Keri Arthur - Destiny Kills

I’d like to thank:

Everyone at Bantam who helped make this book so good—most especially my editor Anne, her assistant Josh, all the line and copy editors who make sense of my Aussie English, and finally Larry Rostant, the wonderful artist responsible for the cover.

I’d also like to send a special thanks to:

My agent, Miriam, my wonderful crit buddies (the lulus), Karenne (for all her hard work on the newsletter and the forum), and last but not least, my ever-patient family.

Some things I remembered.

Some things I couldn’t.

Like who I was.

Or why I was sitting naked on a beach next to a dead man.

And yet I knew why I was here. I was waiting for the dawn to give him a final kiss good-bye before she guided his soul on to its next life.

The breeze that curled around me was cold, as cold as the sand was harsh. And yet these sensations were a fleeting thing. Goose bumps might tremble across my skin, and sand might grate against my buttocks and thighs, but both failed to register on anything more than a flesh level. I felt no cold, no pain, no sorrow.

Nothing.

It was as if I were dead inside. As dead as the man lying beside me. Yet, for some reason, I was still breathing and he wasn’t.

Why?

That was a question that haunted me, teasing the frozen edges of my thoughts and memories.

Why him and not me?

I didn’t know, I just didn’t know, and yet I knew it was a question that was important. I knew my life might well depend on the answer.

I drew my knees close to my chest and studied the distant horizon. Though dawn had yet to stain night’s cover, it was coming. Already its warm power vibrated across the air, an eager humming that was both familiar and alien. I didn’t understand the sensation, didn’t know the reason behind it, and yet the mere fact that I could feel it had relief sweeping through me.

It was frustrating, this not knowing. Not remembering.

I let my gaze move across the ocean, watching the waves roll lazily toward the sand, seeing nothing out there in the vast expanse of white-capped blueness. No ship. No boat. No pursuit.

But I didn’t bother questioning why I was expecting any of those things, because the past remained hidden under a blanket that was almost absolute.

Almost.

I rubbed a hand across eyes that felt like they’d cried a thousand tears, then glanced down at the body of my friend. I might not remember my own name, but I knew his. Egan Jamieson. Not only my friend, but also my guardian, my lover, and a man to whom I owed a debt more important than life itself.

He’d saved me.

He’d given me freedom at the cost of his own.

The need for revenge welled deep and fast and furious, until I was all but shaking with it. They would pay for this. Whoever they were, they would pay.

For Egan.

For all of us.

And it was a vow that was useless unless I could damn well remember who, exactly, I needed to take revenge upon.

I grimaced and returned my gaze to Egan. In the fading moonlight, his skin seemed to glow with a rich warmth, as if the sun itself still burned beneath his flesh. A birthmark marred his back, a snakelike stain that seemed to dive into his skin and out again, until it almost seemed coiled around his spine. In the night, it took on a reddish-gold appearance and contained a sheen oddly reminiscent of scales.

I shifted and ran a gentle finger down the mark. It was cool and leathery compared to his skin, as if it were indeed scales. Mine was all blues and greens and silvers, as if the brightness of a sunlit sea danced upon the surface of my skin. An inheritance from my mother, not my father.

I blinked at the thought, then grabbed it hard and tried to follow it back. But the fog of forgetfulness snapped in place, and all that was left were questions.

Yet more fucking questions.

I blew out a breath, then stretched out my left leg as the throb of pain finally began to impinge on my senses. There were scrapes across my kneecaps, and deeper cuts down my shins, accompanied by darkening patches that indicated bruising. But none of the wounds were currently bleeding, and there was no blood dried against my skin.

I glanced at the sea. No footprints marred the pristine sands. Not for as far as I could see. Nor were there any vehicle tracks of any kind. Though I guess with the tide coming in, none of that was really surprising.

But still, I had a feeling we’d come from the sea, that my skin bore no stain of blood because it had long since been washed away. That the wounds themselves were clean and healing rather than festering because of the saltwater.

I let my gaze follow the gentle curve of the beach until it reached the distance point. No lighthouse, no buildings of any kind, no indication of movement or life. Nothing to say where we were.

Maybe we were both dead. Maybe this was nothing more than the dream of waiting that came before the soul moved on to the next life.

I glanced down at Egan. I knew if I rolled him off his stomach, I’d see the bloody stain in the sand. See what remained of his chest after those bastards shot him.

I closed my eyes and pushed the resulting images away. There were some things I didn’t want to remember, and the way he’d struggled to survive and remain free was one of them.

And yet, while he might have fought them to the very end, he’d done it for my sake. He’d once said that for all intents and purposes, he was a dead man, so why did anything matter? I didn’t understand it at the time he’d said it, and now I never would get the chance to do so.

The hum in the air intensified. Energy danced across my skin, a crazy tingling that warmed the chill from my soul. I studied the horizon, waiting, as the hum of power crescendoed and slivers of red and gold suddenly broke across the sky. Warmth began to flood through my body, as if the rising of the dawn was also a rebirth of my emotional and sensory centers. A stupid thought, really, when I was just at home in deep, dark waters that had never seen the sun, never known warmth. . . .

God, it was so damn frustrating getting little snippets and hints here and there but never any real, definitive answers or memories.

I drew my knees close again, ignoring the slivers of pain and the blood that began to trickle down one leg, watching as the sunlight spread, smothering the stars and warming the night from the sky.

Watching as the growing light gradually flushed across Egan’s unmoving body.

The warmth still radiating under his skin seemed to stir as the daylight caressed him, growing brighter as the day did, until the intensity made my eyes water and forced me to look away.

Still the heat and the brightness grew, until my own skin glowed under its radiance. But flesh was not designed to contain such heated iridescence for long, especially when that skin no longer belonged to a living, breathing soul. As the light broke free, reaching skyward with exuberant fingers, tears began to trickle down my cheeks.

“May the Gods of sun and sky and air guide you on your journey, my friend,” I whispered, my voice croaky, hinting at long disuse. “And may you find in the next life what you could not in this.”

Then the radiance caressing my skin began to die, taking with it the underlying hum of energy. Day had broken. It was only those in-between times—first light or twilight—that held the moments of great power.

There was nothing left of Egan. Nothing except the stain of blood on the sand and an odd glint of silver. His ring.