Scorched_Earth_B_N Read online

  “I don’t know; I’ve never seen those women before. It’s my birthday and I got this jewelry in the mail. I thought it was a gift,” she said bitterly.

  He digested that. “Felicitations on your birthday.”

  Cara snorted. “Yeah, it’s been a blast so far.”

  “How old are you?” Tremor asked, glancing at her. The mud must have made it hard to guess.

  “I’m twenty-two.” She’d remember this birthday, all right, but not for the usual reasons. She didn’t hurt now, but the memory of pain made her shudder. Was there really mud in her veins? That was impossible, right? “If those Fates wanted me to set you free, why did they try to kill me? I don’t know how I survived, but I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life.” She fought to keep her breathing under control. She’d freak out if she thought about it too long, and that wasn’t smart right now.

  Tremor chose his words carefully. “They wanted to transform you. You’re now an Earth elemental like me.”

  She stopped dead. “What? What are saying?” she asked in a small voice. She couldn’t take any more shocks.

  He kept walking in a stiff, determined stride, scanning the trail for danger. “You’ve been changed. Your personality is the same, but your body isn’t. You’re of the earth now.”

  She scrambled to catch up. “Wh-what does that mean? I’ll look like you soon?” She scanned his wasted body in panic.

  He snorted. “I’ve been imprisoned a long time. I’m not surprised I look terrible.” He looked at her with deep appreciation. “That rock was the first food I had in hundreds of years. Thank you.”

  Cara barely heard his thanks, too busy panicking. “You eat rocks. Am I going to have to eat rocks, too? What else is wrong with me?” She tugged uselessly at the bracelet, trying to undo the madness.

  He stilled her hand. “It won’t come off. If you could remove it, you’d crumble to dust. It’s what happens to our bodies when we die.”

  Hyperventilating wouldn’t help, but Cara didn’t care. Fear churned in her belly, aggravating the pain of the kick to the gut. “I can’t die, it’s my birthday,” she stammered, aware she wasn’t making sense. “I mean, I’m human. You can’t just change that!”

  “I didn’t,” he said with strained patience. “I would have chosen an elemental. Curse the Fates for scheming witches!”

  “What do you mean, ‘you would have chosen’? What’s wrong with me?” It was one thing to object to being changed and another to be rejected as unworthy. Not that she wanted to be like him, but it was the principle.

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  Tremor must not have known women if he thought that would shut her up. “Look, I’m just trying to understand what’s going on. None of this makes sense.” They’d reached her house, so she used the hidden key and opened the door, grateful to be home. She glanced at Tremor, unsure what to do with him. If in doubt, fall back on the usual habit of hospitality. “Would you like something to eat?”

  He looked at her, stone faced, or maybe it was gargoyle faced. He really did look bad. “I can only absorb so much energy today. It will take time for my full strength to return.”

  “Fine. I’m going to shower and change my clothes. You can wait here.” She wanted to tell him not to touch anything, but how would she stop him? Getting clean was the priority; she was horribly itchy.

  He nodded, glancing around the house. “Take your time. I’m going to make certain your house is secure.”

  Cara didn’t want him messing with her parents’ house, but it was worth it if it kept him busy. Grabbing fresh clothes, she hurried through a shower, worrying about him all the while. She was so tired and hungry, it distracted her as she dressed. Still brushing her hair, she left the bathroom to check on him.

  Tremor was seated at the table, looking out the window. He turned at the sound of her approach and stilled. His eyes tracked her body slowly, surveying the results of the shower. “You look…better.”

  She huffed. “I don’t usually go around caked in mud.” She looked him over critically. “You’re welcome to use the shower.” He might as well; she had an awful mess to clean up in there; chalk would make little difference.

  “Show me,” he said simply, following her into the bathroom. He watched her demonstration and nodded. She felt confident he would manage, so she promised to leave him some clothes outside the bathroom door.

  Thankfully, her tall father had a round middle, so she was able to find a pair of navy blue gym shorts, but her dad’s shirt would never cover Tremor’s chest. At least the shorts were better than the rag he had wrapped around his hips now.

