Tracking the Tempest (25 page)

“You're right,” I said soothingly. “I'm sorry—”

“The shit they did to me toward the end, Jane…” His voice broke and his fire died, revealing shoulders slumped in an agony of recollection. But it was only a momentary lapse, and soon enough his fire sprang back to life and he advanced on me another step.

“I thought we could be friends, Jane, but maybe you can't understand me. Maybe you're just like everyone else. What the fuck do you know?” he repeated, reaching out a flaming hand toward me.

I flinched backward, throwing up a strong shield and pulling some water out of the ocean-laden air that doused his fire as his hand penetrated my hastily erected barrier. I didn't want to piss him off by not letting him touch me, but I also didn't want my cheek barbecued.

“You're right. I'm sorry!” I cried, letting the tears I'd been holding back fall free. “I'm sorry! I can't understand. I
have
been lucky. But I want to try, Conleth. I want to get to know you.”

His hand gripped my jaw as he searched my eyes, trying to discern whether or not I was lying. Which I was, by the way—like a fucking rug. There had been a minute, early on, when I wondered if I wouldn't be able to get through to him, maybe coax him in to get the help he needed. And to see some justice done.

Now I realized that was a total pipe dream. Yes, he was a victim. But Con was too much of a loose cannon for me to handle. I needed to get the fuck out of Dodge, not attempt to play counselor.

But I didn't let my eyes say any of those things. I just made my already big, black eyes look extra baby seal. He seemed to like what he saw, for he nodded, finally, and took a step back, trying to regain his self-control. What there was of it.

“I'm sorry, Con. Really, I'm so sorry. You're right. I don't know you yet, but give me a chance.”

“You should be sorry.”

“I am, Con. I am. So sorry.”

“What happened to me…” His voice trailed off, as did his power, leaving only sadness in its wake.

“What happened to you was monstrous, Conleth. What you had to endure is beyond horrible.”

Con hung his head, then sat down heavily at my feet. He laid his cheek against my knee. His back shook and, after a stunned moment, I realized he was crying.

“I hoped you'd understand,” he snuffled. “I thought, when I read your writing, that you could know me. Really
know
me.”

I made soothing noises, all the time using the cover of my still-erect shields to start poking at the knots at my wrists. Con might be a computer whiz, but he obviously had never done any sailing. I was pretty sure he'd tied me up with a bow, double knotted.

“You know what I find most ridiculous, Jane? The word ‘halfling.' I couldn't believe when that woman told me we were called ‘halflings.’” Con snorted after he'd gotten his tears under control. “As if we're ‘half' of anything.” He rubbed his cheek against the outer thigh of my jeans, and I could feel his heat through the material. I pushed harder at the knot, doing my best to maintain both shields and my probing knitting needle of power, despite the fact that Con had shifted around to kneel in front of me and was making very free with the leg touching.

“Tell me about it,” I improvised. “I'm so tired of having to deal with the purebreds. And the humans.”

Luckily, Conleth stopped staring at my crotch to grin at me.

“I knew it! I knew you didn't mean that stuff you'd written to that investigator. I knew you were just telling him those things so he wouldn't understand how much you really hated him.”

“Erm, yes. Obviously. Totally lied to him,” I agreed, as I probed more desperately at my bindings. I'd have to advise Anyan that double-knotted bows were bizarrely effective as trussing mechanisms.

“That's great, Jane. Great. I'm so glad to hear you say it.”

Con was beaming at me, so I beamed back at him as I changed tactics, trying to remember what I did when I untied my beloved green Converse. I began plucking at my bindings with my power, trying to get the right angle.

“There were a few times I thought you really did love him,” he admitted, as he leaned toward me. Visualizing my power as my favorite kitchen tongs, I had a good grip on the rope at my wrists and I pulled sharply. My bindings slackened and fell, my shields absorbing and camouflaging the surge of power I'd expended. I clasped my hands behind my back to keep from revealing my newfound freedom.

“But I knew you couldn't really be into somebody flashy, like him. I mean, you two have nothing in common…”

I let Con babble at me as I flexed my wrists, trying to get some feeling back into my arms. I had an idea, but I didn't know if it would work or not. And if it did work, it'd probably use up the majority of my stored energy.

