Paladin (Graven Gods Book 1) Page 6

  There was something about the idea of being draped over his knee that lit up my libido. Which was just wrong. Good little post-feminists weren’t supposed to have a submissive streak.

  For a moment I floated in the delicious memory of being tied up while Paladin fucked my brains out.

  Yet something was a little off, disturbing my pleasant fantasies -- light. Far brighter light than the fairy lights in the canopy, blazing beyond my closed eyes with a golden glow like firelight. I peeled my eyelids up and blinked, focusing on the bed a foot or so from my face as I lay on my belly. No. Not on my belly.

  On nothing at all.

  I hung in midair, tangled in the canopy, supported only by a swirl of sparks that flowed around me. I jerked in surprise with a startled squawk. And dropped, hitting the mattress hard enough to bounce.

  Rolling off the bed, I backed away, clawing my peacock-tipped hair out of my face. “What the fuck?”

  I’d been levitating. Like in the first Ghostbusters movie, the one with Bill Murray’s line about Sigourney Weaver sleeping four feet above her covers.

  Holy shit.

  My first instinct was to believe this was yet another sleepwalking incident, but it hadn’t felt like that. It had seemed real. Impossibly real, river of sparks notwithstanding. And yet it couldn’t be.

  “Am I going nuts?” I’d lost count of how many times I’d wondered about that tonight. Not a good sign.

  Paladin, for once, kept his mouth shut.

  I tossed and turned for what was left of the night, unable to get back to sleep. My mind ground away at all the weird shit tonight. The inexplicable fight with the Dimwit Posse, the damage I’d done, how close I’d come to dying…

  If I hadn’t broken the knife guy’s arm -- however I’d done it -- if Asshat hadn’t missed…

  Did Asshat miss? I’d seen the blue flash as sparks danced around my fingertips…

  Say it with me: “There’s no such thing as magic.”

  “Right?”

  I looked out my bedroom window and realized it was barely dawn. Oh hell. It was hours before I needed to get to work, but I was damned if I’d spend the time slowly driving myself crazy thinking about everything I couldn’t explain.

  I desperately needed to go work out.

  After my mom’s death, my aunt took me to a psychiatrist for the amnesia. He told me once that exercise is often better than drugs when it came to treating stress and depression. I didn’t want the drugs, so I made a habit of hitting the gym. Turned out he’d been right. I’d worked out ever since.

  Besides, my job was more than a little sedentary. The gym was the only way to control the acreage of my ass.

  Luckily, the gym I belonged to was one of those 24/7 operations for those with a need to pump iron at three in the morning. It was 7 AM by the time I got there, but there were a surprising number of gym rats trying to get in a workout before heading to their jobs.

  Tony’s Gym was an enormous space, with rows of treadmills, Stair Masters, and stationary bikes, many with people already huffing away on them. Across the room from the cardio equipment stood the weight machines, with their stacked metal plates and complicated arrangements of belts and counterweights. Huge mirrors covered the walls, interspaced with posters of various fitness gods with biceps bigger than bowling balls.

  I exchanged a wave with my personal trainer, Jeff Mathers, who was busy with one of his other clients. The amateur bodybuilder groaned as he did arm curls with every plate on the machine.

  I straddled one of the recumbent bikes and started to pedal as if trying to win the Tour de France. The bike faced one of the mirrors, and I barely resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at it. Sometimes my inner twelve-year-old makes a break for it.

  As I pedaled, I realized I was being stared at by a man who’d just walked in. I didn’t recognize him, but I wished I had. He was a big, dark haired guy, with the build you’d expect from someone who hits the gym at seven in the morning. His T-shirt stretched lovingly across powerful shoulders and the kind of biceps I’d written odes to when describing Paladin. Not muscle-bound, but lean enough to assume any position a girl had in mind. And I could think of several.

  I heard Paladin growl.

  “You are a figment of my imagination,” I reminded Paladin.

  “I’ll show you a figment.” The growl became a snarl. “I’ll figment his ass into the middle of next week.”

