Renegade (4 page)

The ghoul shot venom out of his talons.
Shit.
Ducking, Val pushed into a backward shoulder roll and evaded his swiping follow-up.

Heart pounding, she kicked out his right kneecap, but her power sputtered. Once more, maybe twice, she could punch through that kind of shielding. Then it would be game over.

He crumpled, bringing him level with her. She dived for him and flipped the knife into her left hand as her right forearm blocked his strike. She stabbed with all the power she could draw. “
Morere
,” she gasped, and the blade rammed home.

He shuddered and spat blood before going limp.

Panting, Val dragged herself to her feet and wiped her stinging eyes. Where was Dare?

There, jerking away from a scrawny, brown-haired male. The ghoul’s power blast struck Dare’s bloody chest and flung him backward. The staff flew from his hand as he hit the ground hard, with an agonized groan.

The ghoul darted past him, toward the screaming, scrambling child. The little girl tripped, but quickly pulled herself up and dodged a swipe of talons before darting between two cardboard boxes. The ghoul flung them aside, scattering clothes across the floor.

Stumbling toward them with her lungs aching and her heart in her throat, Val couldn’t reach either of them in time. She had nothing left, only the barest of shielding.

Dare was closer but so still. Had they killed— No, she realized with a gasp of relief as he groaned and pushed himself onto an elbow.

The ghoul cornered the child and loomed over her, extending talons.

“Dare!” Val screeched, pointing.

His head whipped around. His lips tightened. Then he was gone. Vanished.

A heartbeat later, he reappeared kneeling between the child and the ghoul, his body hunching over the tot, sheltering her as the talons swiped downward.

No!
Val’s heart tore as the ghoul clawed new gouges in Griffin’s bleeding back. She gathered herself and leaped forward, driving her blade between the ghoul’s shoulders.

“
Morere
,” she gasped. He arched with the blow, reeled, and fell. Dead.

She twisted out of the way. No more ghouls, thank God. She couldn’t have done that again.

Fighting to breathe, aching all over, she blinked her stinging eyes clear and looked for Dare. He knelt a few feet beyond the body, shuddering in pain and bleeding from multiple wounds. He cradled the wailing child in his arms, a child with big, mournful eyes and shabby clothes.

He’d been willing to die for that little girl. If Val hadn’t reached them in time, he would have.

No traitor would take such a risk.

The Collegium annals contained only one side of the story. Dare had been a hero once, had acted like one now. Maybe there was more to his claims than she’d wanted to believe.

“Griffin?” She touched his shoulder gently, and his pain flashed through the sympathetic bonds of shared magic. Shaking with it, she managed, “They’re gone.”

He gave her a single jerky nod.

The sobbing child clung to him, tiny fingers digging into his arms. “Gray,” she wailed into his shoulder.

“Gray?” Val raised an eyebrow at him.

“Later.”

The child’s weight on his injured chest had to be torture, but he closed his arms around her. He even kissed her tangled hair. “It’s all right, Molly,” his voice rasped.

The child sobbed into his shoulder, and he patted her back absently. Above her head, his eyes scanned the disordered, stinking room.

“We’re clear,” Val said.

He studied her with a wary expression. “Good thing you didn’t leave.”

“I gave you my word.”

His eyes warmed, and one corner of his mouth crooked up. She couldn’t resist smiling back at him.

“Guess I have to trust you now,” he said. “I’m not used to it. Trusting, I mean.”

“I guess not.” And she shouldn’t trust him without reservation, but he was courageous, she had to give him that.

He’d changed from the man she remembered. His face was still handsome in a clean-cut way, with its strong jaw, high cheekbones, and straight nose, but he now looked more austere. More controlled. Shadowed by pain, his ocean-blue eyes scanned the room, alert for any danger. When he looked at her, though, the blue softened in a way that made her heart skip a beat.

He stared at her quizzically. “What? Did I grow an extra ear or something?”

“No, I—”

“Molly?” A woman’s hesitant voice came from behind Val. “Oh, Molly-love!”

A thin, bedraggled woman in her midtwenties climbed through a hole in the masonry. The woman ran toward Griffin, and he handed the child to her.