  She raided the fridge, loading her plate with leftover tamales. She ate quickly, but never seemed to fill her belly. Well, she’d had a full day and missed lunch; a second helping couldn’t hurt.

  Tremor entered the kitchen as she was refilling her plate. He looked less dusty, and he’d shaved his straggling hair off. The shorts were snug, but they covered the essentials. He frowned. “You can’t feed on human food.”

  “I just did,” she said tartly, putting her plate in the microwave.

  He shook his head. “You can eat it without harm, but it won’t satisfy you.”

  “It will if I eat enough,” she said stubbornly. She sat at the table and proceeded to prove him wrong.

  He took a seat and alternated between watching the windows and her. When he saw her expression of dismay as she stared at her empty plate, he said mildly, “Ready to try feeding my way?”

  “No.” She wouldn’t admit defeat. Ignoring the fact that she was hungrier now than when she’d gotten home, she dished a big bowl of ice cream and turned on the TV, determined to ignore him.

  Unfortunately he followed, examining the flat screen with interest. “How does this work? Are you an Oracle? This is some kind of enchanted mirror, yes?”

  Cara frowned. “It’s science, not magic, and you’re smudging the screen.” Yesterday she would have pointed out that there was no such thing as magic, but her world view had received a rough shaking.

  He stepped away. “What else has changed in the centuries I’m been away? It’s dangerous to be ignorant.”

  Her brows climbed at the word centuries. “How long were you imprisoned?”

  “Eight hundred years, more or less.” He was examining the DVD player, popping the tray in and out.

  “Whoa. That’s a long time. What did you do to deserve that?”

  “What did you do to deserve your fate?” he asked. “I was myself.”

  “That’s not an answer.” Her ice cream was gone, and she was beginning to feel weak with hunger. She rubbed her head.

  “I caused an earthquake,” he said, folding his arms. “The shockwaves caused a tsunami that wiped out Thonis.”

  She blinked, clueless. “Thonis.”

  “You might know it as Heracleion. It was an Egyptian city near Alexandria…” He frowned. “I suppose it was before the founding of your country. Ancient history, to you.”

  “I’ve heard of Alexandria. There was a lighthouse?” It was hard to grasp the scope of his crime, to feel outrage for something that had happened long, dusty years before she was born.

  “Among other things. The Fates felt the humans were justified in their grievance and gave them the power to imprison me.”

  “Can’t imagine why,” she murmured. Lovely. She had a psycho killer in the house. She rose to put away her bowl as much as to put distance between them and stumbled woozily, dropping the dish.

  He caught her elbow. “You need to feed.” He set the bowl on the end table and guided her to the door, ignoring her protests.

  It was dark outside, and the crickets were chirping madly. Cara was immediately taken with the feeling of grass under her bare feet. It tingled pleasantly, and she knelt to run her hand over the lawn, enjoying the springy texture. She dug her fingers into the turf, gasping when she touched loam. A surge of green energy flowed up her arm, curling through her body like smoke as i
t filled the emptiness food couldn’t touch. It was a high like laughter and sunshine, as comforting as a cup of tea on the front porch with an old friend. She was filling up, becoming uncomfortable, but didn’t want to lose the feeling.

  “You need to slow down,” Tremor said, but she barely heard him. She was growing uncomfortable, but she wasn’t sure how to shut off the flow of energy, until it suddenly shut like a spigot. Immediately she felt miserably full, as if she’d eaten too much Thanksgiving dinner. She groaned, but curling up hurt. Standing wasn’t any better, and her skin felt too tight, as if she would burst.

  Tremor snorted with amusement. “You’ll have to sleep it off, love. Next time you’ll know.”

  Sleep sounded good, except they hadn’t hammered out the arrangements. She didn’t want him in her house, but was hesitant to send him on his way. He had answers about what she was and she needed him, but by his own admission, he was dangerous.

  “You should sleep with a weapon tonight. I’ll be on watch, but it’s best to be prepared.”