  The hunk sauntered over and swung one of those long, brawny legs over the stationary bike beside mine. His face was as lust-inspiring as his body, with prominent cheekbones, a broad angular jaw, and a wide, sensual mouth with a certain cruelty about its curve.

  “Quit leering at the man, Summer,” Paladin ordered. And yep, he did sound jealous as hell. Which made me ridiculously happy.

  At least the guy next to me was real, damn it.

  So I turned my head to give my fellow spinner a big smile, and realized he was staring back. Unfortunately, his expression was more Jeffrey Dahmer than Chris Hemsworth. He looked as if he was wondering how my liver would taste with a nice chianti. I looked away in a hurry.

  He didn’t.

  I could feel him staring at me with a cold, reptilian focus. Jesus, why did every male I encounter lately want to kill me? What happened to dinner and a movie? Was it my toothpaste? Had someone switched my perfume for Eau d’ Psycho?

  I ignored him some more. He kept visibly fantasizing about me and basements.

  The better part of cowardice drove me off the bike.

  I picked a weight machine at random and sat down to do arm curls. He was still staring, meeting my eyes in the mirror. Chainsaws were dancing in his head.

  “Look away, you bastard, or I’ll kick your ass,” Paladin snarled inside my head.

  Unfortunately, Paladin was imaginary. Captain Black-and-Decker definitely was not. I wondered what the hell to do. I could tell the clerk manning the customer service desk -- if I didn’t mind looking like an utter pussy. “He’s looking at me!”

  Yeah. So not thirteen anymore.

  Gritting my teeth, I pumped out another set of reps considerably faster than I usually did. Maybe I could intimidate him through sheer arm strength.

  When I looked up again, he was standing by my machine, still giving me an evil glare. I hadn’t even seen him get up and come over.

  “It is you,” he purred. “She must be recent, Paladin. My men saw you a week ago, and you didn’t look anything like that.”

  “Oh, shit,” Paladin hissed. “It’s Valak! I didn’t sense him at first -- he was shielding. Son of a bitch!”

  I ignored him, staring at B&D in bewilderment. “Why did you call me that?” Was he some kind of stalker? “How did you know I wrote those books?” If he knew me from Facebook, I was going to unfriend his ass. Then I was going to delete every author photo I’d put up.

  The stalker glowered in irritation. “What are you taking about? I sensed you when you blasted magic across the city two nights ago. I knew I was right when I watched you trounce my men last night. Do you really think I couldn’t track you after that?” He bared white teeth. Surprisingly, none of them were fangs.

  “You’re high, dude. Get lost.”

  “So this is your new body.” He eyed me with something between lust and greed. “How many generations did it take to breed her?” His cruel mouth twisted. “As many as it took me to get those men you killed twelve years ago? Twenty fighters. Dead. If some powerless prick hadn’t been passing by just as my host died, I’d have died!”

  Oh, hell, this guy wasn’t high, he was a paranoid schizophrenic. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” My gut coiled into clammy knots.

  He just grinned like a shark. Evil radiated off him, reminding me of the Lovecraftian nasty I’d had the nightmare about. In fact, I realized with a chill, he felt exactly like that. “Come outside, Paladin. Let’s finish this. I’m going to burn you out of her brain and take her.”

  I slid off the machine’s seat withou
t taking my eyes from his. “If you don’t get the hell away from me, I’m calling 911.” My voice shook.

  Now he looked downright offended. “What kind of game are you playing?”

  “Apparently not the same one you are, Voldemort.”

  A deep voice interrupted. “What’s going on?” Jeff walked up and loomed. I’d have kissed him if I could’ve reached his face. “Is this guy bothering you, Summer?” He gave Voldemort a menacing glower.

  “Now that you mention it, yes.” Please, please make him go away.

  “Who the hell are you? You don’t belong to this club,” Jeff told Voldemort icily. “Time to go.”

  The gym rat he’d been training came over and joined the chorus of flexing. Ah, I love the smell of testosterone in the morning.

  Voldemort considered the bunched and straining odds, looking more irritated than intimidated. “We’ll finish this when there are fewer witnesses, Paladin.” Turning, he stalked out of the gym.

