Electric Storm(88)

She couldn’t afford to find out. Bolting upright, she scrambled to the bottom of the bed. She dropped to the floor, biting off a scream of pain when she jarred her injuries. Panting for air, she stumbled to her feet and headed toward the door.

As the distance from Jackson grew, the energy in the house woke and crackled at her touch, soaking into her bones in one deluge. All thoughts of animals retreated. She doubled over as her muscles convulsed. Her insides felt shredded, but it wasn’t the animals ripping into her this time. Liquid heat burned along her skin, cauterizing the wounds in one vomit inducing second.

As if on the fritz, the overwhelming wave of power drained as suddenly as it came. She landed on her hands and knees hard enough for them to sting in protest. Air was a little harder to come by, her lungs taking a full minute to remember how to work.

The accelerated healing was worse than the injuries themselves. The brutal agony took its sweet time to fade. She wobbled, debating the wisdom of pushing herself upright when a pair of shoes came into view.

She tipped her head back and met Rylan’s concerned gaze. “Your injuries are almost healed. That type of rapid regeneration can have serious, long-term side effects.” They both knew that this couldn’t be a good sign. Part of her was relieved that her natural born power conquered the shifter DNA.

It meant those bastards didn’t get what they wanted.

Bits of power continued to roll back to her core, much too slowly for her liking, securely locking the cages and keeping the beasts at bay. For now at least. She was close to burning out. The lockbox with the golden power was half the size as if the power had faded when she died. Or maybe her body had consumed that energy, causing her to wake early without proper healing.

Rylan reached out to help her stand, but she shook her head, terrified to touch him after so much power had swept through her. It took another minute to get her feet under her.

“We have to get Taggert.” She didn’t need to tell him that they had to rescue him before her symptoms became worse. “I received a packet that should help us. Do you have it?” At his blank expression, she swore. “Please tell me you had the car towed back here.”

“It’s in the garage.”

She took a staggering step when Rylan blocked her. “Let me get it. You need to rest.”

“I need to stay busy. I’ll grab the papers and meet you in the study.” The last thing she needed was time to think about what could be happening to Taggert while she sat on her ass and did nothing.

Jackson’s total lack of response to everything put her on edge. He lingered at her back, but she refused to face him, afraid of what she’d find in his eyes. That she had almost shifted scared the bejeezus out of her. She couldn’t even imagine what he thought, and she escaped to the garage like a coward.

The envelope had lodged beneath the driver’s seat. She wrestled with the package until the car finally gave up its hold. She gazed at the twisted wreckage that resembled a ball of steel. The left side of her body felt heavy, the not quite phantom ache throbbing in memory of the impact.

Blood coated the driver’s seat. Glass glittered like diamonds under the light. She’d managed to maneuver the car to take the brunt of the impact. Taggert should’ve been able to walk away. Why the hell didn’t he run when he had the chance?

The envelope crumpled in her grip, and she retreated to the study. He had to be alive, or she’d never forgive herself.

Instead of going to the desk, she sat in front of the coffee table and spilled the contents over the surface. Missing person’s reports. Police reports. Hospital reports. Newspaper clippings. All within a fifty mile radius. There had to be forty people here. How could so many go missing and no one notice?

And none of them had ever returned. She wouldn’t allow Taggert to be one of the statistics.





Chapter Twenty-six





LATE AFTERNOON

Voices roused her from the dreams that stalked her. Dreams that evaporated without a memory, yet left a lingering unease that stuck with her after she woke. Even with her eyes closed, light slashed through the bay windows with blinding force.

She probed her wounds with her mind. Healed except for the deep tissue bruises that dotted her body like a checkerboard. They hurt like a bitch, but she was functional.

She reached for her core to test her strength only to find the energy dangerously close to empty, every lick of it tied up in healing. Gold flared around the edges of the lockbox holding Randolph’s power.

Like roots, bits broke through and wrapped around the cage, grafting to her flesh, and spilling darkness through her system. She carefully peeled off one tentacle and shoved it back into the vault with the rest. It surrendered readily, but took its pound of flesh with it. A ribbon of darkness remained behind like a scar, leaving a behind a lash of pain. Only half a dozen more to go.