Hunted tgl-3 (14 page)

“Is that how you see me?” I whispered.

He put the painting aside and smiled, closing the gap between us. “No. That is who you are.” He ran his knuckles down the side of my face. “Beautiful,” he murmured against my temple, then moved lower and pressed his lips near my ear and whispered, “Smart.” He moved lower and nuzzled my neck. “Impossible.” His breath was hot against my skin, sending a Shockwave through my flesh.

I’d stopped breathing at “That is who you are.” All I could think about was his lips against mine. When he turned his head, eye blazing, I knew my wish was about to come true.

We kissed. Pure, refined heat warmed my insides while goose bumps spread on the surface of my skin. I pressed against him, seeking his warmth, needing to forget all my problems in his arms. His fingertips flitted down my back until they reached the curve of my hip, where my shirt met my pants.

He muttered something under his breath, lifted me up and carried me to his bed, his emerald eyes intense as they met mine, his movements gentle as he lowered me down.

I leaned up and tried to pull him closer, but he resisted. Laughing softly under his breath, he ran his fingertips up and down my arms, making me tremble. Turning his head, he pressed his lips along the sensitive skin on my wrist, then moved toward my shoulder, then my neck. A few more teasing nibbles then our lips met again.

Time lost meaning. My problems melted away, by his kiss, his touch, his love. We were wrapped in our own little world, where nothing else mattered, but us and the feelings swirling around us.

But somewhere in the back of my mind was a niggling warning not to fully let go. A blend of our energies could seriously hurt Bran. Reduce him to a catatonic state worse than Grampa earlier. If I could hurt a powerful Psi like my grandfather, the things I could do to Bran could be worse.

“Thinking about the Cardinal while making out is a total ego-crusher,” Bran whispered.

I blinked, my mind slow to process what he was saying. “What?”

“I could hear your thoughts.”

I covered my face. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He pulled strands of my hair from my forehead and tucked them away. “I needed to chill anyway.” He scooted off the bed and walked to the table by the canvases and came back with two sketch books. With an uneasy look on his face, he gave them to me.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, still wishing we were making out.

“I sketch a lot.” Color rushed to his cheeks, dimples flashing. “Since you won’t mind-blend with me, I’m going to bare my soul to you by letting you see my work.”

Wanting to know why he was blushing, I pushed aside my raging hormones and flipped the cover before he curled beside me. A sketch of me baking a cake leaped at me from the page. I never cook. In fact, I hated cooking with a passion.

“That’s you taking lessons from Remy. You insisted on baking me a cake on my birthday.” He chuckled, enjoying a private joke.

“And?” I asked.

“It was pitiful.”

I believed him. “So you had a cake-less birthday?”

“No. You and Kylie had already ordered one from a local bakery, just in case. FYI, I’m a better cook than you.”

I elbowed him, then flipped the page, then the next. His blush made sense. The pages were filled with sketches of me, some going back to when we first met. Since I had never posed for him, he must have sketched them from memory. Seeing myself through his eyes was the most beautiful gift ever, and I’d never felt more loved.

S
creams echoed in the dark, yanking me into consciousness. I thrashed against the restraints around my arms. Strands of my curly hair stuck on my sweaty forehead and blocked my vision, adding to the images tumbling through my mind—wings and feathers floating to the ground, daggers flying through the air, swords clanging. A rational part of me told me I was in my room and that the arms wrapped around me were Bran’s, yet the nightmare paralyzed me.

“It’s just a dream,” he whispered over and over, running a hand through my hair, pressing my head against his chest.

I clung to him, my screams becoming whimpers. What was happening to me? It was bad enough I had to deal with headaches while awake. My nights were filled with dreams I couldn’t explain.

“Is it the same nightmare?” Grampa asked from somewhere inside my room, my bedside lamp turning on at the same time. Concern knitted his brow as he stared at us. If he was surprised to find Bran in my room, he didn’t show it.

“I don’t know, but she woke up faster this time.” Bran squeezed my shoulders and asked, “Do you want me to get you a wet cloth?”

“No, I’ll get it.” I got up and staggered to the bathroom, Bran following me as though I’d collapse or something. At least he stayed by the doorway as I splashed water on my face. Then I stared in horror at my reflection in the mirror.

Three straight nights without sleep, four if I didn’t catch some shut-eye during what was left of tonight, had turned me into the girl from The Grudge. Dark shadows clung to my eyes. My hair was wild and untamed. My usually glowing skin looked pasty and grey. I needed uninterrupted REM cycles.

The nightmares had started on Saturday, the night the demons had attacked me. Grampa and Bran had teleported into my bedroom at the same time, both thinking I was being attacked. Though I’d like to think I wouldn’t scream like a demon on its way to Tartarus. We Guardians were tougher than that.

Grampa had left after Bran reassured him he’d stay until I fell asleep. And he had. The night after, he hadn’t left after I woke up screaming again. Just as well. Immediately after I’d fallen asleep, the dreams had started again.

