Rising Page 3

  They soon reached the outskirts of Corin. In the distance, a massive air dome shimmered, nearly two leagues wide. Xanthus smiled, his mind filled with memories of his time at the academy. He’d been a master of air games.

  “How about a race?” he asked Kyros.

  “I don’t know,” Kyros said. “I’d hate to be the Dagonian who caused the Nightmare to lose his confidence.”

  “You act as if you have a chance of beating me.”

  “You may be bigger and stronger, my friend, but I’m faster.”

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not only bigger and stronger—I’m also faster.”

  They approached the shimmering wall, reached out their fingertips to just a hair’s width from the air, curled up their tails, and prepared to spring.

  “You count us down,” Xanthus said. “I don’t want any excuses from you when I win.”

  “Being in denial is just going to make losing worse. Okay, you ready?”

  Xanthus nodded.

  “Three, two, one…”

  Like harpoons, they both pierced the air pocket and flew. Xanthus and Kyros raced neck and neck over the dry sand, the wall of water closing in just ahead. In a few short seconds, Xanthus expected to celebrate a victory while rubbing it in his best friend’s face.

  Pain hit him like an explosion. He roared as his body dove down, hitting the sandy floor. He flipped, somersaulted, skidded over the surface, and finally stopped, sprawled on the dry ground just inches from the water. The crash itself had been very painful, but Xanthus didn’t pay it even a passing thought as he writhed from the pain emanating from his tail. As he lay there, every muscle in his fin burned. His tail felt as if it were being ripped in two. Xanthus let out a roar as the pain peaked and then suddenly vanished.

  “Xanthus, what happened to you?” Kyros rushed over. His eyes widened as his face drained of all color. “Oh Hades, I think I’m going to be sick.” Kyros slapped his hand over his mouth as he turned away, repulsed.

  Xanthus shook with terror. He truly expected to find his tail ripped to bloody shreds. Reluctantly, he looked down.

  Great gods of the underworld, he had human legs. They were ugly, bulging, hairy appendages. He didn’t blame Kyros for his reaction. His own stomach twisted and churned at the sight. He didn’t know if it was the aftereffects of so much pain that caused it, or seeing the hideous legs that had replaced his magnificent tail. Then he thought about the power needed to accomplish this change.

  “Triton amazes me,” Xanthus said. “I must remember to thank him.”

  Kyros turned toward him. “Thank him?”

  “Of course. You think I should ignore the importance of this gift given by the Guardian of the Sea? I’m lucky he’s even taken notice of me, much less given me this opportunity to breach the boundaries of our world and venture onto the surface.”

  “Well, when you put it that way…” Kyros’s white face had a tinge of green and he avoided looking just below Xanthus’s waist. Xanthus avoided looking there too. Was he supposed to look like that?

  Xanthus removed the gold bands from around his biceps—the bands that kept him aloft when out of the water. He wanted to stand on these new feet of his. He struggled to raise his body off the ground. It couldn’t be too hard. If a human could do it, so could he. He placed his feet under his body, raised himself over his bent legs, and used all his strength to straighten them. His body shot up. He smiled, standing on his own two feet. His smile disappeared as he tipped over, crashing into the silt. Determined not to get discouraged, he tried again. This time, he swayed for about a second before he hit the sand. About a dozen tries later, he grumbled, “Hades, Kyros. This is harder than it looks.” Xanthus breathed heavily as he nursed his sand-burned palms and elbows.

  “Well, you have a month to learn to walk on those hideous things before you travel to the surface, and from the looks of it, a month’s not enough time.”

  Xanthus growled. “I sure hope you’re wrong.”

  ~Hawaii—Six Months Later~

  A fine mist of rain slicked over Sara, dampening her clothes as the wind plastered her hair against her face. With both hands occupied pushing her wheelchair, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She pursed her lips to keep her hair from getting into her mouth.

  Why oh why didn’t I notice how late it was? Grasping the cold metal rings on her wheelchair, she bumped over the buckled surface of the darkened parking lot.

