Alterant by Sherrilyn Kenyon
Evalle remained very still to prevent disturbing the spirit. Nightstalkers like Grady were hard to rattle, but Grady was accustomed to dealing with humans and nonhumans.
She doubted that before meeting Tristan this soldier ghost had seen a human in the past hundred years. He'd probably never run across anything like Alterants or a Medb witch priestess.
Tristan asked the soldier, "Did you take my message to the witch?"
The young man nodded. He spoke in a sleepy voice. "She said iffin you don't show up in a half hour she's killin' hostages."
"A half hour from when?" Tristan asked.
The ghost stared off into infinity, then said, "Now."
Tristan's voice tightened with stress. "Where is the witch?"
"I kin show you, but she sent another message."
"What?"
"She's got a holt of four hostages. Says she's goin' to kill the new one last."
Evalle had opened her empathic senses to see if she could detect something from the soldier ghost. She only picked up weariness and a sense of being imposed upon.
When Tristan asked who the fourth hostage was, the soldier said, "Petrina."
Tristan roared, "No!" He raised fists with muscles bulging in his forearms. Bones popped . . . he was changing into his beast.
The ghost vanished.
TWENTY-SIX
Quinn grabbed at the air above his head.
Had to kill whatever was beating a spike into his skull with a sledgehammer. His fingers closed on empty air, hands hitting each other.
If he could just see it, but his eyes were shut.
He dropped his arms, fingers fisting the sheets.
Pounding started again, but this time it came from outside his aching head. He focused on the sound.
Someone was banging on the door.
What door? Why didn't he know where he was? He knew how to access anything in a mind, especially his.
Reaching deep inside, he searched for the center of his control and found it ravaged. A wasteland of scattered thoughts and mental shields that had once been his safe zone.
What had happened to him?
"Quinn!"
Had to open his eyes, but they felt glued shut. His lids quivered and strained, but he forced each one open.
Darkness.
Bloody hell.
"Open up, Quinn!" shouted at him from behind a door in another room . . . in his hotel suite. All at once, memory flooded into empty pockets.
Tzader was yelling at him.
Quinn rolled over and dropped his feet to the floor, sitting up on the edge of his king-size bed. Mistake of ginormous proportions. He grabbed his stomach and covered his mouth to stem the nausea.
Tzader couldn't come in because . . .
Quinn had hung one of his Celtic Triquetra blades on the hall entrance door to his suite.
A Triquetra he'd had warded to block entry, even from someone with Tzader's powers.
Lifting a hand that shook, Quinn kinetically flipped the Triquetra off to the side.
The banging noise disappeared, replaced by the sound of his door being shoved open.
Why did his head still ache? He could swear he'd slept soundly for a while. That should have taken the edge off.
Pushing himself onto wobbly feet, he reached instinctively for the belt on his . . . robe? What was he doing in his robe? He'd been in his dress clothes when he'd stretched out on the mattress with no intention of staying long.
The lights in the room flashed on, blinding him. He threw his hands in front of his face, but not before seeing Tzader barrel in.
"What's going on, Quinn?"
"Turn. Off. Those. Lights."
The room fell dark again with just a haze of light seeping in from the windows.
"Quinn? You okay?"
A question he couldn't answer yet. "I will be. Why are you here?" He hadn't intended for that to come out surly, but his head and stomach threatened to unhinge what stability he had.
Tzader said, "Been trying to reach you telepathically for the past half hour. Were you blocking me?"
"No." Quinn didn't think so, anyway. "What time is it?"
"Going on ten thirty."
"At night?" When he didn't get an answer, Quinn said, "I assume by your lack of response that I've lost quite a bit of time."
"Are you still having problems because of the probe?"
"Something has affected me, but I don't know what exactly. Any time in the past that I've had a bad reaction to a mind probe, a little rest was all it took to ease my headache and bring me back to normal."
Tzader crossed his arms. "How long were you out?"
