Kara heard the front door close behind Lyon and the others. She was afraid for them. If what she'd remembered was true, they were in serious danger. The entire world could be in danger.
The Shaman started tor the door. "I've got magic sticking to me like glue." He turned to look at her, the eyes in that youthful face as old as the ages. "If you're feeling better, Radiant, I'm going to get myself cleared."
Kara nodded. "I'm fine now. Thank you." She followed the Shaman out of the office and saw Hawke coming toward her from the foyer. She tried to smile at him, despite her worry for Lyon.
"So you're my bodyguard today?"
He nodded. "We need to go."
"Go where?"
"To one of the other enclaves. Lyon doesn't want you to stay here. Too many people know you're here."
"Oh. Okay. Do we have to go right away?"
"Immediately."
The Shaman stripped off his clothes, enjoying, as he always did, the sight of Esmeria removing her own. He felt lousy. Like the magic from that place had seeped into every pore and was eating away at his body like acid. The sooner he got rid of it, the better. He wondered if one release would do it. He might need a second. Or even a third.
He smiled to himself. The life of a Shaman was a trial, to be sure.
Esmeria unhooked her bra, pulled off her panties and lay down on the bed, opening her thighs. She pushed her fingers between her legs, slipping them inside her body until the damp, sucking sound told him she was ready. When she pulled out glistening fingers and motioned for him, opening her arms wide, he joined her, kissed her neck as he positioned his body over hers and pushed himself home.
Oh, yes. This was what he'd needed. Whenever the magic rode him, it took him a while to find his release, as if the magic fought to hold on. But, finally, he felt his body tighten, felt the rush of orgasm and the cleansing of his spirit. As he found completion, and collapsed into Esmeria's warm arms, his mind began to tingle in a way that had him turning to stone.
"What's the matter, Shaman?" Esmeria rubbed her hand along his back.
"Bewitchment." He felt the veil lift from his mind like a fog dissipating in the sun.
And he remembered.
"Damnation."
Esmeria released him as he levered himself out of her. "What's wrong?"
"Get Lyon on the phone and tell him to get back here. Quickly."
"Which enclave are we going to?" Kara asked Hawke as she slid into the front seat of his car.
"You'll see."
Kara flicked the warrior a glance, then turned to look out her own window as he pulled away from the curb. She supposed it didn't matter since she didn't know one from the other. And Lyon would be able to find her no matter where she was, thanks to his finder skills.
"Did you know Zaphene very well?" As soon as the words were out or her mouth, she wanted to take them back. For all she knew, all the men had slept with her at one point or another.
"No," Hawke replied.
"That must have been a shock. I'm sorry about Beatrice."
"Yes."
Kara quit trying to engage him in conversation. For her, it was an attempt to take her mind off Lyon and the others, but he didn't seem to want the distraction. She knew he had to be immensely worried.
They continued in silence, driving through the busy streets, through traffic unlike anything Kara had ever seen. They didn't have traffic like this in Spearsville.
When Hawke took the on-ramp to I-495, the Washington Beltway, Kara looked at him in surprise. She'd thought the Therian enclaves were all fairly close together.
"Hawke, where are we going?"
He didn't answer.
"Hawke?"
He glanced at her, his eyes cold.
"I'm not Hawke."
Chapter Twenty-one
"The witch's pets?" the Shaman said. "They're clones."
"Explain." The phone in Lyon's hand creaked from the white-knuckled pressure of his grip.
"When I got out to Feral House, Hawke and Zaphene met me at the door. Except it wasn't Hawke. The man who drove me back to the enclave is a draden."
"Turn the car around," Lyon barked at Jag. Into the phone he said, "That was no draden."
He held on as Jag made a fast, illegal U-turn across the median. "Back to Georgetown?"
"Yes."
"It started out as a draden," the Shaman said through the phone. "The witch has split your souls, Warrior, and used your souls to animate the draden. She implanted the cantric into Kara to stimulate her fear, then channeled that fear to the draden to feed and grow them into clones of you and your men. It's the clones who will free the Daemons."
Raw fear twisted his girts into knots. "Where's Kara? Get her away from Hawke!"
His heart pounded as he heard the Shaman moving down the stairs. He heard a distant scream.
Kara.
A commotion in the background had his breath catching. He heard shouting.
"Shaman!" he yelled into the phone.
"Marina's dead. Drained as if by draden. She took the clone to bed."
"Find Kara." But she wasn't there. His senses felt her moving. Away from the enclave.. Away from Georgetown. "She's gone. He's already got her."
"I'm sorry."
"Jag, get on the Beltway. East." He clutched the phone. "How in the hell did she split our souls?"
"One by one. You trusted her enough to let her touch you, correct? All she had to do was touch you to enthrall you long enough to do what she needed to."
"How can we live with half a soul?"
"You can't indefinitely. In the short term, you probably can't tell the difference, though you may start losing control more quickly than normal. Control of your anger, your actions."
"That's already happening. One of my men has lost control completely."
"He was probably the first to have his soul split."
"How do we get our souls back?"
"Kill the clones."
"Done. The way we kill any draden? By pulling their hearts out?"
"Yes. But be careful, Warrior. They may look identical to you, but they're not. They're energy creatures. They won't bleed. And like any draden, if they get their mouths on you, they'll try to drink your life force. And these draden are as big and strong as you are. They might well kill you."
"Understood."
"Lyon," the Shaman said. "Beware the witch. She's strong. Stronger than any Mage I've run across in more than a thousand years. She's come into possession of old magic. Powerful magic. Be very, very careful."
"I'll do whatever I must to stop her, Shaman. That's the only promise I make."
He snapped his phone closed and reached for his knife.
"Want to explain what's happened to our souls, Chief?" Jag drawled.
"In a minute. Give me your hands."
