“I won’t run. I just want to make sure he’s okay.” She didn’t need to try to sound cooperative. She was cooperating. For Kent.
He released her and moved to Kent without looking back. She stared after him for a moment, then followed, kneeling on the opposite side of Kent while the man checked Kent’s vitals. She watched, ready to attack with her good arm if he tried to hurt her friend, but the man seemed sincere in his ministrations.
For a murderer, he looked surprisingly friendly. His face was square and pleasant, and his eyes crinkled slightly in the corners, giving him a harmless appeal. His hair was thick and almost white in the starlight—the kind of hair a bald man would pay for. A large, squared-off gold cross hung from his neck.
And despite how he looked, she hated him. Her fingers and toes tingled with the force of her loathing.
“Was he wearing a seat belt?” The man’s voice carried concern.
“We both were.”
“Has he regained consciousness since the accident?” He patted his hands along Kent’s body, feeling for any broken bones.
“Sort of. His words were slurred and sleepy sounding. He tried to cooperate with the plan to get him out of the truck, but I think he passed out at the end.”
“I don’t feel any broken bones. But I do suspect he has a concussion. Internal injury can’t be ruled out yet, but the odds are in his favor since he was wearing a seat belt.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small pendant the same shape as the one he wore around his neck. He placed it in the middle of Kent’s forehead. “He will live.”
“Who are you?” This time her voice carried a bit of bafflement. “You’re treating Kent as if his life matters, and I’m glad for that.” Her tone filled with hatred, contempt, and loathing. “But what makes his life more important to you than my grandmother’s?”
“You’ve had a vision.”
His words startled the anger out of her. How did he know about the dreams?
He sat back on his haunches and stared at her. “All life is important to me. Especially yours and your grandmother’s.”
“Huh?” Did she hear that correctly? She replayed what he said, searching for a hidden meaning to his words. But there was no other message. She felt her face twist in disgust. “How can you say that? You know that Queen called me the Dragon. That means you were involved with what happened to Gran and me in the trailer. You know what she did to us. You killed Gran. And you expect me to believe that Gran’s life mattered to you? That my life matters to you?” If her tongue hadn’t turned to sandpaper, she would’ve spit at him. So much for keeping the anger under control. “You. Are. A. Liar.”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping as if she’d just defeated him in some battle of wits that she hadn’t known they were playing. “From the moment I took you, I have been trying to save your life.”
She reared back, his words slapping her. Neither Gran nor she remembered anything about being taken. They’d both gone to bed in their little house in the country and then woken up in their prison. “You? You took us? Gave us to Queen to torment and torture at her pleasure? That wasn’t saving us.” He had to be crazy. Her voice rose and fury flowed out. “How could you think being locked in that room for years, being beaten, starved, and drained of blood was saving either of us?”
“I was trying to save your souls.” His voice hitched as if he were trying not to cry.
“By killing us?” She screeched the words at him.
“By killing the demon inside each of you.” He clutched the squared-off cross hanging from his neck.
His words hung in the air between them.
What? Ookkaayy…
What should she say to that? Should she ride along with him on the crazy train, waiting for an opportunity to save Kent and herself? Or should she try to convince him of his insanity?
He raised his gaze to the sky. “There shall be none among you who practice occultism, no seers or spell casters, nor any who use prediction, prognostication, or prophecy. Whoever commits these acts is an abomination to the Lord. And the Faithful shall drive out the demons to become righteous in the eyes of the Lord.”
He was talking about her dreams. About Gran’s ability to enter another person’s dreams. But how could he know those things? She hadn’t known about her own dreams until recently.
“I am a faithful man, but this task tested me. I tried to save you by making your body a hostile environment for the evil. I was ever hopeful it would leave you, but its roots had grown into your heart and twined themselves around your soul. And now your evil has grown powerful—”
“Isleen!” Xander shouted her name.
She whipped around. He stood next to a stream she hadn’t noticed before. Starlight glinted off the water, and the picturesque bank called to mind another image—one of death. Xander’s death in her dream. No. This couldn’t be happening.
“You’ve hurt her enough, asshole. I won’t give you the chance to hurt her again.” Xander walked steadily forward.