"I remember lying down--fully clothed--and think I fell asleep after my headache went away. But your beating on the door woke me and I don't recall putting on this robe." A question about Evalle tugged at Quinn's memory. Somebody asking about Evalle . . .
"I knew probing O'Meary was a mistake." Grim worry tripped through Tzader's voice. "Any chance Conlan is accessing your mind?"
"I don't think so, but I've lost at least an hour, and I doubt I slept that whole time. This migraine was worse than any I've ever experienced. Maybe I just lost track of what I was doing. That happens even to humans." Quinn considered turning on low lights but couldn't muster the energy to try.
"But not you." Tzader's shoulders bunched with his folded arms. Stress lines cut deep grooves at the bridge of his nose. "Any chance you can tap your subconscious and figure out what happened?"
"Maybe, but not until I've had some distance from this probing and get rid of this headache from hell. It's not a matter of enduring the pain, which I would gladly do to get some answers. But I pushed it once in the past and lost my ability to mind lock for weeks. That taught me to wait until at least the pain went away, which should be soon."
Holding his hand up, Tzader's gaze focused past Quinn, as if he was listening to someone reaching him telepathically.
Quinn took that opportunity to walk past Tzader into the living area and the bar. He waved his hand at a lamp in the corner to turn it on kinetically and the light flickered. What the devil? He pointed a stern finger at the light and it came on. When he reached his bar, he pulled out a cold longneck Budweiser, popped the cap off and downed half of it at one time.
Tzader walked over to him. "Never seen you drink beer, much less horse-piss beer."
"Lot of things we don't know about each other," Quinn pointed out. He, Tzader and Evalle had become close after escaping a Medb trap a couple years ago, but they still surprised each other at times. "When nothing else works I have a beer, and at one time this was top shelf for me."
"Does it cure the headache?"
"No, just tastes good."
Tzader chuckled. "Wait till Evalle finds out about the cheap side of your champagne tastes."
Where had that blasted thought about Evalle come from? Who had wanted to know about her? Quinn pushed around in his mucked-up mind for anything on her.
How does Evalle . . . do something? Something what?
He had a sick feeling the word he couldn't pull up in that question might be seriously important, like giving him the identity of who had asked.
Quinn said, "Speaking of Evalle . . . any word?"
Tzader let out a weary sigh loaded with exhaustion and frustration. "Trey just checked in. He's had Lucien, Casper and Devon searching for Storm and Evalle. Nothing yet."
"What about the fog?"
"All we've determined is that the fog seems to be primarily in the coastal states, which is one reason it took so long to finger the fog as the catalyst for Alterants shifting."
Quinn groused, "We don't have enough people to fight something that spreads this fast."
"Tell me about it. We could use Storm to track the beasts and Evalle to combat the Alterants shifting," Tzader said. "But Sen won't listen to any argument. Said it's out of his hands and if the fog makes her shift, she's dead meat just like the others. Hopefully, she won't run into the fog."
"What's up, Quinn?"
"Nothing." He waved off the moment, hiding the wheel of nervousness that started turning in his gut. He asked, "Has Trey found anything?"
"Not exactly. Trey's been in contact with our Beladors who work for MARTA monitoring security feeds on highways and subways. He's been sending out teams to hot spots. One of the security Beladors saw two people fitting Storm and Evalle's description in a MARTA station. Trey's on his way over to confirm if it was them in a downtown subway station, and he sent a small team to scour the other stations in the general area."
"You talk to Sen about the MARTA surveillance?"
"What do you think?"
Quinn smiled around sore jaw muscles that ached from clenching his teeth against the pain that had racked him for so many hours. His head had eased some, but he couldn't put his finger on what kept nagging him about Evalle. "I can only assume Evalle would not be in Atlanta if she was trying to evade the Tribunal, so she must be doing their bidding. Any idea what it might be?"
"Not yet."
"What about Brina? Where does she stand on this?"
