Finding the Lost

Andra crushed that thought flat before it could blossom. She had no room in her life for false hope. She knew just how bleak things really were, and it was best if she stayed a realist, just like she’d always been.



“Don’t you dare touch her blood,” growled Paul in a tone that made the fine hairs on her neck stand up. “I’ll help the boy.”



“Are you sure?” asked Logan. “I took a lot from you tonight so I could find her.”



Paul’s eyes flicked to Andra so briefly she wasn’t sure it had happened. “It was worth it. I’m sure I’m strong enough for this.”



“And if you’re not?” asked Madoc.



Paul pressed his hand against his chest as if it hurt, then handed Madoc his sword. “Then you know what to do.”



Chapter 2



Paul carried Sammy outside into the night and found a patch of rich earth that would aid him in healing the boy.



Andra and Logan trailed behind him, while Madoc kept watch over the area, ensuring that they’d know if company arrived.



Paul wanted nothing more than to touch Andra and find out whether she was the woman he’d been looking for for decades. The only thing holding him back was her safety, as well as Sammy’s. He couldn’t do anything to mess up this time. This was his last chance. If he did touch her, and he went through that same incapacitating pain Drake had suffered with Helen, there was no way he’d be able to protect them if more Synestryn came.



And they would come; it was just a question of how long they had before it happened and whether or not they would still be here.



The sooner Sammy’s mind was cleaned, the faster Paul could get Logan to fix her arm. He knew she had to be in pain. All the color had leached from her face and she was holding herself at an odd angle. Already, the leather sleeve of her jacket was stretching tight over her broken arm.



“You’d better get out of that jacket before you can’t,” he told her. “The swelling’s getting worse.”



She gave it a gentle tug, winced, and asked, “Any of you boys have a knife?”



“Allow me,” said Logan. A sharp claw extended from the end of his finger, replacing his manicured fingernail.



Andra flinched at the sight, and hissed in pain as the motion jarred her broken bone. “Holy shit! What the hell are you?”



“Hold still. I won’t damage you.”



“You’d better not,” said Paul as he resisted the urge to go to her and reassure her. Keeping his distance was the most maddening form of torture possible. Moments ago, another leaf had fallen from his lifemark, leaving one, and he still wasn’t sure whether she was the woman who could save him.



He’d been given two chances before. Even wishing for a third seemed like some kind of sacrilege. Too bad it didn’t stop him from wishing anyway.



Andra stripped out of her destroyed leather jacket with a little help from Logan. Although her left arm was puffy and distorted, the rest of her was all sleek muscles and strong, feminine lines. Her clingy shirt showed off small, perfect breasts and muscular abs. He wondered how much time and effort a body like that had cost her and whether or not the man in her life was appropriately appreciative.



He certainly would be, given the chance.



Paul pulled his gaze away from her and focused on Sammy. The child’s eyes were open, unblinking. Drool leaked from one corner of his mouth and Paul gently wiped it away with the hem of his shirt. “I’m going to help you sleep now, Sammy. But I promise that you won’t have any bad dreams. I’m going to take them all away, okay?”



Paul didn’t expect an answer; the child was too far gone. He closed the boy’s eyes and held his hand there to keep them closed. He focused on the ground under him—warm, seemingly dead after long weeks of drought. He felt the soil and the rocks beneath, felt the roots of nearby trees seeking out nourishment and the tiny, hidden seeds that waited for rain to spark them to life. The earth beneath him was calm, patient, accepting of whatever came. There was power in that acceptance and Paul pulled some of that power into himself.



Instantly, the pain he lived with daily increased, bearing down on him, grinding at his bones, and he had to clench his teeth against it to keep from crying out. His heart pounded and his head throbbed until he was blind from the sheer force of the pressure of so much more power. His body already held too much energy, but it was energy he couldn’t use—only store for someone else’s use. Maybe Andra’s.



He prayed it was so. He wasn’t going to live long enough for another search. It had taken two weeks to find her, and he didn’t think he had even one week left.



Paul’s skin grew tight and burned, and his eyes felt like they would fly out of his head if he opened his eyelids. He could hear his breath rasping in and out too quickly as his lungs labored against the pain.



Logan was right. He was too weak for this, but it was too late now. He’d pulled in enough power to reach out to Sammy and enter his mind. He was trapped inside the child until he’d done what he’d come here to do—take away his fear, his memories.



The images inside Sammy were a chaotic swirl of teeth and claws, growls and screams. The boy was barely six, and had no way of making sense of what he’d seen. His child’s mind had taken the sensory input, mixed it with his terror, and created an array of images even more terrible than reality. Somewhere deep inside Sammy’s mind, he felt the little boy cowering in fear, whimpering, chanting, “No, no, no.”



