No response.
Then I knocked three more times, hating that the old pattern stuck with me. I’d put something out into the universe that I shouldn’t have. I’d mentally asked how much trouble could one pretty blonde be. It could be worse. I could have said it out loud. But it didn’t really matter.
I knew better than to ask those types of questions, even just to myself. My headspace wasn’t safe for such things. Murphy’s Law stated that everything that can go wrong will go wrong. It’s why I never put thoughts likewhatelse could possibly go wrongorhow much trouble couldinsert thing herebe? I never said aloud all the things that could happen to ruin a mission or how the bad guys could best us. I never said anything other than that we’d succeed.
I fucking knew better. Because every time in my damn life I’d uttered or thought about what could go wrong or how things could get bad, the worst always happened next. Call it paranoia. Call it bad luck. Call it whatever the fuck you want, but I had proof to back it up. Every. Single. Damn. Time. Every time I said anything like that out loud, it happened. Almost always the same with thoughts. If I thought it would go wrong, it inevitably did.
Was I cursed? No. Curses aren’t real. Was something else at play? Probably not. But this monkey’s paw shit kept me honest. It kept me from admitting possible failure.
I rapped my knuckles on the heavy door again. One. Two. Three. Pause.
Listen. Not a sound. Not someone stirring. Not soft footsteps coming for the door. Not a single deep breath as if someone was frightened.
No answer.Knock, knock, knock.
I strained my ears but didn’t hear even a single sound. Nothing. Not a rustle of blankets, not a heartbeat, not a whispered prayer for mercy. I’d been very careful not to intrude on her thoughts, to try to track her for fear of invading her privacy. I wanted to earn her trust. I wanted her to know I wouldn’t hurt her or do anything she didn’t want or okay. I wanted her to feel safe with me. But now I knew I’d been a fool.
Still, in my defense, the room didn’t have another way out. Not really. Unless you could fly. And as far as I knew, she had no means of flight.
I opened the door. Inside, the bedspread had clearly been messed, but the bed I’d so carefully laid her in was empty and barren. I stood in the center of the room and opened my mind. As I relaxed, inhaling her soft scent, I probed for her mind.
And I found her, internally promising she’d die before going back to her old life. My brows furrowed. That didn’t make sense. Her old man had paid good money to keep her safe. Why wouldn’t she want to go back?
She had everything. Money. Recognition. She never had to work a day in her life. Everything would be handed to her, and eventually, she’d marry some wealthy, good looking guy that would take care of her. She’d have staff to wait on her every whim. She’d live a charmed life most could only dream about.
But inside, I could feel her determination, her desperation. She wasn’t afraid. Angry, unwavering, absolutely foolhardy, but not afraid. Did she know there wasn’t a road for well more than fifty miles that direction? That she was more likely to encounter a bear or mountain lion than people?
I should have stayed in her mind. Fuck. It was a rookie mistake. One I shouldn’t have made. My need to respect her boundaries and privacy had taken a more important place than her safety, and I could have gotten her killed for it. With a quick stride and some disbelief, I walked across the room and out the open glass door. I leaned over the rail at the water far below and picked up her scent across the water.
Brave little thing. She’d jumped, risking life and limb just to get away. With grudging respect, I climbed up on the rail and jumped, shifting mid-fall. That water was too damn cold. No way in hell I’d touch it unless I had to.
But that also meant she was in more immediate danger. The water was cold. The spring was fed from snow melt-off that never really warmed up. It melted enough to run off the peak and go over the falls into the pool before trickling away and slowly sinking into the earth.
It was cold enough that she might experience hypothermia. I’d have to warm her up and quickly when I found her, or she’d surely die.
Thinking fast, I circled around to the house. Inside, I grabbed a little satchel and filled it with tinder and a striker, as well as a metal cup and some teas. Tying it to my arm, I hurried outside and shifted before flying up and locking on her scent.
She’d come out of the water, deadening her trail, and I found myself wishing I had Stryker’s superior sniffer. The guy could sniff out a particular blade of grass in a planet covered in grass. His talent might not seem like much at first thought, but it gave away so much more than just positions. He could smell when someone lied, when they were afraid, injured, hell, he could smell when someone’s freaking PH balance was off. He’d even told Wrath to eat more meat because his iron levels were dipping.
While my talent came in handy, it was a bit more of a one-trick thing. I could feel someone. I could feel many someones. I could read minds and hear people’s innermost thoughts, but it was more of a curse than a blessing. Knowing what everyone thinks and feels all the time is exhausting and would have driven me mad as a boy if I’d not had parents to teach me to control it.
Her path diverged, and I reached out to find her thoughts. The odd, disjointed thoughts put me on edge. Her feet hurt. She wanted to take off her boots. Through her eyes, I saw her sit on a log and untie her shoes.
Don’t.
I pushed the thought, and she hesitated, the hairs on her arms prickling as she felt and sensed my presence. I hated this part, the invasion, the discomfort and betrayal. Often people would feel fear, and other dragons would fight if they felt me touch their minds. Wrath blasted me the one time I dared touch his mind. I’d had a headache for days, but I’d stopped him from killing a man that had done no wrong, simply refused to kneel before him.
Wrath needed a check. The bastard was letting his power go to his head, and his slow descent would tear us all apart at the seams if he were left on the destructive path he was on.
I wanted to bring the brotherhood back together. I wanted us to make decisions as a democracy. To be lenient, to be the good men we swore to be. Somewhere along the line, some of us had lost our ways, and it would destroy us.
“I must be going crazy.” She spoke the thought aloud, and I clung to the fringe of her mind, not wanting to take up too much space there and risk driving her mad.
Not crazy. Merely in the presence of a friend. Don’t take your shoes off.
“Why?” I could feel her wanting to massage her feet and try to get the blood flowing back into them. “How are you talking to me? Do I have an implant in my head or something?” She shook her head, her foggy, confused thoughts telling me that she was in danger. The cold had hit her, and it was shutting down her ability to reason and think clearly.
She stood up and began to press on. “I have to keep moving. I have to get away.”