I was, however, running out of options. A point driven home by Con's face slowly descending toward mine. He kissed me, his lips wet and surprisingly cold. He moaned in ecstasy, and I only barely controlled my overpowering urge to jerk away from him. When his hands went to my breasts and he started murmuring my name again, I knew that all other options had left the building. I had to act.

I braced myself and started kissing him back, hard. He had to believe that I wanted him, and I needed to distract him so I could gain some leverage. I stood up, but he was so busy with my mouth that all he did was grunt when he felt me stand. Before he could open his eyes, I flicked my tongue over his lips, making him whimper. At the same time, I pulled back with both my fist and with my own elemental force.

I totally hit like a girl, so the punch I threw at Conleth's jaw was hardly impressive. But what
was
impressive was the burst of energy I channeled through my arm and out of my knuckles. The effect was admirable.

Was it a good long-term strategy to blow my magical wad in one go? Probably not. But as I slid down to plop bonelessly into the chair Con had tied me to, the ifrit halfling was still flying through the air. That was totally worth it. As was the sound of him smashing against the wall. And the feeling I got when I realized he wasn't getting back up?

Priceless.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

M
y legs were still rubbery, and my need for the ocean was overwhelming. I felt like a tube of toothpaste that had been squeezed dry. Check that: I felt like a dry tube of toothpaste that was trying to run on spaghetti legs.

I had tottered through a series of small rooms into an enormous warehouse. It was full of huge shipping containers, all rusted and empty. They were lying around, higgledy-piggledy, some stacked two or three containers high, making a veritable labyrinth of the large space. I could also feel the ocean directly underneath me. My sluggish brain put together the clues and decided I was in some kind of dockyard.

Having the ocean so close and not be able to reach her was torturous. If the windows weren't ten feet off the ground, I would have just crawled out of one and swum to safety. And if I hadn't been so drained, I would have attempted to blast a hole in the floor. Unfortunately, the only option I had left was my rather unsteady little feet.

I had no idea where I was or where I was going. I hoped I was moving forward; that I wouldn't trap myself; that Con wasn't following. But there was nothing I could do to guarantee any of those things except to keep my numb legs pumping, which went against every instinct I had. My entire being was telling me to find a hole and crawl in it, mostly because I recognized this scene I was currently enacting. Countless novels and untold movies had drilled into me what happens when defenseless women ran through dark, creepy places. None of them were good. Meanwhile, the containers offered enemies a thousand places to hide: hands could erupt from dark corners to grab me or spring out from underneath containers to trip me. What I wanted to do was buck the trend by finding somewhere relatively out of the way and lie down until I heard the credit music rolling.

And I
really
need to powder my nose,
my bladder chimed, much to my annoyance. I was distracted enough by my need to pee that I shuffled right around a container corner without pausing to look first.

My progress was halted by a well-known wall o' man.

“We need to stop running into each other like this,” I croaked, my nose smushed into Anyan's leather jacket. As the familiar scent of lemon wax and cardamom washed over me, my knees gave and I started sliding to the ground. The barghest caught me, swearing softly as he steadied me on my feet. At the touch of his big hands, I felt a powerful, if inappropriate, desire to jump into his arms. I knew he'd carry me to safety, and I wanted safety—at that moment—more than I'd ever wanted anything else in my life. I was so not cut out for the role of action-adventure heroine.

I managed to control my urge to fling myself on him, but I did lean forward, settling myself against his solid bulk with a sigh. Anyan stiffened, obviously surprised. But then he softened, crouching down to wrap his arms around me in a rib-cracking hug. His power followed his arms, until I was blanketed in Anyan.

“By the gods, Jane, are you all right? You scared me senseless.”

Anyan's voice was rough but his hands were gentle as he eased them over my arms, down my waist, and then up and over my back. I knew he was just checking me for injury, but I reacted to his touch like a startled horse. My labored breathing eased, my still-frantically beating heart calmed beat by beat.

“I've lived for nearly three hundred and fifty years, woman. I've survived two wars. And yet
you
are going to be the death of me. Did Conleth hurt you?”

“No,” I mumbled into the barghest's shoulder before raising my face to meet his eyes. “But I think I hurt him.”

