Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(75)

After driving an hour—surely a safe distance away—he pulled over alongside an abandoned road and flipped on the interior lights. She sat exactly as she had the entire drive. Her body leaned against the passenger door, still asleep from the effects of the drug. Tenderly, aware of her broken right arm, he adjusted her position in the seat and turned her head to face him.

He wanted to see her. Really look at her. Take her in. Even when he’d captured her, he hadn’t been allowed the time to drink his fill of her appearance. It had been feared that any contact with her could corrupt him.

He grabbed a handful of tissues from the travel-sized box he kept in the console, wet them with the half-empty bottle of water, and began wiping the blood from her face. The tang of tarnished pennies choked out the oxygen. The air was so thick with the scent he could practically taste it on his tongue. His stomach soured, the contents curdling and threatening to erupt, but he pushed on, cleaning her skin until she was fresh-faced and lovely.

He tossed the wad of soiled tissues out the window, then let himself absorb her appearance.

Her face was…his face. He saw himself in the shape of her brows and eyes, in the curve of her lips and the color of her hair. It was as if Shayla contributed nothing to the makeup of their daughter. She would’ve been so pleased. She had always said she wanted their child to look like him.

Shayla… No. It had been decades and still he couldn’t think of her.

He refocused on the young woman in front of him. “Isslleenn.” Her name—the name Shayla had picked for her—felt awkward in his mouth. He’d never spoke her name aloud, had never allowed himself to think of her as his daughter. Calling her by Queen’s name for her—the Dragon—had always been safer.

But now, things were different. They could have a future. He’d teach her everything he knew about the Lord. He’d make certain the evil never again took root in her. He’d protect her and keep her from harm. Forever and ever. Amen.

*

The road ran parallel with the water, winding and curving with the river. Sunshine peeked from the horizon, slanting brilliant rays of gold over the landscape. No matter how many sunrises King experienced, on the river they were a pure, majestic thing to behold, a time when nature and spirit combined to make a godly moment.

He slowed and pulled in next to Chosen One’s car. Chosen One leaned against the hood of his expensive sedan, staring out at their sacred place upon the water. He was dressed for work—fine tailored suit and expensive tie, the exact attire one expected from the mayor.

King cut the engine, checked her pulse once more, waited for the thump of it against his fingers, then adjusted the sling on her broken arm. He looked up from his ministrations. Chosen One stood at the hood of the car, glaring in the window. King understood how it looked, and he’d best explain quick before Chosen One—

“You’ve been corrupted.” Chosen One’s voice hit every note of disgust on the scale. His lips peeled back over wide, square teeth in a sneer that made King feel like the bad little boy he’d once been. The vein in the center of Chosen One’s forehead—the one that swelled and turned blue when he got angry—bypassed blue and went to apocalyptic.

Oh no.

King grabbed the door handle and yanked it. Locked. He hit the unlock button. The window slid down. He jabbed another switch. The side mirror moved. Why couldn’t he find the right button? He punched another knob. Trnk. The locks disengaged, and he shot out of the vehicle and fell to his knees in front of Chosen One. His father.

Father raised his hand—a hand slightly gnarled with age—and swung.

It had been decades since Father had last punished him, but King felt as if it were only yesterday that they were here upon the river, going through the same motions about the same things. Only before it had been about Shayla.

King tensed, braced for the blow. His head jolted back, his cheek burned. Father packed enough force to ring a church bell, and the crack of palm to cheek seemed as loud. King wanted to press his hand over the heat on his face, but he didn’t move. Wasn’t allowed to move.

“You have shamed me, shamed your brothers, and shamed the Lord.” Condemnation was a poison dripping from each of Father’s words.

“No. No, Father, it’s not like that.” King grabbed the cross dangling from his neck, kissing the warm gold. “See? I’m not corrupted. I’m not. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Silence.” Father’s voice boomed, quieting even the river. “You deny you were touching her?”

“I do not deny I was touching her. She no longer burns me. You were right. Her power was linked to the ancestor. She has changed. I can no longer feel her evil.”

Father listened, then looked beyond him into the car. “Stay here.”

King didn’t move. He kept to his knees and didn’t dare look anywhere except forward. He heard the passenger-side door open, then heard nothing else.

Dear Lord, please please please let him see that she is saved. Please please please… He chanted this over and over until Father returned to his line of sight, carrying Isleen in his arms. He walked past King to the demon box on the bank.

Nooooo. The primal scream echoed inside King’s head but never made it out into the world. His chin trembled, his body shuddered, and he couldn’t remember how to breathe. This was exactly the same as with Shayla.