  The rest of us watched through the plate glass as he got into a white Lexus SUV and roared off.

  Jeff frowned. “Paladin?”

  “Character in the series I’m writing.”

  “Oh, yeah, the detective. I liked that book.” I’d emailed him a copy. He turned and considered me. “That guy some kind of nut job stalker?”

  “I guess. I’ve never seen him before.” I gave the two men a grateful look. “Y’all seriously saved my ass just now. I think he would have gone off on me if you hadn’t stepped in. Thank you!”

  “Maybe you’d better call the cops and make a report,” put in the bodybuilder. “It’s a good idea to get stuff like that on the record, just in case he becomes a real problem.”

  He had a point, but I wasn’t up to another chat with the cops. “I just want to finish my workout before I have to open my shop.” God knew I needed to burn off some adrenaline. I dropped back down on the machine I’d been using and started absently pumping out reps.

  Jeff blinked. “Summer, have you been holding out on me?”

  I blinked back. “What are you talking about?”

  “Since when do you do arm curls with my body weight?” He nodded at the weight machine’s stack of plates.

  For the first time, I actually looked at them, something I’d been too distracted to do under Voldemort’s eyefuck.

  I’d been lifting the whole stack -- a total of two hundred pounds. I lost my grip on the bar, and the weights fell with a thunderous crash.

  * * *

  Sliding into the Kia’s driver’s seat, I locked every single door and sighed in relief. I’d been afraid Voldemort would jump me in the gym parking lot, despite the bright morning sunlight.

  Paladin spoke from the depth of my mind, his voice icy with rage. “I’m going to hunt down that bastard and teach him no one threatens you and lives. You are mine.” He didn’t sound like anybody’s imaginary friend.

  I squared my shoulders and ignored him. I needed to get to the bookstore to sell a few imaginary friends to my fellow bookworms. A shower was in order if I was going to open up the shop at ten. And if I didn’t want to come home to shredded drapes, I’d better not forget Fear-My-Furry-Fury Calliope.

  “Forget the damned drapes,” Paladin interrupted, his tone urgent. “You can’t just go to work, Summer. Valak knows about you now. He’ll try for you again, and this time he won’t send a pack of unpowered thugs. It will be his best warriors armed to the teeth. He’ll take you from me if he can. And since the spell won’t let me take over as long as you’re conscious, I won’t be able to defend you.”

  I remembered Voldemort’s creepy purr. “I’m going to burn you out of her brain and take her.” I had no idea how he thought he was going to going to do that, and even less interest in finding out.

  Which meant I needed to get the hell out of here before he jumped me. I started the car and backed out, frowning as I processed the rest of Paladin’s warning.

  “What do you mean, as long as I’m conscious?” My voice dropped into a mutter. “Fuck, you’ve got me talking to myself again.”

  “You know exactly who you’re talking to, and it’s not yourself.” His voice dropped to a mutter. “I’ll be glad when I can finally break that bloody spell. You won’t believe I exist until then, no matter what proof I give you.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to believe in the voices in your own head. Next step is making tin foil hats.”

  “It wouldn’t help.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” Though I might be tempted if I thought it would work.

  But whether or not Paladin existed, Voldemort definitely did. Why the fuck was he after me? He seemed to think Paladin had killed some friends of his twelve years ago.

  The same time my mother died. Which could not be a coincidence. Had that nut job killed my mother? Judging from the way he’d looked at me, I could believe it.

  “Valak and I have hated each other much longer than that. Our tribes hunted each other across Europe a thousand years before the pyramids were built.”

  “Okaaaaaay.” I turned into Morgan Heights.

  Actually, Voldemort had seemed to believe he’d been holding a grudge at least that long. “How many generations did it take to breed her? As many as it took me to get those men you killed twelve years ago?”

  Jesus, he made his thugs sound like they’d taken first place in the Westminster Kennel Club. What, did they have a Magical Shithead Division? And how the hell did they score it? I grinned, picturing bruisers flexing while some judge measured the distance to the tip of their wands.

