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Mick slammed the table with his fist and walked away, muttering to himself.

  “Get out of here now.” Creed kept his voice low as he spoke to Wil. “Take him with you, however you have to do it. If we all stay, we’ll end up killing each other. Who knows what will happen to her then.”

  Wil nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Try reason first. If that doesn’t work, stun him.” He handed Wil the Taser from his duffel and nodded toward the utility room. “I’ll be in there while you get rid of him.”

  Leaving the door open a few inches, Creed leaned against a stack of boxes where he could watch the other men. He logged onto his smart phone loaded with everything Guardian’s techno-wizards could come up with, and accessed his private files. Before he could get into the one he wanted, Mick’s voice, filled with rage and fear, roared through the room. Creed ran, grabbing the agent before he took a swing at Wil. He pushed him into a chair, using the weight of his body to keep him there.

  “This is why you’re leaving,” he spat. “You’re too involved. Go with him. When it’s safe, I’ll bring Chiana to you.”

  “After you’ve done her every way you can, that’s what you mean.” Mick struggled against Creed, who found it harder and harder to hold him down. “My hearing’s fine. I know what she offered you. You’re going to take her up on it as soon as you get rid of me.”

  On the other side of the room, Chiana moaned on her bunk, her body twisting; Creed felt a new tightening in his body. Even though she was thirty feet from him, covered by a blanket, Creed could almost feel her hands on him, her lips touching his, her voice whispering all the naughty things they’d do.

  Creed increased his hold as Wil raced past, another syringe in his hand. He heard Chiana’s startled cry then silence. Creed felt the desperate desire leach from him.

  Mick straightened and blinked, like a man coming out a trance. As soon as he knew Wil was safe, Creed returned to the cramped storage room. He needed time to collect himself, time to figure out what in the hell he was going to do next.

  Chiana floated in her drugged state, aware of the voices and activity around her, yet uncaring. The terrible heat that had possessed her was gone. She was ice cold, shivering beneath the blanket. She wondered how long it took a person to freeze to death. Her thigh ached, and her head hurt, yet she couldn’t remember being in a fight.

  Her lips curved into a smile. She was a lover, not a fighter. Images popped into her mind of Mick and her, of Creed and her, wonderfully intense memories of the marvelous things they’d done to each other’s naked bodies—no! She hadn’t done anything. False memories, that’s what they were.

  Silent tears dripped from her closed eyes as she surrendered to the confusion inside her. She didn’t know what was real anymore and what she’d dreamed. Something was very, very wrong with her.

  Another prick in her thigh, the other leg this time, and she fell back into the welcomed blackness where she didn’t have to think or remember. Where she could hide from the thing that called her, where she would be safe until a champion rescued her.

  “You sure you needed to shoot her twice?”

  Mick frowned at Wil.

  “Do you want a repeat of what happened earlier?”

  “Point taken.”

  Mick relaxed as the doctor consulted with Creed in the utility room. His thinking no longer clouded by lust, he was able to assess the situation as the trained agent he was. Like it or not, he had to leave. Davies was a free agent, contracted by the agency and allowed to do things his own way, no questions asked.

  Mick didn’t have that freedom. He had to walk the straight and narrow, which meant he should be calling in an agency team. Protocol was paramount.

  Before he could do it, Wil walked up, bag in hand. Creed followed.

  “Time to go,” Wil said.

  Mick looked toward the bed where Chiana lay.

  “Tell her goodbye if you want, but she may be too far under to hear you,” Creed said.

  Mick offered a bitter smile. “I think I’ll keep my distance. Besides, she’ll be back at the end of our two days off, right?”

  Creed nodded and said with a conviction he didn’t feel, “Sure. Whole and hearty.”

  Mick slung Wil’s backpack over his shoulder while the scientist picked up his laptop. They were almost to the entry door when the floor began to vibrate. The air in the room grew warmer, and on her bunk, Chiana began to hum, an eerie sound that made the hair on Creed’s arms stand on end.

  “Any other way out?” he asked Wil.

  “There’s a fruit cellar on the other side of the utility room. That far door leads into it, but it hasn’t been used for years.”

  “It’s going to be now.”

  Creed ran into the office and shoved a high metal shelf out of the way, cans and boxes flying. He kicked the rusted door latch and yanked on the knob. It stuck. He kicked again, repeating the pattern twice more until the door opened with a screech.

  “Go!”

  Once Mick and Wil scurried into the dark, dank space, Creed slammed the door shut and shoved everything he could against it. He hoped there really was an exit to the world at the end of that fruit cellar. If not, and they died here, that would be their grave.

  Chiana’s humming turned into a low keening that put every nerve in Creed’s body on alert. He ran toward her bunk, stopping when he saw the sweat glistening on her body and her feverish face.

  She shrieked with excitement when the fortified steel door rattled as if pounded by a huge weight. The long fluorescent light tubes flashed; Creed closed his eyes against their brilliance. A slow cooker on the kitchen counter exploded in a rain of crockery shards. Water gushed from the sink faucets, a sound echoed in the adjacent bathroom.

