Circle of Death Page 17

  The creature leapt. He waited until the last moment and slashed at the manarei’s snarling, snapping jaws before diving away. He hit the ground and rolled quickly to his feet, spinning to face the monster.

  It wiped a claw across reptilian lips, smearing black blood across its leathery cheeks. “I will gut you with that little stick.” The manarei’s voice was thick, its words barely understandable. “Then I will consume what little brains you have.”

  “Try it,” he muttered, watching its tail rather than its eyes. When a manarei attacked, its spring came from its powerful hind legs. Usually, the tail was the first indicator of an impending attack.

  Its tail lashed, and a split second later, the manarei launched itself. He held his ground again, cutting the knife across the creature’s eyes before ducking under its claws and rolling away.

  The manarei snarled in frustration. It hit the ground and sprang again, almost catlike in its agility. He scrambled to his feet, slashing desperately with the knife, then ducked away and spun, kicking the creature in the gut. It caught his foot and tossed him forward. He sailed through the air and hit the ground nose first, sliding through the weeds and skinning half his face.

  The air screamed again. He rolled away and called to his alternate shape. In panther form, he leapt onto the reptile’s back and bit deep into its neck. Blood gushed, thick and hot, its taste like acid in his mouth. The manarei screamed and reached back, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him off. He slashed with his claws, tearing into the creature’s face, but it tossed him away as if he were nothing more than a lightweight ball. He hit ground feet first, felt the tremor of the earth through his pads and looked up to see the manarei pounding toward him. He twisted around, saw the closeness of the trees and leapt for the nearest branch, scrambling up into the deep, dark recesses of the pine.

  The creature snarled and pounded the trunk in frustration. The whole tree shivered. He dug his claws into the branch. Manarei weren’t the best climbers, and right now, this tree was all that stood between him and certain death.

  Where the hell was Camille?

  Another tremor ran through the old tree, stronger than before. The manarei was thrusting its weight against the trunk, trying to bring it down. Doyle looked up. The top of the tree was beginning to rock ever so gently.

  He shifted shape again and wrapped his legs around the branch, holding on for dear life. The tree began to sigh, pine needles rustling, as if stirred by the gentlest of breezes. The branch he was sitting on vibrated to the tune of the manarei’s pounding, jarring his spine. Not even a tree as old as this pine had the strength to withstand the might of an enraged manarei for long.

  He reached to his left, plucking pinecones from the nearest branches, and began bombarding the creature. This did little more than seriously annoy it, but right then, that was exactly what he wanted. An enraged creature was more likely to stay put and not remember the woman it was sent here to capture. As long as he stayed out of its way, everything should be okay.

  The manarei howled its frustration, then sunk its claws into the trunk and began to climb.

  He dropped the remainder of the cones and scrambled to his feet. “You’re not supposed to be able to climb, you bastard!”

  The creature merely grinned, revealing long rows of gleaming teeth, and continued to climb. Doyle shifted shape once more and worked his way farther up into the tree. But he was running out of room—and tree—fast. The branch beneath him snapped, and suddenly he was falling. Branches caught at his fur, tearing deep. He twisted, slashing wildly with his claws, trying to regain some purchase but catching only pine needles. He heard the guttural laugh of the manarei and the fetid warmth of its breath wash over him. Felt the air vibrate as the killing stroke closed in.

  He twisted desperately, throwing himself to the right, away from the creature—away from the tree. He heard a sharp sound, felt something sting past his ear and the warm rush of blood, then he was hurtling uncontrolled toward the ground.

  He twisted again, somehow managing to get feet first before he hit the ground, but the impact shuddered through him. For an instant, it felt as if every bone in his body had shattered.

  He shifted shape and collapsed onto his back, eyes closed and mouth dragging in air. Death had come far too close, and for the first time ever, it had truly scared him.

  Maybe because for the first time in his life it actually mattered whether he lived or died—because this time, he had something to lose beyond his life.

