Full Moon Rising (22 page)

I flattened my foot. The old van shuddered and began to pick up speed, blowing smoke as I sped out of the rest stop and headed for the free-flowing traffic on the Hume Highway.

A quick glance in the mirror told me the second guard was almost close enough to open the back doors. I didn't think I could eke any more speed out of the van, so I did the next best thing--cut from the merge lane into the left lane, right in front of a car. Tires squealed behind me. I looked up to see a Ford slither sideways, clipping the rear of the van and throwing me forward. As I battled to keep the van straight, the Ford spun into the path of the guard, throwing him up and over the hood. He landed on the strip between the merge lane and the left lane, and didn't move.

I sped on. I'd escaped. Now I just had to get back to my brother. One thing was certain--I couldn't do it in the van. It was too hot--because of the accident, and because my escape was undoubtedly being reported back to those behind the kidnapping attempt.

I took the off-ramp to Seymour and eased up on the accelerator. The last thing I needed was to be picked up by the cops. I cruised through town, turning into a side street near the outskirts. This I followed until I came to a crossroad. After looking both ways, I headed right, simply because it was a dirt track that disappeared into trees.

When I was deep within shadows, I pulled off the road and stopped. It was then that reaction set in. For several seconds, I didn't move, simply sat there, sucking in breath and swallowing bile, my whole body trembling.

Eventually, I found the strength to move. I grabbed the phone, then opened my door. The chains on my legs weren't long, forcing me to jump down rather than climb.

Evening was coming on, painting the patches of sky visible through the gums with red. The air was cool, filled with the scents of eucalyptus and grass. In the distance, cows mooed, and, beyond that, water rustled.

I shoved the phone in my pocket and headed that way. I needed a drink more than I needed anything else. Besides, I had to put distance between me and the van.

But walking through scrub isn't easy, particularly when chained. By the time I had reached the river, my throat was parched, my head pounded, my muscles were protesting every step, and the trees were doing a mad dance around me.

I dropped to my knees on the muddy riverbank, and greedily scooped up some water. It tasted of dirt, but it was wet and cold, and that was all that mattered. I splashed some over my face and neck, then washed the blood from my left hand.

Kookaburras laughed in the distance. I would have laughed with them, had I the energy. What a mess. So much for Jack's thinking I'd make a good guardian.

With a sigh, I stripped off my coat, then tore off the sleeve of my sweater to reveal the wound. It was another mess--swollen, red, with a hole as big as my fist. It had scabbed over, and was no longer bleeding, but it didn't look good. I needed to change to my wolf shape, needed to let my natural healing capabilities do their stuff. But with the chains on, I was trapped in human form.

I wet my sleeve, washed down my arm, then wrapped the cloth around the wound. As bandages went, it wasn't particularly hygienic, but I didn't have any other option. Besides, the cool wetness felt good against my feverish skin. I put my coat back on, then rose and studied the surroundings.

Where to now?

I rubbed my throbbing head and stared almost blindly at the trees on the other side of the small river. I couldn't go back to town with the chains on, couldn't risk going anywhere near the freeway. I needed help and I needed it fast, as I had a vague suspicion my arm was going to get a lot worse. I had the phone, but did I dare use it? Satellite tracking was so sophisticated these days, they could pinpoint to the millimeter anything that had a satellite chip in it--and most phones did.

That thought made me pull the phone out of my pocket. It wasn't on, but did it matter? I didn't know. Couldn't think. I stared at it for a moment longer, then threw it onto the ground and stomped on it, before kicking the broken remains into the river. Better safe than sorry.

For several seconds, I simply stared at the horizon and swayed, wondering what I should do. Then I made my decision and walked into the river, angling sharply across it. The chains snagged on every rock, and after what seemed the hundredth time, it occurred to me that I should lift them out of the way.

I finally reached the bank and pushed myself into a lope. Through the blur that was beginning to overtake my mind came one thought--I needed distance between me and the van.

The red flags of dusk faded into night. The chiming of the chains mingled with the chirruping of crickets, and in the long grass to the right and the left, small creatures rustled. Overhead, the moon was rising, a presence I could feel more than see. I ran on. Sweat bathed my body and my muscles shook. Every breath seared my lungs, yet it was nothing compared to the pain flowing from the wound on my arm. It felt like someone was holding a hot iron to my flesh, and just burning, burning.

I stumbled across the road before I even realized it was there. I staggered back, chest heaving as I battled to suck in the air my body desperately craved. The sign danced and blurred before my eyes, and I blinked. It didn't seem to help much. With a shaking hand, I wiped the sweat from my face, and tried to focus. Baker's Road, God knew where. I looked up and down the dusty expanse, seeing no hint of civilization either way. I sniffed the air. The faint smell of spring caressed the night--jasmine. Not something normally found in the wilds of the bush. There had to be a house somewhere close.

I headed back to the trees and walked parallel to the road. Cows mooed nearby and I moved back to the road. A building came into view--it didn't look to be a house, more a two-story tin shed that had power lines running to it. Maybe--hopefully--a weekend retreat. One that was unoccupied.

I stopped and switched to the infrared of my vampire vision. No red splotches indicated life anywhere close--nothing beyond the cows, anyway.

Relief surged, leaving me trembling and weaker than ever. I forced my feet to move on and listened intently. There was nothing to be heard beyond the crickets and the cows. The scent of jasmine got stronger, and I sneezed. Half the shed was covered in the vine--obviously, the owners didn't get hay fever.

