Warrior Rising - By Pamela Palmer Page 0,73

hand and threw it into the front of the vehicle, hearing it strike the windshield, the chain clattering to the dashboard. "Harrison!"

"What happened?" Charlie demanded, his voice hard as granite. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know." His heart beat too slowly in his chest, his brow had dampened with sweat. She'd felt his pain, and felt the moment he lost the struggle, falling unconscious. "He's alive. The power leaped at him, but he's mortal. It was too much."

She pressed her palm to his damp forehead, seeking the source of the damage, lending him her strength.

"Help him, Ilaria."

"I'm trying, Charlie." His heart rate was too slow. Irregular. He couldn't die. Not now. Not like this.

Pressing her other hand to his chest, she concentrated on his heart, on steadying it, strengthening it. But nothing happened. She needed the draggon stone. With its added power she could almost certainly help him, but she feared what would happen if she let the stone near him again. Even if it didn't touch him, if it leaped for him through her, it might kill him.

So she fought for his life through the gift she had, willing him to live.

Finally, finally, she felt his heart give a single hard beat, then settle into a steady, strong rhythm once more.

With a shuddering breath, she tipped her head back. "He's going to be all right."

"You're sure?"

She met Charlie's frantic gaze in the rearview mirror. "Yes." Because she wouldn't let him be any other way.

* * *

Slowly Harrison came back to consciousness to the feel of a soft hand stroking the hair back from his forehead, its mate on his cheek.

"Harrison?"

He opened his eyes to find Ilaria's sweet face looking down at him. His body felt bruised and sore, and for a moment he wondered if Charlie had crashed the SUV. But a quick glance showed his brother firmly in the driver's seat. No one seemed injured but him.

The memory of that maelstrom came back to him with a wrench of remembered pain. He pulled away from her tender hands and sat up, his stomach giving a disquieting lurch. "What happened?"

Charlie met his gaze in the rearview mirror, his eyes at once soft with relief and hard with warning. "Stay away from the draggon stone."

"Yeah. Got that." He ran a shaky hand through his hair. All his life, he'd fought for control, disliking anything that even hinted of chaos. Roller coasters, slasher movies...love. He liked his world ordered. And he liked himself in control of it. Dropping into that abyss had been anything but, and he had no desire to try it again.

He eyed the sight outside the windows with confusion. Gone was the endless stretch of barren blue to be replaced by a forest of the biggest trees he'd ever seen, a place that reminded him of pictures of the giant redwoods in California, except that these trees had trunks of aqua and leaves of pink. There was little underbrush and the trees were well-spaced, giving the SUV plenty of room to maneuver around the giants along a ground of deep golden yellow.

"How long was I out?"

"Nearly two hours," Charlie told him. "Do you feel any different?"

Beaten. Nauseous. "Should I?"

"I was hoping the draggon stone managed to share a little of its power with you before it knocked you flat. Guess not."

"Any sign of Rith?"

Charlie shook his head.

"We're gaining on them," Findris told him. "My sense of them is strengthening."

Good. But were they doing it fast enough to make a difference? Maybe they'd catch Rith in time after all.

But half an hour later, they crested a rise and Charlie slammed on the brakes, throwing them against their seat belts. Harrison looked up to find a village directly in their path. And dozens of Esri converging on them, circling the Range Rover.

His heart sank. Had Rith put them up to this, imprisoning them in a living blockade while the bastard got away?

"Drive right over them." Findris's voice was dispassionate.

Charlie threw him a look of disbelief. "Like hell. They're people."

"They're immortal. You can't hurt them. And we don't have time to stop."

Harrison stared out the window at the throng of Esri who were beginning to surround them. An entire village from the looks of it, though this was like no village he'd ever seen. Men in silk pants and tunics of various colors and patterns, women in simple, long gowns of solid oranges, yellows and reds. All appeared to be in their mid-to-late twenties.

"No children," he murmured.

"Children are rare," Ilaria told him.