Dark Rival (2 page)

She was a good shot, but not after that kind of blow; still she got him in the shoulder. Bad news was, he had so much power after taking the life from a victim that a shot wasn't going to do much except cause a bit of inhuman bloodshed. He laughed at her and vanished into the stars.

She hoped his shoulder hurt like hell!

Allie reeled, still in pain from the blow. Then she flung the gun into the convertible's backseat and staggered to the prone victim.

Her senses began to work. The night was still and dead—lifeless.

Allie knelt, knowing it was too late. Had the woman still been alive, she would feel a flicker of her life.

The vic lay unmoving on her back, clad in a pretty halter top and skirt, eyes sightless. Allie cried out, because she couldn't be more than fifteen years old. If was not fair.

She was so tired of the malicious murders. For every human being she healed, there were hundreds of victims like this one, their lives stolen by the monsters who stalked the innocent in the night and then used that power to cause even more mayhem and death.

But there was no end in sight. Social commentators kept talking about the breakdown of modern society, how the murder rate was sky high—and ninety percent of all murders now were pleasure crimes. That is, the victims did not struggle. Somehow, they were seduced by complete strangers, and bodily fluids showed numerous orgasms. But the victims all died. As if old and feeble, their hearts simply stopped during intercourse.

But the victims were always young and beautiful and in perfect health. There was no reasonable medical explanation for heart failure.

Of course there wasn’t.

Because science could not explain evil and it never would.

The far right wanted the death penalty for these perverts. The far right blamed law enforcement and the state and federal governments for the failure to apprehend these perps and for the rising crime rate. The far left wanted more studies and more research: they wanted better inner-city education, health care, hospitals, dear God, as if the inner cities bred the perps. They did not.

The left and the right and the general public thought the criminals rapists, even though there wasn't rape. They thought the perpetrators were human. But they were wrong.

It was a huge government cover-up. These sexual criminals did not have human DNA and Allie knew it for a fact. Not only did she know it because her mother had taught her to sense, feel and understand evil the moment she was toddling, but Brianna worked in CDA—the Center for Demonic Activities.

CDA was secret, too.

The perps looked human, but they were a race of evil, preying on mankind, sent by Satan himself centuries ago. Crimes of pleasure existed in every century; what was new was the growing numbers of the demonic hordes. Their population was expanding at a terrifying rate. Something was wrong.

And she, Brie, Tabby and Sam couldn't do this alone, nor could the handfuls of healers and slavers around the world. Why, why didn't the good guys have extraordinary powers, too?

There were some in the Center who believed that a race of men existed who did fight the demons with superpowers, some of the agents swearing they had seen these warriors. The stories all varied—they were pagans, they were Christian knights, they were modern soldiers—but one thread run through every rumor: they could travel through time and they had sworn before God to fight evil. Allie grimaced. If such a race of überheroes existed, why didn't one of these pagan or medieval or modern warriors appear to help her out?

She needed someone to hold the line while she healed victims like this one.

As badly as she wanted to fight, it was hard to do so when a simple energy blow could send her across half of a football field.

Allie felt tears rising. She took the girl's hands and showered her with a healing light. “I’m sorry,” she whispered wanting to soothe her soul before it went to the next world.

And as she looked at the beautiful girl's face, her outrage knew no bounds. She showered her with more light, because she foolishly wanted to bring her back to life.

Of course, she couldn't do so. She could not resurrect the dead. She had begun healing insects and fish as a toddler, with her mother's encouragement. Every year her abilities had become stronger. By the time Elizabeth Monroe had suddenly died when Allie was ten, she'd been easily healing the flu and the common cold. At fifteen, she could heal broken bones. At sixteen, she could heal an older person with severe pneumonia. At eighteen, she had given a boy run over by a car the use of his less back. At twenty, she had healed a case of critical skin cancer.

She had to be careful—she had to be anonymous or she'd wind up being studied like a lab rat. Her mother often warned her to keep her powers secret.

There was so much she couldn't do—she couldn't give the blind their sight back, and she couldn't raise the dead. But Allie wanted to try.