  “Do you expect trouble?” She’d had enough brushes with death today.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know why the Fates freed me and bound us, only to allow you to nearly be killed. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Which is why we’ll explain this once,” Destiny interrupted. Her red dress swirled around her as she crossed the yard, ignoring the way Tremor swept Cara behind him. It was impossible to tell if she’d teleported or simply walked out of the darkness, but as one would expect of a seer, her timing was impeccable.

  Cara tried to look around Tremor, but the man was made of rock, and impossible to budge. She resorted to tugging his arm and hissing, “Please! I want to see.” It gained her two inches of viewing space, but his grip on her wrist prevented any more. He seemed to be old school, a warrior who stood between the women and children and danger.

  Considering what the Fates had done to her, at the moment Cara didn’t mind. She’d had enough of the Fates’ brand of “helping” today.

  The Fate raised a brow at their little tussle. “Congratulations, Earth. Your sentence has been served and your probation approved. Be advised, the Oracle has discovered your awakening; it was her men who attacked you earlier. While she doesn’t yet know about your bride, it’s only a matter of time. You might wish to find a more secure place to stay.”

  “Who’s the Oracle?” Cara demanded, but Tremor shushed her impatiently.

  “Later,” he growled. “Where do you recommend we stay?” he asked the Fate warily. He might not like her, but she would know the safest place for them. Fates might seem fickle, but they were excellent advisors. He needed time to teach Cara how survive life as an elemental. If she didn’t even know how to feed without instruction, then she would be helpless without him.

  She canted her head. “You might try the Garden of the Gods.”

  “Why are you asking her? She’s a…a smotherer, that’s what! She drowned me in mud!” Cara said, outraged.

  Tremor gave her a little shake. They didn’t need to provoke Destiny. “Hush.”

  Destiny looked amused. “I’m not going to harm your wife, Earth. We went through a great deal of trouble to arrange her threads, and you need her sweet nature to balance you.”

  “I’m not his wife!” The “sweet natured” Cara shrilled. “You can’t just come in here and push people around like some kind of diva… Will you stop that?” she snapped, tired of the way Tremor shook her arm. She had no intention of shutting up.

  Tremor’s eyes narrowed as he realized that. Seeing no alternative, he clamped her in front of him with one arm. As soon as she opened her mouth, he squeezed, cutting off her breath. Ignoring her outrage, he made one more request, though it galled him. “It would help if I understood how the world has changed.”

  “Certainly. My sisters are updating your friends, but meanwhile…” She blew glittery dust into his face. “You’re welcome.” She disappeared.

  Tremor jerked, accidently squeezing Cara, then went so still she became alarmed. “Tremor? What did she do?”

  “Just a moment.” He sounded strained.

  Cara squirmed, but without knowing what was wrong she couldn't do anything for him. It was difficult remaining quiet in his arms. She wasn’t used to being held like that, and his arm was curled possessively right under her breasts. It made her aware of an attraction she hadn’t expected and didn’t particularly want.

  When he finally released her, he looked wrung out. He let her open the door for him and collapsed in her father’s recliner, which creaked alarmingly. How much did he weigh? By the sagging look of the chair, his body really was solid stone. She managed to contain herself until he sat before demanding, “What happened? What was that stuff?”

  “Memory dust,” he said with his eyes closed. “It's pouring the last eight centuries of history into my mind.”

  She blinked. That would certainly explain his edgy look. It went way beyond the strain of cramming for finals. “Can I do anything? Get you anything?”

  “Lock the door. I won't be much use tonight as a guardian.”

  “Right. If it helps, this is a safe neighborhood.” Or it was, until today. She peered at the neighbor’s houses as she closed the drapes. She was definitely going to sleep with her father’s gun. She hesitated. “Do you want to lie down? That doesn’t look comfortable.”

  He smiled. “Compared to the last few centuries, it’s heaven. I’m fine.” His face smoothed into a look of intense concentration.

