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THE SAWTOOTHS. No matter what they would face in the coming days, it was good to be home. She and Rainer sat on the grassy verge of the Salmon River, miles from the town, its heavily armed police, and its doomsday signs. They shielded their eyes from the setting sun to view the jagged silhouette of the Idaho mountains where she was born. Darkening clouds passed slowly across the violet sky and the river sparkled like a jeweled snake. Rainer held her to him a little tighter. Their friends had returned to the Wasteland to make final preparations for the attack on the dungeons. The bonded mates were blessedly alone.
“Why did we not come here sooner, my love? I see you everywhere in this landscape, its strength, its wildness, its beauty.”
“I love it when you’re romantic.”
Rainer placed his finger lightly under her chin and tipped her head back to kiss her with peculiar hunger, gentle but deep. The kiss was all it took for her to become a puddle.
“Remember that time you said we should love each other in the dirt?” she asked. “How about the grass. How about right now?”
Her mate chuckled, stood, and pulled her with him, then made a show of taking off her clothes with expansive hand gestures. She did the same, running her hands over his smooth skin, imagining she could gather the fading light that pooled in his contours. When she finished she stepped back to admire him, but she didn’t get much of a chance. He rushed to her, dipped her as if they were dancing, and filled his mouth with her breast. Zan let her body relax, suspended in his arms. Rainer placed her gently on the grass, hovering. He kissed her with great delicacy then licked along her jaw, her neck, between her breasts, until he reached her belly. He paused to settle himself while she squirmed with eagerness.
“My love,” he said, his sultry voice adding another layer of tease to her wild anticipation. “First I will be the breeze that caresses you, and then I will be the river.” He kissed her belly again, then the insides of her thighs while Zan stretched her arms over her head, basking in the gentle breath of evening and waiting, waiting for the first touch of his skilled mouth to her revved-up body. When he pressed his lips between her legs she shivered and came immediately, so artful had been his wind up, but that didn’t stop him. He continued to kiss her there until she offered her energy to him once again. With a long “mmmmm” that turned into a growl, Rainer tossed her onto her hands and knees and grabbed her hair to pull her head back. He leaned to her ear. “Are you ready?” he purred.
“Oh, yes.”
She braced herself. When he shoved into her she felt like she’d grown giant, her body as full and strong and filled with life as the meadow where they loved each other, not even caring if someone came along to witness. They fucked and tasted each other until the darkness finally told them they should stop.
“Lord, Rainer, you’ve worn me out,” Zan said, as she brushed bits of grass off her sweaty, now filthy, body.
“You don’t look worn out. You’re glowing like a vessel of the crescent moon. And I must follow you, as if I were the sea.”
“You’re outdoing yourself today,” Zan said, lovingly brushing the grass from his skin in turn. They dressed, then lay together on the grass again, Zan’s head on Rainer’s chest. “Do you think they’ll attack us here tomorrow when moonrise brings you into view?”
“Yes. I suspect they will attack as soon as they can see me. If they were smart they would launch attacks in quick succession, but Pellus doesn’t know if Abraxos can spare an adept just for this duty. Perhaps we will get lucky.”
“I hope we do. I know you can handle the fight, even outnumbered, but if you make one mistake— ”
“I will not make a mistake. I will kill them.” He squeezed her. “And then, we wait until moonset as Pellus instructed, so we know we have some time before they can detect us, and we go to meet your brothers. We should have done this already.”
“They’re going to love your big-ass new truck, even if it is a hybrid.”
“Buying that truck is the most craven bit of pandering I have ever done.”
Zan laughed. “This is Idaho, Rainer. You gotta have a truck.”
As the sun climbed higher, Barakiel stood on the ten-thousand-foot summit of Watson Peak admiring the mist pooled in the still valleys. He had chosen the spot to be sure no warrior could attack from above. Now, he sniffed the air, alert for any scent that didn’t belong. Zan waited for him in the truck, miles away. She had argued with him furiously. She wanted to stay for the fight, to back him up with her weapon, but he had insisted she be nowhere near him. With Pellus gone, it would be far too easy for an adept to snatch her. Finally, he’d convinced her it was better for Jeduthan if she stayed off-scene. Then he’d traversed nearly the entire mountain range to put a generous distance between them.
