Tethered (23 page)

Maybe it called to a hungry dragon, too. Right now, Michael might be coming because he smelled a tasty snack.
It’s in his nature.
Taylor really hoped that wasn’t what Khavi had meant.

Supposedly, the symbol was part of Khavi’s plan to return Michael to his body. The woman had carved similar demonic symbols into Michael’s body just before he’d kissed Taylor and transformed her into a Guardian. Those symbols had linked their minds and strengthened the bond between Michael’s soul and his flesh, so that when Taylor took his body into her hammerspace, the link between their psyches also deepened.

The symbol between Taylor’s breasts apparently reversed that process. Khavi hadn’t let Taylor see the glyph that she’d carved, because Michael would see it through their mental link, too. Taylor had pointed out the stupidity of that—he might not know what the symbol said, but he would know it was there and that they were trying to bait him—but Khavi had only shaken her head and said the same
damn thing:

“He will come. It’s in his nature.
”

So maybe Michael was just the curious sort, and couldn’t resist coming in to take a look. It hadn’t mattered in the end, anyway. Taylor hadn’t watched when Khavi used the burning spear to write the symbol. She’d been too busy gritting her teeth and trying not to scream.

But being free of Michael would be worth the pain.

Where was he? Her gaze searched the sky. Empty. She turned and studied the horizon. A smudge in the far distance might have been a phalanx of flying demons or a cloud of nychiptera. Whatever it was, it didn’t worry her. With her Guardian eyesight, Taylor could read the number on a license plate from half a mile away. If she couldn’t see it well enough to differentiate between demons or giant bats, it was obviously too far to threaten her—at least for now.

She’d keep an eye on it. And if it came closer…well, then she was screwed. Like any other Guardian, Taylor could form wings—but she couldn’t fly yet. Michael had always done that for her, too, and even though she’d practiced flying on her own, she hadn’t realized how much he’d been helping her before he’d stopped. Until then, flying had been yet another skill that had seemed instinctive.

It wasn’t. She just flapped around like a wounded chicken. If any demons or nychiptera came, she’d have to rely on Khavi to rescue her.

Yep. Khavi’s plan had shaped up into a brilliant freaking idea, all right.

Unless…if
Michael
had made that noise, then this really had been the right plan. Taylor looked to the boulders again. No movement. That didn’t mean much. Some Guardians could force false images through another Guardian’s psychic shields, creating illusions. Michael was already in her head and past her mental defenses. He could be standing right next to her and she wouldn’t know it until she heard him.

Or felt him. With a quick thought, Taylor vanished her shoes into her hammerspace. She waited, her toes curling against the hot sand. She’d learned this from Michael: Even when she couldn’t see or
hear something coming, bare feet could detect vibrations and movement.

She didn’t sense anything. If Michael had made that sound, maybe he was still waiting. If it hadn’t been Michael, perhaps it had been Khavi—hiding and watching to make certain that nothing ate her before Michael got his chance. And if it hadn’t been either of them, Taylor prayed that whatever it was would run the other way.

Then again, maybe it was waiting for
her
to run the other way. Or just waiting for her to look the other way, so that it could sneak up behind her.

Still holding her breath, Taylor pivoted and stared at the boulders ahead.
Come on,
she urged it.
Come on out and let me see you.
This wouldn’t trick Michael. He’d know that she was waiting, listening. Still, there was no reason not to give a little mental incentive to him, too.

You know you want me, Michael. A yummy redhead. I’ll probably taste like ginger.

And a little stringy, but that was partially his fault. The demons’ fault, too. Taylor hadn’t coped all that well in the years between discovering the Guardians existed and her own transformation: smoking too much, drinking too often, not eating enough. Now nicotine didn’t do anything for her and she couldn’t get drunk—and she still looked just as thin. Hardly an appetizing mouthful.

Of course, any dragon that ate demons who were covered in scales probably wouldn’t care if she was a bit bony.

A slight tremor under her feet. A whisper of sand behind her. Taylor spun around, gun raised, searching for her target. There, a thousand yards away, maybe. A hulking figure emerged from behind a boulder. A huge form. Eyes glowing red.

Six
eyes. Three heads. Taylor’s heart stuttered. Not Michael. Not a wyrmrat or a dragon.

