Alterant (Belador #2)(52)

Shading the truth still hurt, but he could hide those aches. Blatantly lying brought on excruciating pain.

She looked up and down the dimly lit tunnel. “I’ve got to get rolling. Oh, crap!” She grabbed her head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing . . . give me a minute.” She gasped short breaths for a few seconds, then slowly lowered her arms. “I should have thought about how bad this would be in Atlanta.”

“What happened to you?”

She rubbed her neck. “Telepathy. Tzader probably has everyone trying to reach me. I had my mental shields up even in South America, but Trey just tried. He’s like a mega-powerful telepath to begin with and just had his power ramped up so high his call to me was like having a loudspeaker shouting next to my ear. Even with my shields beefed up to where I won’t hear anyone else, Trey’s voice feels like the constant thump of a bass drum.”

“Did he realize you were here?”

She shook her head, then stopped with a grunt of pain. “I don’t think so. Can you track Tristan?”

“I can now.” The residue from that Alterant had been stinking up Storm’s nasal passages since they’d landed here. He pointed to his right in the direction of the train that had just passed them and started walking. “We’re going to have to get through this tunnel quickly—between trains.”

Evalle fell into step with him, quiet at first and staring ahead. She finally asked, “I said I’d help you and I will. What’s the deal with finding that woman?”

That woman. Storm enjoyed a moment over her little bout of jealousy. It soothed his own from earlier with Tristan. “She’s not a problem right now. I’ve got some time until I need to hunt for her.”

He expected Evalle to press him over not answering her question, but she trudged along with her own thoughts while he tracked. He had told Evalle the truth about seeing her in a vision with the Ashaninka woman, but he hadn’t explained why he needed Evalle’s help to locate her.

In his vision, the Ashaninka witch doctor intended to kill Evalle.

Not as long as there was breath in his body.

Storm just couldn’t pinpoint when to expect the witch doctor because his visions had no time element. Sometimes a vision would be realized within hours and other times it could take weeks or months.

When he’d had the latest vision just hours before Evalle had been on the way to meet with the Tribunal, Storm had come up with the only way she’d permit him to use his majik on her. He’d had to convince her that he needed her help or Evalle wouldn’t have agreed to let him use majik for her benefit.

She’d go to her death protecting the world.

He’d have hunted her down no matter what.

She’d raided his dreams every night since he’d first set eyes on her, to the point he woke up exhausted. His body searched for her when he was awake. Thankfully, she’d allowed him to mark her with his scent, though she hadn’t exactly realized what he’d been doing with the majik.

But why had the majik altered her aura from silver to gold?

Gold, silver or no aura, she was . . . exceptional, a fiery emerald you found tucked into a tight spot.

A gemstone that had to be lifted gently and held carefully, but when it glowed there was no equal.

He could accept lusting after a woman, but wanting more with any woman wouldn’t fit in his plans. Not with his unfinished witch doctor business.

But he’d be lying to himself if he called this intense desire for Evalle merely physical.

And if she knew how much he wanted her she’d run faster than a gazelle chased by a lion.

She tapped one hand against her thigh in a sign that she was churning mentally on something that aggravated her. “You never answered my question about this woman you’re after.”

Guess he’d have to give her something.

“My father met her when he went to South America to help remote tribes, sort of a Navajo missionary, if you will. He was a shaman, but he felt many in his tribe had abandoned the old ways and lost touch with their rituals. He wanted to help other tribes preserve their ways.”

“Why did he choose South America?”

Storm mentally picked through how much to share. “He had a friend who had started outreach-type programs for more primitive tribes to show them how to hold onto their culture while accepting aid to survive. My father decided to try it for six months, but he ended up staying. The Ashaninka welcomed him and treated him well . . . all but one. The woman I’m searching for repaid his kindness by stealing from him and causing his death.”

She’d tricked his father and stolen his soul, then killed him. When Storm had found his father’s cold body, he’d been out of his mind with wanting to find the killer. She’d used Storm’s grief to convince him she could show him the face of his father’s murderer.

She had, right before she’d taken control of Storm’s soul.

But he was more powerful than his father and had attacked her before she’d been able to turn him into her personal demon. She’d escaped, but he would find her.

How would Evalle react if I told her I had no soul? The few who’d known that about Storm back in South America had called him a demon and tried to kill him.

“What did this woman steal?” Evalle asked.

“We both have secrets. I don’t push you to share yours,” he said as gently as possible. When Evalle nodded, he changed the subject. “Let’s find your three Alterants, then we’ll look for my target.”