If Abraxos was going to send his warriors, it would be soon. Barakiel reasoned they would move the moment they spotted him. Abraxos had no way of knowing that Pellus was not there, so he would want to prevent an escape to the other side of the planet, where Barakiel would be shielded from view.
Sure enough, eight warriors appeared at least a half-mile below him.
The fools think they can succeed when they do not know the topography.
They would be upon him in seconds. He readied his sword, then felt a tingle of electricity.
Is the adept trying to cage me?
Barakiel grinned. Sure enough, he felt the power build. It vibrated in his blade as the ascending warriors surrounded him as best they could. He surmised the adept’s intention was to hold him in place, then drop the barrier when the warriors were in position so they could attack him from all sides.
Time to let you know who you are dealing with.
With his sword held in front of him, he opened himself to the power. It flowed to his blade, along its beveled surface in crackles of blue light, suffusing his body with energy that danced along his spine and tickled his brain with laughter. In three seconds, he had absorbed the barrier and was shocked to realize he could locate the adept by following a slowly dissipating trail of ions. Barakiel heard shouts—a female voice, he thought—for the warriors to attack, so he took off, gathered a head of steam and leaped to the ridge some way to the west where he found the adept’s slight figure crouching behind a rock face, evidently not bothering to conceal herself as she focused her energies on the barriers. She screamed when Barakiel landed directly in front of her and seized her arm. A moment later she sent shocks along his nerve endings in an effort to break his grip. It didn’t work. Though the pain was excruciating, he did not let go.
“Stop your pointless struggle,” he said, her terrified gray eyes barely visible as she jerked her head and her thick, brown hair fell in her face. The sounds of shifting rocks behind him alerted him to the approach of the warriors. He turned, his sword at the ready, but his adversaries held off their attack, sizing up the situation, no doubt realizing that if he chose to snap the adept’s neck, they would be stranded there for a time. She might also be quite valuable to Abraxos’ cause.
Even so, Barakiel did not want to kill her, despite the bloodlust he’d displayed for the other adept after the previous attack. Her skills seemed rough, as if she had not been an adept for long, unlike Donoreth, who was part of the Travelers Guild leadership. Perhaps the magical night he’d spent immersed in Zan’s love had disposed Barakiel to mercy. His pragmatism could not override his sense of this adept’s innocence. With a sharp blow to the base of her neck, he knocked her unconscious, then snapped her femur, thinking this would ensure she stayed put. He left her in a heap to charge the warrior farthest to his left. Ideally, he needed to dispatch his adversaries before she regained consciousness. Although she was nothing for him to fear, he did not want her to escape.
His opponent could not resist his attack. The warrior’s head fell from his neck in a spray of blood, deep red splashing dusty granite. Barakiel twirled away before the others could land any blows, then leaped down into a copse of scraggly pines. Naturally, they pursued. He tucked his sword back in its scabbard, and threw boulders at the nearest of them with such force he caved in their heads.
Now, only four remained, and their nearness made him redraw his sword. Two had managed to flank him and they converged from all sides. He disabled them with thrusts delivered too quickly for them to block as he ducked and twisted his body. Another attack from behind glanced off his armor, but a thrust from his left side plunged through his arm. With a howl, Barakiel jumped away, which extricated the blade from his flesh. With speed his attacker could not match, he lunged to grab the hilt of the offending sword before the warrior could thrust again, then used this opponent, who held fast to his weapon, as a whip to knock over the Covalent who’d been about to land a blow on Barakiel’s other side. When he released the hilt, his attackers fell in a heap and he was on them, piercing their skulls with his point of blue steel.
After he’d finished off the disabled warriors where they lay groaning on the ground, he returned to the spot he’d left the lax body of the adept. As he leaped, he considered once again whether he should kill her, but memories of Roan, another young traveler who had died because of him, came bitterly to his mind. Zan also came to mind, how she had been disturbed by his desire to eliminate Donoreth.