  She focused on the dilapidated building ahead. The dark shape loomed tall. Light flickered from a pole, high above. It cast knarled shadows on the already menacing building below, making the image worthy of any horror movie she’d ever seen.

  Sara scowled and grumbled. “Home sweet home.”

  She hated being out after dark, especially in her neighborhood. All around Oahu shined pristine neighborhoods—places where tourists poured out their money. But if one looked deeper, they’d find pockets of poverty. Sara lived deep in one of those pockets. Her tiny shoebox apartment gleamed as the one clean spot in her grimy, run-down building. She’d worked hard scrubbing the filth away as soon as she moved in two months ago.

  Cleaning her apartment was quite the reveal. It started out looking brown and grey, but after a thorough cleaning, she was left with oranges, greens, browns, and dirty yellows—compliments of the 60s.

  She didn’t have the luxury of being choosy about decor. She’d rented this apartment because it was the only place she could afford. Her meager earnings didn’t provide much in the ways of clean, modern style along with the privacy she required.

  She felt better if she thought about how bad it could be. A year ago, she’d lived with her mother. Anywhere was better than living with her.

  Sara bumped over the curb onto the sidewalk. The blanket covering her chair billowed in the cool breeze. No worries there. It would take a hurricane to tear it loose. Her embarrassing deformity would remain hidden from the world.

  A creepy, crawly feeling tickled her spine.

  Someone’s eyes were on her.

  Sara’s looked around. She held her head still, careful not to turn it. She didn’t want whoever it was to know she was aware of their presence. She couldn’t see anything but the outline of cars behind a curtain of misted rain. Still, she started to freak.

  She jerked her wheelchair to a stop at the front door and yanked out her keys. Her hands were shaking so hard that they couldn’t move fast enough to settle her frantic mind.

  She almost dropped her keys as tires screeched in the street. A dark SUV had stopped in the middle of the road for no apparent reason—probably a drive-by shooter taking aim. Please, just let me get into my apartment and I’ll be safe.

  “Sara, I’m surprised to see you out this late.” A voice emerged from the darkness.

  Sara squeaked out a cry as her heart catapulted against her chest wall. She breathed a sigh of relief as her friend stepped up beside her. “Oh, Gretchen, it’s you. You scared the life out of me.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie.” Gretchen didn’t look at all surprised that she’d scared her—probably because she knew her so well.

  Sara finally got the key in the lock and turned it. As Gretchen pushed the door open for her, Sara glanced up. Gretchen stood as calm as a mountain lake on a windless night—her normal demeanor. At a very un-formidable height of five feet with a model-thin frame, Gretchen’s confidence must come from inside.

  Sara’s insecurities came mostly from her mother, who reinforced them on a daily basis. Now her mother was just a negative voice in Sara’s mind. Yeah, she’d tried to banish her from there, too, but it had been harder than expected.

  A year earlier, Sara had left her mother to live on her own. A lot can happen in a year. Now Sara had her own place, a small, web-design business, and twenty-seven dollars in her checking account that needed to last for a little more than a week.

  “I don’t know why you don’t just room with me,” Gretchen offered for the hundredth time. “I’m
rarely home, you could work from there just as well as you work from here, and you wouldn’t have to deal with the scumbags.”

  As if on cue, Sara saw her neighbor Slink slither out of his apartment. She had no idea what his real name was. Maybe his mother took one look at his face and decided the name fit. With his emaciated body and greasy black hair, it sure fit him now.

  Slink gave Sara a creepy smile and a once-over that made her anxious for a shower and scrub brush. Yeah, she wished she didn’t have to deal with the scumbags.

  “Gretchen.” Sara used her I-don’t-want-to-hear-it tone.

  “I know, I know. You and your space.” Gretchen followed Sara down the dark, narrow hallway. Sara held her breath as Slink passed her. She’d made the mistake of breathing in the putrid air from his wake once and had never forgotten it.

