“Riley—”
“No,” I said. Forcefully, flatly. “No more. There’s nothing else you can say or do to make this any better.”
He stared at me for several seconds, an aching, angry heat I could feel more than see, then turned on his heels and walked out.
As the door clicked shut, the tears came. Great, sobbing gasps of pain that came from deep within, from the place that had held so many dreams.
Dreams that now lay shattered and broken on the ground.
Just like my heart.
About the Author
KERI ARTHUR
received a “Perfect 10” from
Romance Reviews Today
and was nominated for Best Shapeshifter in
PNR
’s PEARL Awards and in the Best Contemporary Paranormal category of the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Awards. She lives with her husband and daughter in Melbourne, Australia.
A
LSO BY
K
ERI
A
RTHUR
Full Moon Rising
Kissing Sin
Tempting Evil
Dangerous Games
If you are a fan of Riley Jenson,
be sure not to miss
Destiny Kills
the start of an exciting new series from
New York Times bestselling author
K
ERI
A
RTHUR
Destiny McCrae is a woman like no other.
And her story will hook you from the
moment she wakes up,
naked on a beach, with no memory, powers
she can’t explain,
and a strange tattoo on her back….
On sale February 2008
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Destiny Kills
On sale February 2008
Some things I remember.
Some things I can’t.
Like who I am.
Or how come I’m sitting here naked on a beach next to a dead man.
And yet I know
why
I’m here. I’m waiting for the dawn, to give him a final kiss good-bye before she guides his soul onto its next life.
The breeze that curls around me is cold, as cold as the surrounding sand is harsh. And yet these sensations are a fleeting thing. Goose bumps might tremble across my skin, and sand might grate against my buttocks and thighs, but both fail to register on anything more than a flesh level. I feel no cold, no pain, no sorrow.
Nothing.
It’s as if I’m dead inside. As dead as the man lying beside me. Yet, for some reason, I’m still breathing and he isn’t.
Why?
It’s a question that haunts me, teasing the frozen edges of my thoughts and memories.
Why him and not me?
I don’t know, I just don’t know, and yet I know it’s a question that’s important. I know my life might well depend on the answer.
I drew my knees close to my chest and studied the distant horizon. Though dawn was yet to stain night’s cover, it was coming. Already its warm power vibrated across the air, an eager humming that was both familiar and alien. I didn’t understand the sensation, didn’t know the reason behind it, and yet the mere fact I could feel it had relief sweeping through me.
It was frustrating, this not knowing. Not remembering.
I let my gaze move across the ocean, watching the waves roll lazily toward the sand, seeing nothing out there in that vast expanse of white-capped blueness. No ship. No boat. No pursuit.
But I didn’t bother questioning why I was expecting any of those things because the past remained locked under a blanket that was almost absolute.
Almost.
I rubbed a hand across eyes that felt like they’d cried a thousand tears, then glanced down at the body of my friend. I might not remember my own name, but I knew his. Egan Jamieson. Not only my friend, but also my guardian, my lover, and a man to whom I owed a debt more important than life itself.
He’d saved me.
He’d given me freedom at the cost of his own.
The need for revenge welled deep and fast and furious, until I was all but shaking with it. They would pay for this. Whoever they were, they would pay.
For Egan.
For all of us.
A vow that was useless unless I could damn well remember who, exactly, I needed to take revenge upon.
I grimaced and returned my gaze to Egan. In the fading moonlight, his skin seemed to glow with a rich warmth, as if the sun itself still burned beneath his flesh. A birthmark marred his back, a snakelike stain that seemed to dive into his skin and out again, until it almost coiled around his spine. In the night, it took on a reddish-gold appearance and contained a sheen oddly reminiscent of scales.
I shifted, and ran a gentle finger down the mark. It was cool and leathery compared to his skin, as if it were indeed scales. In life, he’d never let me touch the mark he hated. It was a mark that had cost him dearly, he’d once said, but had never explained why or how.
Oddly enough, I’d never felt anything but pride about my own mark, which was similar to his in every way except color. Mine was all blues and greens and silvers, as if the brightness of a sunlit sea danced upon the surface of my skin. An inheritance from my mother, not my father.
I blinked at the thought, then grabbed it hard and tried to follow it back. But the fog of forgetfulness snapped in place, and all that was left were questions.
Yet more fucking questions.
I blew out a breath, then stretched out my left leg as the throb of pain finally began to impinge on my senses. There were scrapes across my kneecaps, and deeper cuts down my shins, cuts accompanied by darkening patches that indicated bruising. But none of the wounds were currently bleeding, and there was no blood dried against my skin.
I glanced at the sea. No footprints marred the pristine sands. Not for as far as I could see. Nor were there vehicle tracks of any kind. Though I guess with the tide coming in, none of that was really surprising.
But still, I had a feeling we’d come from the sea, that my skin bore no stain of blood because it had long since been washed away. That the wounds themselves were clean rather than festering, because of the saltwater.
I let my gaze follow the gentle curve of the beach until it reached the distance point. No lighthouse, no buildings, no indication of movement or life. Nothing to say where we were.
Maybe we were both dead. Maybe this was nothing more than the dream of waiting that came before the soul moved on to the next life.
