Unleashing the Storm (24 page)

“Fuck
off,” he growled.

“Always
a fighter. Can’t just shut up and give in, can you? Not even once.”

Dev
stood his ground even as his world shifted beneath him and he breathed in the
familiar scent of musk and whiskey as Oz moved in closer. Too close.

He’d
bet his last dollar that Oz still looked exactly the same. Devastatingly
handsome. Butch as hell.

“It’s
been a while,” Oz said.

Over
three years. But he’d be damned if he’d let Oz know he’d been counting. “This
was a mistake. You need to leave.”

“You
send Creed to find me, drag me here, and now you want to kick me out before
things get interesting?”

“I
didn’t ask you here for things to get interesting,” he said, hating to note
that the spirit had fled now that Oz was here.

“Yeah,
you did.” Oz’s hand tightened around Dev’s shoulder, and warm, sweet breath
brushed his ear. “Ask for it again.”

Dev
jerked away. “No.”

“Still
pissed at me?”

Silence
stretched until Dev finally sighed. “This isn’t about the past. It’s about
saving ACRO.”

Oz
was standing in front of him, his face inches away from Dev’s. As the angry
tension dissipated, a new one built, and Dev couldn’t help it, reached his
hands up to touch Oz’s face, the way he’d been taught to do when he lost his
sight. He let his fingers wander over the sharp cheekbones, the patrician nose,
the full mouth he’d kissed more times than he could count.

Oz
took the opportunity to move in closer. Sensual promise oozed from him, thick
and hot. Dev’s body answered, hardened, a split second before warning bells
rang in his brain, because he was not going to let this happen. He’d been down
that road before, and it was bumpy as hell.

Oz
chuckled and Dev wheeled away. He moved in a circle, working off both the heat
Oz’s body emitted and pure instinct, and he knew Oz was doing the same.

“Are
you here alone?” Dev asked, even though he knew the answer.

“I’m
alone. So are you, by the way. At least for now. I’ll make myself comfortable
on the third floor. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“Bullshit.”
He’d know if Oz was in the same county, let alone the same house.

“What?
You want me to stay in your room? It’s a better idea, because I don’t think you
should be alone.”

Dev
halted, tempted to peg Oz to the far wall. “Don’t push it.”

“I
was serious, Dev. No ulterior motives. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to
help.” When Dev didn’t respond because he wasn’t sure how to, Oz muttered a
mild curse. “Want to show me that writing on your back before I go upstairs?”

“Why?
You know exactly what it says.”

“Yeah,
I know.”

Dev
heard Oz’s heavy footsteps leave the room and travel up the two flights of
stairs and he realized he hadn’t even bothered to use his second sight from the
minute Oz entered the den. Like it knew he didn’t want to see Oz, or maybe the
spirit haunting him wouldn’t let him see Oz.

Either
way, he was grateful for the moment.

SATURDAY
EVENING

Ender
heard the bloodcurdling screams before he realized they were his, woke to find
himself collapsed over his hands and knees like he’d been trying to pray and
fell forward instead. The screams continued even though his eyes were open,
wouldn’t stop until the images that flashed in front of his eyes were replaced
by the soft grass and dirt he’d been lying against.

He’d
crawled out of the tent and out across the cool earth as if looking for an
escape—from the nightmare. From himself.

“Tommy.”
Kira’s soft hands were on his face, his cheeks, trying to turn his head to look
at her. “Tommy, please, tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt?”

Finally,
the images faded completely, and he was looking into those deep pools of amber,
saw himself reflected there instead of blood and death and destruction. There
was no rifle in his hand, just his fingers clawing palm-deep into the cold
dirt, but he could still smell the residue of gunpowder and fire beneath the
surface of her honey and cloves scent.

“I’m
fine,” he said, his voice hoarse. He turned and took a deep breath, hoped he
didn’t vomit right here in front of her, because his stomach still twisted and
ached with a knowledge no man should ever have.

“Put
your head back down,” she urged. “Deep breaths—in through your mouth, out
through your nose. That helps the nausea.”

He didn’t
argue, because being told what to do right now seemed to be helping. Some of
the mess lifted off his shoulders and he just breathed, letting the night air
replace the odors of blood, burning flesh and oily smoke.

You’re
on the job.
And safe, relatively
speaking. He’d taken them another full day closer to their destination near
Butte, Montana, and he’d woken with the nightmare to see dusk. Which meant it
was time to move out again, not break down.

“Water,”
he croaked finally.

“Do
you think you’ll keep it down?” she asked.

“We’ll
find out.” He leaned back onto his knees and drank a few tentative sips from
the bottle she’d handed him. His stomach didn’t protest, and within minutes
he’d drained the bottle. “More,” he said, and she complied.

“You’re
burning up,” she observed, wiping a hand across his forehead, and he almost
laughed.

“I’m
fine,” he said.

“We’re
not going to go through this again, are we? You’re not fine. What happened?”

He
shook his head like he had no idea, but he knew exactly. Dev was having
nightmares again. When that happened, they somehow transferred themselves into
Ender’s subconscious, and he’d wake up screaming at the images Dev saw in his
mind.

How
Dev knew what happened on the ground around Ender and his team at the same time
Dev was busy crashing his goddamned C-130 was something Ender never bothered to
ask his boss. Somehow, every single horrific detail, right down to that very
last moment, was imprinted in both their brains.

The
worst had been when Ender had first gone to prison. They’d been keeping Dev
drugged up until then, but as he improved, they’d lightened up on everything
and Dev’s mind kept reliving the crash over and over. Sometimes it was as often
as every single hour. Ender would wake himself and the entire cell block,
yelling so loudly he’d lose his voice. Finally, they’d had to put him into
solitary confinement, in a cell that was soundproofed. All the way in the
basement. Padded walls. Throw the crazy man down there and throw away the key.