She threw all the white power she had into the girl. She sat with her, tears streaking her face, straining to give her more and more white healing light. The girl remained still; her eyes remained sightless. Her heart did not beat. Allie screwed her eyes shut, refusing to quit. If only she could resurrect this girl, and save one of the demon's innocent victims! But it was hard to grasp her power now and bring it forth and send it to the girl. Still, Allie somehow sent another shower of healing power through the girl. It hint to do so and she moaned. Allie realized she was at her limits; she felt depleted, drained, exhausted, and she knew she had no more power to give.

She hadn't realized she was lying down, on her belly, until she clawed the dirt, seeking her healing power. But it was finally gone...

The ground began to spin.

Allie closed her eves, dizzy and faint. She heard voices coming from the bar but she was too weak to even tense. They were coming her wav and she couldn't move—she was

utterly defenseless. She strained her senses—there was no evil. Allie moaned and collapsed.

Her last conscious thought was that she had tried, but she hadn't resurrected the dead.

ALLIE AWOKE, feeling heavy and drugged.

She opened her eyes, feeling as if they‘d been glued shut, and tested her fingers and toes, her hands and feet, relieved that, although weak, everything was in working order. She'd been asleep, but not in her own bed and she felt nauseous, too. She started, suddenly realizing that she was in a hospital room, hooked up to various monitors and an IV. What the hell?

And instantly, she remembered trying to bring the dead girl back to life and finally passing out. Someone must have found her and called 911.

She sat up. She was seriously exhausted from the effort she'd made, but not so much that she couldn't get up and leave. She grimaced, imagining the questions she’d be asked when she summoned a nurse. Questions were to be avoided.

Allie tore the tape off the IV and was removing the needle as gently as possible when she felt warmth filling the room. She tensed, recognizing the white power, and looked up.

Her mother appeared by her bedside. Allie gasped in shock. Although her mother had died fifteen years ago. Allie had never forgotten her. Her legacy—and her compassion— had been far too great. There was no question that her mother had come to visit her from the dead, for the first time. She was as fair and blond as Allie was dark, with an oddly ageless appearance. Now she smiled at her, but her eyes shimmered with urgency.

It is time now, darling. Embrace your destiny.

Stunned, Allie reached out—but her mother was already fading. “Don't go!” she cried, sliding from the bed to stand.

But her mother kept fading, becoming a vague shadow.

Golden.

Her mother was speaking again! Allie could hear her, but her voice was weaker, nearly inaudible, as she drifted away.

But of course she was fading—it would be almost impossible for her to come back to this realm after being dead for so many years. “Mom! Don't go! What is it?” She was shocked, thrilled but she was also alarmed. If her mother was trying to communicate with her from the dead, after so many years of absence, something had to be terribly wrong.

Trust….

Her mother's image was gone, and she was alone in the small, curtained cubicle, “Who do you want me to trust? I trust you!” she cried.

The golden Master.

Allie stiffened, confused and doubtful she had heard correctly—until a stunningly clear image formed in her mind.

One of the most gorgeous and masculine men she had ever seen took over her mind. Allie saw a bronzed hunk with disheveled, dark gold, sun-streaked hair—and he was stark naked. Her interest escalated. He was a mass of bulging muscles, interesting slabs and amazingly defined planes. The man was built like the mythological Hercules—and he was packed. He was drop-dead gorgeous, with nearly perfect but oh-so-masculine features set in a very strong face. His expression was terse and hard, with stunning silver eyes that were piercing.

His body belonged on a knight from another time. In fact, she could envision him with a sword in hand. At the same time, he looked ready to rock and roll.

She swallowed, terribly breathless.

What was she doing? She was hearing her mother, speaking from the dead, and fantasizing about the kind of man she'd never meet, except maybe in a romance novel. But his expression wasn't one she could ever make up, not in a million years. What did that mean? And did it matter? She had to get the hell out of the hospital before someone tried to question her.

“Allie?”

