Alterant (Belador #2)(77)

He looked to be in his early twenties until she took in his sad eyes, which had seen many years of hard miles.

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.