A hellhound.

It paused, watching her—a predatory beast sizing up its prey.

Taylor’s stomach dropped and rolled into a sick ball of fear. Only a little over half a mile separated them. Not far enough. Not
nearly
far enough. Frozen, terrified that any move would provoke it into
chasing after her, she stared across the distance.

She’d encountered hellhounds before. One served as a companion to the woman who directed the Guardians’ investigations on Earth. Khavi kept another as a pet. Both were puppies, stood taller than Taylor’s head, and scared the crap out of her even when they were playing nice. She didn’t think this hellhound intended to play nice—and it was no puppy. Fully grown, probably over two thousand years old, it appeared almost as big as Lucifer’s hellhound, Cerberus. Taylor couldn’t have reached its belly with her hands raised. Each of its giant heads possessed a mouth full of serrated teeth, with fangs as long as her arms. Barbed fur spiked through crimson scales, creating a mangy hide of armor that could shred flesh.

Her gun wouldn’t do shit. Even a shot to one of its eyes would barely slow it down. Taylor maintained her aim, praying the hellhound didn’t know that. It probably hadn’t seen a pistol before. Uncertainty was the only thing holding it back now.

That wouldn’t last long. Hellhounds weren’t just big, mean dogs. Though not as smart as a human or a demon, they could analyze and reason. Soon it would determine that Taylor didn’t pose a danger—and realize that since she hadn’t already escaped by air, she couldn’t fly. Then it would come after her.

What to do then? Her mind raced, searching for options. All of her guns were useless against it. Her skill with a sword was nonexistent. She should have brought a rocket launcher, but even that might not work. Hellhounds were too fast. By the time she’d fire a missile, the hellhound could already be on her.

She needed the spear that Khavi had used to carve the symbol into her chest. Taylor had once used the flaming weapon to intimidate Cerberus—and even if this hellhound wasn’t scared away, the spear could penetrate its scaly hide.

But she didn’t have the spear because Khavi needed it for her damn plan.

Goddammit. Her shoulders tensed as the hellhound took a careful step forward. Testing her. In a few seconds, it would realize she wasn’t a threat.

Shit.
Shit!
Being ripped apart by a three-headed monster dog would be a really bad way to go out,
too. The only option: running like crazy. She couldn’t outrace it. Guardians were faster than anything on Earth, but compared to a hellhound she might as well have been human. She wouldn’t have to be faster, though. She just needed to reach one of those giant boulders before it did. Hellhounds could jump, but she didn’t think they could climb.

Taylor pictured the terrain behind her. The nearest boulder stood a quarter mile distant. With her Guardian speed, only a few seconds away.

The hellhound took another step—then bounded forward. A hundred yards in a single leap.

She was so dead.

Taylor pivoted and fled, opening her mental shields and projecting her terror like a scream. If Khavi was out there, she’d sense Taylor’s fear—and now would be a really,
really
great time for a rescue.

But Taylor would be damned before she ever relied on anyone else to save her.

She tucked in her elbows and sprinted faster. Sand flew from beneath her feet. The boulder loomed near. But so did the hellhound, closer, louder. It thundered behind her, the pounding of enormous paws as it landed and leapt again—then suddenly not leaping, but racing, the drumbeat of each step so much quicker than hers. Only a few seconds to run a quarter mile, but those seconds were stretching out into a forever that was ending with a low growl and hot breath on her neck. The boulder was only a few steps away but the hellhound was right at her back.
Oh, Jesus.
She wasn’t going to make it—

A deafening roar spiked her eardrums in the moment before she was hit from behind. The push between her shoulder blades felt absurdly gentle, like a nudge—but at this speed, even a nudge tossed her forward off her feet. Her balance destroyed, Taylor skidded across the sand, friction abrading her palms, ripping through the knees of her trousers. She smashed into the boulder sideways. Pain flared through her hip and shoulder. Instinct screamed at her to curl up into a ball, to make her body as small a target as possible. No damn way. Maybe the hellhound meant to play with her before tearing her apart but she wouldn’t make it easy. Scrambling to her knees, she whipped her gun around, aiming for where
the hellhound’s middle head should be.

Holy shit.
Disbelief dropped her mouth open. The hellhound sprawled on the sand, pinned and struggling beneath the talons of an enormous dragon.