Anyan smiled at that, his aura of power pulsing around us, rubbing against me like giant affectionate cats.

“What did you do? You're totally drained.”

“I pulled out a can of whoopass, Anyan. Big, strong whoopass.” My knees buckled again, and Anyan swore.

“Next time, use half the whoopass,” he chided, holding me steady.

“I don't know how to use half,” I whined, trying to get my limbs to stop trembling. “It was either use a whole can of whoopass, or make sweet love to Conleth. I chose the whoopass.”

My bravado was short-lived, however, as my legs totally gave way. Anyan's face, which had gone from concerned to horrified when I'd said “make sweet love” and “Conleth” in the same sentence, went back to concerned as he held me on my feet till I'd recovered.

“At least I got away,” I reminded his worried frown. I didn't really want to be the death of him.

“That you did, Jane. Good girl,” he said, a hint of a smile peeking from behind that big, crooked nose.

I peered up at the barghest, my forehead wrinkling in consternation. I was about to remind him that, while I was a zygote by the standards of his people, by human standards I was no “girl.” But I lifted my chin, belligerently, at the very same time that he crouched down to run his hands over my legs. We were suddenly nose to nose, and his gray eyes were as wide as mine at our predicament.

I cleared my throat, pushing myself back from him.

“Is Ryu all right?”

“Yes,” Anyan said, crouching down the rest of the way to finish playing doctor. When he was satisfied I wasn't hurt, he stood back up to tower over me. “But he'll be a lot better when he knows you're safe. Let's go find the others.”

He took my hand to lead me away and I followed, trying to keep my legs steady. We walked and walked, meandering to and fro between the walls made by all the various containers. But Anyan's nose was twitching the whole time as he sniffed out our route. There was one pressing issue, however, that I couldn't wait any longer to address.

“Um, Anyan?”

“Yes?”

“Is there a bathroom?”

The barghest stopped. “What?”

“Is there a bathroom? I really have to pee.”

“You have
got
to be kidding me,” Anyan said, swinging around to stare at me like I was crazy.

“No, I'm not. I really have to pee. I drank, like, a whole liter of water, and when I get stressed, I always need to pee. Getting kidnapped is stressful. Really, really stressful.”

Anyan shook his head. “Jane, I don't even know where to begin. I'm trying to rescue you from a psychotic serial killer who is apparently intent on impregnating you. And you want to take a potty break.”

“I really have to go.”

The barghest closed his eyes, mumbling something to himself. I think he was counting to ten.

“Okay. There's no bathroom. Just go in one of the containers. Or behind one. Whatever.”

“Um, I'm really not very good at that.”

“At peeing?”

“At popping a squat. I tend to pee on myself. It's embarrassing.”

“Either pee, or don't pee. But make a decision. Before I fucking freak out.”

“Fine, jeez. What, do you never have to pee? Do they teach extreme bladder control at obedience school?” I shot back as I crept behind one of the containers and undid my pants.

“Jane, I am
this
close to returning you to Conleth.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled as I squatted down.

“I heard that.”

“Ew, don't listen, you pervert.”

All I got in response to that was a strangled sound. I rolled my eyes, finishing up behind the container, then stood up and put my clothes back to rights. “I was kidding, Anyan,” I said as I stepped out from where I had hidden myself…

… to see my savior dangling from the thick fist of Phaedra's spriggan.

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned, fear flooding my system with adrenaline.

“Yes, ‘fuck,’” murmured a silky voice in my ear. “ ‘Fuck' is exactly the word I was looking for.”

“Graeme,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut to try to control the panic that threatened to send me gibbering to the floor.

Hands grabbed my shoulders to pull me back, despite my desperate struggling, against the incubus's muscular chest.

“Little Jane,” he said, holding me against him with one viselike arm as he ran his other hand across my hips. “I knew I'd find some time alone with you.”

Graeme's fingers found their way between my legs, and I froze, my heart beating frantically. Anyan, meanwhile, wasn't faring much better. The huge man was being shaken by the neck like a rag doll by the nubbly gray giant. Fugwat was grinning like a little kid with a new toy. The kind of little kid who would soon be torturing the neighborhood pets.

I tried to pull on my power, but between my fear and my already depleted resources, it was completely unresponsive.

