Sentinels: Leopard Enchanted Page 10

  Ana.

  Ana had quieted his mind. Had calmed it, when he’d thought it might just hit terminal velocity. He closed his eyes, settling down to sit cross-legged on a carpet of pine needles and tiny broken branches and plant detritus. For that moment, he thought only of Ana and of the unexpected peace at her touch. He thought of her courage these past days, reaching out to him in spite of her obvious trepidation—and responding to him in a way that revealed her heart, her receptive and sensitive soul. From the way her breath hitched when she caught his eye to the unfettered nature of her cries in pleasure, the flush of her face as her body strained for and tumbled into completion.

  The warmth of those thoughts suffused his body and settled his mind. For a moment he luxuriated in them, wrapping himself in them—along with the vague discomfort of rising desire that had nowhere to go. But the discomfort was of little consequence, coming as it did with the certain understanding that when he made it back to the city—when he found his balance—he and Ana would have a discussion about exactly where following his feelings for her had led.

  To more than just a carefree vacation fling.

  When he opened his eyes he found the world clear around him. His thoughts, still hazy, no longer cascaded so quickly from one to another that he couldn’t follow them at all. He picked his way through them to find the spot where he’d fallen into chaos.

  The part where he’d for the first time characterized the entire Sentinel history of detecting Core amulets and workings. Listening. Hunting.

  Active listening, to be sure, and listening by some incredibly skilled sensitives along the way. Always, in the past, a perfectly viable technique. Definitely the technique Ian had attempted to refine in his efforts.

  But what if he’d been thinking like the wrong animal? Not a big cat listening for the rustle of prey or inhaling a drifting scent, but something equally elegant. Dolphins and whales and sonar...

  Send energy out. See if it comes back.

  And most importantly, see if it comes back changed.

  He’d never done it. He’d never had to. He was snow leopard, stalking and bounding pounce. He was laboratory finesse and amulet study and deconstruction.

  But he’d been in the field. He knew how to shield—and shielding was, in its modest way, a manipulation of energy.

  Ian dug into his pocket for the test amulet, the one from which he’d never perceived any energetic signal at all. He tossed it aside—fifteen easy feet along into the ground cover.

  Then he pushed through the hazy elements in his thinking and formed for himself a light shield—close to himself, good for protection against equally light workings. Nothing a light-blood or mundane human would notice at all.

  But every field Sentinel knew how to protect others—how to push the shielding outward, even if only a little. He did that, enlarging his space...and then gave the concentrated shielding energies a quick, hard shove—expanding outward in all directions, and just about as much focused energy work as he had in him on this particular day.

  And then he listened.

  Then, the energy came back to him.

  His heartbeat kicked up into overdrive. His hands, resting on his thighs, closed into fists—an alternative to releasing his burgeoning shout of triumph into the forest, where it would ring without understanding.

  Ana.

  Ana had done this. Ana and her calm, Ana and the distraction of her smile, Ana and the honesty of what she’d given him these past days.

  For the silence was broken.

  Chapter 7

  Ian grabbed the silent amulet up from the dirt, jamming it into his pocket and hitting the trail at a jog. His mind already whirled off in a dozen different directions—wondering if, with experience and experiments, he’d be able to teach others to not only find the amulets, but identify their nature. He was eager to get back to the lab and try it—and eager to get back to the retreat and search it. Not to mention he wished he’d been smart enough to bring his damned phone when he’d wandered away from the retreat in the first place.

  He’d have no reception up here. But down at the trailhead, maybe. Out on the road, definitely.

  Beneath all that, he worried. He’d left Ana alone at the retreat; he’d left Fernie and the others sick.

  And he had no idea how long he’d been gone.

  He slowed to navigate a narrow section of rock-cobbled trail, then struck out again, a little faster this time. Driven. Running familiar ground now, and knowing when he could stretch his legs and when to gear down for rocks and single-foot sections. One mile...three... The trail finally widened as it looped back toward the trailhead, and he loosed a little more speed, freeing the power of the snow leopard that so often simply lurked beneath.

  He rounded a final curve, breaking free of the trees to spot the trailhead lot—finding himself relieved that he’d actually parked the bike here instead of jamming it into some out-of-the-way niche during an insensible delirium.

  It sat up close to the trailhead, but it wasn’t the only vehicle in the tiny area in this early morning. At first he was simply relieved that he hadn’t run into the SUV’s driver out on the trail while he was so busy being Sentinel.

  But then the occupants of the car disembarked, and a second car pulled in—a familiar-looking little city car.

  Ana. He’d seen the car in her driveway, a little rental that she didn’t seem to use much. Of course she’d come looking.

  But as he approached, his pace steady, he realized that the men from the SUV weren’t preparing to hike out on the trail.

  They were waiting.

  They were waiting for him.

  He eased back, seeing Ana’s reaction as she, too, exited her car, her initial wave faltering as she got a look at the men. His mind went back to a million miles an hour, wondering if these men had had anything to do with the bruises on Ana’s jaw...or if they had anything to do with the sedan that had passed them two days earlier, the reek of a Core working trailing behind them.