“Mama,” Molly sobbed. “There was bad men.”

“I know sweetie, I know.” The woman pressed her lips to Molly’s hair and choked, “Thank you” to Dare.

He waved away her gratitude. In the fluorescent lights, his skin looked ashen. “We have to go,” he said painfully. “All of us.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Others will come.”

Oh, crap.
Val’s relief evaporated. Of course the enemy would return. They’d found a feeding ground, one with mages they could draw power from or breed.

The stench in the air from human death and deteriorating ghoul corpses burned her nose.

As Molly and her mom gathered their belongings, Val crouched beside Dare. His glance skimmed her bare legs, and the heat in it made her breath hitch.

He grinned despite the shivers he was probably trying to hide. “I like the new take on combat gear.”

“Your pants would’ve made the wrong fashion statement. Besides, I was in a hurry.” She brushed his tangled hair off his face. His skin felt clammy. Cold. A bruised knot marred his temple, and she didn’t have the power to fix it. “You need a healer.”

“You okay?” Although he blew out a ragged breath, his grave eyes stayed locked on her face. He touched her shoulder, and her heart beat faster.

“Nothing new.” Compared to everything else, the scrapes from diving at that ghoul were too minor to count. “I’m fine, just, well, surprised by you.” She took his hand, and the pain searing him flashed into her. Val bit back a gasp. How did he breathe through the white heat in his chest?

When he tried to pull free, she laced her fingers through his. “Mages’ creed, remember? We fought together. We handle this together, too.”

Shock rippled over his face, vibrated through the touch. Behind it lay sweet, warm pleasure. “You’re already hurt. You don’t need this.” But he stood with her and let her draw his head against her shoulder, sighing when she rested her cheek against his hair. He set his hands at her waist.

“I can deal,” she said. “Take what I’m sending you.” If only she had more to give, to push back the acid that pulsed inside him.

Because of his wounds, she kept her body clear of his, cupping her hands around his elbows as they both drew power from the swamp outside. A group would’ve formed a circle, arms around each other, to share energy and ease pain. For the two of them, this would have to do.

Tender concern, almost affection, seeped through the pain. There was also…yearning. His? Or hers? It had to be his. She hardly knew him. Couldn’t afford to feel such things for him.

He might not be a traitor, but that didn’t mean his claim of a traitor in mage ranks had been right. His current heroism didn’t make him faultless in the deaths of those who’d tried to stop him, but she would give him the hearing she’d promised.

Her sense of his pain ebbed, not because it eased but because he damped it. “Griffin—”

Sounds came from behind her. Footsteps. Someone gasped. She would’ve turned, but Griffin’s hold tightened.

“It’s okay. They live here.” He lifted his head, his eyes warm despite the pain tightening his features. “You risked your life for them.”

“I was only doing my job.” She made the words light, trying to ease away from the intimacy created by sharing energy and pain.

“Yeah. Still. Thank you.” The warmth in his eyes deepened. Softened. His glance dropped to her lips.

Kissing him would be too easy. And so very stupid. The shire reeve had to walk a line. Val stepped back. “We’ll see to things here, then talk.”

“Okay.” Dare’s gaze held steady as he caught and quickly kissed her hand.

Heat rolled up her arm, and into the depths of her body. Her fingers tightened on his, but he released her. An unwelcome twinge of loss nipped her heart.

“We have to get these people out of here,” he said. “The community shelter in Wayfarer will take them in, at least for a while. I’ll make the call.” He turned away, swaying.

Val fought the urge to steady him. He needed skilled medical care, the kind available only through the Collegium. If she took him back with her, though, some on the Council, perhaps even her mentor, Gene Blake, would insist on his immediate execution. If she didn’t and the Council learned she’d let him go, she would share his death sentence.

T
he pickup truck hit a pothole, and Griff bit back a groan. So much for staying under the radar. There were too many people involved in his business now, including one who continually surprised him. Even with Valeria sitting by his side, gripping his hand as he braced himself against the pain, he still couldn’t believe she was helping him.

