Immortal’s Honor

Chapter One

by

Rebecca Zanetti

 

Sam was so fucking finished with having no control. He looked at his right hand. Well, to be exact, he looked through his hand to see the ground wavering beneath his feet. His body was once again caught between dimensions, and the pain was starting to shred his self-control.

“It’s only getting worse,” Garrett Kayrs said, standing beside their motorcycles.

“No kidding.” Sam coughed, blood dribbling down his chin. He tried to pull away from the vortex, shredding the skin on his arm. Bellowing, he broke all the way free and flopped on the torn cement.

Garrett sighed. “Here it comes.”

Sam rolled to his feet and stared at the abandoned buildings around them. They’d barely made it to a safe place this time. Several crumbling apartment complexes seemed to hold their breath in an old, long-forgotten area about two hours out of Seattle.

Someday the place would be revitalized, but right now, only rats and other vermin inhabited the condemned buildings. Heat rose in him, turning his veins red enough to glow beneath his skin.

“Shit,” Garrett said, taking several steps back.

The fire rose through Sam’s head, and he dropped to his knees. The building to the right exploded, shattering what was left of its glass windows. Smoke billowed an ominous gray, spiraling into the blue skies.

The structure across the forlorn street detonated, throwing debris toward them. Garrett ducked his head and crouched low. Sam just watched. He felt the ripples from the explosions as if they came from inside him, which they had. They were part of him.

Sirens sounded, high and fierce.

He jerked his head and jumped to his feet. “What the hell?”

Out of nowhere, police cars and two SWAT vans roared into the vacant area. Helicopters hovered into view as well.

“Humans?” Garrett eyed several of the officers who jumped from their vehicles, took cover, and pointed weapons at them.

Sam’s hand slid through the concrete to another place, and he grimaced as the pain pierced his brain. He struggled to free his hand before the humans witnessed the anomaly. This was crazy.

“Get down! Flat on the ground, arms spread,” a male voice bellowed.

Sam tilted his head to meet Garrett’s gaze. “I’m stuck at the moment, but you need to get out of here.” God, he missed the days when he could teleport. “Go, G.”

Garrett twisted his lip. “How bad?” He bent to look at Sam’s arm, which was buried to the wrist.

“It’ll take a few minutes. I’ll have to go with them.” He couldn’t let humans see that he wasn’t one of them. “We can’t allow them to take us both. Go to the right of the metal building and get out of here.” His friend would be burned, but the humans wouldn’t be able to follow. As a vampire-demon, Garrett would heal soon enough.

“I might need a lawyer. Keep your ear to the ground and track where they take my bike.” He loved that bike.

“Down, now. We will shoot!” yelled a man from behind the SWAT van.

Garrett leaped for his motorcycle, jumped on, and spun away toward the burning building. The humans launched themselves into action but weren’t fast enough to stop him. Soon he looked as if he’d driven right into the flames.

Sometimes Sam thought that was exactly what he wanted to do, but that was a concern for another day.

“Don’t come any closer,” he yelled. Damn it. He had to free himself before they got close enough to see. Grunting, he ripped his arm through dimensions, nearly puking from the pain. The world swirled around him, and he inhaled burning smoke. Unconsciousness tried to possess him.

He took a quick inventory, head to toe. The vibrations had subsided, so it should be safe for humans to be around him for a little while.

“Get down!” the same male voice yelled. “Now, or we will shoot.”

Sighing, he shifted to his knees and then followed directions until he was flat on the crumbly cement, his arms out. His head rang and he longed for a beer. Or a keg.

The officials were quick and efficient in cuffing him and dragging him to his feet, even though he stood at least four or more inches taller than the biggest guy. They read him his rights, and he blocked them out as the helicopters flew away.

Then the blackness took him. Hard and fast.

The last thought that filtered through his mushy brain before his body went limp was that control really was an illusion.

Dr. Honor McDoval watched the interrogation through the one-way mirror.

“Is it just me,” DHS Agent Bill Smith said, file folders tucked under his good arm, “or is he the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in real life?”

“If you like the desperately wounded and pissed off type,” Honor murmured, studying the subject.

He lounged in the interrogation chair with a bored expression and a deceptively relaxed posture. But she knew better. Even through the cement wall and reinforced glass, she could feel his pain. His fury. This was something new. Her interest was piqued, against her will.

“I do like that type,” Bill said. “Joe was often cranky, although I don’t miss him as much as I thought I would when he ditched me for that foot doctor.”

Honor smirked. “You’re better off without him.”

Bill nodded. “Thank you for coming in on this.” He was short and blond, built like a wrestler—strong and sturdy. “I know you’re taking a break from consulting with DHS, but this guy…”

Yeah. This guy.

“How’s your arm?” she asked, keeping her gaze on the man inside, who was currently ignoring the agent yelling at him.

