Chapter Nine

She wasn't supposed to be here; it was too soon for her to be in their midst. More than that, she was dead. She'd been dead for years, just like his heart had been since the day he'd encountered the terrible, soul-rending truth of her fate. He wasn't sure his heart had ever really started beating again after that day.

Get it together, Tierny. You've just pulled her into this mess, so you sure as hell better protect her.

He led her by the hand down a side corridor, one that he knew from personal experience had an emergency exit shaft. She held tightly to him, stumbling a few times, but he didn't hesitate in his freight-train momentum. She'd slowed him down drastically in his escape, but how, by heaven, could he possibly have left her behind? He'd never been able to leave her, not once in their years together. In the end, she'd been the one who left him, but not because she wanted to. She would have stayed with him forever if she'd had any choice.

But she hadn't been given a choice, and he'd be damned if he'd do the leaving now.

"Where are we going?" She panted as he tugged her into a small cleft in the hallway, one created by a stack of supply boxes. Drawing her up next to him, he studied the empty corridor, sniffed the air. Dillon was right on his tail. "Come on, Hope," he urged, taking the lead again. "We're almost where we're going."

"Why am I doing this?" she lamented, keeping up with him despite how much smaller her natural strides were.

"Because you trust me," he called over his shoulder, yanking her toward the shaft opening.

"Like I trust my eyes," she shot back sarcastically.

"Because I need you, then." He let her hand drop and took hold of the hatch. It wouldn't budge; he reached for the pulse pistol holstered along his hip, using it to blast open the doorway, and she yelped in surprise. "Sorry," he apologized gruffly as a waft of glacial cold blew past their faces.

"I do have a soft spot for lost causes," she admitted with a laugh, squinting at the darkness.

Yeah, he wanted to say, you always did.

"It's your last chance." He turned and gripped her by the shoulders. "You can stay now, and it's okay."

She stared up into his face, her unfocused gray eyes searching for something—the truth, a glimmer as to who he really was. Emotion choked at his throat; he'd never thought to look into this pair of lovely, haunted eyes again.

"Jake, you'd do better without me," she told him.

He shook his head, but then realizing she probably couldn't see, whispered, "I was never better without you. I know that much after all these years."

She nodded, closing her eyes for a split second, and then, as if letting go of her own will, said, "I'm ready."

They pushed through the opening, Jake hoisting himself up and out first; it was an emergency panel, not a door, and Hope felt him tugging her by the arm. "Reach for me," he urged, and she considered running from him this one last time.

He was right. If she wanted to abandon this flight of his, now was the moment, but the utterly inexplicable thing was that she did trust him. That same baffling trust she'd felt for Scott back at Warren. It was an instinct she'd begun to rely on much more than her failing eyesight. This man, whoever he really was, needed her help; whatever paltry, pitiful help an almost blind woman could offer, that was. He clearly didn't consider her a liability. She'd felt set on the shelf for so long, it was exhilarating to imagine being an active part of this time-crossed crisis. But it was more than that, too; something in this stranger's heartfelt emotions when he'd found her in the hallway had nearly broken her heart. She believed every word he'd spoken. Maybe it was remembering Scott's dream warning; maybe it was something much more. Either way, it wasn't every day you got to learn about a future world where you were quite clearly … dead.

Lifting both hands toward him, she allowed him to pull her into the frigid night outside.

Dillon materialized in the hallway toward the medical complex, disoriented for half a heartbeat, until he noticed the freezing whoosh of outside air filtering into the corridor. With a few limping steps he found the source: an emergency hatch had been blown open. He stood gaping up at it, and engaged his senses, gazing into the dark night, the sparkling canopy of stars visible through the aperture, and beyond into the ether about them. The Antousian was moving fast, but not as fast as he should be. Any one of his formless brethren—the thought made him ill—could easily have made it much farther than this by now. Unless something, or someone, had been slowing him down.

Scott looked deep into the situation, swung his gaze first in one direction, then another, and what he saw inside his mind was enough to practically drive him to his knees. The intruder had taken Hope as a captive. He felt his eyes burn hard within his head, as if they might explode, his visions causing a sharp pain to pull wildly at his mind.

Hope! Not you, not you! He blinked, trying to make out what had happened here before he went any farther, but was unable to receive any more details to the vision. Taking hold of the ledge above him, he swung upward, out into the snowy landscape right above. His right leg gave a spasm of pain as it caught against the jagged edge, and before he could process what had happened, he'd collapsed back down inside the main hallway, falling at least four feet. It was all he could do to choke back the scream of agony that filled his throat.