He needn’t have struggled with his decision. When he returned to the spot, the adept had disappeared. With a snarl, he set about gathering the dead warriors. As he covered them with rocks and brush, he cursed his ambivalence and vowed to excise his mercy. The time for mercy would be when Abraxos was dead and Jeduthan was once again in Pellus’ arms.
Barakiel admired the curve of Zan’s jaw as she re-taped gauze around the wound on his arm. They sat on the long common balcony of their guest house, enjoying the late morning sun, which bathed the summer-brown hills and revealed dust motes and small insects in the air. When Zan finished changing the dressing he put his shirt back on.
“How does it look?” he asked. “Noticeable?”
“No, your sleeve is loose enough. If my brothers ask you about it, just say it was a training accident. I told them you’re a martial artist, and that you use swords. When I called Max yesterday, he said, ‘It’s about time we get to meet this Bruce Lee motherfucker.’”
“Will they be disappointed that I am neither small nor Chinese?”
“Ha! No. I told him you’re Finnish and German, same cover story you told me, uh, was that just last year? My god, it seems like a lifetime ago.”
“When my life began.” He kissed her, and though she responded, she pirouetted away from him back into the room. He followed.
“If you kiss me again, we’ll probably wind up in bed,” Zan said, laughing. “We’ve got to go. My brothers are seriously pissed at me because I didn’t get in touch with them right after the demon attack, so I don’t want to keep them waiting. Plus, they really want to meet you. They turned down a rafting-guide gig for this.”
“Let’s hope I am right about the attacks. I would hate for a gang of Covalent warriors to show up during our visit.”
Zan scowled at him. “If that’s a joke, it’s not funny.” He smiled, but he had been half-serious. No attack had come that morning, so Barakiel surmised the adept may still be in the hands of the healers, given that he’d broken her leg. But the moon would not set until nine o’clock that night and he couldn’t be sure no other adept would take up the duty that day.
Let us hope all the adepts cooperating with Abraxos are otherwise engaged.
“Will your brothers find it odd when I disappear tomorrow to wait for an attack?”
“I hope not. I told them you have a conference call with folks in New York. Makes you seem like a big-time business guy.” She glanced around the rustic, log-walled room. “Take your violin.” She handed him the case and picked up her acoustic guitar. “My brothers want to go to the bar tonight. They claim it’s because of open-mic night, but unless things have changed since the last time I was here, they spend every night at that fucking bar. We can play and you can buy them drinks. They’ll love you.”
“Are you sure you want me to do that? Ply them with alcohol? I know you wish they would stop drinking.”
“Nothing I say has any effect on them.” Zan sighed. “Trist’s accident didn’t stop them, or our parents’ deaths. I thought after Bass’ best friend OD’d last year he might straighten up, at least a little, but he didn’t. They might be even worse after the demon attack. I expect an ‘eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die’ kind of attitude.”
“I’m sorry, my love.” He wished he could absorb her frustration, her sad memories. “We’ll go to the bar, put on a show, and try not to think of anything outside the simple joy of those few hours.”
“I hope I can.” Zan placed her guitar by the door and stared at her feet. “What if there are more warriors tomorrow? How many can you handle by yourself? And the adept. What if she conceals them?”
“I will kill them. They’re no match for me. As for the adept, I don’t think she is sufficiently skilled to conceal all those warriors at once.”
“What if she only conceals one?” Zan’s voice rose higher. Barakiel set down his violin next to her guitar and squeezed her. “I’ll pay attention, my love. Since the Three healed me, I perceive things better than I did before. In Iowa, I sensed the nearness of a concealed warrior. If I hadn’t, I would be dead.” Zan squeezed him back, murmuring how she’d worry like a fool anyway. He could feel her trepidation. “I shouldn’t have let that adept escape,” he said. “We might have had a longer reprieve from the attacks. And I’m sure she’s told Abraxos that I’m restored and that Pellus isn’t with me.”