Bill glanced at the sling on his left arm. “Healing. I start physical therapy next week. Have I thanked you for saving my life?”

“About a million times. I didn’t save your life.”

“You got intel from the coconspirator that stopped me from running into a building set with bombs.” He motioned toward the sling. “Almost in time.”

His grin was contagious.

She smiled. “I’ll try to do better next time. If there is a next time.” Too many hours spent interrogating people, internalizing their pain. “I’m not sure I can consult any longer.”

Plus, she really needed to get out of town. Her own consciousness was unraveling, and if she tried to explain it to anyone—even Bill—they’d probably find her a padded cell.

Bill nudged his hip against hers. “You deserve a change. You’ve worked hard to open your own clinic. Decided on office space yet?”

“Not yet. Leaning toward the one near the river. It’s more expensive.”

“But that view.” He nodded. “You have to branch out and let people know how good you are, okay?”

“I will.”

After losing her parents, she’d closed herself off, privately exploring her abilities but hiding them from most people.

“I’ll stay in touch, too.”

“Good. Have you talked to Kyle yet?” Bill asked.

“No.” She ran her right pinkie absently over the now naked ring finger of her left hand. “He’s supposed to get back after midnight. We’re meeting for breakfast.”

“So you haven’t told him?”

She shook her head.

Bill chuckled. “Man, I hope I never piss you off. Yeah, he’s the bad guy, but still. You’re giving back his ring and then leaving town, and the moron has no clue.”

She fought a grin. After discovering her fiancé had taken his sexy new accountant on the business trip—and that said accountant had sent Honor nude photos—she’d cried enough. The ring had lost all meaning.

“The worst part? I feel better with the ring off.”

“I never thought you two fit,” Bill said.

There was no fit for her. She was too… weird. She didn’t feel the things other people did. Kyle had seemed like a good match, but in the end, he was just another cheating asshole.

“I’ll miss the ring, though,” she mused.

Bill laughed, and she chuckled too, finally letting go of the dream.

The officer inside the room slammed a hand on the table. His companion jumped, but the prisoner didn’t flinch. Instead, his gaze shifted lazily to the mirror—straight to her.

That was impossible.

But he looked directly at where she stood.

“Wow,” Bill breathed.

Indeed. His eyes were a striking sea green with a glint of gold around the irises. His shoulders were too broad for the chair, narrowing to a lean waist and long legs. He had to be at least six-five, maybe six-six, with thick, wavy black hair that curled beneath his ears. Brutal bone structure. Raw masculine strength. Harsh angles and barely contained energy.

And he was staring at her.

Bill shifted his weight. “I don’t think I ever really understood the term male animal until right this second.”

Honor nodded. “Agreed.”

The agents inside shoved away from the table and stormed out.

The prisoner tilted his head, still watching her. Or maybe just watching himself in the mirror. She reminded herself he couldn’t see her.

“You’re up,” Bill said. “Thanks again. I know you want to flee town tomorrow. You totally deserve that vacation.”

“I’m ready for a break. No more explosions, fires, or bad guys.” She lingered on the prisoner. “Though I’m glad you called.”

There was something about him. Oh, she didn’t like her gifts, but this guy… this guy was a challenge.

“I’ll send you a postcard from Ireland. Or Iceland. Or wherever I end up.”

She was ready for her walkabout. Time to write that book she’d always dreamed of. Then she’d open her office and start fresh.

The door opened. An agent shook his head.

“This one hasn’t said a word. Not sure he’s even there. Passed out when we first caught him.”

“Probably from the localized blast pressure,” Bill said. “Those two buildings went up fast.”

Honor took a breath. “I’ll see what I can discover.”

She moved past them and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her.

Energy struck her like lightning. She staggered back a step before catching herself. Then she breathed deep and walked straight into the storm.

She drew out a chair and sat, still warm from the previous agent.

“Hi. I’m Dr. Honor McDoval.”

His lip twitched. The first reaction.

Her skin lit up. Her breath hitched.

This was very odd.

“Sam.” His voice was a low, gritty rumble. “I suppose these are for your protection?”

He glanced at the cuffs chaining his wrists to the table.

“Yes,” she said.

“I won’t harm you, Honor.”

His gaze swept over her. In the dim light, his eyes deepened to a viridian hue, like sunken treasure.

“You’re a special one, aren’t you?”

She cleared her throat, forcing calm. “I sometimes consult with Homeland Security. I’m not an agent.”

“Why you?” he asked softly.

That voice. It slid over her like silk and smoke.

“I’m good at it,” she said. “Reading micro expressions. Noticing nuances nobody else sees.”

“Do you want to tell me why you blew up those buildings?” she asked. “Homeland has been tracking you for the last month. You’ve destroyed plenty of real estate… but never hurt anyone. That makes you a good person.”

Her voice remained soft. Encouraging.

Sam laughed, dark and rough. “Oh, baby. You’re wrong on both counts.”

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