  “About time you got here,” he muttered, when he could.

  “I’ve told you before not to tease them,” Camille said, her voice sharp. “It’s your own damn fault it got so close in the first place.”

  He opened his eyes. She was standing close by his side, a gun clenched firmly in two hands and aimed toward the tree.

  “Did you kill it?”

  She gave him a scathing look. “Of course I killed it. I can shoot a damn sight better than you, boy. Now get off your butt. There should be another one of those suckers around here somewhere.”

  He rose slowly. Every muscle protested, making him feel a hundred years old. “Did you bring me a weapon?”

  She pulled a gun from the waistband of her leather pants and handed it to him. “You’ve got two shots, I’ve got one. That’s it, so make them count.”

  “I will.” He checked the gun, then swiped away the blood running down his neck. Camille’s shot had nicked his ear, but it could have been far worse had she not risked the shot and the manarei had gotten hold of him. “You’d better get inside that house and grab Trina. I’ll keep watch—”

  He stopped. Magic touched him, the same sharp, foul sensation as before.

  Inside the house, someone began screaming.

  KIRBY WAS HALFWAY DOWN THE DRIVEWAY WHEN her vision blurred. Suddenly she was inside the house rather than outside. In the rear of the house, in a room warmed by the summer sun, a manarei was creeping toward its unknowing victim. Fear clutched her heart and squeezed tight, and for several seconds she couldn’t even breathe.

  Then she was running up the steps, fingers alive with energy that she launched at the front door. It crashed open, but the sound got lost in the high-pitched screaming coming from the rear of the house—screaming that abruptly died. The glass surrounding the door shattered, sending deadly-looking slivers slicing through the air. She raised her hands to protect her face and ran through the entrance.

  “Trina!” she screamed. The only reply was a whimper of fear—a sound she felt like echoing.

  She pounded down the hall, her footsteps resounding on the wooden floors. She saw Trina on the kitchen floor, scrambling backward, one arm bloodied and dangling uselessly.

  She saw the manarei, claws gleaming a bloody red in the morning light streaming in through the kitchen windows.

  “Hey, reptile!” she shouted, sliding to a stop just inside the doorway. Its head snaked around, eyes narrowing when it saw her. She didn’t give it time to think or react but raised her hands, drew in the energy of everything around her and unleashed it. “Fight this, you bastard!”

  This time, the lightning didn’t come from her fingers. It erupted from the floorboards and spun up the creature’s body, binding it as it burned. The creature howled, fighting the energy that held him captive. Pain shivered through her, adding fuel to her already agitated stomach. But the energy itself couldn’t kill a manarei—she’d learned that the hard way last time—and she didn’t have the strength to contain it for very long. The madmen in her head were beginning their pounding with renewed vigor.

  She ran to Trina’s side. Her face was pale, skin clammy, gray eyes more than a little vague as they met Kirby’s.

  “Who are you?” she asked, her voice shrill, almost childlike.

  “A friend from the past,” Kirby said. A friend you may not want to remember. “Can you get up?”

  Trina nodded, but her movements were weak, and she seemed unable to find any purchase on the fl
oor tiles. Swearing softly, Kirby tucked her arms under the woman’s shoulders and hauled her upright. Trina whimpered and went limp. Grunting under the sudden impact of her weight, Kirby gritted her teeth and struggled to keep them both upright.

  The manarei’s snarl made her look up. The net was flickering, its power fading. She reached desperately for more energy, and for several seconds the net flared brightly. Then the pain in her head kicked in full strength, and the net continued to fade. There was nothing more she could do to hold it. The manarei wrenched an arm free, its claws slashing the air, a chilling indicator of what it intended once it escaped.

  Fear surged, threatening to stifle her. She had a minute, maybe less, to get out of here. The energy was fading fast, trickling away from her control as quickly as the time. She began dragging Trina from the room.

