Because you can't outrun a plague, you idiot
.
And because she simply couldn't bear to be the one who handed Parker's darkness its anchor point of power. If it was strong and restless now, what would it become with a god's well of power to feed it?
"You're right," she said, hearing her own voice grow steadier, louder.
Enjoy it while it lasts
. "I'd
best take you up
on your offer. But you know I won't."
He grinned at her. A nasty grin, the sky fading behind him. Oh, Lord, she was going to get caught out here after dark. He said, "I hoped you wouldn't. You know, lately I've imagined ripping that hair out of your head fistful by fistful. I should thank you for the opportunity."
Not the same man she'd first met out here weeks ago. Not at all. That man had been an easy liar, not much concerned with things like honor and truth, but not malevolent, either.
This man was malevolent. Changed. And he had something hungry in his expression.
Hungry for her.
Druid growled.
"You've got that right," Brenna muttered at him, smoothing down the hackles he'd raised. She glanced again at the sky—could she get home before dark?—and at Parker, trying to gauge him. What he might do if she simply got to her feet and left him there.
What
could
he do? He was stuck on the other side.
And that's when Druid whined. His fearful whine, the warning whine. Reminding her that while she was out of Parker's reach, the darkness had no such boundaries. And that she couldn't depend on another miracle, when she had no idea how or even if she'd called the last one. "Shhh," she said, nonsensically enough, even as she dreaded what she feared would come next.
That trickle of breath-sucking dread she'd finally come to recognize. The hair standing up on the back of her neck, goosebumping down her already chilled arms. The breeze rising, lifting the strands of her long thick hair, black in this light and without the chestnut streaks that spoke of sunshine and light-hearted days in this very pasture.
Sunny's bloody collar tossed aside by her barn.
What would remain of her?
Nothing, if she just swayed here on her knees waiting for the inevitable
.
But the inevitable was here.
Roaring across the bottom of the pasture like a directional tornado, it tore up chunks of sod and sticks and debris, a blotch of midnight in the twilight air, heading straight for her.
Parker only grinned. Fearless. In control.
Brenna didn't think. There was no time for
thinking
. She did the only thing left to her. She threw herself over the spring, over the grave of her old companion. And as darkness thundered up the hill for her, ripping through the creek, shredding what brush remained on the island, churning a wide path up the hill, she dropped the rifle and yanked Druid's leash, jerking him right off his feet and into the area she'd always considered part of the spring.
Too much for a sturdy little dog who'd already pushed his limits for the day. Druid landed already shrieking, not that Brenna could hear him above the maelstrom that churned around them—
around
them—not touching them. It deafened her, oppressive enough that her ears popped and she, too, screamed, a mindless, gut-level scream of protest and fear. But within the sphere of the spring the air barely stirred, and when Druid's struggles took him to the edge of that calm, Brenna hauled him in close, throwing herself atop him and squinching her eyes shut against the onslaught from without and within—and now from beneath. For Druid flipped and flung himself, whacking his solid skull against her mouth, her nose, her forehead—
No, Druid—no!
Someone else's familiar voice in her head and she held him tighter, heedless of the claws that gouged her arms and legs—
Wails of grief, wails of fear and loss and Emily's voice moaning Jill's name over and over and unfamiliar voices crying their own sorrow, a deep and gibbering laughter underlying it all—
And Druid shrieked and Brenna screamed and held him tight and the darkness tightened in around them until her ears were agony and her head felt like it would implode and it seemed like this was all her world had ever been and ever would be—
And then it stopped.
Then there was utter silence, and Druid went quiescent beneath her, so flaccid she thought she'd smothered him to death and held her own breath until she felt the jerk of his chest as he panted.
She couldn't hear it yet. All she could hear was a ringing in her ears, and then her own harsh, gulping breaths through a throat raw and abused. "Shhh, shhh," she told Druid, and couldn't hear that, either.
But as she lifted her head and shoved her hair aside, she saw star and moonlight, and as she straightened her cramped back and looked out over the lower pasture, she found Parker on his knees, his shoulders slumped, his head dropped. Sounds started to trickle back in—her own breathing and Druid's, both easing, and even Parker's, sounding as exhausted as she felt.
Exhausted, and in no shape to chase after her in any manner.