“I’m glad you let her live, honey. You wouldn’t want him to send a more accomplished adept, another one like Donoreth. And it’s true, what you said. She’s probably caught up in something that isn’t her fault.” Zan hunted around for her bag. “Besides, Abraxos already knows you’ve been restored. That’s how they’ve been locating us, remember? Your unmistakable energy signature. He’s also expecting Pellus to show up at the dungeons, so he hasn’t really been tipped off to anything.” With bag in hand, she went to the door. “Let’s go. Time to meet the family.”
Barakiel grabbed the instruments and his bag and they headed to the truck. While he much preferred his Tesla, he understood the appeal of driving such a powerful vehicle. When Zan directed them up a rutted dirt track, he was thankful for the four-wheel drive. After a few miles and several hundred feet of elevation, they reached the homestead where Zan had grown up, a large clearing on a bluff overlooking the Salmon River, backed by a crescent of ponderosa pines with austere peaks rising behind them. A large clapboard rambler sat back by the trees, with a low wrap-around veranda and a few mismatched additions. A chicken coop sat to the left, nearly tucked behind the house. Curious goats stopped munching on the underbrush to peer at them as they parked and got out near two other pickups, dinged and mud-splattered versions of their own.
A few large pens were partially hidden by the trees to the right, home to pigs that happily wallowed in puddles that had been made for them, judging from the hose and the general dustiness of the rest of the place. The trees also obscured a derelict sedan, a large iron snowplow, and the decaying frame of a motorcycle. As they moved toward the house Zan’s brothers came out into the yard. Barakiel wasn’t surprised at their reaction to him, but they quickly shut down their gawking. Neither was he surprised to find them tall and attractive, like their sister.
Their skin does not glow with strength and health like Zan’s, though their eyes share her hardness, bred of pain.
“There’s our Zannie.” One brother held his arms out wide. Maximilian, the older brother, judging from the gray that peppered his dark hair. Sebastian, only a year older than Zan, stood quietly with a wide grin on his face. Zan ran to her brothers, drawing them both into a three-way hug. She let them go and looked around the clearing.
“It’s good to be home.” She returned to Barakiel’s side. “Max and Bass,” she said, waving her hand toward each brother in turn, “allow me to introduce you to Rainer Barakiel, the world’s best boyfriend.”
Barakiel stepped forward to shake their hands, amused that Max did his best to crush the proffered appendage.
Did he want to see if I would wince?
“Nuuu-iiice truck,” Bass said, shaking Barakiel’s hand a bit more gently.
“Thank you,” Barakiel said. “Zan picked the make and model. She knew the best one for exploring this beautiful country. Speaking of which, what a fabulous spot you have here.”
“Yep, it’s special,” Max said. “Why don’t you come in? We’ll show you around later. Brunch is waiting. That’s what city people do, isn’t it? Have brunch?”
“Oooh,” Zan said. “Did you make ‘em, Max?”
“I did, Zannie.”
“You’re in for a treat, honey. Max makes the best huckleberry pancakes around. Ask anybody. I hope you made a lot. Rainer here has quite an appetite.”
“I’ll bet,” Max said, sliding his eyes up Barakiel’s gigantic frame. “Bass got some vegetarian sausage for you, Rainer, but I don’t know what the hell it’s made out of.”
“Soybeans, I think,” Bass said as they walked up the three steps to the veranda and went inside.
The place smelled like coffee, very good coffee, and Barakiel knew then he was going to like Zan’s brothers, even if they didn’t exactly keep a neat house. Clothes, books, and papers were strewn on the dark brown sectional couch. A shirt was hanging from the huge, wall-mounted flat-screen TV, and beer cans littered the chipped end tables. They had a poster up on one wall with an illustration of a demon. The caption read: “The attack was only a drill. Get ready for the Apocalypse.”
Zan saw the poster and gave Barakiel a look, but she didn’t mention it. She snorted and said, “Glad to see you cleaned up for my boyfriend.”
Bass chuckled. “We were going to, but Will called yesterday and asked us to take out a rafting tour. We were too tired when we got back.”