He lay gasping on the floor, holding his thigh and feeling sticky warmth soak the leg of his pants. He'd ripped the stitches open, he realized with another gasp of pain, biting the inside of his lip. He had to shape-shift again, or he'd never stay on their tail. Behind him he heard booted footsteps running, the squadron of soldiers having caught up with his shapeless movements. Leaning against the wall, he gripped at his bleeding leg and began to calculate a strategy. He needed someone who could move with him, someone who could cover the distance as quickly and silently as he. For all the shape-shifters in their midst, very few were capable of that kind of Changing.

The world around him blackened for a moment, wooziness swimming over him, but he forced himself to stay conscious. He had to push through this for Hope's sake; she was innocent, and yet the worst kind of killer had abducted her. Clasping at his leg, he worked to stand again, but doubled over as needles of pain exploded throughout his body.

The troops closed in behind him, and he heard Anna call out to him, "Sir, are you all right?"

He nodded, pressing his eyes shut as he gripped his leg. Tightening his jaw, he ground out, "Lieutenant Draeus, have them follow outside."

Anna dropped beside him, waving the soldiers onward. One by one, they pulled themselves up through the open hatch. "Sir, what happened? Did he fire his weapon?"

"Previous injury," he managed as Anna examined his bloody pants leg.

"Checking out of the hospital was utter stupidity. I'm pretty sure I already said that."

He shook his head adamantly. "If I hadn't been up there, I couldn't have tracked him this far."

"No, but we would have."

"Not as fast."

"They'll catch up with him," she argued, stripping out of her jacket. With a loud rip, she tore off the sleeve and made a tourniquet for his leg. Only then did he release that his injury was more serious than a simple matter of ripped stitches. No wonder the blood kept seeping into his pants, soaking the material. "This will have to do until we get you back to the med area," Anna said, tying off the bandage.

"Not going back," he told her through gritted teeth.

"Sir!" she cried in wide-eyed disbelief, rocking back on her heels. "Really, sir, at some point you have to listen to the advice of those around you."

Seizing her by the forearms, he stared into her eyes. "He has Hope, Anna. He took her."

Anna glanced upward at the gaping hole where, until moments earlier, the hatch had been, and gave a light, disbelieving shake of her head. "No way. I'm sure she's just down—"

"I'm a gazer And I saw what he did. The damn vlksai took her with him." His grip on her arms tightened; he didn't realize how much so until she winced. Releasing her, he whispered, "Anna, please don't try to stop me. I have to follow him."

"You're seriously injured, sir," she argued, but her firm tone was a faltering one. "I can't support this. Our king would have my neck if I didn't hold you here."

"I will go with or without your support, Lieutenant, and I'm going right now." He searched her face, pleading with her visually. "But I'd rather have you come along, because you're the only shape-shifter I can think of besides myself who can actually traverse wherever this bastard's going to lead us. I mean, there's no telling where he might abandon Hope, and she'll be vulnerable."

Anna's naturally fair face seemed to blanch; they both knew that Hope, despite her tenacious, fighting spirit, would be helpless in the backcountry without her eyesight. If a predator didn't get her, then the elements would. She nodded briskly. "If he dumped her out there at night, she'd be left exposed."

"I can't lose her, Anna." Not with what I already feel for her, he wanted to add, but kept his emotions inside. This had to be a military decision, even if he was making a personal appeal to his fellow soldier.

She folded both arms over her chest, letting her gaze slide up and down him where he'd crumpled against the wall. "So, this is a great plan, sir, except that from what I can see, you're about a heartbeat away from passing out cold."

"My body is, true," he countered rationally. The woman knew what his other form was, and what he was truly capable of, yet clearly he had to remind her. "But I can assume a ghost state. I can go anywhere that way." She shuddered visibly as the honest fact of what he truly was hit her dead-on. They all forgot the truth of his hybrid nature, every last one of them—sometimes even himself.

"So you'll make your Change," she answered for him, "and continue tracking the intruder just like you tracked him down here?"

He nodded, tightening the tourniquet on his thigh. Once again, bright spots filled his eyes, and he leaned into the wall behind him for support. "That's … the plan."