Eventually,
Dev’s mind had eased up, but by then Ender hadn’t cared. Had protested when
they’d opened the cell door and told him that he could leave—two years,
fourteen days and twelve hours later. His hair was down to his shoulders, as
was his beard, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken advantage of
his one hour of daily freedom or the last time he’d bathed. After a while, the
guards would usually just poke a hose through the bars and wash everything
down.

And
still, Ender’s excedo skills had remained intact. Had grown stronger, even, as
though responding to the underuse by puffing themselves up in preparation, a
fact the good people at ACRO had discovered once they tried to strap him down
to clean him up.

“Let’s
get you cleaned up,” Kira said when he didn’t answer her. She dragged him to
his feet and urged him over to the water. “You’ll feel better once you’re
cooler.”

He
pulled off his clothes as he walked toward the stream they’d continued to
follow. He waded in until he could dunk his head and he stayed under the cool
water for as long as he could, until his lungs begged for air, until Kira was
pulling him to the surface.

He
couldn’t pretend that what she’d told him about the jail, about what she’d had
to do in order to survive, hadn’t ripped at his gut. She was just as much of a
survivor as he was, and braver than he was. She’d faced up to her past. He had
yet to do so, and until he did, he’d be tied to Dev’s nightmares.

For a
few minutes, they just stared at each other, and he knew another wall in his
personal security system had been breached. Vulnerability was something he did
not do, especially not in front of other people.

“Maybe
if you tell me, if you talk about it, it’ll go away,” she said finally.

He
laughed, a short, harsh bark. “Did telling me about all the men who took
advantage of you every year make it better for you?”

“Is
that what this is about—you’re worried about me?”

“No,”
he said gruffly, pissed that he hadn’t even thought about that as a possible
trigger for the damned nightmare. It had always been Dev, mainly because Dev
was the person he was closest to. But after spending all this time with Kira…

Shit.

“If
you talk about the nightmare—”

“It
was just a dream,” he cut her off, aware of how ridiculous he sounded. But she
didn’t call him on it, just continued like she was a seasoned professional.

“Talking
about your dream will never take all the pain away. But it helps to tell
someone who gets it—who understands how different we are. It helped me.” She
touched his arm and he jerked away. Completely undeterred, she reached out for
him.

He
couldn’t bring himself to yank away from her hand again.

“I
know you’re not normal. I’ve seen what you can do,” she said softly.

“I
can kill. Doesn’t make me any different than any murderer sitting in jail.”

“I
was talking about your speed. You killed to protect me,” she said, and he
didn’t bother to deny it or elaborate on the many times before that he’d taken
lives under the order of defend and protect. And the times he’d done it when
there were no orders…

He
shook his head, took another dive under the water made murky by the fast-moving
darkness ready to take over the dusk, in hopes that when he surfaced she’d be
done talking.

Of
course, there was no chance of that. When he broke through the smooth, glassy
expanse, she was sitting on the edge of the stream, waiting for him.

“When
did you know you were different?” she asked, and he cursed this job again. This
wasn’t what he’d signed on for—none of this—and he was going to make sure Dev
got that. Or he was out of this life, out of ACRO.

“We
call them special-ability types. Stops people from feeling sorry for
themselves.” He ran both hands through his wet hair. “I was four the first time
I was called on it.”

He
remembered the day clearly. The sheep were scattering, thanks to a thunderstorm
that threatened the plains within seconds, without warning. Tornadoes couldn’t
have been far behind, and his mother had sent their dog, Boss, out to round up
the scared animals and corral them to safety.

“I
didn’t want him to go alone,” he said. “So I ran out after him, before anyone
could stop me.” He remembered the wind picking up, his mother’s yells, Boss’s
barking as Tom stubbornly pushed forward and outran them all—the sheep, the
dog, the truck zooming along the dirt road carrying his father and uncle home
from town. It had felt so good, like his muscles finally got the long, burning
stretch they’d needed since he’d been born. It was as if he’d finally fit into
his own skin.

“I
saw the funnel cloud forming, yelled to warn everyone. I didn’t know, at the
time, that the thing was one hundred and fifty miles away. Saw it clear as
day.”

“The
original early-warning system,” she teased lightly. “So you weren’t lying when
you said you had farm experience.”

“Did
I seem like I was faking it?” he growled, embarrassed that he’d shared anything
with her. Mainly because she was looking at him like he was fucking cute or
something, and Jesus, Dev was definitely going to hear about this one.

SATURDAY
AFTERNOON

Creed
hadn’t left his house all day.

Once
he’d called on Oz for Dev, he’d planned on staying at Dev’s house until Oz’s
arrival. But Kat had other plans, had made it impossible for him to stay
there—she screeched at such high decibels in his ears that he couldn’t stand
the pain and Dev had ordered him out. But not before the ghost had cornered
him, held him down and tried to finish what it had started last fall at Dev’s
mansion.

Still,
Creed had waited outside the house, slept in his car and made certain that Oz
arrived at ACRO and gained access to Dev’s house in secret. Then he’d locked
himself inside his own home, turned the lights down and lit a white candle,
like his parents had taught him, and tried to decompress.

No,
the ghost hadn’t followed him home, but no matter how many showers he took, he
couldn’t wipe that snaking sensation off his skin. Kat had been unusually quiet
as well. Respectful, even when his thoughts and dreams turned to Annika, but
Kat wouldn’t answer any of his questions about the spirit currently at residence
at Dev’s.