Eternal Rider

It wasn’t. Couldn’t be. She was probably still in her bed, and this was a dream.

Suddenly, Halitosis was on his feet, crouched over her, a growl vibrating his deep chest. Not a normal growl, either. It was smoky, serrated, something she’d expect to hear from a dragon. Or a demon. Freaky.

The door burst open in a crash of splinters, and four men filed through the doorway.

A scream welled in her throat, but lodged there, blocked by terror. Not again, not again. Memories of the home invasion that had ruined her life collided with current events, and she froze up, so paralyzed that her lungs couldn’t expel her held breath.

There was a gunshot, a snarl… and then godawful screams. Blood splattered on the floor, the walls, on her… and she broke out of her paralysis to scramble to her feet.

Hal slammed one of the men to the floor, his claws—which somehow had extended like a cat’s—tearing into the man’s chest as the other two slashed at him with strange bladed weapons.

Cara scanned the room for a weapon of her own, anything at all. She lunged for a heavy glass jar of cotton balls but reeled back at an explosive, blinding flash of light. A beautiful blond man appeared in the middle of the room. Flames erupted from his fingertips as a ball of fire flipped into the air, bursting into a gold net that fell on Hal, who went down in a tangle beneath it.

“No!” She dove for the dog, but someone grabbed her from behind. Hal went crazy, a mass of teeth and claws as he struggled to get out of the net.

Curses flew, and someone fired a shot at the newcomer, who took the bullet in the chest with no more reaction than if he’d been stung by a bee. He scooped up the net, Hal with it, and in another flare of light, he was gone.

The man tightened his arms around Cara, and one of the men limped toward her, his left arm dangling, his face mottled with rage. “What are you?”

She blinked. “W-what?”

“I said,” he snarled, “what are you?”

“I don’t understand.”

His hand lashed out so fast she didn’t see it until her cheek stung from the blow. “What kind of demon are you?” he screamed, his spittle spraying her face.

Oh, God, these men were crazy. This whole situation was crazy. This was Crazyland, and she was the queen.

“Why…” She sucked in a ragged breath and tried to stay calm. It wasn’t easy when the man holding her in a vise grip against him was squeezing the air out of her lungs. “Why would you think I’m a demon?” Maybe they were religious fanatics, like the ones who had accused her of practicing witchcraft before she learned to hide her healing gift.

Her theory was blown out of the water when the third guy, the one who had been kneeling next to the dead man on the floor, stood and picked up the bullet that had been lodged in the dog. He held it out to her. “Because,” he said, in an eerily calm voice, “only a demon would heal a hellhound.”

Two

Hellhound?

These people were insane. “It was just a dog.”

“Really?” The red-haired, freckled one with the bullet, who reminded her vaguely of Carrot Top, spoke in a deceptively soft voice. “And was the guy who flashed into the room and took the dog just a man?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but what could she say? The guy had disappeared into thin air. “I… what else would he be?”

“Oh, maybe a demon. Like you.”

Keep them talking. And calm. Excellent plan in theory, but who was going to keep her calm? False courage gave her a voice, at least. “Who are you people?”

The one who had struck her whipped a strange, S-shaped, double-bladed weapon from a harness on his chest, and held the gold end to her neck. “Are you that stupid, or are you just playing that way?”

“Garcia.” Carrot Top put his hand on the weapon-wielder’s shoulder. “Look at her, man. She’s terrified. She doesn’t know who we are.”

“Stupid then.” Garcia dragged the tip of the blade down her throat, and she felt a sting and a warm drip. “I know you’ve heard of Guardians.”

“Guardians?”

He spun the weapon around and scraped the silver end down the other side of her throat, eliciting another sting, another drip. “The Aegis? You know, demon slayers?”

Seriously? These guys had issues. Maybe they’d played too many role-playing games. Or they were on drugs.

“I’m not—” She broke off to clear her throat of the hoarseness. Didn’t clear away the terror, though. “I’m not a demon. I’m human. The dog was hit by a car. And shot…” She trailed off when Carrot Top peeled back his jacket, revealing a pistol in a holster.

“We know.” The guy holding her spoke into her ear, his hot breath and cold voice sending a chill down her spine. “We’re the ones who shot the f**ker and then tracked the hick who brought it here.”

“Then why would you think I was a demon? I didn’t do anything but take the dog from the man who brought him to me.”