  Creed embraced the adrenaline rushing through him. Whatever happened next, he’d be fighting for his life, and Chiana’s. Whether one creature or a horde, they wouldn’t turn away until they had what—whom—they came for.

  The ceiling lights began to shatter, one after another; tubes of glass rained onto the hard concrete floor. On the bunk, Chiana rose to her knees. Her eyes snapped open, and she screamed in a language Creed had never heard before.

  The words poured out as she stared toward the entry with unseeing eyes, beautiful phrases he couldn’t understand, filled with longing. She held her hands at arms’ length, palms toward the vibrating door, repeating the same phrase. Desperate, Creed ran over and wrapped his arms around her. He began shouting every repellent he knew, starting with those for demons and ending with spells meant to banish zombies. His shouts and her chants blended, filling the room with a strange music. Chiana clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. His skin burned where they touched, and his voice grew hoarse as he fought to keep the intruders at bay. Then, as abruptly as it began, it was over.

  Chiana fainted, her face pale and her body limp and cooling in Creed’s arms. The undamaged emergency light shone again, and the water stopped running.

  Creed held her until her breathing changed to sleep once more, and he placed her on the bunk. His throat raw, he slipped away and staggered to a chair.

  He’d come here for one more assignment. A few more dollars to be sent and never spent, a few hours or days of atonement. Now he wondered if he’d survive with both his sanity and soul intact.

  Chapter Five

  Leaning back in the chair, Creed closed his eyes and emptied his mind. He’d learned this trick early on as his way of being able to do what he did day after day, year after year. When he’d banished the events of the past hour to the back of his mind, he opened his eyes and sought his smart phone. Before he logged on, it began to ring. He answered fast, hoping it wasn’t a voice from hell on the other end.

  “We’re out.”

  Mick. He sounded sullen, tense, pissed at being sent away, but his voice was still welcome. Creed let out the breath caught in his lungs.

  “Good,” he said.

  “The doc’s on his laptop. Says he needs to tal
k to you.”

  “Tell me something good,” Creed suggested when he heard Wil’s voice. That was the last he spoke for nearly five minutes, listening as the researcher explained he might have a solution that would let both Creed and Chiana leave the safe house alive and intact.

  “A Sumerian binding spell, huh?”

  Although Creed tried to hide his skepticism, he knew Wil had caught it.

  “Didn’t I just say it was a last resort?” Wil asked. “Unless my friend and I are both wrong, things will escalate at a rapid pace. She’s already tried sexual enticement to allow her to take control and set herself free. The next step will be rage.”

  “And after that?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I doubt even you can survive her anger.”

  A sudden silence and Wil was gone. The call had dropped, which was fine with Creed. He didn’t care much for conversation. With a quick glance to make sure Chiana still slept, he returned to the small utility room and logged onto his e-mail.

  The message from Wil was already there. They must have pulled off someplace with wireless internet.

  He studied the e-mail, memorizing the words. The chant was short, with a rhythmic flow, which made the task easier. Creed hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. He prayed that if he did, it would work.

  “Hey.”

  He raised his head, killing the e-mail as he did. Chiana stood in the doorway, her pants back on and her shirt pulled down. Normal again, or at least passing for it.

  “Have a nice nap?” Creed shut down the computer and headed out of the office as Chiana moved toward the coffee pot.

  She shrugged and ignored him as he walked up with his own cup. Attitude was good. It fit the profile of her he’d read.

  She sat down at the table, cradling the mug but not drinking.

  “What happened to me?” she asked.

  “Don’t know exactly.” Creed leaned against the counter. “Best way I can explain it was like a cat going into heat. You had some sort of hormone flare and starting putting out fuck-me vibes.”

  “Oh.”

  “Which is why the doc socked you full of sedatives and took off with your buddy.”

  “Did you…”

  “Take you up on the invitation? No. I’ve got this thing about screwing strangers in dumps like this.”

  He forced a smile with the last sentence, hoping to reassure her. He could tell by the way her hands tightened on her cup that he hadn’t.

  Out of words, like she seemed to be out of questions, he drained his cup and refilled it. The coffee was strong; he welcomed the caffeine as a stimulant. It might be a long time until he slept again.

  Chiana sipped from her own mug, looking everywhere but at him, trying to ignore the elephant in the room. Creed wasn’t about to let her.

  “How did he find you?” Creed asked.

  “Who?”

  “Your friend.”

  “He’s not my friend, he’s my partner.”

  “Whatever.”

  Creed studied her, trying to decide if she was lying or out of the loop. If she was the senior partner, how did Mick find her? Either he was able to figure out from her cell phone’s GPS, or he’d followed a tracer. He shouldn’t have been able to find her. Tracking an employee was a job for someone inside the agency’s special abilities unit with the highest clearance, and only after following well-defined procedures.