Brenna grabbed Druid's leash and ran.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CHAPTER 17
EHWAZ
A Partnership in Effort
When she reached the barn, Brenna staggered up to the target-shooting bales and threw herself against them, thumping the stack against the barn. Druid sat on her feet, clinging to her like a Velcro dog while she caught her breath and took stock of herself—and first and foremost was the fact that she'd made it at all, sprinting like a woman possessed all the way from the spring.
Which maybe wasn't far from the mark.
But her tremulous legs berated her for such effort, and her arms and thighs throbbed from the claw scrapes they'd endured while a painful fat lower lip swelled at the corner of her mouth. Her hair hung against her bottom in a solid snarl—hair that had been outside the spring's protected area. Just from the heavy feel of it, she doubted she'd ever manage to comb it out.
You're a mess, Brenna Lynn Fallon.
Which is what she got for not paying attention. For falling asleep by the spring with so much conflict focused on that very spot. The anchor point. The place of power.
Brenna snorted softly to herself. "You are so,
so
in over your head," she said softly, suddenly wondering if returning here was the right thing at all. Maybe she should have stayed at the spring, where she at least knew she had an area of safety.
A small one.
No kitchen at the spring. No bathroom. Not even any water to speak of, at least not for drinking purposes. And boy, did she want a tall glass of ice water right this very moment.
Druid still leaned against her, stress-panting—but he managed to pause long enough growl, his ears canted back at a wary angle, his attention toward the house.
"Oh, no," Brenna groaned, tipping her head back so the barn overhang loomed dark in her vision.
No more. Not tonight.
Please
.
Russell, maybe. It was just about the right timing, if their mother had reached him after work. She groaned again.
On the other hand, after what had just happened, facing Russell didn't feel like such a big deal. Why hadn't she ever told him he could call ahead if he wanted to talk to her? And another new concept bloomed suddenly obvious—
this is a bad time, you'll have to come back when it's convenient for me
—as she abruptly realized all the times it had been true and she'd never even considered sending him off. Never even thought of inconveniencing
him
.
But Druid only growled once, and then dismissed whatever he'd detected, returning his worried attention to Brenna.
Someone he knew, then. She didn't think that would include Russell. She found herself almost disappointed she wouldn't get to act out her new epiphany—and then dreading the effort of dealing with whoever it really was.
Brenna pushed away from the hay bales and went through the barn on wobbly knees, not bothering to admire her newly hung gate this time. And when she rounded the corner and saw the pale, becoming-familiar lines of Masera's SUV, she could have sobbed with relief.
When she saw him sitting against the front hood, one heel propped against the bumper, his dark form relaxed and waiting, she did. "Iban!"
His head whipped around; he'd been looking across the yard, as though she might have been off at Emily's. She didn't think about it; she dropped Druid's leash and ran for him, so full of relief she was no longer alone in this suddenly terrifying journey that she didn't even hesitate. Not caring that he was startled, not caring that there was anger left unresolved between them. Not caring that he'd never held her before—and knowing that his arms would close around her just as they did, firm but careful. Warm. As if for that instant, she could let herself believe she was safe here. No matter what. Darkness be damned.
But the instant was bound to end.
He stood, moving to the side, maintaining contact. And when he said, "Brenna?" it was as much a statement, an affirmation, as a question. He said it again, lower this time.
She didn't respond; she suddenly didn't know what to say, how to explain what had happened. How to admit how much she needed his help when she'd never even resolved for herself whether she trusted him at all. How to ask him to hold her for just a few moments longer before she had to face the world again. And while she was thinking about it, he changed—stiffening a little, growing somehow more focused. She felt it in his hands, the way they rested against her back, how they followed the curve of her spine. And she felt it in the set of his shoulders, how he took himself back just far enough to look at her in the darkness—though he could see no more than she, not with the moon easing from quarter down to new.
Some part of her had seen this coming, even knew the look on his face through the darkness. Intent, as usual. She shouldn't have been surprised, but somehow—since her brain had evidently ceased to function—when he buried his hands in the hair at the nape of her neck and kissed her mouth, it
did
surprise her.
So much for common sense. So much for
do I trust you or don't I
. So much for
we've got things to talk about
.