The Darkness in Dreams (Enforcer's Legacy, #1)(27)

“They work with residual energy,” Lexi agreed, recalling how she learned to defend herself, or lose part of her sanity each time she dealt with the lingering violence and fear. “But they’re not strong enough to protect me from what Christan did.”

Marge turned and leaned against the granite counter, her hands resting on the edge. “Then ask Arsen,” she said after a moment. “A warrior won’t tell you how to defend against his own mind manipulation, but he’ll help you block someone else. Robbie would do it, but Arsen is stronger. It would serve Christan right. He can’t always have his way.”

“Does he do that a lot? Expect to get his way?”

“You should know.” Marge laughed. “And I mean that in a gentle way.”

Lexi gave up on the paranormal sites; there was another area of research she’d been avoiding. “Have you remembered your first life?”

“I think that’s the easiest life to remember.”

“Did you ever look for proof that it was real?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“Do your research, Lexi. You won’t rest until you do.”





CHAPTER 11





Christan crouched near the top of the hill. The sun had crested the ridge and he could see the two figures emerging from the juniper trees crowding the canyon below. The men moved with stealth, but neither one was Kace; the man hadn’t waited around for a confrontation.

“Do you see them?” a voice asked telepathically.

Christan turned his head, pinpointing Arsen crouched on the hill to his left. “They’re heading your way.”

“Any sign of Kace?”

“Left mercenaries in his place. The labor pool must be drying up—these look out of their depth.”

Arsen laughed. Christan returned his gaze to the valley. The men below had moved into the sunlight where they stood, glancing cautiously around.

Christan was in his element. There were other enforcers in the service of the Calata, but none could quell insurrections as easily as he did. His appearance anywhere generated respect or fear—there was no ambiguity. Men had seen him fight and legends had followed, but Christan cared little for legends. He valued other traits. Honor. Justice. Those who were loyal to him came to that loyalty by choice and would follow him anywhere. They were brothers. Loved and respected, a privilege earned through centuries of fighting back-to-back on bloody fields beneath an unforgiving sun. He’d taken blades for them as they had for him, and those they lost they would see again on the other side.

Theirs was a culture blending two species into one. Few outside their ranks understood what bound them—the human tendencies against the immortal influences, always at war. Human ideas like justice and compassion contributed to strength and power, but Christan’s immortal half saw the world from an analytical view. Cold, unfeeling. Empathy was a weakness that could lead to failure. That was the side that gained dominance in the Void. He’d expected the human traits to return, but now he wondered if the Void had irrevocably changed him.

Or perhaps yesterday had changed him.

Christan was honest enough to face his many faults. He was not virtuous—there’d been too much blood for virtue. But he thought of himself as just, and what he’d done bore little resemblance to justice. Once, he’d believed that to understand a man, it was necessary to strip away the veneer, get to the core of who he was, where there was neither good or evil, but truth… and what had been his truth yesterday? That he could touch her, feel her body as she struggled to get away and know an anger so strong he could hurt her and not think about it? No, that wasn’t why he’d watched the pain glitter like amber stones in her eyes and hadn’t cared.

Something had happened in those rocks. When Christan had redirected the drone. When he’d watched.

She was meeting with his oldest enemy and all he remembered was that one crystalline moment four centuries ago. Nothing more. Nothing less. Only the grace of her body when she stood in the middle of a moon-shot road that night and betrayed him. The same grace he saw yesterday when she stood in the rocks and that enemy touched her face, dragged his thumb against her cheek as if wiping away tears.

Christan’s one dominant, crushing thought was that, this time, he would decide how she freed herself from him. Not Kace. That was why he’d pushed that magic into her mind without remorse.

Christan readjusted his position in the sand. The sun warmed his flesh. While his mind remained strong, the sensory deprivation within the Void still lingered in his bones, aggravated him to where he needed to feel, to touch, to regain a sense of his physical body. He’d shifted several times, and that helped quell the restlessness. Before he gave into the need to shift again, he rose to his feet. His eyes narrowed as he studied the homestead below, searching for any movement.

“Enforcer.” The mental probing was firm. He recognized the telepathic energy, the ephemeral beauty in pure vibration. He remembered how she always wore opalescent fabrics, shimmering when she moved, as if white would hide the blood on her hands. Only the ignorant ignored her, and his response was to the point.

“Three.” A deliberate pause. “Do you have someone you need me to kill?”

“I sense your hostility. There’s no need.”

“Then why the summons?”