Bringing in the mage world’s most-wanted fugitive would make her a law enforcement superstar. His wounds would’ve given her the perfect excuse. Instead, she’d bandaged him up and, over the past two hours, helped him evacuate his surviving tenants to the Wayfarer homeless shelter.

They’d gone ahead in the shelter’s vans. He lay on his mattress in Miss Hettie Telfair’s truck bed. A local retiree, Hettie used the truck to haul whatever needed hauling for her gardens, the shelter, or anyone who needed help.

Lying on his side so nothing touched his wounds, he was as comfortable as he could be for the moment. He had not only Valeria but Hettie’s big, panting golden retriever, Magnus, for company. But the truck would never be a smooth ride. Or a fast one.

Not like his car, a black Dodge Charger. Todd Claypool, the bakery delivery boy, was driving it into town for him. “Todd…better not…try for any speed records,” he muttered.

Breathing hurt. So did talking, but he could manage with shallow breaths and short phrases. He needed the distraction.

“Guys and their cars.” Valeria laughed, and the warm, rich sound shot straight to his groin. Griff swallowed a curse.

“I’m sure your baby will be fine,” she said.

“It better be.” He took a slow breath in and let it out. “Not much farther.”

“I wish I had more power to share.”

“You’ve been generous already.” She’d locked down her emotions now, distancing herself, but she’d treated him earlier like someone she respected. She couldn’t know how much that meant to an outcast.

“Why Wayfarer? What made you settle here?”

“I wandered into it. The people are laid-back. Accepting.” Hettie and the shelter director, Unitarian minister Marc Wagner, had become his friends. He’d known they would come tonight, but the other volunteers had been a heart-warming surprise. “I could help here.”

“Like working with the kids at the homeless shelter.”

“Right.”

“Reverend Wagner said you’re great with them.”

Before he could reply, the truck hit another bump. Pain spiked through him, and he bit back a grunt.

She gripped his shoulder. “Steady.”

Her other hand, holding his, tightened in support. She obviously didn’t regard him as evil incarnate anymore, so that was progress, but would she actually listen to what he had to say?

The taste of ammonia lay bitter on his tongue, an ominous sign of high venom levels in his blood from the new wounds and the power drain of battle. The venom was also making him queasy and cold. He needed to see Stefan as soon as he could, without alerting Valeria. He wasn’t trusting her with anyone else’s name. Not yet.

Magnus poked his cold, wet nose at Griff’s chin.

Valeria pushed him firmly away. “Down, boy,” she said, and Magnus laid his massive head on his paws.

Moving carefully, Griff scratched the dog’s chest with his free hand. Magnus thumped his tail and rolled over to give him better access.

Valeria gave Griff an appraising look. “Reverend Wagner says you’re a good guy, that you do magic tricks for the kids. Pretty risky choice.”

“It’s perfect cover. Hiding in plain sight.” Marc knew Griff’s secrets, so he’d given Valeria a plausible story. Hettie hadn’t known but now, unfortunately, would expect explanations. So would the authorities, if not for the friends Griff had called, while Valeria was busy downstairs, secretly clearing away the ghoul bodies and burying the Mundanes.

“Speaking of hiding,” she said, “Reverend Wagner called Stefan Harper, who also promised confidentiality. Dr. Harper’s on his way. He’s the best. You’ll be all right, Griffin.”

“That’s…a risk for you.”

“Not much of one.” She glanced out at the night. “We’ll talk about all that when you’re patched up. Meanwhile, can you give me the lowdown on Miss Hettie?”

“Retired lawyer.” The truck bounced over a bump, and he gritted his teeth. “Social activist,” he ground out around the burning pain in his chest and back.

He could picture Hettie striding past the shops on Burke Street, Wayfarer’s main road, in Earth shoes with her gray braid hanging down the back of her unstructured tunic, the dog trotting beside her. “Granddad would’ve said she’s a pistol.”

“Packs one, too. Nice SIG Sauer nine millimeter. That’s an odd thing for an activist to carry.”

He would’ve shrugged, but it would hurt. “She lives out in the country alone. I’ve done work for her.” A mural for her dining room, a big job that had netted him not only three months’ living expenses but a friend. “Rented a room for a while.”

“She’s very fond of you.” Casually, Valeria added, “So’s your sister. I went to see her, as I said.”

