Page 13 of Destiny Reclaimed
Her eyes widened as she refocused on him. The instant his gaze latched onto hers, a dark, eerie sensation gripped his spine. He tightened his hand on her arm suddenly needing to be steadied, too.
"The force is beyond formidable.”
He nodded.
"I've never felt it so strong," she said as she closed her eyes. Her chest rose with the deep breath she took. Her bicep tightened under his grip.
She gulped an audible breath. "There's two. I don't know how. I've never encountered this before, but two of your distant cousins are here."
Jack's chest squeezed. Apprehension coiled in the pit of his stomach. Dread saturated every cell of his being. Could this get any worse? From what little his father had told him about being a time travel Preserver and fighting their relatives, he'd never made mention of fighting two at once. Now here he stood, amid D-Day, in his first-time travel Preserver experience, and he had to figure out how to ward offtwoevil souls on a mission to steal his family's decorated military history, not caring of the collateral consequences. How many other lives would be affected if his thieving relatives succeeded today? What would happen to the people his father had saved? What about their families?
The woman opened her eyes. "Arthur Dupont and his son Evan are both here." Her head turned toward the beach, and she sucked in a quick breath. "And, my granddaughter, Ariel."
How on earth did she know that? The lady didn't look old enough to have a granddaughter, let alone of the age to be on this beach. But, the part about Arthur and his son, Evan, being here made complete sense to him after what he’d witnessed at the airfield. Still, two? What was going on here, today?
The next boom of artillery shot him back into focus on his father. He released his Protector's arm, shed his life vest, and headed for the shore. Ducking and weaving to dodge bullets and submerged mines as he narrowed in on the shore. Thepop...pop...pop...of weapons echoed around him among the roar of larger artillery. His hands were empty, he was defenseless.
He ran toward his dad. About halfway to him, he threw himself behind the cover of a dead soldier leaned up against a small sand mound. It was almost as if the man simply sat there staring out over the ships and landing craft in the English Channel.
His tiny Protector concealed herself behind the fallen troop as well, then she reached out and pulled a weapon from a nearby deceased soldier. Jack lifted the rifle from the soldier in which they took cover.
Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed his father was no longer under the protection of the burned-out tank.Where is he?
He raked his gaze over the hazy beach. Among all the chaos, two red dots pierced through the layer of smoke. Jack squinted. In that instant, all artillery noise ceased. Total silence as if the entire world had stopped. His Protector's hand gripped his forearm. She must have noticed the silence, too, but he kept his gaze locked on the two red dots that had zoned in on him.Arthur?A growl thundered in the air. The kind one could imagine would come from a feral Tom-cat the size of a destroyer. A bone-chilling sensation snaked up his spine. The woman's grip tightened on his arm as she said something he couldn't make out. Still, he couldn’t pull his gaze from the red dots.
The smoke dissipated and Arthur came in to clear focus.
“It’s Arthur,” the woman whispered.
“Yes.”
For a moment, it was as if his distant cousin was the only soldier in a twenty-five-foot radius. The man stared at him as his lip curled up. The red hue emitting from his eyes, brightened as another feral growl escaped his lips. The hair on Jack's arms stood. Arthur's lips tipped up at the corners, and he forced a deep chuckle. The evil kind. The kind that once heard gives a person nightmares for years.
The husky guy spun and took off toward the burned-out tank. Jack sprang to his feet. Come hell or high water, he would not let his cousin get to his father. He didn't have to look behind him to know his Protector was on his heels. He could feel her presence.
His cousin lifted his weapon and aimed ahead. Jack's gaze followed the line of sight of the barrel, and his heart slammed in his chest. Even through all the chaos, it was easy to see his dad was the target. Arthur was simply going to shoot his father dead, right here on Omaha Beach, forever changing history. But then how would he steal their decorated military service? The guy wasn't a doctor or even a medic. It's not like he could step in and take over for his father.
But right now, it didn't matter. He willed his legs to go faster.
Arthur fired off some rounds as Jack hurled himself into the wretched man. Jack landed hard on his distant cousin, pinning him between his body and the sand. Arthur gasped. What possibly could the other soldiers be thinking of this sight? Out of his peripheral vision, he could see other troops scrambling about. Artillery rang out as if nothing had stopped in this alternate world in which he lived.
"I got this, go to your dad. Make sure he is okay. Preserve history. And remember, Evan is still here somewhere," his Protector's voice sounded in all the chaos as she pulled at him, attempting to separate him from his cousin.
Arthur bit him hard on his forearm. The maneuver caused Jack to pull back, and at that moment his Protector slipped in, her knee pinning one of the guy's arms to the sand as she cold-cocked him with the butt of her weapon. The man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. How long he'd be out, Jack didn't know, but taking the opportunity, he sprang up and scanned his gaze over the area looking for his father.
His heart hammered in his chest at the sight of him lying in a heap about twenty feet or so from the burned-out tank.
Then, in less than two beats, his dad pushed himself onto all fours, stood, and ran back to the cover of the tank as Jack reached it from the opposite side. Relieved his dad was okay.
His father’s chest heaved as he stretched and pushed the palm of his left hand to his lower back then moved it to his line of sight and eyed the small amount of blood on his palm.
Jack leaped closer to him. "Are you okay?"
His dad focused on him. The familiar dark, almost black, gaze studied him intently.
His father’s brows knit. "Do I know you?"
"No sir," Jack quickly replied. The question didn't surprise him at all, nor did his quizzical look. There was no doubt they resembled one another. Today though, in his father's time, he would be six years old, not almost thirty.