“Not to worry,” Barakiel said. He didn’t care about the mess. “This is an inviting room. I love the big front window. And the pictures! Zan, you must tell me about them.”
“Okay, after we eat. Right now, I want pancakes.”
They went to a large kitchen papered with an old-fashioned floral print and sat at a round wooden table in a breakfast nook made almost hot by ample sunlight pouring in through a circular bank of windows. When they sat down to eat, Max remained motionless, staring at Zan with his lips pursed.
“What?” Zan said.
“Don’t you owe us an apology for not calling us back after, you know, the fucking monster invasion? For days, Zan. You didn’t call us for days. We thought you were dead.”
Barakiel’s impulse was to tell this man to stop scolding his mate, but Zan had warned him that Max—not being a discreet man and given to fits of temper—may often act like Barakiel wasn’t there.
I am sure she wants me to stay quiet.
“Jesus, Max, I already apologized on the phone,” Zan said. “What can I say? I was wrong. I should have checked in with you, but my best friend Mel is still in the FBI and I was worried sick about her. She was out there, fighting those things. Besides, you’re my blood relatives. Didn’t you figure if I got eaten by a monster someone would have notified you?”
“That’s what you thought about us too, I guess. Figured you’d hear if a beastie got us. Glad you were so concerned.”
“I’m sorry, Max. Please believe me.”
Max gulped his coffee, ferociously ate his pancakes, and stabbed at his soy sausage. Bass patted Zan’s hand. “It’s okay, Zannie. We’ll get over it.” He then produced a stream of cheerful small talk that diffused the situation. Barakiel smiled at him in appreciation.
Bass must be the peacemaker of the family.
The huckleberry pancakes were indeed delicious. Barakiel ate so many that Max felt obliged to mix up some more. Barakiel ate those too, and drank a pot of coffee.
“This coffee is excellent,” he said.
“Thanks,” Bass said. “Local roaster down in Stanley. Since adventure tourism picked up in the Sawtooths, we’ve gotten all fancy in these parts.” He laughed. “Thank Christ for that tourism, too. We’d have no work otherwise.”
“Nature is your product,” Barakiel said.
“Uh, yeah,” Max said. “Nature, thrills, fish. Tons of snow in the winter for sports. Good hunting. But I guess vegetarians don’t hunt.”
“No, but I have no problem with hunting. Killing things and eating them is natural. Zan told me the elk and deer would overpopulate if not for hunters, so it’s good for the ecosystem.”
“The ecosystem.” Max gave Barakiel a strange look. “Yeah, I guess it is. Well, Rainer. That’s it. I’m out of stuff to make pancakes. You’ve eaten it all.”
“I’ve been a glutton.”
“It’s all right, honey,” Zan said. “You appreciate a good flapjack, and Max likes to be appreciated. Right, Max?”
Finally, her brother smiled, like Zan’s, but more guarded. “Every cook likes to be appreciated. We done?” When they all nodded, Max suggested they take Rainer on a tour of their land. “We’ve got fifteen acres up here, right along the border of the Sawtooth National Forest.”
Zan started to clear the dishes. Rainer joined her.
“You don’t have to do that,” Max said, waving them off. “I’ll get it. I’ll shove them all in the sink and deal with it later. Though I know a sink full of dishes drives you nuts, little sis.”
“Only when it’s all the dishes and I can’t find so much as a clean cup.”
As Max cleaned up, Barakiel followed Zan and Bass back into the living room. He examined the many framed pictures on the walls. In one, an attractive young couple sat on horses. “Your parents?”
“Yes.” Zan straightened the frame. “One of my favorite pictures of them.”
“See that horse?” Bass said, pointing to a gigantic roan. “My mother was the only one who could ride him. That horse was crazy.”
“He’s a beauty,” Barakiel said, “but he does have that killer look in his eye.” Bass laughed and nodded.
Zan waved Barakiel over to another shot. “Here we are all together. Trist was still alive.” In the photo, the same attractive couple—though a decade or so older— stood on rocks at the edge of a lake. A teenaged Zan was there, and Max and Bass, plus another boy who looked about the same age as Bass, though Barakiel knew it was Tristan, two years older. He’d died in a motorcycle accident in his mid-twenties, riding while intoxicated.
