WickedBeast

  Wicked Beast

  Gail Faulkner

  Cord had waited a damn long time for the end of the world. He’d starved for most of those eons and was frankly pissed it had taken so long to get here. Relief at last, time to go kill.

  An animal designed to destroy, Cord wasn’t prepared for the astonishing instincts that overpowered everything he had thought he was. What he wanted more than life, more than the freedom of death was something he couldn’t gather, command or capture—Kelly.

  There wasn’t anything Kelly wouldn’t do to protect her precious, gifted daughter. No act too humiliating, no job too difficult. Being the one thing the air dragon could not live without wasn’t exactly hard labor, and the humiliation part so shockingly sensual it changed who she was. The problem she was having were the new items on her “to do” list—

  Dispense evil wizards

  Dispose of vicious dragon army

  Save world

  Right.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Wicked Beast

  ISBN 9781419922640

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Wicked Beast Copyright © 2011 Gail Faulkner

  Edited by Mary Moran

  Photography and cover design by Syneca

  Model: Giorgio

  Electronic book Publication October 2011

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

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  Wicked Beast

  Gail Faulkner

  Chapter One

  Pain burned past his nose with a sulfur sting, followed by the barely there scent of rose petals. Seeking more of the last sweet smell in his hazy, half-dream state, Cord inhaled deeply.

  Abruptly fire bit low in his back and jerked him awake. He jackknifed to a sitting position and dazedly swung his head around. Nobody in the dark room with him. More than human senses made him certain.

  The burn snaked up his spine. He shook his head and glanced at the clock.

  Four a.m. What the hell?

  Suddenly pain washed over him as every cell in his body screamed with primal demand. The invisible wave of torture was a force of nature, totally uncontrollable, inescapable. Cord fell forward, head sinking between knees to breathe through wrenching agony. Perhaps he was dying. Was this what happened when there was finally nothing more?

  The consuming pain evaporated into a rose-scented mist. Cord frowned. What did flowers have to do with dying? He’d smelled all the scents of death, and the flower crap never marked it until a funeral event occurred.

  The fire eating his spine spread to his shoulder blades. He gingerly stood and found he was steady. Kicking an empty bottle of scotch out of his way, he stumbled to the kitchen, jerked on the faucet and thrust his head beneath the spigot.

  Icy well water penetrated masses of tangled hair and scotch-induced fog. Cord gritted his teeth and endured a little longer just to make sure. Flipping ropes of coal-black hair out of his eyes, he straightened.

  The excruciating burn was not death, but it was damn close. His eyes narrowed as focus returned, dark pupils elongated to slits, the beast beneath man-skin came fully awake.

  The call hit him again, “Come now!”

  It came on the wings of white power with the kick of a bolt arrow to the gut. The jolt slammed him across the galley kitchen and up against the wall. Unprepared for the hit, he nearly blacked out as it thundered through him. Power sizzled out his extremities. He looked down at his hands to be sure they were still there.

  White power! Where the hell had that come from? It’d been thrown at him with dangerously clumsy strength. Cautiously he breathed deeply, testing the scents left in the wake of the hit. Yes, there it was, the trail whispered low in the air. Not rose mist but something he didn’t recognize, a scent that could only originate with the sender.

  His lip curled silently as he took the scent into his body, marking it. He’d waited a damn long time for the end of the world, who knew it’d call his ass? Time to go kill it.

  Cord strode from the cabin, not bothering to change clothes. Grimly, he swung into the truck. He had no other thought besides finding the source, no other option.

  This time he scented the white power coming and braced for the hit. The only reason he’d missed it before was he’d been unconscious. Five minutes ago the world was safe and white power didn’t exist anymore, hadn’t since before time as humans marked it. Five minutes ago the beast required to kill it hadn’t walked this world either. It did now.

  The hit was more potent than last time, it pounded through him, but he was able to absorb the energy, using it instead of letting it escape his starved body. Ignoring the burn as long-unused faculties fed on the extreme injections of fuel, he drove on. Being sober helped. The first shot had evaporated the scotch.

  The excessive concentration of life-force power meant he couldn’t control involuntary responses and tears streaked down his cheeks. It was unimaginable that the wielder had no idea what they were doing, but in this reality, that seemed the case. Ignorance was no shield for the responsibility of white power—it just made his job simple. Preserving the sender’s ignorance about his intentions was not even a question. Cord sent a response.

  “Calm. You must calm down. I’m coming.” He hoped the sender could read him. He’d put as much push as he could afford on the thought, infusing peace and security into it.

  He immediately felt the answer, puzzlingly faint in a trembling whisper, “Now, now!”