It was terrible fighting what you couldn’t see, being surrounded by a dense fog while lightning speared the air around you. Then there was the carnage, the cacophony of sounds. Shrill, brain-numbing, ear-piercing screams.

By the third night, Bran hadn’t even bothered going home. Grampa never slept. He came and went during the night, so I knew he was aware of our new sleeping arrangement. That he didn’t say anything said just how worried he was.

Voices came from bedroom and I realized Bran had disappeared from the doorway. They were talking in low tones, but I heard them anyway.

“I don’t like it,” Grampa was saying. “Maybe a long break might be better.”

Don’t like what? I angled my head to catch more.

“She has shadows under her eyes and looks so fragile,” Grampa continued.

“You shouldn’t ask her to stop, Cardinal. The only times she doesn’t feel the pain is when she trains,” Bran said.

How dare they discuss me? I opened my mouth to protest and closed it without speaking. Lack of sleep was making me cranky. I splashed more water on my face, then dried off.

“What does Master Haziel say?” Grampa asked, his voice fainter. “He and I haven’t spoken since he started the new regimen.”

“He wants her to control the powers and pushes her hard, but she likes that, which is very unlike her. It’s like she craves it. She and I train between group lessons, too.”

“Interesting,” Grampa mumbled. “I wonder if the adrenaline rush helps her block the pain.”

“Endorphins,” Bran corrected.

Endorphins? When his energy soothed mine, it eased my headaches. Making out worked wonders, too. If they were talking chemicals, I’d vote for dopamine. I derived some pleasure from training with him. He was a better fighter than me, but because of my new powers I’d acquired more stamina and went toe to toe with him. Izzy called it foreplay. Too bad it never led to anything.

Walking back to my bedroom, I waved my hand and turned off the bedside lamp, then slipped under the blanket. Sleep wasn’t going to come easily. I turned my head and buried it in a pillow. It had the woodsy scent Bran favored. I smiled, but that soon changed to a scowl.

Why was I having these nightmares? Were they residual memories from the attack, or something the dagger’s powers induced? Considering how many demons it had killed over the millennia, there was no telling what was stored in the writings that usually covered the dagger’s blade. All I knew was that they were somehow connected to the powers of the dagger.

“You still haven’t found Gavyn, Cardinal?” Bran asked.

Grampa and Bran’s voice grew stronger or maybe hearing Gavyn’s name pulled me out of my funk. If there was a demon I wanted to hurt, it was Nitwit Gavyn.

“I’m afraid not. Without him, tracking down the Summoners is impossible.”

“You should let us give it a try, Cardinal. I know you said you didn’t want us out there, but—”

“I still don’t. As long as the Tribe is on the loose, waiting to catch you young ones unaware, I want all of you inside the valley.”

“What if I went alone? I work faster and I promise to be discreet. Gavyn is also more likely to come out of hiding when he hears I’m looking for him without the Guardians.”

I held my breath as I waited for Grampa’s verdict. He wouldn’t dare let Bran go. Surely, he couldn’t be that desperate.

“I’ll discuss it with the Cardinals and Master Haziel.”

Unbelievable. I jumped out of bed. “What is there to discuss, Grampa?”

“Lil—”

“He’s not going out there, period. What are you trying to do? Use him as bait?” Grampa closed the gap between us as I continued. “If you haven’t noticed, the Tribe only comes out to play when
we
are out there. They don’t want you. They want us. Maybe it’s Bran they are after. Or maybe it’s…me.” My voice broke just as he pulled me into his arms.

Grampa didn’t speak. He held me as I cried, something I’d avoided doing since the attack. Lack of sleep had reduced me to a whining ninny. Of course he would never use Bran as bait. Grampa had integrity. He was likely to use himself first before sending anyone else.

He leaned back and studied my face.

I swiped my cheek and gave him an uncertain smile. “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted and not thinking straight. You’d never do something so despicable.”

He smiled and kissed my forehead. “No, I wouldn’t. So? How are you feeling?”

“Like Tartarus swallowed me whole then spit me out.”

He chuckled. “What do you remember of your dreams?”

I frowned. “Why? Do you think there’s a reason I’m having them?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. The Psi-dar didn’t give us anything to work with.” He let go of me and pushed his hands inside his coat, making me realize he was dressed for hunting. He must have either just arrived home or was about to leave when I screamed. “I’m trying to understand what is happening to you.”

That made two of us. “The fog appeared out of nowhere, then the lightning and the sounds.”

“And the woman’s voice?” Grampa asked.

“I still can’t understand what she says. The sounds and the screams always swallow her words.”

He touched my clammy forehead. “I don’t know what is going on, but you can’t go on like this forever. Bran says training is good for you, but—”

“No,” I protested. “I need to train. It burns off the excess energy.”

