Overworld Chronicles Books 1-2: Sweet Blood of Mine & Dark Light of Mine (49 page)

"These things ain't got mothers," Ryland replied with a tight grin.

"They were chasing us earlier today. My dad's family, the Slades, wanted us."

"Were they trying to kill you? Or retrieve you?"

"I have no idea." The thought of one of those monsters retrieving me like a stick was unsettling. I pulled a huge wooden beam from the mess and threw it angrily at the stack of debris. "Why would they come here? How could they possibly know about Stacey?"

"Have you been here recently?"

My knees went weak once I realized the meaning behind his question. I'd been here only a day or two ago, asking Stacey to help me rescue my father. "They followed my scent from my house to here."

Ryland nodded. "I thought I smelled you by that building over there," he said, pointing to what remained of the building where I'd last met Stacey.

I raced to the rubble heap where it had stood and searched frantically for a flash of blonde hair or the hint of fair skin among the debris. My stomach clenched as visions of Stacey's broken bloody body flashed into my head. But I found nothing.

"How can I help?" Ryland asked as he looked into my worried eyes.

"I need to find Stacey. Cute blonde with fair skin." I stared at the mountain of rubble. "She might be somewhere in there."

"I'll need to change," Ryland said, removing his clothes. "So don't be alarmed."

"Thanks," I said, my mind too worried to even think of feeling awkward as he removed the last article of clothing from his body. Thick black hair covered his chest and legs, though he didn't have a field of monkey hair on his back. His body was well-muscled but lean and lithe. A long scar ran from one shoulder to the opposite side of his abdomen. A puckered scar covered the joint of his right shoulder. I wondered how a creature with supernatural healing could have scars. Then again, lycans might heal differently for all I knew.

Ryland took a deep breath and stretched his arms wide, then toppled toward the ground. Before he hit, his body seemed to melt. Thick black fur erupted from his skin. His arms and legs folded smoothly, paws forming from feet and hands, joints twisting forward, while his face shifted into a long lean muzzle. Within seconds, a massive black wolf, his shoulders higher than my waist, regarded me with huge silver eyes and a big wolf grin. Ever since my growth spurt, I'd crossed the six-foot line, meaning this wolf was the biggest one I'd ever seen. A horse could ride him.

"Wow," I said, staring at the magnificent beast. I'd been expecting a lot of the nauseating bone-popping and crunching, not to mention yowling that accompanied one of Stacey's transformations. Ryland made it look effortless.

The wolf lowered his muzzle to the ground and sniffed. Ears perked, he stared at some point in the darkness for a second. I wondered if he'd seen a squirrel. He circled the rubble, nose to the ground for several minutes before he looked at me and made a yipping noise. I followed him into the gloom away from the rubble. As we drew closer to the edge of the warehouses, my night vision picked up the hint of something wet amongst the leaves. I touched a finger to it and sniffed. The coppery odor of blood tingled in my nose.

Ryland picked up the pace then stopped in his tracks, ears pointed like radar dishes and alert. With a low growl, he stared back across the destroyed warehouses, ears flattening. He looked at me and pawed the ground, evidently wanting me to wait there. I sniffed the air as well, but caught nothing unusual. Ryland flashed away, his black fur camouflaging him perfectly against the wrecked buildings.

Leaves rustled behind me. I spun, arms cocked and at the ready. A young girl with long black hair cowered at the edge of the woods. I took a deep breath. She was naked as a newborn, her small breasts reacting predictably to the chilly weather. I had never seen her before and wondered briefly if Stacey could alter her human appearance, or if she had a felycan friend she'd neglected to tell me about. The girl's dark olive skin was smooth and flawless. Bright green eyes with a slight slant peered at me with curiosity.

"Is that you, Stacey?" I asked.

She smiled shyly and shook her head.

"Who are you?"

Her silent gaze was the only response. After a moment, she took a cautious step toward me. I stayed perfectly still, wondering if she was going to sprout fangs and eat me, or if she was as harmless as she looked. She came within a foot and stopped, her breath fogging the air between us. Her petite hands reached for my face. I resisted the reflexive urge to jerk away and remained perfectly still as she touched my face, my lips, my ears, and ran a hand through my hair, her body shivering slightly. She was a little more than a head shorter than me, and beautiful in an exotic way. She smelled slightly of ginger and flowers in a warm spring breeze.