He’d learned not to think about Caro, not to miss her. They’d been so close once, even though he had all that power while she had only the ability to sense color by touch. Yet she’d never resented him, never complained.

“How was she?” he asked.

“Did you know she was married, to Rick Moore?” When Griff nodded, Valeria continued, “They seemed very happy, but she was not exactly welcoming to me. More like defiant. She insisted we were all wrong about you.”

The words shot into his heart and twisted. Damn, he missed Caro. Too bad he couldn’t risk even a phone call.

“Your parents were a tougher book to read, very stoic. That’s probably where your grit comes from.”

“They’re the best.” Even if they despised him now.

“They’re bewildered. Hurt, I think, and maybe a little angry that you didn’t come to them for help. Your father, especially.”

That implied they’d had faith in him, at least for a while. Unless she was playing him, digging into his soul to find the weak spots so she could talk him into giving himself up.

“Nothing to be done,” he said. It was safer for them if he stayed away. No matter what that led them to believe.

“Lawyers like your dad don’t seem to subscribe to that.”

Griff said nothing. Thinking about his family involved too many might-have-beens and if-onlys.

As though Valeria knew it, her fingers tightened on his. “That little girl, Molly, called you Gray.”

Magnus batted at his arm, and Griff realized he’d stopped scratching. He sank his fingers into the dog’s soft, thick coat and indulged the beast.

“Walker. Gray Walker. Alias.” He could give her that one. Simon Ishmael, he wouldn’t risk. She’d packed his art supplies, but that didn’t mean she would realize he earned money by painting. And it wouldn’t tip her to his off-and-on gig with the Feds.

“It helps if I know what to call you in front of people.”

“My mage friends called me Griff.” He used the past tense deliberately. Better not to alert her he still had mage friends.

A shadow came into her eyes, but she didn’t look away. “I like you, Dare. I respect some of the things you’ve done, but let’s hold off on crossing the line into friend territory.”

“Valeria, I swear to you—”

“Don’t. I’ll look at what you have, I promise, but don’t ask me to accept anything without proof.”

“You’ll have it.”

Streetlights lined the road now. The two-story shops of Burke Street, some brick and some wooden structures, came into view. The shops were closed, but lights shone in the upper windows, in the apartments where the shop owners and tenants lived.

The truck swung into the bumpy alley alongside the Wayfarer Community Shelter. Griff swore between his teeth, and Valeria gripped his shoulder in silent encouragement.

The truck stopped at the shelter’s back door. Squeaks heralded the cab doors opening, and then Miss Hettie and Marc lowered the tailgate. When Hettie snapped her fingers, Magnus jumped out.

She climbed in to kneel beside Griff, peering over gold, wire-framed trifocals. “You still with us?”

He mustered a grin for her. “Yes’m.”

“Magnus and I could take care of you just fine, but these other folks seemed to think you’d be less trouble here.” Hettie snorted. “Trouble! Time comes I can’t handle a banged-up man, I’ll have to move into town myself.”

Marc climbed in beside her, his lean face surrounded by the usual crop of unruly brown hair. “We set up an air mattress in my office. Can you climb out, or should we—”

“I’ll manage.”

Moving ramped up the pain. Griff set his jaw. All he needed was a few seconds to get out of the truck.

His wounds screamed, but he made it to the ground, then up the steps, into Marc’s cramped office, down onto the air mattress with Valeria at his side.

Her eyes were bloodshot. “You should at least wear my sunglasses,” he said.

“I’ll put some salve in before I go to bed.” She patted his shoulder and leaned back against the desk.

From this angle, he had a close view of the way his chambray shirt draped her high, round breasts.
Shit.
Wounds generally trumped horniness. Why didn’t they tonight? Swearing silently, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, Valeria was gone. Miss Hettie sat beside him with Magnus, as usual, by her side. The pair of them and the mattress filled the narrow floor.

He must’ve zoned out.

“Water?” she asked.

When he nodded, she handed him the cup and straw. “That’s a nice girl you got there, levelheaded. Polite. Even if she did try to give me some moonshine about a bear.”