Without hesitation, the three warriors thrust their palms toward him. Not even Jag complained. Three quick, shallow cuts confirmed that they were flesh and blood. He cut his own and held it up like a badge of honor, but the others only looked at him with confusion.
"What's up, Roar?" Tighe asked.
"Kara's in trouble. Hell, we're all in trouble."
"They've stopped." Lyon kept his eyes closed, his senses firmly on Kara as Jag drove. Fear for her clawed at his insides. He shouldn't have left her. Dammit, when was he going to learn? She belonged with him. By his side.
"Where?" Paenther asked.
"Somewhere between the I-95 and Route 50 exits."
"That doesn't narrow it down much. What exits are around there?"
"I don't think they took an exit. It felt like she stopped. Wait. Now she's moving again. Slowly. Very slowly." His heart lurched on a spark of hope. "I think she's running."
"Good for her," Jag said, his voice little more than a growl.
"The sun sets in less than an hour," Tighe said. Less than an hour before the draden would be on top of her. Then again, with a draden clone chasing her, she might not have even that long.
Ahead, the road curved, revealing a sea of brake lights.
Jag swore and slammed on the breaks.
"Where's that plane of yours when we need it, Tighe?" Paenther growled.
"About two hours west of here this time of night. If only we had Hawke." His words fell into the silence like rocks on glass. "The real Hawke," he amended. "When he could shift."
"He's still not answering his phone?" Jag asked.
"No," Paenther said, his voice grim. "None of them are."
Lyon stared at the stopped cars ahead. No way in hell was he sitting in traffic while Kara fought for her life. As the Hummer came to a complete stop, Lyon reached for the handle.
"I'm running. If you start moving again, pick me up."
He jumped out of the car, slammed the door, and took off along the shoulder. His speed in this form was, unfortunately, no faster than human, but he could keep it up indefinitely. And he was moving a hell of a lot faster than the cars.
His senses stayed on Kara. He couldn't feel her emotions from here and was almost glad for it. He knew she was terrified. If she was running, she'd figured out Hawke wasn't who she'd thought. If that clone caught her, she was going to be in pain.
His own fear was nearly more than he could bear—the fear that his senses would suddenly lose her, and he'd know that the only light that had ever shone in his soul had gone forever dark.
Kara ran for her life, down a steep embankment off the highway, toward a cluster of old buildings. Behind her she heard the blare of horns and looked over her shoulder. The man who was not Hawke had left his car in the middle of the Beltway and was chasing her, a large, lidded bucket swinging from one hand.
She knew what he intended to use the bucket for. To take her blood back to Zaphene. The witch would use it to free the High Daemon and his horde who, in turn, would try to destroy the Ferals. He couldn't get her blood. Never mind that she'd probably die in the process.
Even running as fast as she could, the man was faster, his legs longer. Too late, she realized she'd run into a dead end, a loading dock that was closed and deserted. Her heart stuttered. Sweat rolled between her breasts as she turned around, her skirt flaring around her legs, but the man blocked her escape, his arms spread wide as if daring her to try to get past him.
She wouldn't make it. He was too fast.
Instead, she dashed toward one of three doors lining the loading dock and pulled, praying it was unlocked, but nothing happened. With a groan of frustration, she started for the second, but she never made it. The creature grabbed her from behind and threw her against the wall. Her head collided with concrete.
Dimly, through a haze of pain, she was aware of being dragged to the edge of the raised sidewalk and pinned, facedown,, with a knee to her back. She heard the echo of plastic against plastic and the clatter of the bucket being dropped to the ground several feet below. As her head started to clear, the pressure in her back released long enough for her to be pushed forward until her head and shoulders extended over the edge.
She struggled against the impending fall, but the knee slammed into her back, pinning her hard. A hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back.
Her eyes swam with tears at the pulling at her scalp. Her pulse thudded. "Are you going to kill me?"
"My mission is to retrieve your blood. Your body is ho longer important to my mistress. I will devour your life force."
"What are you?"
"I am what I am."
"Is he… is Hawke dead?"
"I cannot live unless he lives."
Thank God for small favors. But the gleam of metal caught her eye and she knew Hawke's survival was the only good news she was going to get.
The searing pain of the knife slicing her tender throat nearly sent her into oblivion. The drip of her blood into the bucket sounded obscenely loud, growing into a steady stream before it slowed again as her body healed. He sliced her throat again.
A second later, he yanked her sweater off her shoulder and sank his teeth into her flesh.
Her scream caught in her throat, finding no way out. Tears ran down her cheeks to mix with her blood as she felt him stealing her energy. Her life. Just like the draden had tried to do.
But the pain of the wounds was nothing compared to the pain in her heart. Lyon. He'd find her too late. And he needed her.
She couldn't die.
She wouldn't die, dammit.
In the far reaches of her mind she remembered Lyon's voice telling her draden couldn't feed off her in full radiance.
But radiance had to come through the fire and she needed Earth. No going radiant in the house, Lyon had said. And the concrete would block her just as surely as the house's floor would.
Lyon.
Her love for him turned to desperation. She had to live. For him, she had to live.
The Earth. Connect to the Earth. Struggling to free herself from the fear and the pain, she sent her senses outward. She felt the wind caressing her damp cheeks. Wind. Air. These were of the Earth.
She pulled. Like a vacuum, she pulled and pulled.
Her senses caught on Lyon. Running. Anguish.
She could feel herself growing weaker. Dammit, she refused to die!
With a furious effort, Kara called on every scrap of energy left in her body and pulled, envisioning the fire, the radiance.
Envisioning Lyon.
For a moment, she felt him. His determination melding with hers. His power.
The fire erupted inside her, a triumphant rush of warmth and power racing through her blood, transforming her body into the glowing splendor of full radiance.