  She’d almost reached the hall when the manarei partially broke free. Red-hot knives of agony tore through her brain, and she gasped, dropping to her knees, unable to hold herself up, let alone Trina. Tears filled her eyes, but it was the pain in her head that blurred her vision. She couldn’t see. Didn’t need to. The air seemed to scream with the manarei’s fury.

  She called desperately to the fire, but the knives dug deeper, burning white-hot through her entire body. She gasped, doubling over, pain pounding through her head and body. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even defend herself, much less Trina … Trina. Who was one of the five and had a power all her own.

  “Trina,” she croaked. “You have to wake up. You have to help me.”

  The other woman groaned. She was close to unconsciousness, but if she gave in completely, they’d both die.

  The manarei screamed again. It was close, so close, to getting free.

  She grabbed Trina’s hand, squeezing hard as she slapped her face. Trina’s eyes flickered open and, in that instant, energy surged between them, as fierce as the answering rumble from the ground. It was a rumble that became a roar so powerful the entire house began to shake and sway. Earthquake, she thought, and knew it wouldn’t save them. Not unless the earth itself opened up and swallowed the creature whole …

  She closed her eyes. Doyle’s image swam before her, his blue eyes rich with warmth and caring—something she would not now have the chance to explore. And for that, I’m sorry …

  The rumble died away. A door slammed open to her right, and footsteps approached. She sensed, rather than saw, that it was Doyle. But he stopped just beyond the room and, for several seconds, there was only silence.

  Then he said, “Kirby, are you hurt?”

  Relief swept through her, so intense it snatched her voice away. He was okay, and so was she.

  “Damn it, answer me. Are you hurt?”

  His voice was sharp with anger and concern, but right then, she’d never heard a sweeter sound. She shook her head, but even that small movement sent the madmen in her head into overdrive.

  “The manarei,” she ground out. “What happened to it?”

  “If there’s any sort of justice in this world, it’s halfway to hell by now.”

  There was amusement in his voice, but why? She forced her eyes open and saw the reason. Half the room had been destroyed, and where the manarei had been standing there was a gaping, jagged hole. The earth really had opened up and swallowed the creature whole. Trina’s doing. Thank God she’d managed to keep her conscious!

  “Camille?” Doyle said. “I need your help in here.”

  Boot heels echoed across the floorboards. Doyle knelt beside her, something she felt rather than saw. Her vision was still blurry, and the pounding ache in her head was so bad she felt like throwing up.

  “I thought I told you to stay in the car,” he chided softly. Warmth brushed across her cheek as he thumbed away a tear.

  “I thought I told you to call for help if you ran into a manarei.”

  His smile shimmered through her. He touched her hand, fingers twining around hers. “Touché. Are you able to move? We really have to get out of this house in case the rest of the place falls down.”

  She nodded carefully. Given the intensity of the quake that had shaken this place, there would no doubt be cops and ambulances on the way. The last thing she needed right now was another three-hour session with disbelieving police officers. “What about Trina?”

  “We take her with us,” Camille said from the doorway. “She’s unconscious, so I’ll splint her arm once we’re safe.”

  Doyle grunted. “Don’t suppose you’ve got anything in your magic box to cure a psi-blinding headache?”

  Psi-blinding headache? There was a technical term for this sort of pain?

  “Not on me, no.” Camille said, her sharp voice close. “I have something back at the office, if you want to follow us.”

  “Is that safe with the murderer still on the loose?” Doubt echoed through his soft tones.

  “Got no other choice. We can’t exactly take either of them to the hospital right now, can we?”

  “No.”

  “Then just make sure neither of us is tailed.”

  Doyle picked Kirby up and cradled her close. This time, she simply enjoyed the warmth of his arms around her, the tight sense of security that ached through her heart. She blinked against the day’s sudden brightness, her eyes watering again. She swiped a hand across her eyes, but her vision was still blurred. His face was little more than a wash of skin and dark hair. But she didn’t need to see him when his arms were wrapped so tightly around her, and his scent—a rich mix of muskiness, pine and masculinity—tingled across her senses and warmed her deep inside.

