Hour of the Dragon - Heather Killough-Walden Page 0,113

was an interesting sensation to be angry in a human body. It felt like the birth of chaos. But again, he had no time to explore. “Come to me now,” he repeated, this time with more influence.

Down below, the woman’s pretty eyes glazed over. She rose, turned to the building’s main entrance and made her way toward it. One of her companions called out to her from behind her, but she ignored him and no one was willing to get un-bundled to go after her.

Hurry, he told the woman. Run.

Down below, the homeless woman rounded the corner and broke into a run. She was spry, despite the layers and layers of ragged, grimy clothing she wore. He watched her in his mind’s eye as she pushed open the door, headed directly for the stairs, and took them two at a time.

Impressive, he thought. Then he opened his eyes as she ran through the door at the opposite end of the room. All of this had only taken a few seconds. Nonetheless, he was out of time.

He could feel the wardens stepping into range as they exited transport tunnels in the street below.

“Take your pocket knife and slit both of these women’s throats,” he told the homeless woman.

She blinked, her expression deeply troubled. He swore vehemently, strode over to her, jostled her small body until he found the Swiss Army tool he wanted, and placed it firmly in her hand, largest blade out.

Then he leaned over and looked directly into her light brown, gold-ringed eyes. Using a sliver of magic on her will, he delved deep. “Do it,” he commanded in his most vicious human tone. “Or I will disembowel them both and they will die in unimaginable agony.”

She paled under the promise. He could hear her heart hammering away and feel her hand shaking where he held the knife so firmly in it. “Kill them,” he told her one last time. “Right now.”

Chapter Thirty-seven – Decoy Dimension

He had gotten rid of the gun and taken off his jacket, pulling things from its inner pockets as he laid it down beside him. He placed the items on top of the jacket, laying them out in an orderly fashion. She couldn’t be sure through the blur, but she was pretty sure one item was a flask, another was maybe a white bottle or perhaps a roll of bandages – something white and cylindrical. There was a pile of gauze… and a tube of something. Then there was a small black box, about seven by seven inches and an inch deep. It was closed.

“Annaleia, I want you to drink this.” Randall knelt in front of her again and grabbed the flask.

No way, she thought. But it lacked the vehemence she really needed it to have.

“Angel, I swear it will help,” he told her, unscrewing the cap and leaning in to slide his hand behind her neck. He was gentle; she had to give him that. His entire essence seemed at contrast to the man who had carved up women in various Great Lakes cities.

She tried to shake her head, but it only made her woozier. He stopped lifting the bottle anyway and cocked his head to the side. “I understand,” he said. “You’re afraid. But there’s no poison in this, my love. Nothing that will harm you. In fact, it has a vitamin mix powder, electrolytes, soluble protein, and it’s laced with a safe but effective dose of morphine, carefully measured for your body weight and metabolism.”

Okay, she was impressed with the drink. She wanted a bunch of that. Bottles of it. For later.

Randall Price smiled at her. It was a charming smile, despite his white eye, which now really looked more very, very light green than white. Had it changed?

“Now then, what say you? Let me help you? Once the pain medicine kicks in, I can tend to your wound.” His expression darkened, and his eyes took on a look of something like – hesitance. “I believe Vyra struck your bone when she shot you. There’s no exit wound. I need to examine your leg and attempt to extract the bullet.”

He took a deep breath and slid his hands around her leg at the ankle and under her thigh. She hissed sharply when he very gently turned her leg outward, presumably to get a better look at it. Anna had taken the round in the thigh, but she could swear the damn thing had not only hit her bone but gone straight