Allie tensed as one of her best friends stepped through the curtains. Brianna Rose was a dead ringer for Jennifer Garner, but it was almost impossible to realize that, because she wore shapeless suits and black eyeglasses, and pulled her hair severely back. She was the shyest person Allie knew. She was also the smartest, a true techno-geek. Their gazes locked as Brianna hurried to her.

“Why did you cruise alone?” Brie whispered her pretty green eyes clearly visible in spite of the serious spectacles she wore, which only enhanced her nerdy appearance. “I saw what happened!”

“I’m okay.” Allie whispered. Brie had the Sight. She was also highly empathic. Of course she'd have rushed to Allie’s side after she'd made herself so sick. “Aren't you late for work?”

“It's six in the morning,” Brie returned. “They brought you in at
3.00am
. I’m sorry! I was at HCU all night—I was so engrossed in a case—or I'd have known sooner. Sam and Tabby are outside. C'mon. Let's get you out of here before CDA gets wind of this.”

Allie seized her hands. “Brie, I just saw my mom.”

Brianna hesitated.
 
“We'll talk later," she said after a significant pause.

ALLIE STUDIED HERSELF critically in the mirror. Her father was holding a political fundraiser and she had to be downstairs in a few moments. Concealer hid the dark circles that remained under her eyes. While she was feeling better, she was not herself and she knew it.
 
She had gone too far, trying to raise the dead.

The sea-foam chiffon evening gown floated sensually down her body and made her olive complexion and dark eyes glow. Allie had used some serious teal eye shadow, dark liner and now she added pale gloss to her lips. For someone who'd awoken in the hospital that morning, she looked okay.

“Alison Monroe, you are late!” Her other best friend. Tabby, sailed into the room, looking drop-dead gorgeous in a bronze evening gown. She'd recently divorced and Allie knew the smile was fake—she'd been dumped for a younger woman and her heart was badly broken.

“You look awesome,” Allie smiled.

“Thanks. I almost feel pretty again,” Tabby said closing the door. Tabby was of medium height, slim and blond; when she wasn't practicing spells and scrying for evil, she was practicing yoga. She was a first-grade teacher and her ex was a Wall Street high roller. It had been a Cinderella story—or so they'd both thought. “I'm giving yon a beads-up. Brian wants to know why you walked out on him last night.”

Allie grimaced. “I guess I got caught.”

“Not for the first time,” Tabby said softly. “I hate it when you cruise alone! You could get hurt! You did get hurt. Thank the gods Brie felt it so we could rescue you from the clutches of the police.”

Tabby no longer smiled. Tabby, Sam and Brianna knew her secret—they'd known she could heal since they'd become friends as children. But Allie knew their secrets, too. As Rose women, they all had powers, which they used to fight evil. Tabby and Sam were sisters, and Brie was their cousin. Although Brie worked in CDA, no one knew her ability to see the future, and they all kept the lowest profile imaginable. “I guess another one bites the dust,” Tabby remarked.

Allie glanced away. Brian had stalled to act like he was really interested in her, and that was not a good thing. Men had always swarmed to her like bees to honey. Yet she'd never been able to do more than go through the motions of being in love. She was twenty-five and she'd never been in love, not even a schoolgirl crush.

And she was always getting caught sneaking out in the middle of the night—and it was still just as hard trying to make up excuses. That behavior ended every relationship, sooner or later. Allie knew she didn't have time for love. In fact, love would probably interfere with her destiny as a Healer.

“I'm so tired of lying—and hiding who I really am.” Allie said, sitting down on the bed. “But of course I’ll tell him you called with a broken heart and I had to come right over.”

“At least you’re not in love,” Tabby said significantly, referring to her own broken heart.

Before Allie could answer, Sam came in without knocking. While Tabby was as elegant as a woman could be, Sam had really short, choppy blond hair and favored distressed denim and biker boots. She had slipped on a very tiny, very immodest black dress for the affair, revealing the fact that she was as buff as a personal trainer, with a lot of black eye shadow and really pale lips. She was so beautiful that no amount of Rocker-Meets-Biker attitude could change that. “I heard that. Some of us are liberated women who need a guy for one thing only,” She winked at Allie.