"I'm waiting until I have solid information to go to Brina. All I can tell her right now is that Conlan's in lock-down but we don't have proof of his being a traitor. We can't accuse him of something he hasn't done yet."
"I agree. Any luck in trying to reach Evalle telepathically?"
"Nope. Not a sound from her. Trey can't reach her either."
"Since the Tribunal won't allow Evalle to contact us, she's probably blocking any telepathic communication we initiate," Quinn said.
Tzader nodded, reaching in for a beer from Quinn's refrigerator. "That's what I figured."
"Even our people might not be able to find her if she doesn't want to be found, especially if she's with Storm."
"True. Storm's another issue I'll deal with when we find her."
"He's probably helping her."
Tzader didn't look convinced. "Maybe, but Sen brought him in, which makes Storm not entirely trustworthy in my book. He's got a short-term lease on his apartment. Doesn't look as though he's planning to stay very long, so what's on his agenda?"
Quinn had to concede Tzader that point. "Any sighting of Tristan?"
"No. That's the only reason I'm a little relieved to hear that Evalle was spotted with Storm. Better him than Tristan."
A female voice whispered in Quinn's mind, Where is Evalle? Another memory of him answering questions in the dark fought to the surface. His lungs squeezed, making the next breath painful. Had he been talking to someone about Evalle? "We have to find Evalle."
"That's why I called Isak," Tzader said, not noticing the urgency behind Quinn's statement.
"Really think Isak will tell you where she is?"
"No, but he can lead us to her. I just got word on the way here that some of his men have been sighted."
Quinn didn't share Tzader's certainty over Isak Nyght. The chap was former Special Forces. He'd created a unique squad of former military special-ops soldiers he called the Nyght Raiders. A few years back he and his men had all opted out of the military, disappeared for a bit, then surfaced Stateside, searching for nonhumans.
Isak could be more threat than help to Evalle if he figured out she wasn't human. Quinn pointed out, "Don't you think it's odd that Isak hasn't realized Evalle's not human?"
"Yes, and that worries me, because he will eventually." Tzader put down his empty beer bottle and scratched his head. "I'm starting to think we may have to move Evalle somewhere away from here once she's clear of this Tribunal mess. Isak is obsessed with killing Alterants after losing his best friend to one. He terminates them on sight. If he doesn't know she's an Alterant it's because she's managed to keep her bright green eyes hidden from him behind her sunglasses."
A face smoked through Quinn's mind.
Kizira? He hadn't seen her in years except for a few brief times and always rife with conflict. He'd had a glimpse of her this past week when the Beladors had faced off with the Kujoo . . . and he'd seen her in O'Meary's mind today.
But that had been a vision from the future, not a real interaction. It might not even come to pass.
Quinn swallowed, hoping his wrung-out mind was just dredging up random thoughts. "What do you want me to do?"
Tzader gave him an assessing look. "I need you healed up before you face a threat. It's too dangerous to put you out on the street until you have full use of your kinetics." He held up his hand when Quinn started to argue. "I saw the light flicker when you tried to turn it on. You're nowhere close to a hundred percent, which makes you vulnerable to an attack."
Quinn's voice dropped to an evil level. "Oh, I'd make something pay dearly if it attacked me in my present mood."
"But if you had to link with another Belador . . . you'd put him or her at risk."
The truth cut through Quinn's bravado, forcing him to think beyond his own need to strike at something. Where had that blatant aggression come from? Couldn't have been Conlan, because, in spite of what he'd seen, Quinn still believed in the kid. Everything he'd encountered in Conlan's mind had come from an upstanding young man and a loyal Belador.
No one should be convicted of a crime he hadn't committed yet and certainly not based solely on a vision. Quinn said, "Agreed. I'll call you as soon as I'm feeling top shape. Let me know the minute you locate Evalle."
"I will." Tzader gave him another questioning look but nodded and left.
Quinn suddenly felt unclean, as though he needed a shower.
