he was to admit it, Holly was right. He had to try to trust Lyric again. His energy drew closer to the library. Elijah estimated no more than a few minutes until Lyric arrived.

Possessiveness over Holly, over their months of research, scouring archives
,
hunting down evidence of a myth, reared up within Elijah.

“
Perceptive as Lyric is, bringing in anyone else feels wrong.” But the question lingered unspoken
;
where else could they possibly look? They were out of options. “Sadie shouldn’t be put in danger to satisfy our curiosity.”

“
He won’t hurt her. I promise you. We’ll protect her. If she is what I think she is, and Lyric comes back on as well….” She carefully cupped his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eye. For once, her hand felt cool to the touch, revealing how certain she was of this test. “If there’s a chance, the smallest chance, doesn’t Crusoe deserve it?”

He couldn’t hide his pain or take the bare emotion collected in and glowing in her gaze. He looked away. “Crusoe would have done better,” he said and removed her hand. “If it was us, he’d have found us.”

Crusoe was the best seeker in the entire immortal realm.

“
Never say that,” she said, gripping his hand as though it could force his answer. “Once we’re all together again, we will find Crusoe. Holding the last year against Lyric
won’t
help now, Elijah."

Time yet closed in on them.

Crusoe could be dead, or worse. He could be converted, brainwashed by the Illeautians. Elijah was failing him. Leave it to Holly to see his silence as a sign of hope.

Sparks flashed in Holly’s eyes. “You’ll thank me for this.”

Elijah forced his gaze to the page of notes under his clenched hands. Underlined random, repeating questions, his inky stabs in the dark, mocked him. Sadie neared them now. Despite his stress and fatigue, the edge to his emotions softened. He concentrated, inverting his energy. He didn’t like to, but he might have to repel her.

One thing he knew, Lyric wouldn’t be reading her until Elijah knew she’d be safe from any wish that the feeder would bleed her emotions dry.

*

The lemony Arizona sunshine warmed Sadie Grave
’
s shoulders
,
but prickly dread iced her spine as Sadie entered the ASU campus library—her work—where her internal clock began ticking.

Inevitably, she would tell on herself.

Over the course of the next three hours, if she didn’t get a better strategy, everything she’d fought for could be taken away. Her shrink would sniff out her secret. But what could she distract Dr. Meyers with? There was work: “How do you like volunteering, Sadie?” Or family: “How do your sister’s concerns make you feel, Sadie?” Ten minutes in, Sadie would be staring into a gawping silence, itching to spill her loose beans. If the silence didn’t work, a psychological interrogation worthy of the CIA would.

The glass doors hushed behind her as she stepped inside the library. Sadie’s cousin, Jen, had pulled several
ropes
to get her this library volunteer gig. Jen definitely went above and beyond family obligation, renting a room out to Sadie, too. Tandem garage space to paint canvas or whatever else included.

“
Breathe, Sadie,” she whispered to herself. “Good. Now smile. It ain’t three o’clock yet.”

Sadie focused on blending in as she came around
the
main desk and checked in with her boss, Cynthia.

“
Sadie, I need you in an hour or so for microfiche,” Cynthia said. “We need you trained on it by next week.”

“
Okay.” In other words, ‘finally’ and ‘or else’. If she could get off the stupid meds she never needed to begin with, she’d be normal again. She’d be able to master simple tasks like microfiche. Soon enough, she told herself, soon enough. Pushing back her anxiety, Sadie signed in and scanned the area for Ben, her one friend in the place. There would be oodles of time to sweat later. Besides, it was just microfiche and last night’s dream was just that—a dream
.

Right? A delicious secret dream that, unfortunately, also spelled crazy in certain medical terms.

Technically, a dream on its own did not equate psychosis. The dream’s reoccurrence might, though. Feeling they contained some undecipherable message didn’t help. Add in the fact that a not
-
so
-
small part of her believed the dream. Not good. Definitely a checkmark on the ‘Sadie needs a Straightjacket’ list. Any additional symptoms—strong headaches, auditory or/and visual hallucinations—and she vowed to definitely, dutifully disclose everything to Dr. Meyers.

Even her highly embarrassing crush on one handsome stranger, and all the naughty things he kept doing to her in said dreams.