Paul felt his physical body weaken against the strain of his connection with the boy. He wasn’t very good at this, but he knew enough to know that if he died while in the boy’s mind, it would kill Sammy as well.



Spurred on by that thought, Paul pushed his way through those nightmares until he found the boy’s mental hiding place. It was a cardboard box with crooked windows drawn on with brightly colored crayon. One side of the box had been cut open to make a door big enough for Sammy to crawl through.



Paul crouched and peered in the cardboard doorway. “You’re going to be okay now. Stay here until you hear me call your name, and when you come out, all the monsters will be gone.”



The boy cringed in the corner of the box with his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut, but somehow, Paul felt that he’d been heard.



He rose up and faced all the images that Sammy had created, each one horrific enough to drive the boy mad. They all had to go. Paul captured the first monster in his gaze—much like a sgath, but with larger teeth and two wolflike heads. Normally, it wouldn’t have frightened him, because he knew it wasn’t real. But Sammy thought it was real and because of that, it had power.



Paul let himself be afraid—imagined what it must be like for Sammy, so small and helpless. He imagined what it felt like to be ripped away from the safety of his home and parents and tossed into a living nightmare. He let the fear grow inside him until his hands shook and his jaw ached from fighting the need to scream. He accepted Sammy’s horror as his own, absorbing it until he’d taken it all into himself, then ruthlessly shoved it into the accepting earth. Burying it deep where it couldn’t hurt anyone.



Slowly, the monster disappeared.



Paul was left feeling weak and dizzy, barely able to stand upright within the ethereal context of the boy’s mind. He could no longer move, so he pulled in more power—more pain—and forced himself to take just one more step toward the next nightmare. It left him sweating and shaking and made his stomach clench in protest, but he had no choice. The child could not live with these images in his head.



Andra’s arm was swiftly becoming a problem. Every breath shifted her frame enough to send searing jolts of pain through her body. And she was losing feeling in her fingers, which couldn’t be good. But none of that really bothered her. What really bothered her was the fact that she was basically helpless. She didn’t trust these men, no matter how helpful they seemed. What if they tried to take Sammy away? How would she stop them in a three-against-one fight, with a broken arm and an empty shotgun?



Paul was deep in concentration and Madoc was keeping watch out into the darkness. Logan and his freaky-sharp fingernails hovered nearby, lurking in the shadows. There was something unsettling about his stillness—his unnatural beauty.



“We’re not going to hurt you,” he said as if reading her thoughts. Then again, she kept looking at her shotgun lying a few feet away, so maybe, rather than being psychic, he simply wasn’t an idiot.



“Forgive me if I’m not all cheerful and trusting,” she replied.



“You’re feeling helpless, no doubt. I can mend your arm if you like.”



“How are you going to do that?”



“Magic. Want to see?”



“Not particularly. I’ve seen enough weirdness for one night, thanks.”



Logan shrugged. “Suit yourself. The offer is—” He sniffed the air and she thought she saw his eyes actually put off a silvery glow. He turned to Madoc and said, “We’ve got company.”



Company. That didn’t sound good.



“How much time?” demanded Madoc.



“Two minutes. Maybe three.”



“There are more of those monsters coming?” she asked Logan.



He nodded.



Shit! She was no good in a fight like this. “How long will it take to fix my arm?”



This time she was sure she saw his eyes glow just a bit—a cold, hungry glow that made her feel like prey. “Only a moment, if you’re willing.”



“I am. Do it.”



“Paul’s going to kill you if you take her blood,” said Madoc.



“Paul has no say in what happens to me,” said Andra. “Get on with it.”



“I’ll need your blood to regain my strength once we are safely away from here.”



“There’s going to be plenty of it all over the grass if you don’t hurry.” She was pretty sure she knew just how he planned on taking her blood. The word vampire echoed around in her head, giving her the creeps. Still, if she lived long enough to bleed a little, that was fine with her. She’d make more blood.



Logan spread an elegant, slim hand around the base of her neck and closed his eyes. Heat soaked into her skin, making her shiver. As the heat grew, she started to worry. His skin was too hot. He was going to burn her. She had to pull away.



Just as she thought about moving, she felt his other arm clamp around her waist, pressing her hard against his frame. He was stronger than he looked. Much stronger. And she’d been wrong about his being merely thin—he was practically a skeleton under his clothing, all sharp angles and jagged bones.



“I don’t have time or the strength to be gentle,” he whispered in a strained voice. “I’m sorry.”



Andra wasn’t sure what he meant until she felt the bone in her arm shift and pain became her whole world. It slid through her veins and blistered her from the inside out. A scream bubbled up out of her against her will. Searing heat burned inside her as if welding the bone together. The burning went on and on until she was out of breath from screaming and sweat had soaked her clothing.