  “Sara, look, I think you ought to see Dr. Yauney. He’s very good. And he is completely discreet.”

  Sara suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Is this about my legs or my mental health?”

  “Um, he’s the psychiatrist,” Gretchen answered softly, taking a quick glance at Slink’s retreating figure.

  Sara opened the door to her apartment and, of course, Gretchen followed her inside without being invited in. Did no one teach this girl manners?

  “Dr. Yauney excels in treating phobias. You don’t have to work on all of them at once. Just pick one to start. You have a lot to choose from. Let’s see, you have a fear of water, doctors, strangers, a fear of people seeing your body, and… oh yeah, a relationship fear.”

  “Relationship fear?” Sara raised one eyebrow. This one was new.

  Gretchen picked up a handful of pretzels from a glass jar on the counter and popped one into her mouth. “Yes, relationship fear. When was the last time you went out on a date?”

  Never, thank goodness. But of course, Sara didn’t say that out loud.

  “I know you get plenty of men checking you out,” Gretchen said. “You’re one gorgeous woman and completely oblivious to the attention you get from the opposite sex. You just need to flirt a bit. I think you should start with Ron Hathaway.”

  Sara raised her eyebrows.

  “I saw you checking him out,” Gretchen said. “He is quite delectable.”

  “You think half the men on the island are delectable. Besides, I’m happy with my life the way it is. I don’t need a boyfriend messing that up.” Sure, deep down, she wanted one, but a relationship was out of the question.

  “You’re happy?” Gretchen looked doubtful.

  “Yes, I’m happy.” Sara put on her best smile.

  “You could’ve fooled me.”

  Sara’s smile vanished. “Listen, my life has never been better. My web-design business is booming. Before long, I’ll be able to afford to rent a better place.” In a year or two or ten. She kept that part to herself. “I just wish you’d stop trying to fix me. There’s no fixing me.”

  “As long as you keep believing that…”

  “It’s true. So stop trying.”

  Sara wheeled toward the refrigerator and grabbed a plate of leftover lasagna. She refused to offer Gretchen any. She didn’t even want her here. Well, okay, maybe she did after the scare in the parking lot, but she certainly didn’t want Gretchen hassling her.

  Gretchen continued to munch on pretzels as she spoke between bites. “I can’t stop trying to help. You’re my best friend. Listen, I know you had a rough childhood, but that doesn’t have to damage you for life. With help, I know you can find a way to move beyond it. And whatever your legs look like, it can’t be as bad as you make them out to be. Good grief, you won’t even let a doctor see your legs.”

  “I should have never told you that.”

  “Well, you did and you can’t take it back.”

  “I don’t need anyone’s help. I can take care of myself. Listen Gretchen, I’m really tired. I’m going to turn in early. So…”

  “Yeah, all right.” Gretchen shrugged away from the counter and stepped toward the door. “I’ll see you Tuesday. Remember, you promised to help me sew the drapes for my bedroom.”

  “I remember. Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

  Gretchen glanced back. Disappointment showed in her smile as she slipped out the door.

  Sara sighed at the blessed silence.

  Less than an hour later, blanketed in darkness, she buried her face in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.

  Xanthus gripped the steering wheel of his SUV so tightly that the leather squeaked and steel bent under the pressure. His nostrils flared at the scent in the air. It was unmistakable.

  It was impossible.

  His eyes darted around the dark, decaying neighborhood. Rain battered against crumbling buildings and piled-up garbage. Across a narrow parking lot sat a small figure in a wheelchair—a woman. Another woman strolled up behind her and startled her. They wasted no time before entering the building.

  It couldn’t be. He had to be mistaken. He may have been living here five months now but he could never forget or mistake that scent. A female Dagonian’s ripe fertility saturated the air.

  What the Hades was she doing here? Did she come here on her own? Of course she did.

  A horn blasted his eardrums. He cursed when he realized he sat parked in the middle of the street. He eased his SUV next to the curb and let the car pass.