  He found himself running again as one of them snapped something to Ana. She stepped away, clearly fearful—but then stood up to them, a petite figure gesturing at them to leave, one hand clutching her blazer closed against a chill that looked as though it came from within.

  The snow leopard surged at him, wanting to bound fully free—ready to leap between Ana and the men, and ready to take them down. Ready—

  He didn’t. He slowed, his breath coming hard now. His fatigue catching up with him. Realization catching up with him. For these men were Core if anyone was—the unofficial muscle uniform of a snug black T-shirt and black slacks beneath black jackets, dark hair pulled back into stubby clubbed ponytails, heavy silver glinting at ear and throat.

  Threatening Ana.

  Or were they? He hadn’t felt any workings; he still didn’t feel any workings. But he no longer took such things for granted. Clumsy as he was with the newfound amulet detection, he still pulled a shield into place...steadied it...pushed it at them.

  And staggered to a stop when a silent amulet pinged back.

  Not from the two men.

  Not from their car.

  From Ana.

  * * *

  Ana held herself as still as she could, caught between two worlds.

  What has Lerche done?

  She couldn’t warn Ian without giving herself away—not to Ian, and not to the two giants who stood in her way.

  Ian hadn’t hesitated. He moved with the grace of a wild thing and the power of a predator, his strides full of purpose and intent. Even a week ago on this very mountain, the snow leopard hadn’t ridden him so clearly, painted him as other so distinctly. It wouldn’t take knowing his nature to see it—to make way for him on this trail and to yield to the temptation of simply standing openmouthed to watch him move.

&
nbsp; Ana felt the tug of that temptation, the lure of knowing she saw the extraordinary—and the realization that she’d not only been with that man, but that he’d chosen to be with her.

  That until she’d felt his embrace, she’d never known what it felt to be safe. To be revered. To be respected.

  And here she was, standing beside his enemy. Being his enemy.

  “Stay out of the way,” one of the posse goons growled at her. She didn’t know him—didn’t know the other one. They were enforcers, far too noticeable to manage everyday surveillance and public chores. They were muscle and force and proud of it, and she had no idea what they were doing here.

  “Leave him alone,” she told them, knowing it pointless. “This is my operation!”

  The biggest of them glanced at her. Bigger than Ian, who, for all his power, packed leaner muscle on a more graceful frame. “Things change,” he said, and she would have bet anything that he had no idea of her role in the situation and no concern about it one way or the other. He paid her no more attention.

  That, she could understand. Because Ian had pulled up only fifty feet from them, standing loose and ready, his breath coming fast. And his expression...

  Ana wanted to cry—and discovered that she was, tears dampening her cheeks.

  He’d recognized the goons as Core, no doubt about that. But his initially cautious expression turned startled as his gaze jerked to Ana. He took a step—as if he might come to her, torn between a demand for explanation and the need to gather her up in his arms.

  He knows.

  Not just guessing, not just hoping it wasn’t so. Somehow, he knew.

  Because of who and what he was, and how strongly it shone from him now. Oh, he definitely knew.

  She lifted a hand in supplication; he shook his head ever so slightly, taking a step back again—the recognition of her betrayal coloring his eyes, painting his face with shadow.

  “No,” she said—not loudly, but knowing he’d hear. “It’s not like that.”

  “Shut up,” the biggest goon said, stepping out in front of her. “And stay out of the way.”

  But Ian was already poised for flight, glancing at the distance to the motorcycle.

  Too far. She knew it, he knew it...and the goons knew it. And still...

  “Run!” she cried at him. “Ian, run!”

  Ian broke for the motorcycle, an astonishing sprint of speed. Ana ripped her blazer off as both goons leaped to follow, their movement slow and clumsy, compared to Ian’s, but far more inexorable. She threw herself at the smaller one from behind, wrapping her blazer around his head and yanking the sleeves tight, falling away almost in time to miss the sharp backhand blow of response.

  She tumbled away from the impact, losing her bearings for that instant. When she oriented again, her shoulder throbbing, Ian had flung himself on the bike, jamming the keys in for a quick start and barely settling in the saddle as the bike came alive beneath him, spitting dirt and gravel and finally grabbing traction. It leaped away—not over the barely paved lot, but cross-country over cactus and scrub.

  One goon threw himself into a hopeless effort to take Ian off the side of the bike, missing to land in scrub. The other pulled himself up short—and Ana pushed herself away from the ground, daring to come up where she could see the heavy bike wallow and spurt across the ground, cutting across to the curving drive where he could gun it and run—

  But he didn’t. She didn’t believe it at first, scrambling to her feet as he targeted not freedom, but the lot just behind her car—letting the bike slew to a stop while he beckoned to her.

  He’d come back for her.

  He’d known of her betrayal, and he’d come back for her.

  Why?

  She stared at him, stupified. Because he’d seen the goon hit her? Because he wanted to question her? Because he...

  Cared?

  Cared enough?

  “Ana!” he shouted, glancing over his shoulder because yes, they were coming. She broke her stasis and ran for him. Not swift, not powerful, but small and determined, her hands clenched into fists and with not the faintest idea how she could ever make her actions right with either Ian or the Core.