“I already told you. Hellhounds heal quickly, but not that quickly.” Garcia frowned at his odd gold and silver weapon. “Neither of these metals affect you. We can try something else.”

Not affect her? She had two streams of blood running down her throat, thank you very much. She realized she must have spoken out loud when Garcia slapped her across the face. Her mouth had always gotten her in trouble.

“Dude,” Carrot Top said, sarcasm lacing his voice. “Here’s a thought. She might be human. A witch or shaman or some demon’s minion. So, duh, neither metal would affect her.”

Crazycrazycrazy…

Garcia appeared to consider that, but she had no idea whether what Carrot had said was a good or bad thing for her. “What kind of magic did you use to heal the hound?”

That she couldn’t explain. Because even though only a trickle had accidentally escaped her, what she’d done to the dog had been magic. Evil magic. Oh, some more open-minded people called it a gift, and some explained that what she did was really an intense form of Reiki. Whatever. She’d never found any literature that referenced the strength of the power she wielded.

When she said nothing, Garcia waved the weapon in front of her face. “We can make you talk.”

Deep inside her, the gift she despised began to flow through her veins. Breathe… keep it together…

Once again, Carrot lay a restraining hand on Garcia’s shoulder. “You know the rules. If she’s human or human-based, we need to call a supervisor.”

“Fuck that. The new softer, gentler rules are for treehuggers.”

“Idiot.” The guy holding her shifted, bringing his heel down on her bare toes, and she bit down on a cry of pain even as her power throbbed at the walls of her vessels, wanting out. “Treehuggers are environmentalists.”

“You know what I mean. Fucking demon sympathizers.” Garcia grinned at her. “Even if she’s not a demon, she’s working with them. That makes her no better than them, and fair game.”

Her lungs grew tight as her breath became labored with some serious freakout. “Please,” she whispered. “Just go. I won’t tell anyone about this.” Wuss. Yeah, but she’d have to kick herself about it later.

If she survived.

Could one person get lucky enough to live through the same thing twice?

“Go?” Garcia leveled the tip of the weird weapon against the sensitive skin just beneath her left eye. “Not until we get some answers.”

Cara shrank back, but her head bumped into the chest of the guy who held her, and she froze before the blade pierced her eyeball. Tingles spread through her fingers. Her hand lifted, almost on its own, to touch Garcia. No! Dear God, what had she been about to do?

There had to be another way, but she had to think fast. These guys were going to kill her, and not without causing her a whole lot of pain first.

The phone, coated in dust and hanging on the wall behind Carrot, came into focus. If she could get to it… what? They’d kill her before she could dial the 9, let alone the 1-1. Still, she had to try. Give them what they want, within reason. Her self-defense instructor’s voice was a whisper in her ear and a welcome injection of steel into her spine.

“I’ll tell you anything you want,” she said, though she was unsure how much she meant that—or how much she actually knew. “Just let go of me.” She wriggled in the man’s grip, biting back a cry when he jammed his fist into her breastbone to still her.

“Oh, you’ll tell us everything,” Garcia said. “You don’t need your eyes to talk.”

“Garcia!” Carrot stepped forward as if to stop his buddy, and she took advantage of the interruption.

Remembering the instructor’s advice, which amounted to kick your attacker in the balls and run like hell, she brought up one knee, catching Garcia in the crotch, and at the same time, she rammed her elbow back, sinking it into the belly of the guy behind her. His grunt wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the way Garcia doubled over, but it gave her a chance to dive for the door.

“Fuck,” Garcia wheezed. “Get her!”

Arms closed around her, and Carrot spun her back to the man she’d elbowed, who wasn’t nearly as gentle in his handling this time.

Another flash of light flooded the room, and the nightmare got a whole lot worse.

Standing where the guy who disappeared with Hal had been was a huge man in leather armor, his ebony eyes hard, his expression uncompromising. In his hand was a sword as long as she was tall. As terrifying as the three demon slayers were, this stranger left them in the dust. She actually shrank back against the man who held her, as if he could—or would—help her.

The big guy in armor seemed to assess the situation in less time than it took for her heart to beat. He moved like a viper, lashing out with his massive arm and knocking Garcia and Carrot across the room. When the man behind her shoved her aside, the leather-armor guy struck with a closed fist, adding her captor’s body to the pile.