Right down to the undecipherable message in his kisses and whispers.

Everything.

But not until she had no other choice.

Sadie adjusted the bag slung over her shoulder and headed for the elevators to the upper stacks. Ben hurried to her side from the stacks.

“
Hey, you. Tell me you came hungry today.” Ben fell into step with her.

He didn’t mean for food. “Famished,” she said and tripped on the carpet. Ben caught her elbow and helped her regain her balance.

“
Don’t you dare look,” he said in a low voice, pausing until they’d passed the information desk. “But our dear missus Cynthia is sporting a black eye today. Huh-uh, Sadie, not a peek.”

Sadie resisted. “Really?” Cynthia had seemed fine. Of course, she generally noticed very little once her handsome stranger lit her brain. “I didn’t notice at all. Make-up?”

“
Piles of make-up.” Ben went on, explaining how he spotted it, who he figured gave it, etcetera, etcetera.

Sadie half listened, absorbing her surroundings, glimpsing down aisles, listening to shuffling pages, smelling the book
-
fragrant air. Hearing the thrumming of her heart.

He
might be here today. And if he was, she was going to make contact. Because the dream seemed to be begging her to. Because she had to see for herself if it was the same him, namely, if he had wings. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Of course he didn’t have wings.

“
Are you coming?” Ben urged from inside the elevator. She had missed the telltale ding. Rubbing at the heat in her cheeks, she joined Ben, careful to avoid the metal lip her toe liked to kiss.

“
What’s up with the chipped blue polish?” Ben asked, pushing four. “Don’t go Goth, Sadie. It won’t suit your freckles.”

Sadie looked down. Uh-oh. She hadn’t scrubbed all the oil paint off. She’d better before three. Her sister would just love the idea of Sadie painting again.

“
I’ll bet that black eye makes Cynthia’s nose hurt, too,” Ben was saying as the metal cart lumbered upward. “See if she can sniff at me now.”

“
Ben, I think she has allergies,” Sadie said, mentally rejoining the conversation.

“
Bullshit. She thinks she’s better than me. But look who got clocked. I wonder who did it….” Sadie
’s
attention wandered.

What the hell would she do if he did have wings
,
anyways? Run and tell someone? Uh, no. Her belly did a somersault.

The elevator opened. Ben was awaiting further response.

“
Really?” she said, struggling to recall what else he’d said. She kept pace with him to the rear office for their first re-shelving load.

“
Yes, really….”

Rows of empty computers hummed in the background. Somewhere nearby, someone coughed. Sadie’s eyes scanned for a glimpse of black.
He
wore black. Black shirt, black buckle
-
laden boots.

Except in her dreams. Her dreams were drenched in blues, even those of him in bloody battle, red flames licking the edges. Blues dressed in black. Except when he wore nothing at all. Nothing but bare glistening skin and gossamer wings. Heat spread over her neck just thinking of the shimmery things tickling over her arms and thighs as he nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear.

Goosebumps raced over her forearms. Sadie rubbed at them.

“…
in the aisles all the time while they think no one is looking. He looks like he could be violent, too.”

Hearing the word ‘violent’ tugged her back to the present.“Who?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. You’re distracted. And I know why.”

“
You do?”

“
Of course. You’re not the only heart skipping beats hoping Angel Eyes will be here again. But once we take in a long drink of him, you head straight up there and see for yourself. It’s her left eye.” He swept a forefinger under his eye with flare. Sadie tried to imagine Ben ever having the opportunity to get a black eye. Not likely. Who could possibly punch such a cherubic face? “You tell me if you don’t see a puffy dark area under all that concealer. Promise?”

“
Promise.” She glanced down an aisle, scanning the north end set of tables. Movement caught her eye. A shot of black. Tingles blossomed through her chest and belly.

He was here.

God, if she could tell Ben about the dreams. But she couldn’t. He’d devour every detail, particularly the secret message part. Who wouldn’t? But then he’d give her ‘the look’. That wary stare reserved for the certifiable that Sadie
never wanted to
witness again. Once in anyone’s life is too much.

“
Yes, yes. He’s here,” Ben sang. He picked up his stride, took her forearm and pulled her into the closet sized office. “But I don’t think he’ll be coming back.”