Blood Trinity (14 page)

“
Your
treasure?”

Ekkbar’s yellow eyes turned almost white with fear over his slip. Batuk knew without a doubt that Vyan had taken the stone to find a way to save the tribe, whereas Ekkbar would have saved his hide only.

The magician’s shoulders trembled. He clutched his hands together, twisting them as an old woman begging for mercy. “I meant only that I treasured the stone, yes, only that. All treasures are yours, my lord. All yours.” He bowed his head again.

Batuk had to fight the urge to kick him. But he didn’t want to sully his foot. “You never did tell me how the Ngak Stone came to be in your possession to begin with, Ekkbar, did you?”

A shadow fell across Ekkbar’s face, guilt peeking through before he brightened. “You did not ask, and I could not say while banished from your sight. I found the rock glowing in a creek near where you battled the Belador heathens back before we were cursed. Wicked heathens. I had just placed the stone in my chest upon returning to camp—but only to
keep it safe for you, my lord—when Shiva sent us to live here. Most unkind of our god. Most unkind.”

Don’t remind me
. “Where is the stone now?”

“I know not for sure—”

Batuk pounded his fists on the arms of his chair. The carved snakes came to life, striking out at Ekkbar, who slid backward on his knees as if gliding upon a majik carpet. “I warned you not to sow false hopes.”

Steel clanged throughout the great hall when each warrior struck his sword against the rock walls in anger, hungry for Batuk to toss Ekkbar to them.

Ekkbar remained on his knees, shoulders now quaking with fear. “My lord … please. You are an honorable warrior. Hear me out before you decide if I have deceived you.”

Lifting his hand to silence the noise, Batuk released a sigh that built from deep in his gut. “Speak.”

Ekkbar floated forward again, his folded legs a hand’s width above the floor when he stopped just out of striking distance. He warily eyed the snakes, which had returned to carved serpents, and continued, “What I meant to say was that I do not know the precise location, but I have had a vision of the Ngak Stone. It still resides in the creek where the stone was lost during Vyan’s battle with the Beladors. The Ngak Stone will cause a giant shovel to dig this creek up soon, bringing the rock to rest upon
the bank. The stone will reveal itself to a new master before the full moon three nights from now.”

“Will the Ngak Stone choose Vyan again?”

The squirt of noise from Ekkbar’s lips conveyed his disgust for Vyan, no doubt because the warrior had outwitted the magician the last time a portal had opened. “I believe the stone chose Vyan
only
for his two hands that carried the stone out of here, not to be a master, or the stone would have remained within his grasp. The stone has always chosen a powerful being, but this time it waits for a woman.”

“The witch?” Batuk ground his fists against the arms of his chair. Snake eyes glowed with life.

“No, no, my lord. The witch does not want to touch the stone. She claims it carries majik that will fight hers. And she warns that if you or any of your men touch the stone when you arrive in Atlanta, the Beladors will know that you are in their world before you have the chance to use the rock. She tells me she has seen this in a scrying bowl.”

“If neither I nor my men can touch the stone, how will it serve me to be at the mercy of Beladors, who will outnumber our ten?”

“The witch has a plan, yes, she has a plan.” Ekkbar’s kneeling body floated up with his excitement. “Once she brings you and your men out, she will tell you how to find a being who can gain the Ngak Stone for you.”

“What is this being who will help us?”

“An Alterant.”

Batuk scowled at the unfamiliar term. “A what?”

“Someone who is born part Belador …” Ekkbar lifted his hands palms out as he waited on Batuk’s snarling to quiet. “And part unknown. Yes, this being has the blood of your enemy but is shunned by the Beladors.”

“I trust
no
Beladors!”

“This is not a true Belador but one who is considered a lowly mongrel, a castoff their tribe holds in low respect. Alterants change into dangerous beasts and have killed Beladors.”

Batuk sat back in his throne, scratching his beard. “A Belador beast that kills its own tribe? I have not heard of this.”

If a shriveled-up male could preen, the foolish magician did just such. “I am most pleased to bring you good news. Most pleased.”

“What does this witch want in return?” Batuk began to believe this hairless blight on his existence might actually have found a way out of Shiva’s curse.

“After you have gained what you most desire, the witch says you may take the Ngak Stone and do as you please if you give her the Alterant to do with as she pleases.”

That was it? He could keep the most powerful stone in creation and all the witch wanted was this Alterant?

Batuk hesitated.
When something seems too easy, it always is
. No one would give up the stone for something so petty. Not without good reason.

But that being said, they could deal with the witch and the Alterant once they escaped and had the stone. Then the world would bow and tremble before them. Their wrath would be legendary.

“Tell the witch she has a bargain.”

Storm slowed his 1979 FJ-40 Land Cruiser to a crawl. Not by choice. He doubted anyone else caught in this gnarled I-75 traffic slowed down by choice either.

At least he had sweet-smelling scenery inside
his
cab.

He shifted his gaze sideways to where Evalle Kincaid leaned her head and shoulder against the passenger door.

As soon as they’d left the war room, she’d told him how tired she was. He didn’t doubt her exhaustion—she had the bags under her eyes to prove it. That’s why he’d allowed her to bail on him after she’d executed an exaggerated yawn on the way to
his truck and asked if he minded her taking a quick nap.

Avoidance would only work for so long, but he’d agreed.

Evalle had hugged her body as tight as she’d been able against the passenger door, acting as if she rested. But the muscles in her folded arms had been tense and her shoulders had curved inward defensively.

Nobody that tight would have been able to sleep no matter their exhaustion.

He was a hunter, a patient man who could wait out skittish prey, so he’d murmured a few words asking the spirits to ease her soul and allow her to rest.