  That was confusing, considering the strength of the wielder. He hadn’t felt this type of ability since… Okay, perhaps he’d never felt something exactly like this. Even back in the time before, he’d never encountered this concentration of power in one individual.

  And he knew it was one person. There were no melodious strains of music to the power. No harmonious voices melding together to throw it. This was a single voice that didn’t sing. The person had simply hurled command at him as if it were a ball to be tossed about.

  Barreling down the mountain, he skidded around curves. Speed didn’t bother him. The wielder bothered him. He had no option but to respond, and that’d never happened before. Questions about this event bloomed but they were pointless. He was aimed at the wielder with one mission, to end the voice and the threat it posed. There would be no question-and-answer session.

  Cord automatically slowed as he neared town. The mystery scent intensified. Power pulled him at the same time it forced its way into his body. His eyes burned as
did every vertebra down his back. His hands and feet tingled with the endless sting of needles stabbing in nonstop staccato.

  “Be calm. I’m coming!” he sent again, trying to get the wielder to tone it down. The power being force-fed into his starved frame was merciless to assimilate this way. It lanced through every joint and system.

  “Much hurry!” was the insistent response. The wielder didn’t tone down the compulsion.

  A child? Could this be a child? It didn’t seem possible. Deep within him, the beast rumbled. His nostrils flared on the smell of that response. Baby powder? No damn way! He didn’t even know what baby powder smelled like.

  Pulling into the drive of the house that compelled him, he sat panting and looked at the tidy little Cape Cod cottage. The house glowed in ultraviolet white power, outside the human sight spectrum but plain as day to a creature like him.

  Cord half fell out of the truck, only closing the door because he needed to lean on the truck a moment to ensure he could stand. The path to the front door was short but it was the few steps into eternity for him. He was almost there when the door opened. He stumbled as a punch of power flooded his system. He came to a stunned halt. The power called him with the painful vengeance of an attack—he should have been prepared.

  Framed by the lights behind her, stood three feet of trembling, sobbing, pink footy pajamas, clutching a purple bear. Tears slid silently down plump cheeks already glassy with misery. Cord pulled himself through the power she was forcing into him and dropped to a knee on the bottom step of the porch. He should have been ending her life, not lounging on her steps. That thought slipped away as his senses read the child. The innocent, completely vulnerable and utterly trusting little sender, powerful beyond imagining, drew him in. So perhaps he could just see what she was, in the interest of doing a thorough job. Yeah, that was it.

  Rigidly controlling his eyes, forcing them to appear human, Cord gritted as gently as he could, “Please, sweetheart. Try to calm down.”

  “Mommy! Bassent!”

  He mounted the stairs slowly, waiting for the terror to hit her. Currently his frame was six feet and lean. He hadn’t shaved in at least a month and didn’t recall the last time he’d had his hair cut. Bathing might have occurred last week. He was a mess. Burning eyes sent tears dripping into his beard and haggard would have been a kind word for what was visible of his face.

  Reaching out with his senses, he flashed through the house, looking for occupants. Only one other life force in the house, and it was quiet. Hesitation was not part of his nature, but at this moment, he couldn’t make sense of any damn thing. The child was human and she was…not. But not un-human in the way he was or any other way he’d ever known. She was his target, and yet she was nothing at all like the projected target. And she was feeding him!

  Power like hers might be able to kill him with a thought. She didn’t try. That earned her at least a few minutes to make him understand what the hell was going on. The fuel ripping through him was accumulating fast, so there really was no risk in investigating.

  “Honey, I’m here to help. You’ve got to believe me,” he crooned gently, hoping to reach her with friendly intentions.

  “Yes, yes. Hurry.” The clear tones of her voice held no fear. No fear of him at least. Her little hand reached out and grabbed his. Pale as paper white lilies, her fingers curled around one of his to drag him inside. “Dagon hurry. Mommy bassent!”

  As soon as she touched him, pain dissipated and he was able to concentrate as footy pajamas led him to the kitchen. His eyes caught every detail. Boxes stacked against the wall. Some open on the floor. Things stacked on chairs. The occupants were moving in or out.

  Across the big country kitchen a door was standing open. Feeble light punctured the damp darkness below, and the scent of rose petals misted up from the depths.

  “Mommy, bassent!”

  Cord looked down into her tearful face. The little miracle in footy pajamas compelled his future. Her fingers couldn’t even close around one if his grubby digits. She clutched him, extending perfect faith that he’d rescue her mommy.

  He couldn’t read her, not like regular humans, but he could feel her. She knew exactly what he was. She knew everything and she knew nothing. Impossible as her abilities were, it was her knowledge that carved new space in his brain. Something no one had ever imagined, even the majestic minds that had made this reality possible hadn’t been able to dream big enough to envision her.