Staring over her glasses, she informed him, “I’ve lived ’round about the Okefenokee all my life. Seen bears and their handiwork. You don’t want to tell me what tore you up, fine, but don’t try to sell me that bear story.”

“Okay.” Normally, Hettie would press. She must be cutting him a break because he was hurt. “And she’s not my girl.” That little twinge of pain must’ve come from his wounds. Or from sexual frustration. “Where’d she go?”

Hell if the pain wasn’t worse. The ammonia taste, too. It practically seared his mouth. His blood venom must be way up. Where was Stefan?

Hettie set the cup aside. “The doctor’s on his way in, so she left to give you privacy. Marc set her up in the playroom. Kids’re in bed, she’ll have quiet. Looks fair done in herself.”

Valeria didn’t want Stefan to see her. She didn’t need to hide, but Griff couldn’t tell her that. Not without Stefan’s consent. He had to protect Stefan, too.

Shit, what a web of protective silences. It was hard, sometimes, to remember where they intersected.

“You know,” Hettie said quietly, “I’ve always known there was something different about you, Gray. That’s your business, but if you ever want to tell me, remember, I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand. “Thanks.” But there was no sense bringing his trouble to her doorstep to worry her or, God forbid, endanger her in some way.

Someone tapped on the door, and Stefan walked in. “Ma’am, Mr. Walker, I’m Dr. Stefan Harper.” Hettie introduced herself and Magnus. Stefan shooed them out politely, then knelt by Griff’s side.

“Banning came through for you. I admit I’m surprised.”

“You don’t…know the half.” She’d risked her life for his tenants, was risking it for her word to him. Hell of a woman.

Stefan set out a small boom box. He punched a button, and soft, slow violin music filled the room. As he took cleansing wipes and bandages from his bag, he wove his power through the music, wrapping the melody around Griff’s mind, distancing him from the pain.

Stefan lit a lavender candle, and the sweet, healing scent filled the air. Griff drew it in, let the magic in it bolster him. Stefan’s low, soothing voice detailed his progress as he worked. Griff drifted with the music and the sound of his friend’s words.

Maybe Valeria would sit for him, let him paint her someday. Sap green flecked with gold and burnt umber would work for her eyes. Naples yellow, highlights of burnt umber and sienna for that beautiful fall of hair. Cadmium red mixed with white for the rose in her cheeks and lips.

Yeah. Like that would ever happen.

“Easy,” Stefan murmured. “I have to remove these bandages, and they’re stuck to you.” Lukewarm water and a soft hint of power slid over Griff’s skin, tamping down the pain. Until Stefan lifted the makeshift bandages. Fire blazed over Griff’s back.

His fists clenched on the edge of the mattress. “Holy fuck,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Sorry, bro.” Stefan held a hand above the abused skin, easing the agony with more magic. “This is bad, but I guess you know that.”

“No shit.” As Stefan probed, Griff set his jaw and breathed through the hurt.

“I’m worried about your systemic venom levels,” Stefan said. “I’ll take a blood level in a bit. Before I do any healing, I want to draw the venom with an herbal plaster. This’ll take a while.”

Griff answered with a grunt. The sooner they started, the sooner he could have the conversation that might give him back his life.

An hour later, Griff’s chest and back still burned, but not as much as his need to see Valeria. At least he didn’t have the venom-based taste of ammonia on his tongue.

“All done.” Kneeling by the mattress, Stefan switched the music to something quiet with acoustic guitars, something familiar.

“Did you write that?” Griff asked.

“Yep, so if you don’t like it, pretend you do. Either way, it should help the healing. Let the lavender candle burn until it gutters out.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Marc tapped on the door and entered. “Will and Lorelei are here. You up to seeing them?”

“Sure.” He hadn’t expected them, though. Was something else wrong? Griff forced himself up to sit cross-legged. Rather than focus on the throbbing in his back, he concentrated on breathing.

Marc reached for the knob. “I’ll send your guests in, then check on Ms. Banning.”

When he opened the door, the newcomers walked in. Lorelei Martin, a petite brunette, led the way. An unusually large, blue tote hung from her shoulder. Griff noted the faint outline of her crossbow on the fabric.