  Leaving him to download the last eight centuries, Cara retrieved her dad's gun and put it on her nightstand. She was a good marksman, but she wondered how effective a bullet would be against a Fate. At least the men who’d attacked her could be killed.

  She shivered at the memory, and her heart raced. She felt phantom mud clinging to her legs, trapping her as the Fates watched without helping. She was sinking, vile tasting mud entering her mouth, sliding down her throat, clogging her ears…

  Suddenly she was wide-awake, struggling to breathe. Stumbling to the door, she yanked it open and staggered into the living room, wide eyed.

  “What?” Tremor surged to his feet, looking for enemies.

  “The mud,” Cara gasped. “They killed me.”

  His eyes moved alertly over her, summing up the situation. “You’re having a panic attack?”

  She nodded, beginning to hyperventilate.

  He guided her to the couch and wrapped the throw blanket around her. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Breathe.” He coached her until the panic eased, rubbing her back. “It will be better soon.”

  “I want to kill them,” she gasped. The outburst brought on a new round of wheezing.

  He made a low, humming noise that made her shiver. Picking her up, he set her on his lap and cradled her head to his chest. His inhumanly deep, multi-voiced humming made his chest vibrate against her ear, calming her. It sounded somewhat like “The Sound of Silence” in Gregorian chant, and it did an excellent job of soothing her.

  “How are you doing that?” she asked tiredly as the song ended. The novelty was as pleasantly distracting as the music.

  “Everyone can sing,” He leaned back and settled her more comfortably.

  “It was beautiful.” She relaxed, unwilling to wonder why she felt so safe in his arms. After all, he might not be at his peak, but the man was built like a mountain. Forgetting about the gun that was supposed to keep her safe, or the lock on her bedroom door, she fell asleep.

  She woke on high alert. The clock said 3:46, and she was alone on the couch; Tremor had moved to the (now lopsided) recliner and was sleeping like the dead. Thanks to their combined weight, the couch was in little better shape. She’d have to fix that later.

  She listened, but heard nothing. Quietly, she eased over to the window and peeked through a slit in the curtains. Still nothing. Closing her eyes, she tried listening again and this time sensed something, but not with her ears. She could feel the impression of stealthy f
eet on the lawn, approaching the house. Scared, she woke Tremor. “There are three guys out on the lawn! I’m calling the police.”

  He grunted and squinted at her groggily. “Show me.” He grabbed her hand as she made for the window. “No, like this.” Suddenly he was in her head, following her senses to the men creeping around the house in the predawn gloom.

  Cara gasped at the wrenching sensation and tried to pull away. Her head had always been a private space and she wasn’t prepared to share her senses with him. It was hard enough to accept that they were expanding in ways she’d never imagined. She could feel the earth around them; the composition of the rock, the way it’s energy moved. It was alien at a moment when she really needed to focus. What she needed to do was call the police.

  He squeezed her hand to get her attention. “Stop it! I need your energy.” He plucked it away like he’d grabbed the TV remote and used her like a lens, focusing abilities she’d never suspected she had. It was intrusive, like someone reading over her shoulder and flipping pages before she was ready. She felt the earth shift and open shafts under each trespasser before closing with a snap.

  Shocked, she jerked away. “You killed them!”

  He closed his eyes briefly, gathering strength to stand. He’d given up moving centuries ago as his body withered from starvation, and now he was paying for it. “Before they killed us, yes. We’ll need to leave before their friends come looking for them. We need your car.” He was already moving in the direction of the garage, which he’d scouted earlier.

  “Why do I have to run? You’re the one who leveled a city!” Cara protested, but she wasn’t stupid. She simply didn’t want to leave the illusion of safety her home provided. Frustrated, she grabbed her purse and keys.

  “The Fates tied us together. The Oracle’s assassins won’t hesitate to kill you now, and I don’t have the power to make you human again.” He entered the garage and sat in the passenger seat.

  “Who is this Oracle?” Cara forced away the tears that threatened at the thought of remaining like him. She wasn’t even sure what she was. Was she dangerous? Was that why those men wanted her dead?