  I’d like to measure Paladin’s wand…

  “You’ve never had any complaints.”

  “Not if you don’t count ‘Oh, my God!’”

  “And you don’t.”

  Snorting, I steered the car around a curve as I remembered the previous night’s erotic dream. “Well, you have made my eyes cross a time or -- What the fuck?”

  I stood on the brakes, which screeched as the car skidded. Its bumper stopped about two inches from the huge elm lying across the road.

  I used all my favorite F-words as I sat there, panting and shaking while I realized just how close I’d come to hitting the massive tree head-on. Even at neighborhood speeds, I could have ended up with the Kia’s engine block in my lap.

  “Summer, back the fuck up and run!” Paladin roared. “It’s a trap!”

  I threw the car into reverse. The tires spun furiously as I hit the gas. The Kia went absolutely nowhere. I looked down automatically to make sure it was in reverse. It was. I glanced up…

  Right into Voldemort’s Hannibal the Cannibal grin. He stood on the other side of the tree, smugly vicious. “There are no witnesses around now, Paladin. Shall we?” His smile went seriously nasty. “I want her.”

  “Yeah, asshole, no,” I told him and floored the gas, trying desperately to back up. Paladin swore in my head in some language that sounded like a pissed werewolf.

  “Coward.” Voldemort gestured with a lazy flick of his hand. Something went bang, and the car dropped six inches and hit the ground with a crashing thud.

  “He’s flattened the tires. You’re going to have to fight.”

  “Fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck!” I threw the car door open and dove out into a combat roll across the pavement, driven by sheer spinal reflex. Something shot hissing through the space where my head would have been. I didn’t know what the hell it was, but I was damned glad it hadn’t hit me. I bounced to my feet already running, sprinting across the neighboring yard like a really pale transsexual Husain Bolt.

  From the corner of one eye, I saw four men race after me. One of them raised his right hand.

  “Shield!” Paladin barked.

  I threw up my left palm, which burned from the magic pouring out of my brain. Sparks exploded from it as the thug’s attack hit. For once, I didn’t question what I was doing or how I was doing it. My entire focus was on staying alive.

  Logic was for later.

&nb
sp; A ball of fire blazed up on my right hand, and I spun to hurl it at Voldemort. I’d known where he was by the sheer malevolence he radiated.

  He ducked. “Bitch!”

  “Run!”

  I did.

  “House. Brick colonial, up ahead.”

  All that brick would block the magic my pursuers were firing at me like major league fastballs. “Ohholyhell!” I ducked, spun, sidestepped like Tom Brady trying to duck sociopathic linemen with something worse than sacking in their murderous little hearts.

  “Keep moving! You can’t let them catch you!”

  “Yeah, I kind of figured that out!” I flew around the corner…

  Right into a fist the size of a canned ham. Light exploded in my face, and I hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of myself. My teeth clicked together as the back of my head hit.

  As the darkness closed in, I heard Paladin roar, “All right, now you bastards are dealing with me!”

  He used my voice to do it.

  * * *

  I experienced the battle with Valak’s thugs as a long, confused dream.

  Paladin’s rage blazed through my brain, hot with his hunger for revenge. His punches slammed the length of my arms, his kicks jolted my legs, his spells singed my palms. I smelled ozone and blood, sweat and terror.

  Not his terror -- the thugs’.

  He pounded his way through them, as merciless and unhesitating as any MMA fighter in a championship bout. He wanted Valak’s blood, and they were in the way.

  Unfortunately, by the time he finished with them, Voldemort had vanished. Apparently, the whole ambush had been a test, like the fight with the Dimwits the night before. As if, having found out what I could do, Valak had gone off to plot.

  Paladin cursed in languages that had been dead since before the birth of Christ. Then he went hunting, intent on finding Valak, making him pay, and ensuring my safety.

  Hours passed as he searched warehouses, crack houses, bars, dives, strip joints -- all the Valakans’ favorite haunts. He didn’t find so much as an acolyte. No matter who he questioned or what spells he cast, nobody knew nothin’.