Within minutes of their leaving VIPER’s HQ, Evalle had relaxed into a boneless heap. He’d slipped off her sunglasses, since the interior was so dark with Sen’s protective warding that the dash lights were on even though it was midafternoon outside. Sen hadn’t warded the truck from the sun or stuck the motorcycle trailer on the back with her crotch rocket as any favor to Evalle. He’d wanted to force her into an uncomfortable situation for two hours.

Sen hadn’t said he was gunning for Evalle, but even the blind could see he had a private agenda when it came to her.

Storm understood private agendas. He had one as well and would fulfill his agreement with Sen, but on his own terms.

Which was why he’d helped Evalle sleep almost the entire drive. She shifted, her black Gore-Tex riding clothes shushing against his vinyl seats. The movement stirred her scent around the cab. She had an earthy smell, something that piqued his interest in a way Adrianna-the-sex-toy-witch hadn’t. With all the lacy trimmings on the outside, Adrianna blew cold as an arctic winter on the inside.

Took more than window dressing to make a woman desirable.

He liked his women with fire under the surface. Evalle might project a chilly façade, but she had a core of heat he’d bet would burst into an inferno with a little encouragement.

But he couldn’t afford the distraction right now or get close to someone he was tasked with keeping an eye on.

No hardship there.

Her unzipped jacket had fallen open while she slept.

She wore a loose T-shirt underneath, but from the way she slumped it was pulled tight over her hard stomach, showing her body off to perfection. A wisp of thick lashes hid her finely shaped eyes above soft cheeks. He’d seen the shape of her eyes through her sunglasses, but not the color.

Didn’t matter. They could be purple or blaze orange and she’d still be beautiful. Her hair had dried
during the ride, sweeping loosely over her shoulders. One long tendril lay quietly along her neck.

Only his iron will stopped him from reaching over to stroke his fingers through all that plush hair, black as a sinful thought.

He hadn’t enjoyed a female since …

He’d lost his soul.

Just another reason not to touch this one.

Traffic started moving again in his peripheral vision, pulling him back to the task of reaching downtown by three. He wanted time to snoop around after dropping her off at her home.

He caught a tiny movement within the cab. A human without heightened powers of perception would not have noticed, but it drew his attention to Evalle.

She studied him surreptitiously from beneath eyelashes hovering low over her pink cheeks.

He could let her sleep, but he wanted her company. “Feel better?”

She hesitated for a second, but to her credit she opened her eyes—exotic green eyes the color of a baby salamander—and sat up right away, stretching. “Much. Where are we?”

“Just inside the perimeter.”

She stopped moving as she realized her eyes were uncovered. “Where are my sunglasses?”

“Above the visor over your head.”

Once she had them on again she sat back and rested her arm along the edge of the window, tapping her fingers. “What’s got traffic bogged down in the middle of the afternoon? This sucks, even for Atlanta.”

“Wreck two miles ahead, but it’ll be cleared soon.”

Her eyes took in the radio he hadn’t turned on since leaving VIPER. “And you would know this how?”

He laughed at the obvious leap she’d made. “You think I’m psychic?”

“In our line of work, that wouldn’t surprise me. I don’t know what shamans can do.”

Storm suppressed the wry chuckle stirring in his chest. Sen had called him a Navajo shaman because Sen believed what he’d been told by an agent in the northeastern division where Storm had spent the last eight months. A fair assumption, based on what Storm had led everyone there to believe. Tracing a person’s background in the world of humans was much easier than determining the origins of those with supernatural powers.

He was not entirely Navajo nor exactly a shaman.

Storm grinned at her. “You think shamans can’t read electronic message boards with traffic warnings … like the one a couple miles back?”

“Oh, crud. Forgot about those.” She smiled at herself, unable to stop a flush of embarrassment.

Seeing her face light with a casual happiness pulled at him, rousing a warm feeling he hadn’t
experienced in a long while. A human feeling. He considered telling her the truth—that he
had
seen the car collision ahead in his mind. At one time he would have shared something so simple.

That had been before a woman he’d cared about had used things he’d told her, simple details, to steal first his soul then his father’s.

Right before she’d killed his father.

The bitch had sent his father’s spirit to wander for eternity, then turned Storm into her personal weapon.

After what seemed an eternity in hell, he’d finally figured out how to break free of her.

She’d disappeared, but he would find her. No matter what—even if he had to hunt her through multi-dimensions. And when he did, he’d free his father first and get his own soul back next.

“So
are
you or are you
not
psychic?” Evalle looked anywhere but at him.

“Sometimes.” That was all she was going to get out of him.

He’d been born with a few gifts—thanks to his South American Ashaninka grandfather—such as the ability to affect emotional response around him and to strip the truth from a liar.

“Hmm.” If she moved any closer to the passenger door, she’d meld with it.

He opened his senses to Evalle’s emotions. She
was as calm as a summer sky ahead of a brewing storm, waiting for him to pounce on her. Might as well get to the heart of what had her agitated. “Tell me about Alterants.”

“Like Sen hasn’t filled you in?”

Storm ignored the swirl of anger Evalle generated and pressed again. “Is it true the last one killed nine Beladors before it was destroyed?”

Her anger whipped through her as she tensed. “He.”

That anger confused him. “He what?”

“You called the Alterant ‘it.’ We’re not things. We’re people, just as much as you or anyone else born of human parents. Yes,
he
shifted and killed Beladors.”

During the time Storm had been with VIPER, little had been said about Alterants until that incident. VIPER had a no-tolerance policy when it came to talking about agency business.

They silenced those who spoke too freely. Permanently.

But word traveled fast when one beast killed nine powerful beings. Impressive for any creature. He doubted mentioning that would encourage more dialogue at this point. “What else can you tell me about Alterants?”