  “Have I ever mentioned the fact you smell nice?” She leaned her head against his chest and listened to the rapid pounding of his heart. It was a rhythm matched by her own.

  His laugh rumbled through her. “No, I don’t believe you have. And this is a rather strange time to mention it.”

  “Hey, I might not get the chance to say it later.”

  His arms tightened briefly. “You’ll have as much time as you want. I’ll make sure of it.”

  She closed her eyes, not ready to confront the emotion so evident behind his words and in his thoughts. Nothing had ever come easy to her, so why should something as elusive as love? Especially now, when her whole world seemed to be tearing apart.

  If he was following her thoughts, he didn’t say anything, just opened the car door and placed her carefully inside. She kept her eyes closed. The darkness seemed to ease the pounding in her head a little.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She listened to the rumble of traffic passing by and drifted off into a semi-sleep, only to jerk awake when the sound of the engine ceased. Blinking, she looked at the clock on the dash. Only twenty minutes had passed. It had seemed like hours.

  The warm sunshine had given way to shadows. Around them, slabs of gray concrete stood like silent sentinels in an empty, filth-ridden world. A place where demons roamed, and the dull puddles of brightness provided by the lights dotted haphazardly across the roof did little to provide an air of safety.

  For an instant, her fear surged. Where the hell are we? She blinked again, and their surroundings became a parking garage. Yet she had an odd feeling that what she had seen she would see again. Sometime in the near future, fate and she would meet in such a place.

  Doyle’s hand closed over hers. “You feeling any better?”

  She carefully shook her head. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

  “That can happen when you overextend your psychic strength,” he commented. “You want to be carried again?”

  “I’m not an invalid. I can walk.” Besides, if she risked another five minutes in his arms she might not want to leave.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” he said softly.

  She didn’t answer, just got out of the car. Helen would have called it cowardice. She called it caution. She wasn’t going to commit to anything she wasn’t certain about, and right now that included Doyle.

  The air smelled st
ale and was perfumed with the rich scent of rubbish and urine. Beer bottles decorated the far corners, scattered about like abandoned toys. “Nice section of town to have an office,” she muttered, rubbing her arms against the chill in the air.

  He shrugged and cupped her elbow, gently guiding her toward the elevator. “Most of the building has been converted to a shelter for the homeless. Our offices are on the top floor, and the rent pays for a lot of the meals.”

  She raised an eyebrow as he punched the button for the eighth floor. “So this Damask Circle of yours actually has offices here in Melbourne?”

  “We have offices everywhere. Evil doesn’t stick to a single country, you know.”

  “I guess it doesn’t.” Though it was something she’d never been forced to think about before now. “So, are we going to stay here rather than going back to the farmhouse tonight?” Disappointment twinged through her at the thought.

  He leaned a shoulder against the wall and regarded her thoughtfully. The left side of his face was grazed, and blood had formed dried-up rivulets down his neck. But if he was in any sort of pain, she couldn’t feel or see it. Maybe shapeshifters had a high tolerance to such things.

  “Would you rather stay here?”

  There was so little emotion in his words and expression, one would have thought he was asking the time of day. But she knew it was the very last thing he wanted. She also knew that he’d do it for her if she asked. It was a thought that was oddly warming.

  She raised an eyebrow. “And how would you steal your kisses if we stayed with your friends?”

  “I didn’t exactly steal them the last two times.” His voice was dry, and amusement glittered in his bright eyes. “Besides, there’ll be plenty of time to worry about that once you’re safe.”

  His dark hair was falling in unruly waves across his forehead, and a smile teased the corners of his full lips. Too sexy for her own good, she thought, and pulled her gaze from his.

  Did she want to stay here? Part of her said yes; part of her said no. The only thing she was certain of was the fact that whatever was happening between them—whether it was merely a passing fancy or something more permanent—it wasn’t going to be stopped by the presence of others. And in many respects, staying with his friends was the coward’s way out.