"What happens when you can't hold your Changed form because you're weak as a newborn? What then? You resume your physical body and pass out cold somewhere? Find yourself frozen solid on some ranch or the side of a road?" Her black eyes narrowed to slits, and color infused her face. "I still don't see how I can support this. At the very least I should tell our commander."

He grasped her arm again. "No, Anna! No. He'll stop me—he will order me not to go. And this isn't just about Hope; I may care for her, but you know it's about more than her. This man put a gun to Jared's temple. He penetrated our compound, got past all our defenses. He's got to be stopped so it doesn't happen again."

"He's fleeing," she argued, prying his fingers loose from her arm pointedly. "Sir, the danger to our king has passed."

Closing his eyes, Scott truly wondered if he could make it without her. He could Change, certainly, but he might not get very far. Anna's tracking skills and ability to shadow him in her own Changed form were critical. The soldiers outside would only make it so far, and sure, they might find Hope, but it was doubtful they'd catch this enemy.

"I could order you to accompany me," he reminded her.

She cocked her head with a look that said she knew he was tossing her a load of medshki.

"You've ripped out your stitches, sir, and done worse damage than that, from what I can tell." She glanced down at his blood-soaked pants. "That's just the beginning. If this lasts very long, you might wind up in really bad shape. Unable to walk again. Or worse."

He lifted his chin proudly. "A risk I am more than willing to take for my king."

"And for Ms. Harper."

"That too." His eyes drifted shut and he tried steadying himself against the wall, but it was a losing proposition. Nothing like the truth driving itself home with the forceful power of a sledgehammer.

He heard Anna sigh deeply, and when he opened his eyes again she was on her feet, extending a hand to him. "Go ahead, sir. Make your Change, and so will I. In fact"—she laughed aloud, cocking an eyebrow in challenge—"I'll be really curious to see if you even have the strength to shift at all, much less make it out of this corridor."

Leaning into her, he managed to get on his feet—just barely. With a silent nod between them, they each Changed at the same precise moment. He into a shapeless, formless ball of ether, one that was capable of passing through walls and water and energy itself. She, his dear lieutenant and friend, into a graceful night bird. Moving into the darkened woods outside, Scott led the way, doing the one thing he'd always sworn he wouldn't.

For the second time in one night, he became his truest self, an Antousian ghost shifter.

Veckus Densalt sat at his makeshift desk, nothing more than a warped piece of plywood atop two industrial drums, and wondered why the Refarians were so taken with traveling through time. He'd felt them penetrate inter-dimensional space the first time, weeks ago. And now, yet again, he'd sensed the moment when a future traveler had stepped through a time vortex. His perception had been keener on this second occasion because the traveler was a fellow Antousian, a fact that had rippled over time and perception with a different sort of clarity. Perhaps in the future his people had finally gained mastery over the mitres weapon, at long last, and that was why one of his race had utilized the unit. That was certainly a possibility, but something unsettled the warlord about this particular traversing of the time-space continuum.

He leaned back on the empty crate he was using as a seat. This latest post in an abandoned warehouse was ratty and substandard. Veckus did not work or live in such a manner, but after the botched attack at Warren, he figured more time with the grunts who followed him was probably an expedient idea. Later that night he would return to the battle cruiser that kept position in orbit around Earth at all times. The craft was mostly stealthy, and certainly came in handy as necessary—like in the recent battle at Warren. If not for their protective shields on the very advanced ship, well, they'd have been blasted out of the sky.

Veckus realized his hands were bunched at his sides, clenched in anger. Of all times for Jareshk to have unraveled the mystery of the mitres, why did it have to be when their well-crafted battle plan was finally about to come to fruition? Warren should have worked. Those missiles should have been his to control and use against Earth's pathetic denizens. This planet should have been his. His, gods damn it. Earth's only destiny was as an adjunct of the Antousian species. All the mystics had foretold it.

A minor species, prone to self-destruction and ruin, will serve their greater masters, offering their bodies. And what they do not offer shall be taken.

That was the prophecy. Veckus had been raised on it, and the plague had nearly killed them all—but not before revealing what had to be done. Humanity had a special role in saving his people … and, of course, with the plague itself. Yes, those missiles at Warren should have been his—and would still be his—even if Veckus lost every Antousian under his command bringing the prophecy to pass.

