Kay Hooper - Blood Sins

"You shot me," the big man bit out.

DeMarco didn't attempt to get up. Instead, he pushed himself onto an elbow and gingerly rubbed his jaw with one hand. He eyed the man standing above him with more than a hint of wariness. "Galen"

"You fucking shot me. Twice ."

By the time Ruth left him, Samuel felt considerably better. Not fully energized, of course, but strong enough so that he could conduct the planned afternoon ritual with a few of his Chosen.

After that, of course, he would be fine.

He needed the cleansing of the Ritual, especially after remembering her. Not that she mattered, really. What mattered was that he had truly come of age that day, discovering that he could master his God-given abilities and acquire new ones.

It had required more long years of effort and practice, of course, before he learned to be confident. Years more before he began to cautiously explore his limitsonly to discover that with enough time and power he could do almost anything.

Almost.

He didn't meditate again, because he wasn't strong enough to endure the trip back into his complete past, but he did remain in his quarters for a few more minutes before joining those in the church for lunch.

He thought about the Prophecy.

That had been given to him nearly two decades ago, long after Maddox had found his own bloody end on the path. Samuel had gone on, but not alone. Ruth had been his first disciple. Loyal through all the years since, it was Maddox's daughter who quite often discovered and recruited the very best of Samuel's Chosen ones.

She had helped him through the test God had given him the previous summer, the test of his control over the Beast, though he thought she probably wouldn't have if she had not witnessed, all those years ago, God reaching down to touch him a second time, his gift the Prophecy.

After that, she had never doubted him.

And he had taken giant steps, this past year and more, toward becoming the perfect sword of God's wrath. He was almost there. Almost.

Only a bit more sharpening of his sword was needed, and then he would be ready.

Then the Prophecy would be fulfilled.

Then the world would be blasted clean by the pure white heat of God's chosen warrior. And the Chosen few would go on.

Soon.

"You should be glad I did," DeMarco retorted. "At least I knew where to put the bullets. Either of the guys with me would have gone for head shots, and not even you come back from that."

For several beats, it seemed as though Galen was in no mood to be reasoned with, but finally he swore under his breath and extended a hand to the man he had just decked.

"Well, it hurts, just in case you didn't know that. Getting shot. It hurts like hell."

DeMarco accepted the hand up, still visibly wary "Sorry. And, actually, I do know it hurts. From experience. But what choice did I have? You were too damn close to miss, and there was no way you could make it to any kind of cover in time to avoid getting shot by one of us. I had about a second to act, and the best option for both of us seemed to be to put you down, fast and hard. Don't try to tell me you wouldn't have made exactly the same choice if the situation had been reversed."

"Yeah, yeah. Point taken. But it wasunpleasant. And that river was damn cold too." The grumble was obviously more automatic than anything else.

Sawyer looked at Tessa and asked, "Am I supposed to be following any of this?"

"I wouldn't expect so. I'm not."

Quentin grinned at both of them. "Agent Galen was inside the Compound a week or so ago in the predawn hours and ran afoul of DeMarco and two armed church members."

"Afoul?" DeMarco stared at him, brows rising. "Seriously?"

"You want to explain this?"

"Not really."

"Then don't criticize my choice of words."

"Armed?" Sawyer said.

"Just handguns," DeMarco told him. "Nothing heavy."

Galen said, "You mean aside from that silver cannon you carry?"

"It fits my hand."

"It's more firepower than any handgun needs. It's going to leave a marktwo marks, as a matter of factand not much does."

DeMarco rubbed his jaw again and dryly said, "Uh-huh."

"Oh, don't even compare bullets with a punch."

"I may not bruise easily, Galen, but I do bruise. How am I supposed to explain this?"

"Tell Samuel you ran into a door."

"Funny."

"Nobody up there is licensed," Sawyer said, his voice a bit louder than before.

To Tessa, Hollis said, "I feel like I'm at a tennis match. With a few extra players on the court."

"I know what you mean."

Another player came into the room just then, drawing Sawyer's still somewhat indignant attention. Yet another tall, wide-shouldered and athletic man, this one moved with an easy, curiously feline grace, someone totally comfortable inside his own skin. He had jet-black hair with a rather dramatic widow's peak as well as a streak of pure white at the left temple, very pale and extremely sharp silvery-gray eyes, and a faint jagged scar down his left cheek that kept him from being quite as good-looking as DeMarco was but helped him look twice as dangerous.

Which was saying something, Sawyer thought, as those metallic eyes fixed immediately on him.

"Chief. I'm Special Agent Noah Bishop." The newcomer's voice was cool and calm.

"You're in charge?"

"Technically, you're in charge. Your jurisdiction."

Sawyer wondered how many times Bishop had made that little speech.

DeMarco said to Bishop, "You might have warned me Galen was on the warpath."

"I might have," Bishop agreed.

"Shit, Bishop."

"Hey, he was going to take his shot. I figured it'd be easier on you if you didn't know it was coming."

"Thanks a bunch."

"Anytime."

Galen said to DeMarco, "Want an ice bag for that jaw?"

"Don't gloat. It's unbecoming. Especially when you blind-side a man." DeMarco gave his jaw a final rub, then squared his shoulders, clearly throwing off the subject. "Look, I'm on a tight timetable here, so unless everybody wants to find themselves some wheels or walk back down the mountain, I suggest we get to it."

Bishop said, "Samuel believes you're out alone, patrolling the perimeter of the Compound?"

"He calls it prowling. It is my long-standing habit to do so at irregular intervals, something he's accustomed to. I left word that's what I'd be doing for the next hour or so."

Clearly hearing or sensing something more, Bishop lifted a questioning brow.

"There are a couple of other people who've been paying unusually close attention to my movements recently, so I'm more than a little uneasy about being outside the Compound," DeMarco explained. "I'd really rather not give them any reason to be suspicious of me, not at this late stage."

"Sounds like they already are," Quentin pointed out.

"Maybe. Or maybe Samuel's growing paranoia is fueling it in others."

Bishop frowned, then gestured toward the oval conference table, and most everyone moved to take seats. Sawyer was interested to see that Bishop took the head of the table and DeMarco took the footboth instinctive power positionswhile Galen chose to lean a shoulder against the side of a bookcase, apart from the group, where he could watch everyone at the table as well as keep an eye on the doorway.

Someone on guard, Sawyer thought. Probably at all times.

" Is Samuel growing more paranoid?" Bishop asked DeMarco.

"I'm no profiler. But it doesn't take an expert to see that he's walking a very fine line right now."

"Between?" Sawyer asked.

"Between sanity and madness, Chief. The thing is, he's come down on the mad side too many times already. I don't even know how he can be sane at all, at any time, given the things he's done. Though I suppose monsters can always find justification."