  “Ana!” But this time his shout was a warning, as he came off the bike saddle in alarm. She barely had a glimpse of motion from the side, shooting out from behind her little rental and then slamming into her with smashing force—hurling her into Ian, who twisted aside to free himself from the bike and still went down beneath her.

  But not for long, because he’d quite clearly had enough of playing fair. Preternatural light flared around him as goon hands grabbed at Ana, lifting her...tossing her through the sudden play of light and energy and into the thorny scrub.

  By the time she landed, a snow leopard crouched by her side—so close that the pale splendor of its pelt brushed against her, its long tail slapping against her leg—altogether not quite as big as she’d expected, but every bit as magnificent. Only for an instant before it leaped, broad paws spread wide and claws unsheathed, a wild snarl of warning in the air.

  The first goon went down before him, and went down screaming—legs flailing, fists beating against the big cat’s head and deterring him not at all. A whiskered muzzle closed around the man’s thick neck, flesh giving way with a grisly crunch—

  The second goon had grabbed a tire iron on his way, and he came in swinging. Metal thumped against feline ribs, and the cat—Ian—tumbled away, his teeth tearing free. He landed in a crouch beside Ana, already prepared for another leap.

  But the goon had also brought out a gun. And he yanked Ana to her feet and jammed the muzzle of it to her temple, grinding metal into tender flesh. He snapped, “Your choice!” and gave Ana a little shake as if that would make his point more clear.

  Ana gasped, knowing all too clearly that Ian understood her betrayal. She was the enemy; the Sentinels gave no quarter to the Core. He’d come for her on the bike, but he’d surely never intended to give himself up for her.

  The goon wrenched her arm, jamming the gun against Ana hard enough to torque her head aside. She cried out, twisting in that grip—feeling small and insignificant and helpless and yet unable to ask Ian to do this thing.

  And yet Ian did it.

  With a final snarl, he disappeared into that blinding fog of energy and light, and when it cleared he still crouched there—blood smeared on his face, one arm clamping protectively against his ribs...bright blue eyes locked to Ana’s.

  “Ian,” she whispered. “Ian, no...”

  The goon shoved her aside and slapped the gun across Ian’s face, and it turned out that was enough to take even a Sentinel down.

  * * *

  The stench of Core workings permeated Ian’s head, throbbing along in time with the pain of his cheek and brow. His side radiated with stabbing pain against a lumpy excuse of a mattress. He absorbed the faint surprise of finding himself alone and unbound, and pondered opening his eyes.

  And remembered, then, exactly how he’d gotten here.

  Trusting Ana.

  Trusting her right up until the moment he’d found her carrying the silent amulet—and even then, he hadn’t been able to leave her to the fate her Core compatriots would have dealt her.

  Or might have dealt her. Hard to know for sure. She might well have orchestrated the whole standoff. The Core was rarely kind or respectful to its women, and those who made it out of low-level support roles tended to be both the best of them and the worst of them.

  Either way, she’d played him like a pro.

  Thanks to his delirious midnight departure from the retreat, the Sentinels had no idea where he’d gone—and no idea that he’d been taken. Worst of all, he had no way of telling them what he’d learned. That finally—finally—he had a way to detect the silent amulets. One that with refinemen
t, might even allow the Sentinels to identify the amulets as they detected them. Right now the technique was nothing but a clumsy thing, baby steps that could at least alert them...

  If they knew.

  They needed to know.

  He’d bet anything that his illness, Fernie’s illness...everyone’s illness there at the retreat—had come from one of those silent amulets. Although Ana had seemed to feel the faint effects of that illness, as well...

  Nothing that couldn’t be easily faked.

  He took a steadying breath, full of a new pain he hadn’t expected—a hard twist in his chest, radiating up the back of his throat to mingle with the effects of the blow he’d taken.

  Probably broken.

  The thought made him snort in faint laughter, figuring broken in more ways than one, and in turn the faint laughter sent bright shards of pain lancing along his ribs, wringing a gasp from him.

  The tire iron. Right.

  Eventually he opened his eyes, expecting a cell or some crude containment, and blinked at the sight of a textured paint ceiling. A careful turn of his aching head revealed similar walls done up in a classic Southwestern taupe, and a small window with tasteful decorative bars. A closet door, an opening at the corner he was fairly certain led to a tiny bathroom, and a bedside table and chair completed the furnishings. The table held a glass of water and what looked like two aspirin.

  All the comforts of home.

  With much care and several false starts, he eased off the bed. Healing swiftly wasn’t the same as healing instantly, no doubt about it. A quick tour of the bare space revealed a small desk and nail holes in the wall where someone had been smart enough to take down the pictures. If it had occurred to them to rip up the comfortable carpet underfoot, they could have removed the tacking strips, too. As it was, he kept them in mind.

  The bathroom was indeed tiny, tile floor and a corner shower, plus a securely locked second door to another room. The mirror was just big enough to give him a glimpse of his face—blood streaked and swollen over the angle of his cheek, a split over his brow—and, when he pulled up his shirt, his ribs. Just about what he expected there—bruises blooming purple unto black, the worst of them gone white in the center.