The door was locked. I stood back and kicked it, almost toppling in the process. The door flew open, and the cow nearest me snorted and leapt away.

The scents of vanilla, red gum, and mustiness flowed from the shed but were quickly overpowered by the jasmine. I stepped inside and closed the door. Though it was pitch-black, my vampire vision allowed me to see that the room was a combined kitchen, dining, and living area, all in one big expanse. What looked like stairs were near the back, presumably leading upstairs to the bedroom. And near them, a phone.

Relief surged through me and I staggered over. Plonking down on a step, I reached over and picked up the receiver. Dial tone. If I'd had the energy, I would have danced.

The numbers were a smudge I couldn't make out, forcing me to dial through touch more than sight. I called Jack rather than Rhoan, simply because my brother would have felt my distress and would no doubt be out looking for me--soreness or no soreness. And while Liander would be with him, my fuzzy brain couldn't recall his number. As the phone rang, I leaned against the banister and tried to ignore the pounding in my brain and my arm. Tried to ignore the fact the darkness seemed to be closing in on me.

"Parnell here."

I closed my eyes, never in my life more relieved to hear my boss's gruff tones. "Jack, it's Riley."

"Jesus, girl, where are you? We found your car--"

The world was spinning, burning, darkening, and time was something I didn't have much of. Not before that darkness claimed me, anyway. I cut him off. "I'm somewhere in the wilds beyond Seymour. In a shed, on a Baker's Road. There are cows . . . and jasmine."

"Riley? Keep the line open, and we'll do a trace."

"They're tracing me," I said. "Hurry . . ."

My voice faded, and the blackness sucked me away.

W
hen awareness surfaced, it was once again to the sensation of pain. In my arm, my wrists, and ankles. Burning, agonizing pain.

I shifted, moaning softly, trying to escape the heat and yet unable to. Cool cotton caressed my skin as I moved, and it was then I realized I was no longer on the stairs, but somewhere warm and soft. Water touched my forehead, icy against my fevered skin.

"It's okay," a velvet rich voice assured. "You're okay."

How could I be okay when it felt like I was lying in the middle of an oven? "Quinn?"

"Yes. You're safe, Riley."

I licked dry lips and forced my eyes open. His face hovered above me, angelic face expressionless but dark eyes lit with fury.

"I'm sorry," I croaked, "but I couldn't let you take Rhoan to Sydney. Not until I'd talked to him."

"Don't worry about it."

"Where are we?"

"Still at the farmhouse."

I swore softly and tried to rise, but my muscles felt like water. He held me down easily.

"They'll find us," I protested.

"If anyone finds us here, I'll deal with them." Though his tone was flat, his expression left me in no doubt as to
how
he'd deal with them. "For now, you need to rest."

"I can't." I sounded like a petulant child, and that's exactly how I felt. "It feels like I'm on fire."

"I know." His voice was grim. "Rhoan will be back soon."

"From where? Why isn't he here?"

"Hush," he said softly. "Just rest and conserve your strength."

His words were an order my body seemed eager to obey. I closed my eyes, but the burning would not be ignored. I shifted my hand, trying to find a more comfortable place to rest it, and heard the clink of chains. "Why are they still on?"

"Because there's nothing here strong enough to cut them." His mind surged into my mind, a cool force that would not be denied.
Sleep, Riley.

Against my instincts, against my will, I did.

When I next woke, the pain had finally eased. I lay in darkness, and no longer felt like I was under the grill setting in an oven. The ache in my arm had muted, on a par with the pain coming from my ankles and wrists. I shifted, and was relieved to hear only the whisper of the sheets. The chains had finally gone.

I opened my eyes. Saw shadows mingling with strings of cobwebs. I blinked, noted the corrugated iron roof beyond the cobwebs, and realized I was still in the shed. The air was dusty, rich with the scent of wood and smoke and vanilla. But overpowering that was the warm scent of spice and leather. A scent I'd recognize anywhere. I smiled and looked left.

Rhoan sat in a chair near the bed, his short red hair sticking out at all sorts of angles, his bare feet propped up on the dresser, legs slightly apart. He wasn't wearing jeans, simply black boxers, but he did have a sweater on. Again, it was black. Considering his love of bright colors, finding him in basic black was quite a surprise.

His smoke-colored gaze met mine, and I saw the relief there. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake."

His voice was etched with tiredness, and I raised an eyebrow. "The wound was obviously worse than I'd thought."

He took his feet off the dresser and walked carefully over. The bed creaked as he sat down. "Worse is an understatement."

He picked up my hand and held it to his chest, just over his heart. The steady beat reverberated through my fingers, and I knew, without his saying a word, just how close I'd come to leaving this life.

"Don't ever try and die on me again, you hear? It's not allowed. Ever."

Tears touched my eyes, and I blinked them away. "But it was just an arrow--"

"An arrow made of silver," he cut in. "With barbs that had been designed to break off in your flesh and travel through your system. You were being poisoned, inside and out."

Horror recoiled through me. No wonder I'd burned. I swallowed, but it didn't seem to ease the dryness in my throat. "But why would they do that if they were after the same thing from me as they were from you?"

He shrugged. "Jack's theory is that a woman is born with all the eggs she'll ever have, whereas a man keeps on producing sperm. Maybe those eggs were all they really wanted."