So where did this newest future traveler fit into the scheme of things? Veckus formed a temple with his hands, propping them beneath his chin. The data: First, one traveler had crossed the portal. Result? His well-orchestrated attack on Warren was totally thwarted. Five years in the making and meticulously planned, but ruined. The data: A new future traveler arrived, crossing the time-space continuum. Result? A fellow Antousian brother was here, on Earth, possessing no end of knowledge about the course of the war.

Data: Veckus would locate this brother and bring him in. Drain him of everything, every scrap of knowledge about the future.

Planned result: Veckus would still gain control of the missiles at Warren and use them to effectively subdue mankind.

Jake shoved the motel room door shut behind them, and Hope heard the room key land on one of the twin beds. He'd asked for two beds, thank goodness. After leaving the compound, he'd quickly hot-wired one of the Suburbans up on the parking pad, and they'd taken off with several of the Refarian vehicles in hot pursuit. He'd managed to lose those tailing them after some twisting turns and hazardous driving, far worse than anything she'd ever experienced with her twin brother, Chris, behind the wheel, even in his most reckless teenage days.

At this point, however, it was way, way too late for second-guessing. She'd jumped into this thing feet-first, and now she'd landed in a small, drafty motel room somewhere out on one of the local highways. A motel that felt eerily similar to the one she'd been dreaming about, the one Scott had made love to her in: up against a wall, on the bed, over and over and over. Only now she was alone with another man, not Scott. A veritable giant who, when compared to her hundred and five pounds, had to be at least two hundred and thirty pounds of rock-hard muscle and bone.

"You'd better catch some sleep while you can," Jake told her, and she heard the springs on the leftmost bed creak beneath his heavy weight. "We're only stopping for a few hours."

"Where are we going then?" She remained standing by the closed door. It was dark, much too dark to find her way to the other bed without possibly breaking her neck.

"I'll tell you when we get there."

She shook her head. "That's not fair, Jake. You know it isn't."

"Maybe I'm not taking you any farther than right here." His bed groaned in complaint as he shifted atop it like a giant felled redwood.

She stuck a hand in front of her, fanning it in an arc, wishing she could walk toward him without stumbling. "You didn't bring me this far to leave me behind." With another sweep of her extended fingertips, she tried to get a sense of what was around her, but felt stupidly blind. Helplessly disabled. She cursed and finally dropped both hands to her sides. "I didn't have to come with you, you know," she snapped.

There was the sound of a heavy, thoughtful sigh. "I'm sorry." Another sigh, then: "I shouldn't have dragged you into this, Hope, but I just couldn't seem to help myself."

"Because I'm her."

"Her?"

She released a sad laugh. "The girl you loved once upon a time."

She didn't get an answer. He just rolled over on the bed again until it creaked like it might collapse beneath the sheer weight of his colossal body. But he said nothing, finally growing still and quiet, even though his breathing was heavy enough to betray emotion that was anything but quiet.

"You should tell me what happened between us." She took a couple of tentative steps closer to him. "And what happens to me in the future. If I'm in this with you, it is absolutely fair for me to know everything. You owe me that, don't you think?"

"I can't tell you anything about the future. That was a very specific condition when we used the mitres."

"A very specific condition imposed by whom?" she asked, then added with a slightly hysterical laugh, "Wait! Don't tell me … you can't say."

"You're starting to figure this thing out, Hope."

Annoyed, she asked him to turn the light on. It was too damn dark to see a thing. He sat up in bed with a start and apologized, then switched on the bedside lamp, and the room was flooded with bright light.

"What, I'm not blind in the future?" She felt suddenly frightened by all that this man knew about her destiny—but that she did not.

"You're not blind now," he told her gently.

"I'm legally blind, but clearly you're not used to that fact or you wouldn't have left me standing here"—she stamped the floor for emphasis—"completely stranded in the pitch-black dark. You strike me as far too chivalrous to be that rude, so that tells me you're not used to my blindness."

"Inconsiderate." He lay back down on the bed. "I believe that's what you called me once upon a time. Guilty as charged. I never change, and that's what I told you then."

"In what context?" When he didn't answer her, she repeated, "In what context did I call you inconsiderate?"

"I believe you'd just thrown all my clothes at me and told me to get out of your room."

"That's quite a picture there, Jakey," she spit sarcastically.

"You were quite a picture that day yourself, sweet Hope. Good gods, but you're beautiful naked."

"Aha! See, you just broke your own vow; you just told me something about the future."