That roar hadn’t come from the hellhound, she realized. That had been Michael. Protecting her.

A laugh swelled up, relief and astonishment rolling into a giddy mix. She climbed to her feet and stared. God. She’d only seen the dragon from a distance—she hadn’t realized he was so big. He caged the hellhound to the ground with a single clawed foot tipped with curving talons. His body was the length of a jumbo jet, and his tail half as long. Leathery wings folded against a massive back. He lowered his head and amber scales rippled over powerful shoulders and a thick neck.

Enormous jaws engulfed the hellhound’s torso. With a sickening rip of flesh, the dragon tore the beast in half—and swallowed the howling heads in a single gulp.

Oh, Jesus. Taylor stumbled back. Her shoulders hit stone, her heart thundering. No safety could be found climbing the boulder now.

“Khavi,” she breathed, not daring to close her eyes as Michael devoured the hellhound’s remains. “He came. Do your magic. And get me out of here.”

The other Guardian didn’t appear. Desperately, Taylor tried to teleport—but that was Michael’s Gift, not hers, and he wasn’t letting her use it.

But he must have felt her trying. Finished with the hellhound, Michael lowered his giant reptilian head and looked at her with glowing amber eyes.

Taylor froze. With a second’s thought, she vanished her gun. It wouldn’t do any good, and threatening him might not be the smartest idea. Holding up her empty hands, she tried for a smile, and hoped that showing her teeth wouldn’t be considered a challenge.

“Hey, Michael,” she said, and her voice shook as badly as her body did. “Thanks for swooping in before I became hellhound kibble. It’s really good to see you.”

God, he would know she was lying. Would know how badly this dragon form was scaring her.

She tried again. “We’ve been looking for you, but you know that. I really need to talk to you for a minute, though. Not in my head. Face-to-face. And I can give you your body back.”

Or she could drop the body and run. It might slow him down if he stopped to eat it.

The dragon stepped forward. Taylor flinched back against stone, instinctively cringing away—but he wasn’t coming closer. He seemed to be retreating. Leaving? Oh no. That wasn’t part of the plan.

But the “Wait!” that jumped into her throat stuck there. Michael wasn’t leaving. Instead he was shape-shifting into a human form, decreasing in size. Within the space of a second, he was crouched less than twenty yards away. Relief joined the surreal realization that a huge dragon—
and the giant hellhound inside his stomach
—could shrink into a man-sized body. She’d seen some crazy things since learning about Guardians, but this had to be one of the weirder events she’d witnessed.

And despite Taylor’s doubts, Khavi apparently did know his nature. Michael had protected her. That shouldn’t have been surprising. Even when Taylor had hated him for it, Michael had
always
protected her.

But of course he did. If Taylor died, then his body in her hammerspace would be destroyed, and he’d be stuck in Hell forever. Protecting her life was the same as protecting his own.

Oh, now her cynicism was showing. She should give him more credit than that. Back when she’d barely tolerated the Guardians, she’d still admired how they watched each other’s backs. Just like cops did. Just like Taylor and her partner always had. And Michael, the first Guardian, and their leader, watched everyone’s back. So the only real surprise was that, after months of evading the Guardians, he hadn’t flown off again—despite knowing that Khavi had a spear and a plan. Perhaps he was as eager to get out of Taylor’s head as she was to be free of him.

That idea didn’t please Taylor as much as it should have. Instead, thinking that he was ready to be rid of her started an ache in her chest. So stupid. She was so messed up. Getting him out of her head was exactly what she’d wanted, and it looked like she was about to get her wish. This called for celebration, not cynicism and regret.

But when Michael rose to his feet, the smile she forced to her lips locked into place. Unease squirreled its way down her spine.

He appeared more human—but not completely human. And not like Michael. Overlapping scales plated his body, a warmer amber than the dark bronze of his skin. Stretched over a frame of segmented bones, membranous wings arched over his head instead of his own black feathers. A demon’s horns curled back from his temples. And he’d always been big, but not like this. Michael had a warrior’s body, strong and tall. The first time she’d seen him, Taylor had pegged him at six-four and two-twenty. Now he stood at least seven feet tall and a hundred pounds heavier—a good portion of it in the caveman’s club of a dick hanging between his thighs.