Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(126)

Below, they heard shouts as a few of the braver men tried to follow them up the ladder. The wind built in strength, slamming into the building so hard that more windows shattered and the fire escape rattled ominously. The ladder rocked with such force, the screws and bolts began to shake loose and drop toward the street below. The wind caught the small metal pieces and sent them hurtling like lethal missiles at the men attempting to scurry up the rungs.

Men screamed and let go of the ladder, jumping to the ground in an attempt to get away from the blast of bolts rocketing toward them. A few of the bolts drove deep into the wall and others into flesh and bone. The screams grew frantic.

“Damn, Hannah’s royally pissed,” Jackson said. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” He got his arm around Jonas and half-lifted him to his feet.

Jonas had to agree. The wind was Hannah’s favorite medium to work with and she could control it. And man, was she controlling it. He didn’t want to think too much about how much of that anger might be directed toward him. He’d promised the Drake sisters he wouldn’t do this kind of work anymore. They’d know he’d dragged Jackson right along with him, and telling them Jackson had insisted on coming along wouldn’t do anything at all to get him off the hook.

He concentrated on his breathing, on counting steps, on anything but the pain as Jackson dragged him across the roof to the opposite edge. Jonas knew what was coming. He was going to have to jump and land on the other rooftop where they could climb down to the street and to safety. Hannah would hold off the Russian mobsters as long as she could, but only Sarah was in the country to help aid her, and Hannah’s strength would eventually give out. She’d be all alone up on the captain’s walk in the cold. He hated that—hated that he’d done that to her.

“Can you make it, Jonas?” Jackson asked, his voice harsh and clipped.

Jonas pictured Hannah standing on the captain’s walk overlooking the sea. Tall. Beautiful. Her large blue eyes fierce as she concentrated, hands in the air, directing the wind as she chanted.

If he couldn’t make it, he wouldn’t get back to Hannah and he hadn’t once told her he loved her. Not once. Not even when she sat by his hospital bed giving up her strength for him to recover had he actually said the words. He’d thought them, dreamt of saying them—once he’d even started to—but he didn’t want to chance losing her, so he’d remained silent.

He protected people—it was what he did, who he was. Above all, he protected Hannah—even from himself. His emotions were always intense: his beserker rages, his need of her, the stark desire he felt when he thought of her. He had learned to shield his emotions from her almost from the time he was a boy, when he’d realized she was an empath and it hurt her to read people all the time. He’d been hiding his feelings for so long it was second nature to him, and no matter the opportunity, he always fell back on the old excuse that his job would put her in danger.

It seemed pretty stupid now—especially when he called on her for help. He pulled his hand away from his side and looked at the thick blood covering his palm. Not bothering to answer Jackson, Jonas took a breath and leapt, the wind behind him, pushing hard so that his body was flung onto the other roof. He couldn’t keep his feet or even attempt to land gracefully. He went down hard, facefirst, the air driven from his lungs and pain burning through his body like a hot brand.

The dark closed in, fighting for supremacy, trying to drag him under. He wanted it—the peace of oblivion—but the wind whipped around him carrying a feminine voice, soft, entreating, enticing. She whispered to him as the wind ruffled his hair and caressed his nape. Come home to me. Come home.

His gut clenched and he fought his way to his knees, his stomach heaving again. Jackson hooked a hand under his arm. “I’ll carry you.”

Off the roof. Down to the street. Jackson would do it too, but Jonas wasn’t going to take any more chances with his best friend’s life. He shook his head and forced his body to the edge. He had nothing left but survival instinct and sheer will. He found the fire escape ladder and began his descent, every step jarring, his body screaming. The waves of dizziness and nausea began to blend together until he couldn’t really tell them apart. His head felt light and the ground seemed far away, reality distancing itself farther and farther away until he simply let go and floated.

Somewhere far away he thought he heard a woman’s cry. Jackson echoed it and a hand caught the back of his shirt roughly, the sudden jar sending him right over the edge into the darkness. The last thing he heard was the sound of the wind rushing at him.





Hannah Drake stood on the captain’s walk overlooking the dark, churning sea, arms raised as she drew the wind to her, channeled it, and sent it racing across the night to Jonas Harrington. Fear and anger mixed together, two powerful emotions thundering through her heart, racing through her bloodstream to make a high-octane brew, adding fuel to the power of the wind. Tiny pinpoints of light lit up the sky around her fingers as she continued to gather and direct the force to her bidding.

Far below her, sea spray rose into the air as waves crashed against rocks. The ocean heaved and rocked, spawning small cyclones, twisters racing across the surface, twin columns of whirling water raging right along with her.

Hannah.

She heard Jonas’s voice in her head, the sound a caress, a soft brushing note that both warmed her and sent a chill through her body. It sounded too close to good-bye. Sheer terror swept through her. She couldn’t imagine life without Jonas. What was wrong? She’d woken up with her heart pounding and his name on her lips. She’d known something terrible was happening, that his life was in danger. Sometimes it seemed to her that his life was always in danger. “Oh, Jonas,” she whispered aloud, “why do you feel the need to do these things?”