His voice came out gravelly from shock and smoke; dark fumes still billowed off the wreckage.
“Guys, how the hell did this happen? Doesn’t seem fair that we all survived so many tours in the worst hellholes this planet has to offer only to have things end like this. But as you always said, Montez, shit happens.”
He stared at the bent and twisted sunglasses in his hand, picturing Montez’s familiar grin in his head. He’d give anything to see it one more time. “I love you all like the brothers I never has, and it’s been my honor to serve with each and every one of you. Rest in peace.”
The buzz of an airplane overhead reminded him that this was no time to linger. He ran for cover under the firs, pausing just inside the tree line. Aching with grief, he came to attention, saluted the funeral pyre, and then walked down the mountain without once looking back.
One month later
ELI JERKED AWAKE,pulse pounding and his skin slippery with sweat. Yet another nightmare that forced him to relive the day that his life had literally come crashing down around him. Over the past few weeks he’d learned there was no use in trying to get back to sleep. Giving up on bed altogether, he pulled on yesterday’s clothes and headed for the front porch of the cabin he’d inherited from Grandpa Martin. On the way out, he snagged a broadsword off the wall. That wall shone with blades—it was where his grandfather had displayed his extensive weapon collection.
There wasn’t a single gun in the bunch, but there was at least one example of every kind of bladed weapon imaginable. Some were plain and utilitarian, while others were more like works of art. Even as a kid, back before his parents died in a car accident, Eli had loved the old man’s collection. Some of his favorite memories from that time were of him and his father admiring Martin’s latest acquisition. Later, after he’d gone to live with his other grandparents, he’d missed those visits with Martin talking about swords and knives, which might be why he’d ended up on the fencing team in college.
His skills had gotten rusty over the years, but working out with the various blades was one of the few things that brought him any sort of peace on these restless nights.
Outside, he leaned against the porch railing and let the night air cool his fevered skin. Ever since taking refuge in the remote cabin high in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, he’d been trying to figure out a way to get some semblance of his old life back. Instead, his thoughts continued to spin in circles, and he was no closer to a solution now than he had been the day he’d crawled out of the wreckage.
He glanced up at the stars. “Grandpa, I don’t know if you’re up there somewhere listening, but I wish you were here to answer some questions for me.” That safety deposit box Martin had filled with cash and the papers with Eli’s birth name on them had come in handy. Eli would have given anything to know how his grandpa knew Eli might need them.
It wasn’t as if he’d ever known Martin all that well, especially in his later years. His grandparents on his mother’s side had never gotten along with Eli’s father, much less Martin. After the memorial service, they’d whisked Eli away to Spokane on the eastern edge of Washington State and changed his last name to theirs when the court had awarded them full custody.
They’d also gotten the judge to forbid any unsupervised contact between Eli and Martin until Eli came of age and could make his own decisions. Considering how crazy the old man had acted on the day of the funeral services, Eli couldn’t much blame them. Martin had been agitated when he got there and then totally lost control. He had slammed Grandpa Yates against the wall while accusing him of killing Eli’s father a second time by cremating his body so soon. The police had been called, and the situation had only deteriorated from there.
Looking back, Martin’s rantings had sounded insane at the time. But now, after everything that had happened to Eli, maybe the old man had known what he was talking about. Regardless, having his birth certificate with his original name of Eli D. Jervain would make establishing a new identity a lot easier. God knows, he’d never be able to go back to being Eli Yates without risking the army finding out that he’d survived the helicopter crash.
That didn’t mean he wanted to spend the rest of his life parked on the side of this mountain alone and afraid to let anyone close. He’d served as part of close-knit team for too many years to want to go solo now.
“None of this is getting me anywhere,” he said into the night air.
He also hated that the only person he had to talk to was himself. Frustrated, he picked up the sword again and headed for the small clearing on the back side of the cabin. The soft glow from the kitchen windows didn’t do much to brighten the night, but he’d always had exceptional night vision. Holding up the sword as if saluting an opponent, he began a series of movements meant to strengthen his arms, especially his wrists. It didn’t take long to get lost in the routine, buying him a few minutes of peace.
Starting off slowly, he focused on accuracy, and only gradually picked up speed. But as he raised the blade over his right shoulder, intending to swing it down hard and fast at an invisible target, a woman’s scream, high pitched and full of fear, echoed down off the mountainside. It was followed by a male voice bellowing in fury. The sounds brought Eli’s warrior instincts to full attention. He was running flat out by the time the woman screamed a second time.
Gripping the sword with all his strength, he charged into the darkness.
2
Safara fought her cousin with every bit of skill she could muster. Tiel had her at a distinct disadvantage on several fronts, starting with the fact that he was half a foot taller and nearly sixty pounds heavier, most of it muscle. He was also out of his head crazy with the light disease that plagued the people from their homeworld. Right now, Tiel wouldn’t care if he killed her. In contrast, she wanted to shove him back to where he belonged on the other side of the shimmering barrier that separated the human world from Kalithia.
As long as Safara could keep her blade between the two of them, she might stand a chance of surviving the night. As soon as that thought crossed her mind, her opponent hooked her sword with his and sent it flying off across the clearing. That left her sidearm as her only defense. Unfortunately, Tiel grabbed her right wrist before she could draw the gun.
His pale eyes gleamed in the darkness with an unholy joy. “Are you going to beg for your life, little girl?”
“No.”
Her answer didn’t surprise him; they both knew pleading her case would do no good. The man Tiel used to be would’ve never lifted a hand against her; the man he was now only craved her death and pain. In a surprise move, he spun her around and twisted her arm up behind her back hard enough to make her scream. Laughing, he dragged the tip of his knife across her throat just hard enough to leave a thin trail of blood in its wake.
Just when she thought he was going to finish the job, he shoved her away. “Run, little one. Maybe I’ll let you escape so we can play again another night.”
But he wouldn’t. They both knew he couldn’t risk her getting word to her father, the local chief of police, or back across the barrier to the Sworn Guardians, who enforced the law in Kalithia. Neither side wanted a rogue like Tiel running loose in their worlds. Before she took three steps, he lunged forward, carrying Safara to the ground and trapping her beneath his heavy body.
He rolled her over, and his damp breath on her face made her sick as he forced her legs apart. The proof that he was enjoying himself was rock solid and impossible to ignore. She got one hand free long enough to rake her nails down the side of his face. Now they were both bleeding, but he seemed impervious to pain. After capturing both her hands, he pinned them down above her head with one of his.
Even with the extra strength generated by the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she remained trapped beneath Tiel. When he used his free hand to squeeze her breast hard enough to bruise, she screamed again. She did so partly out of pain, but mostly out of desperation, although it was highly unlikely that anyone else was close enough to hear her cry for help.
Tiel lapped up the blood on her neck with his tongue and then smacked his lips as if she tasted delicious. “Sweetling, this is going to be so good between us. It’s a shame that we will only have this one night together.”
He’d succeeded in scaring her while creeping her out at the same time. “Tiel, we’re cousins. We grew up together. You don’t want to do this.”