Grampa sighed. “Okay. We’re going to have a joint conference of High Council members and senior Cardinals from all the sectors starting tomorrow, to discuss our next move. The High Council members love wasting time listing useless diplomatic solutions where a pre-emptive strike is needed. I will be in and out as usual, just not as often. Will you be okay?”

I nodded, then a thought occurred to me. What if they were attacked during the meeting? The attack by the nature-benders had decimated the Guardians. Having the High Council and senior Cardinals in one place could be disastrous if the Tribe attacked them.

“Where are you meeting?” I asked.

“Rio, headquarters of the Southwest Sector.” He pulled out a pocket watch from his coat pocket and glanced at it. “It starts in exactly twenty minutes. It might be 5 a.m. here, but it is eight in Brazil. Since I’m opening the meeting, I think I’d better head out.”

“Could you change venues every few hours?” I asked.

Grampa frowned. “We could. Why?”

“All those psi energies in one place are bound to draw attention and make you guys sitting targets.”

“Sweetheart, every High Council has an impenetrable security created by its Psi-dar,” he reminded. “No demon can breach it.”

“Yet the Tribe found us in Bermuda despite the high-security shield,” I said.

“She has a point, Cardinal,” Bran added, coming to stand by my side. “The Tribe might not have known the exact location of the island, but they were drawn to our combined psi energies. I think you should do as she suggested.”

Grampa’s frowned deepened then he palmed my face and pressed his lips to my temple. He reached out and gripped Bran’s shoulder and nodded. “I think we’ll do just that. Now try to rest. Both of you. Help her go to sleep.”

“Of course, Cardinal.”

Grampa patted my cheek then teleported. I glanced at Bran. “What did he mean by help me go to sleep?”

“He knows that my presence calms you down.”

Ah, the curse of having a powerful Psi as a grandfather. Nothing ever escaped him. Bet he’d know when I finally lost my virginity. I cringed at the thought. Or maybe now that I was a stronger Psi, I could compel him
not
to read me. I turned and eyed Bran. Maybe I should practice on him. We had two hours before the training session with Master Haziel.

I took Bran’s hands in mine and looked into his emerald eyes.
You must do my bidding without questioning me
.

“What are you doing?” he asked, scowling.

Compelling you to do my wish. Come with me
.

He chuckled, dimples flashing. “Nice try. Do you want to head to the pit for an early workout?”

“How come I can’t compel you?”

Bran tapped my head. “I hear your thoughts, Sunshine. And the calculating gleam in your eyes told me you were up to no good before you spoke. Come on, change into your gym clothes and meet me at the pit in three minutes.”

I pouted. “You are no fun.”

“I don’t mind being your guinea pig, just not now. Training will get your mind off seducing me. Not that you need to. The first person at the pit gets to choose the first weapon,” he added, then teleported.

I made a face. Lack of sleep might make me cranky as a hellhound, but he wasn’t beating me.

Being able to see psi energies had its perks. I noted that Bran wasn’t in the pit before I materialized. Although lights were on in the Academy’s rotunda, the pit was in total darkness. I willed the light crystals to turn on as soon as I arrived.

I was choosing a wooden staff when Bran arrived.

“I won,” I said with glee.

“I should have insisted on proper dress code,” he said, staring at my feet.

I glanced down and grimaced. We all had several pairs of lightweight leather martial arts shoes, in black or black and red, for use in the pit. He wore all black. Mine didn’t match.

“Nitpicking, sore loser.” I threw one stick to him.

He caught it and rotated it while moving, already anticipating an attack. “We’ll see about that.”

“After the sticks, we’ll use knives then swords.”

“Bloodthirsty this morning, aren’t you?” He teased, circling me slowly, knees bent and feet angled away from each other for stability, eyes on me. While I held the long staff with two hands, knuckles up, he rotated his in one hand.

“Scared?” I asked.

“Shaking in my shoes.” He rushed me.

Ducking, I blocked, twisted my stick and disengaged it from under his and attacked, aiming for his feet. He teleported out of the way and appeared behind me, but I’d anticipated his move. I turned and knocked the staff from his hand.

He caught it and cocked his right eyebrow. “Very good.”

“I know.”

Next time around, I wasn’t so lucky. He had me on my back in five moves.

“Stop goofing around,” he scolded, offering me his hand. “Don’t
ever
let me get inside your head and anticipate your next move.”

I hated it when he talked to me in that superior tone. Ignoring his hand, I teleported to my feet and swung, aiming for his ribs. He blocked, shifted his weight and leveled a kick at my exposed side. I ducked and jumped back. Anchoring the stick down on one end, I swung on it and caught him in the chest with both feet. He staggered backward and grinned.

“Could be better,” he said.

There was no pleasing him, so I pushed harder. There was no more talking as we tried to outmaneuver each other with moves and counter-moves, the sounds of wood hitting wood echoing in the pit. Adrenaline pumped in my veins and euphoria buzzed through me. Soon we were both breathing hard and sweating.