“Look at Trist,” Zan said wistfully. “He was a handsome devil, wasn’t he?” Barakiel took her hand.
“I like this picture of your mother,” he said, leaning towards another frame. “Was this taken on the veranda here?”
“Yes.” Zan drew her hand over the photo. “It is a great picture. She looks so dignified and sad in the twilight. She never really got over Trist’s death. Some of the light went out of her. And my father never got over losing her. He wasted away after she died. Drank himself to death.”
“I wish I could ease your painful memories,” Barakiel said.
“You do.” She hugged him as he smoothed her hair. Bass pretended to be fascinated by the pictures he’d seen a million times before and was no doubt relieved when Max came out of the kitchen and suggested they head for the yard.
They filled a few water bottles and went outside, where a pleasant breeze had kicked up. Little gray and white birds with tufted heads and red beaks flitted and chirped in the pines.
“The birds sound wonderful. What kind are they, my love?”
“Titmice. I love their punk-rock hairdos.”
“That’s what you call her? ‘My love’?” Bass asked. “I never thought Zannie was the type for romantic stuff.”
“Well, I am.” She pulled Barakiel into a kiss. Both brothers walked off toward the pig pens, which made Zan smirk.
After visiting the animals, they headed up the trail in the back. Bass had to lock the goats in their paddock because they wouldn’t stop following Barakiel. “Never saw those goats like someone so much,” he said. “They’re usually kind of ornery.”
“Animals tend to like me,” Barakiel said.
“Maybe they can sense you don’t eat them,” Zan said, her eyes smiling.
One robust hike later and they’d reached an escarpment looking out over the river, this time from the northwest rather than due west like the view from the house. A few large lakes dotted the expanse of green below them, deep blue and covered with a thousand glints of light. Max walked into the thick of the trees and called Zan over. They found him crouching, his hands in the underbrush.
“Okay, Zan. Can you tell me what came through here, or has the city ruined your tracking skills?”
“Just wait a minute, wise-ass,” Zan said. She crouched near him and poked around, running the leaves of shrubs through her fingers and sticking her face near the tree trunk. “A small animal ran up this tree. Maybe a pine marten,” she said. “I’d say about an hour ago.”
“She’s still got it,” Bass said. He slapped her on the back.
“You know what she hasn’t still got? Her fucking job,” Max said.
“Don’t start with me, Max. You could have at least waited till we were alone to give me shit.”
Max glared at Barakiel like he was sure he was the reason Zan was no longer with the FBI.
I see his instincts are as good as his sister’s.
“We’re still waiting for an explanation,” Max said. “You loved that job and we were proud of you.”
“All the explanation you’re going to get is the same as I gave you before. I had a bad experience and I needed time to recover, so I resigned. Leave it be.”
“Why wouldn’t they give you the time?” Bass asked. “Seems like they should, if something bad happened to you because of the job.”
“I told you, just leave it.”
Barakiel’s heart thudded so hard he was afraid they would hear it. Zan’s memories of being raped by Lucifer overwhelmed his consciousness. He knew he shouldn’t say a word, but he couldn’t help it. “Zan did what she had to do to protect a friend. You should be prouder of her than you ever were.”
Though he did not mean it to, his voice boomed over the valley like the gods’ own thunder. Red squirrels squawked warnings from the trees. Zan winced. Max and Bass stared at him.
“Excuse my loudness,” he said.
“I figured you’d know the story,” Max said.
“Of course, I do. Zan is my— ” He had to pause, her memories still roiling his senses. “My partner. In life. We tell each other everything. And I assure you, her resignation from the FBI was nothing short of heroic. You shouldn’t worry about her. She’ll always land on her feet.”
Bass squinted up at Barakiel. “He’s right, Max. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know that.”
“Enough of this shit,” Zan said. “Let’s get moving, I want to get to the top of this mountain and home with plenty of time to get cleaned up before we go to the bar.”