I heard a howl in the distance and my blood froze. She heard it too. But instead of fear, her eyes reflected anger and a cute scowl settled onto her face.

"Do you know where Stacey is?"

She looked back at me, her head tilted to the side.

"Stacey. Where is she?"

Her eyes widened in understanding and she motioned me to follow. More howls rang out in the night air. I couldn't tell if they were wolf howls or hellhounds, and my blood felt like liquid nitrogen in my veins.

The girl stopped next to a tree. I looked down and saw blonde hair and fair skin peeking from behind a black shredded skirt, similar to the one Stacey had worn while helping me rescue my dad.

"Stacey!" I dropped to my knees and turned her on her back. She was breathing, but barely. A huge bite wound festered on her thigh. One of her arms had a deep scratch with a foul-smelling white fluid pooling in it. "What's wrong with her?" I said, looking up at the girl. Except she was gone. I looked around, heart racing as more howls pierced the air. I shook Stacey, trying to wake her up, but it was no good. Carrying her like an infant cradled in my arms, I ran from the woods, not knowing what else to do.

A loud yelp echoed nearby. Massive shadows flickered against a brick wall that had somehow remained standing. I raced toward it and spotted a massive black hound battling with Ryland, its yellow eyes glowing like pools of irradiated urine. The two seemed evenly matched, though the hellhound was missing a large chunk of one ear and had a limp. Ryland looked no worse for the wear.

The hound growled, its sharp blackened teeth bared. It lunged. Ryland dodged with ease. His jaws opened wide. He lunged. Sharp teeth snapped onto the hellhound's neck and bit down with a savage crunch. The hound loosed a strangled yelp before its body went limp and thick black blood pooled on the ground beneath its mouth. The suffocating odor of sulfur suffused the air, causing me to gag. Ryland backed away, shaking the hound's neck from his mouth and sneezing viciously.

He pawed at his mouth, finally chewing on a mound of nearby grass until he threw up. I gagged again and turned away.

"Good god, those things are foul," Ryland said from behind me, his nakedness hidden behind a broken stack of bricks. He spat a glob of dark saliva at the hound and trotted away, returning a moment later, fully clothed again, but still spitting. "I need a damned beer."

"You and me both," I said.

He inspected Stacey, checking the two wounds on her. "This isn't good." He touched the wound on her thigh. Stacey moaned but didn't wake up.

"Why isn't she healing?"

Ryland frowned. "Hellhound wounds don't heal easily. They usually fester and kill a person, even if they're a fast healer."

Panic gripped me. I couldn't lose Stacey. True, she was a pain in the butt, but I cared for her all the same. "Someone must be able to help her."

He nodded. "I know someone."

I glanced back at the woods. "There was a girl who showed me where she was. Black hair, short, kind of Asian—oh, and naked."

"Where is she now?"

"She vanished. I didn't have time to look for her."

He sighed. "We don't have time to look for her if we're going to help your friend. Was the girl hurt?"

I shook my head. "She looked healthy, but I hate to just leave her out here."

"Did she have leaves in her hair? Did her fingernails look like polished wood?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Just tell me."

I thought back and remembered leaves, but whether they were in her hair or not, I couldn't recall. "I think. Maybe."

"Might be one of the woodlanders who helped you."

"A who—what?"

"Nature guardians. There aren't many left, but a few remain to fight the war against civilization."

"Like a tree nymph?"

He chuckled. "No such thing as those, I'm afraid." He saw my expression and grinned. "Don't worry. I was just as disappointed as you. I always wanted to see what one of them would be like in the sack."

"Are we talking Greenpeace?" I said, following Ryland as he made his way across a shallow ditch and back onto the main road.

"They aren't human," he said, looking back over his shoulder at me. "They're something else. Not sure if they're spirit or flesh, to be honest."

"She sure was cute."

"Sounds like it. You got to meet a sexy lady of the forest. All I got was a mouthful of hellhound blood." He spat.

"Are we headed toward a supernatural hospital?" I asked, looking around for a clue as to our direction.