I again glanced down at Egan. I knew if I rolled him off his stomach, I’d see the bloody stain in the sand. See what remained of his chest after those bastards had shot him.
I closed my eyes and pushed the resulting images away. There were some things I didn’t
want
to remember, and the bloody mess of his chest—the way he’d struggled to survive, to remain free—was one of them.
And yet, while he might have fought them to the very end, he’d done it for my sake. He’d once said that for all intents and purposes, he was dead to the outside world, so why did anything matter? That had made no sense to me at the time, and even less so now, when he’d given his life for it.
The hum in the air intensified. Energy danced across my skin, a crazy tingling that warmed the chill from my soul. I watched the horizon, waiting, as the hum of power reached a crescendo and slivers of red and gold suddenly broke across the sky. Warmth began to flood through my body, as if the rising of the dawn was also a rebirth of my emotional and sensory centers. A stupid thought, really, when I was just at home in deep, dark waters that had never seen the sun, never known warmth.
God, it was so damn
frustrating
getting little snippets and hints here and there, but never any real, definitive answers or memories.
I drew my knees close again, ignoring the slivers of pain and the blood that began to trickle down one leg, watching as the sunlight spread, smothering the stars and warming the night from the sky.
Watching as the growing light gradually flushed across Egan’s unmoving body.
The warmth still radiating under his skin seemed to stir as the daylight caressed him, growing brighter as the day did, until the intensity made my eyes water and forced me to look away.
Still the heat and the brightness grew, until my own skin glowed under its radiance. But flesh was not designed to contain such heated iridescence for long, especially when that skin no longer belonged to a living, breathing soul. As the light broke free, reaching skyward with exuberant fingers, tears began to trickle down my cheeks.
“May the Gods of sun and sea and lake guide you on your journey, my friend,” I whispered, my voice croaky, hinting at long disuse. “And may you find in the next life what you could not in this.”
Then the radiance caressing my skin began to die, taking with it the underlying hum of energy. Day had broken. It was only those in-between times—first light or twilight—that held the great moments of power.
There was nothing left of Egan. Nothing except the stain of blood on the sand and an odd glint of silver. His ring.
I reached out and carefully plucked it free from its resting place. In the growing sunlight, the rubies glinting in the coiled serpent’s eyes glowed like fire. It had always sent a shiver down my spine, this ring, despite the obvious workmanship and beauty.
When I’d asked him about it, Egan’s golden eyes had grown somber. “It belongs to a path that was mine, one taken forcibly from me,” he’d said, and in his normally calm tone there’d been an undercurrent that was an odd mix of anger and resignation. “But one day, maybe you could help me return this ring to the man to whom it truly belongs.”
I’d always gotten the feeling that the task would not be a pleasant one.
I closed my fingers around the serpent, pressing the cold metal into my palm. I might not be able to do anything else for Egan, but I could do this. Find the ring’s owner and return it. And perhaps along the way, discover its history and the reasons why Egan had had murder on his mind.
Because it was an odd desire for a man who claimed nothing mattered anymore.
I pushed upright. A dozen different aches came to life, and weakness trembled through my limbs. The sort of weakness that came from long hours of constant activity. My gaze went to the ocean, leaping across the waves to the distant horizon.
Somewhere out there laid the answers.
Somewhere out there laid my home.
But until the fog encasing my memories cleared, I could not blindly walk out into the sea and just start swimming. The ocean was a vast and often angry being, and I could not tempt her waters without a destination in mind.
It was a thought that raised my eyebrows. I might not be dead, but madness was surely a possibility. I mean, what sane rational mind contemplated swimming
oceans
?
I
did.
Because I could. Because I had.
I rubbed my forehead wearily, aware for the first time of the slight ache behind my eyes. Maybe when it passed, my memories would fully return. Maybe then I’d know what sort of creature contemplated swimming the oceans as easily as a bird might fly.
Because whatever I was, it wasn’t human. That was a certainty I felt deep in my bones, deep in my soul.
But until memory resurfaced, one thing was certain. I couldn’t stand here naked and exposed on a beach. The mere fact that someone had blown a hole through Egan’s chest suggested someone would rather see us dead than free. And that, in turn, meant they’d surely be looking for me.
I turned around. Rugged cliffs ranged high above the pristine sands, lining and isolating the long sweep of beach. There were tracks—paths made by the passage of feet over time, meaning this place, wherever it was, was at least reachable. Which meant there surely had to be some sort of city or town, or at least a dwelling, nearby.
The first thing I needed was clothing, simply because the last thing I needed was to attract attention.
I glanced over my shoulder, studying the rolling waves for a moment, then resolutely made my way to the cliffs and the nearest track.
No one but goddamn goats had been using
that
particular track, let me tell you.
I was sweating, shaking, and wheezing by the time I finally got to the top. I leaned my hands on my aching knees, sucking in great gulps of air as I studied the surrounding countryside.
The slope rolled down to a small cottage. The area around the cottage wasn’t fenced, and a blue car sat out in front, indicating someone was home. Beyond the house, the slope rose again, and the tops of pine trees were evident beyond it.
I glanced back at the house. The cottage didn’t look big enough to be a permanent residence, so maybe it was one of those places vacationers rented out short term. I hoped so, because vacationers were more likely to go out for the day, leaving their possessions—or, more particularly, their clothes—unprotected.