Lost in Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Ghost Novel) (28 page)

Starting to wipe the blood from his hands, he stopped. Why bother? He was drenched to the elbow, his shirt soaked. He tossed the broken blade. Jumping down the steps, he landed with a thud, sending a cloud swirling around him.

“Emily,” he roared her name. Nothing. She had to be here. He checked every cell, alarm mounting with each wasted moment.
Calm the hell down.
Breathing deep, he saw blood on the stone. She was close. Drag marks in the dirt and dust ended at a wall. The stone didn’t fit with the passageway. Pressing his ear against the wall he heard faint scrabbling noises.

Those fucking bastards walled her up. She would be out of her mind with fear; he knew her weakness for enclosed spaces. “Emily! Thank the gods.” Pulling his other dagger from his boot, he jammed it into the mortar. It wasn’t completely dry. He pried carefully not knowing how close she might be to the stone on the other side. Digging out the mortar around the stone, bit by bit.

Scanning the darkness, he could barely make out a shirt. “I’m here, love.”

In reply, he heard a muffled sob. She was alive. Putting all his strength into tearing down the recent wall, he pulled with his hands, tumbling stone after stone to the ground. Could see her feet were bound.

“Hold on a few moments longer while I remove the last bit of stone.” Moving quickly, seeing fresh blood on her jeans and shirt, he pulled harder, a large section of the hastily put up wall came tumbling down, stones striking him as they fell. He didn’t notice, kept his eyes on her face. Covered in grime, clean where her tears had run down, she tried to speak. Her mouth moved but no sound escaped. Her eyes were full of terror, the pupils so big her eyes looked black.

“Dinna worry lass, you’re safe, I’ve got you.” He caressed her bruised cheek, noting the broken nose, black eye, and blood running down her chin.

Momentarily stopping, a fury so bright burned through him, he thought he would light up all of Scotland. They had hurt her, fastened her to the damn wall…he knew what it felt like, the agonizing pain of your arms stretched too wide, shoulders protesting trying to hold the weight, the numbness in your wrists. The intense pain inflicted upon her body.

Tamping his anger down only so he wouldn’t frighten her, he vowed to kill Rawlins for his part. Swore to kill every minion and Day Walker he could find. He ripped the iron rings from the partially set mortar, releasing her arms, catching her as she fell. Her gasp of pain and sobs broke his heart as she tried to tell him what had happened to her, stumbling over the words.

“We’re going home. I won’t ever let go.”

“I knew you’d come for me.” As he shifted her weight, she cried out. He cradled her in his arms, lifting her onto the horse in front of him. “The horse was the quickest way here. I am sorry for any pain the ride may cause.”

“Doesn’t matter, take me home.” She closed her eyes. He urged the horse into a gallop, flying over the sodden ground back to Ravensmore. Passing under the portcullis, Colin bellowed for the stable boy. He dismounted, carrying Emily as if she were made of glass, taking the stairs two at a time to their bedroom. Stumbling as he gently placed her on the bed, Colin called for help.

A fierce storm was brewing, icy rain pelting the windows, thunder rumbling across the sky as the fire crackled, warming the room.

Colin thundered for hot water, clean cloths, and clothes to be brought to him. Meg came running; Worthington behind her arms laden with food and drink.

“Milord, shall I call for the doctor?”

“There’s no time, Meg. We’ll have to make do.” Nodding, Meg went into the bathroom. Colin heard running water. Carrying Emily, jostling her broken ribs as little as possible, he held her on his knees to remove her clothes. Needed to clean the wounds, see how bad they were. Lifting his arm to tie his hair back, he frowned—his arm was bloody…he wasn’t bleeding. Looking down at her, he saw fresh blood blooming on her shirt and jeans. He stripped off her clothes.

Emily flinched, a tear running down her face. She looked up at him, searching his face. He held his breath, lost in her gaze. Colin started to raise his hand when pain sliced through him. All the battles, all the injuries…they were inconsequential compared to the agony he felt watching that lone tear trail down her cheek.

Her torso was a mass of black and blue bruises where she’d been repeatedly kicked. Above her hip, a spot he’d kissed a hundred times, was more damage…a bullet wound, blood dripping onto the stone floor. So much blood, how much had she lost? The cold air would have slowed the loss. He didn’t want to take the time but had to be sure there weren’t any other serious injuries.

Placing her in the warm water, washing her, he checked her injuries. She was in shock, not speaking, eyes glazed with pain. Her face was so pale the freckles stood out in stark contrast, the circles under her eyes, purple, gray eyes stared blankly into space.

“Not long now. We’ll get your wounds bandaged and then you can rest.” He choked on the words.

She had three broken ribs, a cracked cheekbone, broken nose, both wrists were sprained and the blasted bullet wound. He noted the powder burns, a point blank shot—thank the gods it was a clean shot, through the flesh of her left side narrowly missing her hip bone and other vital organs. The water turned rose-colored as he cleaned the blood, dirt, and grime off her. He washed her hair, feeling another cut on the back of her scalp, most likely from banging it against the stone wall, fighting as they walled her up like a common criminal.

His gut twisted in knots, he lifted her out of the tub, placing her on the table that had been set up in front of the fire. Covering her with a quilt, she was unconscious from the pain; he reached deep within himself for every ounce of strength remaining in his body, focusing on saving her. Giving everything to her.

It wasn’t enough.

Emily’s eyes flew open, fixing on Colin. She shuddered, letting out a gasp, her body limp.