"Not exactly."

"You're sure we're going someplace that can help?" The only other person I could think of that might be able to help was Shelton. Maybe he knew some healing spells.

He stopped and gave the unconscious woman in my arms a wary gaze. "Can you run?"

I nodded.

"Whatever you do, let me do the talking."

"Why?"

"She's a Templar and might not be happy with me if she finds out you're spawn."

I cursed. "Why couldn't I have been something nicer? Like maybe a unicorn?"

He laughed. "Once you find out more about your kind, you'll probably understand why they have such a terrible rep."

"I've heard that one before."

We took off down the road, whizzing past abandoned buildings and through quiet residential neighborhoods until we reached a small house in the Druid Hills area near Emory. Small houses lined the winding road as it curved around hilly terrain cloaked by a dense canopy of trees. It looked like a nightmarish place to drive if the roads ever iced up.

Ryland approached the quaint house with its gray-stone chimney and a red-painted wooden door, the kind that curved at the top and had black-banded metal hinges. The back yard, what little there was, curved sharply downward and into a wooded valley. I remembered going on a bike ride with my family through here, years ago. Or had it been something else?

A woman stands outside the house, speaking with Mom in a heated voice. A young girl standing to the side of the house waves and smiles. The air flickers. Darkens. A deep boom vibrates the air. Wind whips against my tiny body, pulling it, dragging me toward a gaping black hole in the side of the house. The front door slams in a blur of red. A girl screams. The door opens and a wave of green malevolent energy pours outside. The door opens and shuts. Opens and shuts. Blood streaks down the sidewalk as if an invisible painter is dragging a brush. The door is red. The door is red. The door is red.

Someone shook me. Called my name from a long way away. A sharp pain stung my cheek and I stared into silver eyes.

"Justin? Are you okay?"

"Ryland?"

A young woman stood behind him, her blue eyes narrowed in concern. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know, he was fine a minute ago, and then he looked at your house and froze."

"I'm fine," I said, the fog in my brain lifting. I looked at the injured female in my arms and was glad I hadn't toppled over during whatever the heck had just happened to me.

"Why were you saying, 'The door is red' over and over again?" Ryland asked.

"Uh, it's red, right?" I looked at the red-painted door in front of me. I glanced at the sidewalk and felt a stab of fear in my stomach.
It was here. I was here.

"Let's get her inside," the woman said. "Hurry."

The woman looked oddly familiar. So familiar, in fact, a name came into my head and I blurted it out. "Meghan?"

Ryland's eyes widened. "You know her?"

Her eyes flicked to me. "He didn't know my name?"

"No."

I shrugged. "You just look really familiar. I don't know why."

She looked at me for a moment before motioning me to set Stacey down on a cot near the fireplace. The inside of the house was open. Only a few articles of furniture took up space, among them a leather couch against a wall, two cots, and a large wooden table which looked solid enough to support a car. Light pastels colored the drywall and a set of stone stairs led up near the back. I spotted a small kitchen to the right of the small foyer.

Meghan inspected Stacey's wounds for a moment before giving a grim shake of her head. "I can't do anything for her."

My heart tightened painfully. "What do you mean?"

"Was she a friend of yours?"

A knot formed in my throat at her use of past tense. "Yes. She
is
a friend."

Meghan put her hand over mine, her blue eyes sad. "I'm so very sorry. I suggest you say your goodbyes because she'll be dead very soon."

Chapter 9

I glared at Ryland. "I thought you told me she could help!" The sorrow gripping my throat turned to anger. "We wasted all this time coming here and she's just giving up?" I pressed a hand to Stacey's feverish brow. The only other place I could think to take her was Shelton's.

"Why can't you help, Meghan?" Ryland asked.

"It's a hellhound bite, Ryland, and it's well past the point where I can clean the wounds and stop the infection from spreading."

"C'mon," he said. "You've got to have a spell somewhere that can do the trick."

"You're a sorceress?" I asked.

"More or less." She looked at Stacey. "I'm an arcane healer."

"There's got to be some spell that can work."

"At this stage of the infection, all I can do is postpone the inevitable. The only thing that would help is a willing…" Her voice trailed off and she shuddered. "No, it's too late."