  He had to find out what this little female was doing here. Actually, her reasons were irrelevant. There was no good reason she’d be here. He turned off his engine, opened his door, and stalked into the night.

  He approached the front door. Should he simply enter the building and knock? No, the other woman was there. He didn’t want any collateral damage. The human might be innocent, even if this particular Dagonian female wasn’t.

  He circled around the darkened building and found the female’s window within minutes. Her scent blew through a gap in the old, splintered window frame. Sudden need hit him like a blow to the stomach. Her scent billowed thick in the air and it smelled different from what he’d expected. It had a sweet, earthy smell to it and it appealed to him much more powerfully than he remembered. In fact, despite his years of training, he had to make an effort to keep his attention on the task at hand.

  He approached the window and attempted to peer inside. Heavy draperies made it impossible to see in. Resigned to the fact that he could not see her at this point, he pressed himself close to the window to listen in on the conversation.

  “Sara. Listen, I know you had a really rough childhood…” The human spoke. Her voice grated the way human voices do.

  “I should have never told you that.” Xanthus almost smiled when he first heard the musical lilt of the female. His near smile turned to a scowl as he realized the effect her voice had on him. He forced himself into predator mode, analyzing the criminal, looking for weaknesses.

  Her voice rose and fell in a quiet, singsong way. The Dagonian sounded young, like a female who had just emerged into womanhood, yet she had an amazing command of the language. Xanthus listened further. She had no distinguishable accent. In fact, she spoke better than he did and he’d been studying English for years. How long had she been here?

  Xanthus heard the door shut as the human left.

  He followed the Dagonian’s appealing scent as she moved to another room. He found it wafting from another window. That window proved just as visually impenetrable as the first one. She guarded well against prying eyes.

  He heard her rummaging about the room for several long minutes, and then heard running water. It almost drowned out the heartbreaking sound of her weeping.

  Almost.

  Whatever her reasons for being here, she sounded miserable.

  He knew what he had to do, what he’d done countless times before. As a trained soldier, he had a sacred duty to protect his people, guard their secret, and uphold the law. This female’s presence here was not only a criminal act, but it also presented an imminent threat. And because of that, his course was clear.


  He had to kill her.

  His plan lay clearly before him. Blanketed in the shadows, he’d enter her apartment window. Moving silently, he’d strike fast. Before she could cry out for help, he’d have her throat slit wide open. With her blood flowing swiftly, she’d be dead in mere seconds. The fact that she bathed at this time added to the ease of the execution. Clean up would be simple. Before the night ended, it would be as if she’d never existed. The Dagonian threat of exposure would be wiped clean from the human world.

  Xanthus stood, his feet rooted in place under her window. Her sweet scent surrounded him as he listened to her pitiful sobs. Then, in that moment, he did the most shameful thing he’d ever done in his life.

  He hesitated.

  No, he didn’t merely hesitate. He halted. Fingering his blade in his holster, he willed his feet to move, but they seemed unwilling to obey. Then his mind latched onto a thought. It was no crime to wait for a more opportune time or a more secluded place to strike. He didn’t need to act rashly. True, finding her here in the human world shocked him, but he needed to be clear-headed and sure when he killed her.

  He made his way back to his vehicle and climbed behind the wheel. He leaned his head back against the seat, closed his eyes, and attempted to clear his head.

  He’d be back and she would die. She deserved to die. She may have the voice of an angel, but that was a lie. She was a traitor, a threat to their people. No other explanation made sense.

  He felt someone near just before a fist rapped on the glass. A big, filthy man with wild hair motioned for him to roll down his window.

  As soon as the glass lowered, the barrel of a high-caliber pistol poked inside. “Give me all your money and I won’t hurt you,” the man growled.

  “Put away that gun and I won’t hurt you,” Xanthus said, his voice low and menacing.

  The man didn’t seem too impressed. “Yeah man, right. You might notice I’m the one with the…” Before he got the words out, Xanthus had the gun out of the man’s hand and pointed back at his face with his windpipe clenched in his fist.