He snickered, crossing what looked like two booted feet as he stretched his legs out on the bed again. With the bedside light, she could at least get a better visual sense of what he was doing. "Don't worry, I won't transgress again."

She tried to think of a snappy comeback, but her rational mind had deserted her completely. They'd been lovers! She'd already suspected as much, but it was beyond freaky to realize that it was true. After all, it was overwhelming enough knowing what she and Scott would share, or had shared in some alternate timeline—that they were destined to become hungry, desperate, insatiable lovers. Now this total stranger was giving her the same kind of intel, but in his case she hadn't received any dream transmissions or half memories to serve as confirmation. Well, there had been the one about Scott, with him urging her to trust Jake when he showed up. Then again, she'd been a full nine months pregnant with Scott's own child in that dream, so it hardly validated of any kind of romantic connection between Jake and herself.

Maybe Jake was making this up about their being lovers? Then again, he knew about her scar, although there were a hundred different ways he might have acquired that knowledge, all the way down to rape. Still, he wasn't making any unwanted advances right now.

With a weary, depressed sigh, she walked to her own bed and collapsed on the edge, facing him. "I'm sorry I came."

He rolled toward her, and she had the distinct impression that he was studying her hard. "I'm sorry you feel that way." His voice was infused with genuine sadness, totally sincere, which both surprised her and … didn't.

"I have nothing to offer on this expedition of yours, no skills. I'm basically nothing more than a hindrance. So why in the hell did you say you needed my help?"

He didn't reply, seemed to consider his answer. "Go to sleep, Hope," he said at last.

"Tell me why."

There was a long silence; then the room went black as he turned out the light once more. Just when she'd decided he would never answer, his husky whisper punctured the blackness. "Maybe I just needed you with me one more time," he whispered. "Maybe that was the only reason, sweetheart."

She opened her mouth, but had no words; neither did he, it seemed, because moments later he began snoring heavily. A nagging suspicion told her it was a put-on, just a ruse to silence her questions, but she wasn't inclined to go jump up and down on his bed to find out. So she kicked off her boots and for a long time just sat there, feet dangling against the floor, wondering why she trusted this alien stranger so completely. More than that, she wondered why he felt eerily familiar to her. Whatever the reason, the familiarity and trust were twined tightly together like an impossible Gordian knot.

Like a mist, Scott moved through the woods, over dense farmlands, and along the highway shoulder. Banks of snow, headlights, sounds of plows. All of these details hummed about his awareness, yet he refused to slow. Weaker by the moment, he remained in his invisible Antousian state, searching. Searching for Hope. He would find her, would trail her across the galaxies if need be, in order to discover where his enemy was taking her. He prayed to All that Anna was keeping pace with him, even as he knew his own progress grew slower and weaker by the moment.

At a turn in the road, when the highway curved one direction, his path turned the other, and he simply no longer had the strength to continue. Stilling, he settled in the midst of a snow-whitened field, near some tracks left by a moose. He did not change form, did not even try to; the brutal cold would kill him quickly if he were to pass out in his physical body. So he didn't change at all. He simply stopped moving. The trail leading to Hope wound along that bend in the road, followed somewhere into town and beyond, but he would never make it.

Feeling the cold ground prickle his awareness, the wind slam into him, and the full moon spear his body, he'd never felt so insubstantial before. Then again, he'd only made this physical change two other times before in his life.

Let the wind take me, he thought bleakly, as headlights shone through his body and snow impaled him. Let the night own me. I am done.

But the sound of a bird, the beat of her wings near him, brought him back to the moment. Suddenly Anna was there, no longer a night bird, but his friend. She couldn't see him, yet she swept her gaze in a wide perimeter just a few feet away from him. She'd never stopped tracking him.

"Sir," she hissed into the darkness. "Are you all right?"

No, I'm not all right. I haven't been all right for a long damned time.

"Sir!" Her voice was more frantic. He'd shape-shift and come back to himself so she wouldn't worry, he thought. But as he reached for transformation, the energy for that Change just wasn't there. He sank lower into the snow, more invisible, more a ghost than he'd ever been in his heart. He was fading away, molecule by molecule, here on this lonely stretch of snow and road.

"Scott Dillon!" Anna shouted, and he could hear every labored breath she was taking, the way her body shook with each inhalation.

People love me, he thought dimly. Hope loves me … she does. I know she loves me .…

But even with that thought, the night landscape became darker, then gray, then bright as a light until Scott felt absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.