“Hold on lass, no! Emily, come back to me.” Shaking her frantically, reaching for power that was wasn’t there, he had nothing left. Falling to his knees, letting out a primal scream full of gut-wrenching pain, his soul screamed out for its mate, a black yawning emptiness filled his soul, longing coursed through him…as he realized too late…he loved this woman. Didn’t want to be a wraith, wanted to protect her, keep her safe, love her for eternity. He never told her. Emily would never know how he felt.

His heart shattering at the loss, Colin leapt to his feet, destroying the room, throwing furniture against the walls, splintering anything he could get his hands on. Anything to dull the pain. She was still as a statue, gone. Grabbing the whisky, he drained the bottle. Smashing it against the hearth, he collapsed to the floor, screaming her name over and over.

“Dude, you look like something the cat wouldn’t bother dragging in.” Robert was breaking the rules to visit the cop in the hospital—screw the rules. He’d been breaking them since he signed on his first ship at the tender age of seven.

“Head’s killing me. Was I run over by a truck?”

“Close. The truck was a big sonofabitch.”

“It’s about time you showed up. I have questions and I want answers.”

“Right. Don’t think you’re really in a position to be demanding anything.” Robert pointed out the obvious.

“Don’t worry. I sold everyone that crap story you made up. I need to get out of here.” Monroe scowled, straining, causing all the monitors to start beeping at the same time.

“Oy, human—you need to calm the hell down before you rip your stomach open again.” The chart at the foot of the bed caught his eye. The bloke had died for three minutes and come back. Monroe could now interact with Walkers.

There would be hell to pay when Thorne found out what Robert was about to do. He was going to tell the cop, let the chips fall where they may—if Monroe started yapping, he’d kill him. Something told Robert they’d be seeing a lot more of this guy.

Pulling a chair close to the bed, Robert told him about Day Walkers, Shadow Walkers and the quest to protect humanity. He told him about how they killed each other, when they are strongest/weakest and how they became Walkers.

“It’s like I’m in some crazy science fiction movie—only the monsters are real. I want answers. Ever since Alice was murdered I’ve needed more, crossed lines, and taken a lot of risks to find out what’s really going on. I can’t go back. I know it’s time to move on. So can I call out to this head guy in charge, Thorne?”

“No. You have to be dying when you call out. Maybe he’ll answer, maybe not; he’s a fickle bastard. You can’t wake up one morning and decide to join us. It doesn’t work that way, cop.”

“Does Thorne have a mobile? Can’t we call him and talk about me coming on board?”

“Not even going there. Look, I’m going to get the shite kicked out of me for telling you any of this, which is fine, I can take an ass kicking but you need to give me your word you won’t mention our conversation. Not to anybody, not your partner, shrink, priest, anyone. Period. Got it?”

The cop looked thoughtful turning his gaze on Robert, “You have my word.” Holding up a hand to stop Robert from speaking, he continued, “I want to help. These assholes are running around my city killing people. This goes on much longer and the dead bodies that are young but look old will create a panic. I need to be involved.”

Robert knew he’d have to talk to Thorne. Hell, this is what he got for having one moment of being a good Samaritan. Comes back and kicks you in the face. Shrugging, he looked at the cop. It’d be nice to have some help—if the guy could survive long enough. “I’ll talk to my boss, see what he says. In the meantime, shut the hell up and get better.”

For kicks and grins, Robert vanished from the room, leaving Monroe gaping.

Friday, November 6th
The last day of the curse…

Hours passed by, the clock chimed two in the morning, dragging to his feet, Colin thundered: “Thorne, get the fuck down here.”

The room shimmered, from within the silvery light, a man, who was something more appeared. “You’d better have a damn good reason for using that tone with me boy.” Thorne stood there, silver light reflecting off and through him. The ancient god looked pissed to be dragged out of his realm—well too bloody bad.

Standing there giving off a “this better be good or I’m feeding you to Fang for disturbing me” look, the god lowered his RayBan Aviator shades, icy blue eyes boring straight into his soul and glared at Colin. Fang was Thorne’s pet—a saber-tooth tiger, huge and ferocious, said to eat those the god was displeased with. Like all ancient creatures, the tiger could talk and was a sarcastic asshole.

Today Thorne had on the Shadow Walker’s favored uniform of black Doc Marten boots, faded Levis 501 jeans, and a white t-shirt showing off his ripped body. The casual clothes enhanced the lethal vibe he threw off. At six foot seven with long silver hair, and silver skin covered with blue tattoos, which flashed across his skin like lightning and rain, changing in the light, he was beyond intimidating. Colin and all the Shadow Walkers respected him and had a very healthy dose of fear around him—you never knew what an ancient god would do. Thorne’s moods were mercurial, he controlled weather and would toast your ass with a lightning bolt if you looked at him the wrong way.

That being said, the guy could hide his skin color and tats if he wanted, appear in any guise. Thorne loved the women, especially human women, usually had three or four in his bed at a time if Colin remembered correctly. Then Thorne would send them back, wiping their memories, letting them think it was an erotic dream.

The god noted the room, smashed to bits, his eyes coming to rest on Emily’s prone form. Thorne opened his mouth and out came his stuffy British accent, “Yes, well she’s dead and gone. You know the rules. Why did you call me here? In a rush to become a wraith and leave my service so soon?”

Stepping up on the god, Colin took a swing, finding himself thrown against the wall as Thorne flicked a small lightning bolt at him. Shaking his head, getting to his feet, his voice cracked, hoarse, “Please save her.”