  At the door to the basement, she let go of his finger and stepped back, hugging the purple bear. Thankfully she was calmer and the thundering power emanating from her churning emotions was a less-painful roar. It was a roar of confidence that everything would be fixed now. He couldn’t resist the need to go down those steps. Not really for her, but he suspected that was part of it, mostly he went to see where this new reality was going. He’d not seen something new in a very long time.

  “Stay right here, sweetheart.” He tried to sound parental so she’d understand the importance of remaining in close proximity to the basement door.

  Little Miss Miracle nodded and jammed a thumb in her mouth.

  Cord turned to the darkness and hurried down the stairs. His eyes didn’t need the pitiful light from the bare bulb to see the problem. It was his nose that told him he was in real trouble. The woman passed out on the floor was the rose petals. The shattering power emanating from the little miracle upstairs had shielded his senses from the real danger.

  Her scent. Oh dear God in heaven, no!

  Staring at the woman for less than a second was all it took. The world had indeed ended today. Expecting to die was a lot easier than knowing he was going to live and that was exactly what he faced. There was really no choice, he literally had no choice. She was fast losing her choices too.

  A feral growl built in his chest as the animal responded to seeing her trapped and injured. There was no repressing it. She lay with a very old, hulking water heater tank crushing her left leg. He could tell she’d been there awhile, trapped and alone. He was thankful she’d passed out.

  Remnant scents of her emotions were strong enough to tell him what she’d been through. If she’d had an implement, it’s possible she would have damaged herself to get out and back to her daughter. She’d considered removing the leg. Wisps of that determination offended his system so badly he nearly lost the bitter remains of the scotch he’d drugged himself with.

  Sliding to his knees beside her head, his hand shook as he brushed wisps of hair off her face. Words breathed out his mouth. Words no one had spoken since the time when his kind disappeared from this world. The words gave her peace, ensuring her sleep was deep and dreamless, protecting her from pain.

  Her skin was alabaster with shock. Looking at her face, he knew it had all the regular features a woman should have, to him it was stunning. The beast within was silent as he drank in the sight of her. Drawing a deep breath, he closed his eyes and felt her scent sink into the center of his being, where it belonged. Everything he’d known was wrong. Apparently.

  The tank on her leg must have been brought down in pieces and built in place, perhaps a hundred years ago. At full strength he could have easily lifted it, but he was nowhere near that. Currently he was a starved, gaunt shadow of a being and had almost no hope of moving it. Almost didn’t mean none.

  Hurrying up the stairs, he dropped to one knee in front of Miss Miracle. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked as calmly as he could.

  The thumb came out. She glanced at the open door and back at him, her forehead wrinkled in distress. “Bing Mommy.”

  “Yes, I will bring Mommy, but I need your help. Please tell me your name, and then we’ll get Mommy.”

  “Minuet.”

  “Minuet, have you seen Mommy?”

  Light shimmered off flaming curls as her head shook. “Minuet skeered bassent,” she confessed solemnly.

  Damn, not good.

  “You know what I am, honey?” he asked cautiously
to see how much she was actually conscious of.

  “Dagon. You airs dagon.”

  Again he was stunned with her innocent, clear understanding that was uncluttered with normal human perceptions. “Yes. Air dragon. Do you know why I look like this?”

  Minuet frowned. “Dagon sick?”

  “Exactly. Dragon sick, but I need to lift a very heavy thing to help Mommy. Will you help me?”

  “Minuet small,” she informed him, holding out a hand to show him, her look telling him she was concerned that he’d missed this critical point.

  He took her extended hand and folded it in his. The connection with pure power snapped with the force of an electric current. He was as depleted as a polio victim, not just weak, but one whose muscles had actually wasted away.

  “Do you feel what happens when you hold my hand, Minuet?” He searched her eyes, desperately hoping shock and revulsion would not suddenly bloom there, unable to quite figure out why it didn’t.

  “Dagon better?”

  “Much better. Minuet is medicine. Will you come with me to help Mommy?”

  Big eyes glanced at the door to the basement and back at his. Her forehead wrinkled in concentration and she stepped closer to him. “Me skeered bassent,” she repeated directly into his face with a slow cadence as if he didn’t hear her the first time.

  “I know, sweetheart, but Mommy needs both of us. You don’t have to walk down. Just climb on my back, close your eyes and hold on. I’ll bring you both up the stairs and then you can open your eyes. Can you do that for Mommy?”

  Nodding, she placed the bear carefully on the floor and held up her arms. Cord helped her climb onto his back, her little arms clamped around his neck. The two pink-covered feet couldn’t reach very far around his chest, but she had the clinging ability of the very young in any species.