“None of that, little Jane,” my captor said, reaching up to squeeze my breast painfully. I hissed as he found my nipple to twist it with a vicious pinch. When my hiss became a whimper, he finally stopped, pulling me around to stare down into my face.

I tried to look brave, but the sight of his beautiful, soulless eyes totally freaked me out. I started struggling again, and I reached, desperately, for my depleted mojo. Graeme's reaction was swift and resolute.

His fist smashed into my left cheekbone, sending my head flying back, and with it any chance of me mounting an offensive. Graeme did
not
hit like a girl, and the pain was excruciating. I groaned as he hit me again, and then a third time, this time catching me right in the eye. Graeme paused for a second to smile at his handiwork and to watch as blood dripped from my previously split eyebrow down my face. He kissed me roughly, before sinking his teeth through my bottom lip. I squealed, crying salty tears that burned down my raw cheeks.

“I am going to love breaking you, little Jane,” the incubus purred, unleashing his emotional glamour. I felt his lust, and his rage, and his desire for my pain. And it was all tied up together in the big, sick package that was Graeme.

“I just adore your eyes,” he said, nuzzling my now bloody lips with his own. “They're so selkie… puts me in the mood for a good clubbing.”

I heard something crash behind me, and I prayed Anyan had gotten free of the spriggan. But before I could crane my neck to peer around, Graeme had lowered his mouth to sink his teeth into my neck. I cried out, pain coursing through me.

“I thought you'd appreciate my love bites,” the incubus chuckled after his teeth released me. “Since you
are
fucking a sith,” he explained, turning to throw me, with all his strength, against the hard wall of a steel container. I went flying, my breath knocked out of me as I landed smack dab in the middle of the container's wall. I slid down, struggling to gasp in air, till I was lying at the base of the container. Then something deep inside my chest really started to hurt.

My left eye was swelling shut, but I could still see out of my right. Graeme was unbuckling his studded Ed Hardy belt and advancing toward me. I rolled into a fetal position, covering my face with my hands. The first blow caught me on the forearms, and the upraised studs tore through the delicate skin of my forearms. The second was aimed at my thigh, bruising me through the thick denim of my jeans. I waited, crying in pain, for him to land a third.

It never came. Just as Graeme raised his arm, ready to strike, he was broadsided by a blinding torrent of rage and fire.

It was Graeme's turn to smash into the side of a container, and smash he did. Before he could get up, Conleth was there, holding him up by his chin so that the incubus was on his tiptoes. Con then went totally nuclear, and I'd never heard anything like Graeme's screams as Con applied himself to what I can only describe as melting the incubus's face.

“I told you I'd see you again, motherfucker,” Conleth cried in triumph, even as he burned brighter. Graeme's screams echoed through the warehouse, bouncing eerily off the metal containers.

That's when the spriggan came reeling into my peripheral vision, a very angry barghest clinging to his back like a leather-clad burr. Anyan was clubbing at Fugwat's head with both his fists and all of his power, but, unlike me, Anyan wasn't losing any strength. His barrage was ceaseless, which was a good thing, as the spriggan obviously had an incredibly hard noggin. But eventually even Fugwat's cranium gave way, and he shuddered to his knobby gray knees before keeling forward onto his face.

Anyan looked from where Conleth was still torturing Graeme to where I lay prone against the container's wall, before darting toward me. But before he could make it, Con threw Graeme straight at the barghest. Anyan was bowled over by the incubus, whose shuddering whimpers testified to the fact that he was still alive, if terribly burned. Con was instantly at my side, where he tried to haul me up. I cried out at his touch, since I'd not only just gotten the shit kicked out of me but also because he'd forgotten to bank his fire and was searing my already sliced-up forearms.

“Oh, Jane, what did he do to you?” Conleth hissed, his eyes wide as he pulled his fire inward.

I went ahead and kept crying. At this point, after being rescued by my kidnapper, I'd lost all sense of who was the good guy and who was the bad guy. I don't think I even cared anymore. I just wanted the pain—all of my various pains—to go away. Whatever injury was causing the dull ache inside of me, however, was also making it difficult to breathe, so my sobs sounded more like a series of tear-strangled gasps.