On the way to the bathroom, a female voice whispered from deep in his subconscious. Evalle is special . . . powerful . . . she is meant for greater things.
Ice pumped through his heart.
His mind was screwing with him, because that had been Kizira's voice.
Dismissing the voice, he stepped into the bathroom and turned the shower hot enough to boil his skin red. When he dropped his robe he noticed a scrape across his shoulder. Now that his mind was returning to normal, he realized the skin on his back felt raw.
Why was that? He twisted his neck to look over his shoulder into the mirror.
Two sets of scratches raked his shoulders, as if . . .
Impossible. Even Tzader hadn't been able to get past Quinn's protective ward. Quinn hadn't been with a woman in the past two weeks.
But the scratches awoke another image in his mind with brutal clarity.
Excruciating pain and pleasure twisted in a sexual dance of erotic torture.
A woman's body stretched out beneath him, urging him on as he drove into her mindlessly. Her body had glowed softly in his dark room. Her milky shoulders tensed before she climaxed. Her face . . . No!
Kizira couldn't have been here.
He'd have known if she had.
He clutched his head with cold and clammy hands. When he opened his eyes his gaze caught on a thin swish of pale color against the vanity.
The bracelet made of his braided hair lay on the dark brown granite.
What had he done?
What had he allowed Kizira to do to him?
What had he told her about Evalle?
Quinn smashed his fist into the wall. Rage and betrayal roared through him.
No one was safe as long as Kizira could access his mind.
That meant one of them had to die.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Lights disappeared in the tunnel, which only sharpened Evalle's ability to see Tristan starting to shift into his beast.
The man seriously needed anger management.
She had to help him calm down. "Who is Petrina?"
"My sister!" Tristan raised his fists, shaking them at an empty tunnel where the soldier spirit had just vanished. He yelled, "You're a dead bitch, Kizira!"
Evalle stood very still, anticipating any sudden change or attack. She didn't want to end up a dead bitch, too.
&n
She turned at the noise.
Bricks were piling on top of each other, forming a wall. She jerked around, looking past Tristan to where rough-cut beams that could be railroad ties began piling to form another barrier.
The Maze of Death residents were barricading her in with Tristan . . . who would be a full-blown beast in another minute.
Would being in this maze cause him to lose control of his beast?
"Calm down, Tristan," Evalle warned.
His neck thickened, veins sticking out. He swung his head back and forth, finally seeing the walls forming, and roared a vicious curse, then slammed his body against the stack of railroad ties. The wall didn't give an inch.
He started pounding the wooden barrier, his body still changing.
"Stop!" she yelled at him. "You're making it worse."
His shirtsleeves split when his arms lengthened. The back of his shirt ripped where his neck bulged. He'd be half again as big and twice as deadly within seconds if he didn't stop shifting into a beast.
"Tristan!"
He swung a face distorted with rage at her that would scare a demon.
Bones in his jaw cracked and muscle stretched to accept a double row of fangs. He snarled at her. Saliva dripped from his lips.
Not the controlled beast she'd met in the jungle.
She couldn't survive fighting him in her human body and doubted changing into her Belador battle form would make any difference. Not with his extra kick from the Kujoo highball.
Tristan dropped his head back and bellowed a blood-chilling scream. His fingers lengthened into sharp claws.
How could she reach him? What could make him stop when he was this far out of control? Didn't he realize he was wasting precious time they could use to save the three Alterants?
And his sister?
His sister.
She pointed a finger in Tristan's face she hoped wouldn't end up snapped off by those fangs. "I will not help you save your sister unless you stop changing right now!"
That must have gotten through, because he stilled every movement but heaving, labored breaths.
Evalle pressed her point. "Take a look around at the walls closing in on us. I need you able to think."
Tristan's chest expanded and contracted quietly. He stared at her through green eyes burning with fury, as though she had been the one to hand his sister to the Medb.
Maybe he wasn't cognizant of anything in this form.
Maybe he wasn't as in control of his beast as he'd have her believe.