  Every instinct inside him screamed trouble.

  “Whose car was out there?” he asked.

  “Mine. Why?”

  “Either you called him when you got here or you’ve got a bug on your car.”

  She shook her head. “Not any more. I took my baby in to have a bad ball joint replaced, and the mechanic found a little box that definitely wasn’t standard. It’s been off for more than a week.”

  Creed scrubbed his face with his hand. If the car was untraceable, that meant she sent off the signal. And it meant that her partner, the man she should be able to trust most in the world, was keeping track of her every movement.

  “Stand up,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “I need you to strip.”

  Chiana shook her head.

  “Trust me, it’s not so I can see you naked,” Creed said, impatient. “I had that chance and turned it down, remember?”

  “No.”

  “You were getting ready to show all of us what God gave you, so don’t start with the modesty crap.”

  “Give me one good reason.”

  “Just start taking off your clothes.

  Creed started toward her, ready to undress her himself. She must have sensed it because, with a deep sigh, she stood up, arms hanging at her side.

  “Start at your feet.”

  Unlacing her boots, she kicked them off and shoved them toward Creed. He pulled a knife from the scabbard on his thigh and began poking the tip into the leather.

  “Hey, those cost an arm and a leg!” Chiana protested.

  “Keep stripping.”

  She concentrated on unsnapping the jeans and pulling them off without losing anything from her pockets. That was so much better than watching Creed turn her boots into Swiss cheese. He grabbed the pants as soon as she tossed them to him. After checking the contents of the pockets, he ran his knife along the seam of the jeans.

  “More.”

  Chiana shook her head. “No.”

  “Have it your way.”

  Before she had a chance to protest, he grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it over her head. He ran his hand along the seams before tossing the garment onto the floor. Chiana instinctively crossed her arms over her chest as he slipped a finger under the back of her bra.

  “Your choice,” he reminded her as his finger moved toward the front of the bra, sliding against her flesh. He stopped at the front of the flimsy undergarment, his eyes moving up to meet hers.

  “If I have to take it off, I will,” he said.

  The steel in his voice stopped her from arguing. She reached behind her and unclasped the bra, letting it fall to floor as she grabbed her shirt. Creed took the tip of his long knife and slit the V where the cups met, gently working a long piece of thin metal from the pocket that held the underwire. A small lump decorated one end.

  “There’s a reason certain stores offer discounts to agents,” he said, dropping the tracer to the concrete floor and stomping hard on it. He picked up the mangled device, cut the exposed wires, threw it back on the floor and, as a finale, stomped again.

  He turned his back as Chiana grabbed her pants with shaking hands. He examined what he’d found in her pockets, opening the leather case and holding one of the syringes up to the light.

  “Designer drug to keep you normal, right?”

  Chiana made a grab for it, but he was too quick. “Hormone shots. I’ve had problems since I was a kid.”

  “Started when you were 13 or so, week or two before your first period, right? Hot flashes, weird dreams, temperature spikes and an aversion to certain foods.”

  “So?”

  “Somebody took you to the emergency room or a local doc, and they were baffled. Next thing you know, a social worker’s talking to your folks, saying how you need follow-up.”

  He held the case by his fingertips. “And then this.”

  “Don’t destroy those. Please.”

  The dignity of her request affected Creed in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He’d given up caring about anything except the job. He’d learned to isolate himself from other people’s emotions. They only got in the way. Yet he could feel her fear and sense of betrayal as easily as he might a cold draft or a burn, which meant he was right about her.

  “I know what you are,” he said. “I know about your visions.”

  “Dreams. They’re bad dreams, nothing more.”

  Creed shook his head. “You know better. And you know without these shots, Odin will find you. Or someone he sends. You’ll leave this plane, go back to his battlefields and do his work. You’re a Valky
rie.”

  “My mother was.”

  “And you have her blood. That makes you one, too. So talk.”

  “My mother swore an oath. In order to save her lover’s life, in order to live to bear me, she promised Odin her child if it was a girl. She told me, but I didn’t believe her. Not until the dreams.”

  “Now they’re coming for you.”

  Chiana nodded. “If I leave this plane, I die, and my soul will be sent to hell.”

  “Got news for you,” Creed said as he tossed her wallet and other possessions back to her. “Staying here won’t be any picnic either.”

  “I guess I’m screwed.” Chiana tucked in her tee, zipped her pants and tossed what was left of a very expensive bra into the trash. “Don’t expect me to go down without a fight.”

  She held her hand out to Creed.

  “Do me a favor and give me fifteen minutes before you call in, okay? And if you don’t mind, I’d like those syringes back.”

  Creed slipped the case into his pocket.

  “No.”

  “Oh, come on, man.” Abandoning her bravado, Chiana kicked the table and swore. “Do you really have to be such a hard ass?”

  “I’m not calling in. Unless your partner’s less loyal than you think, no one knows I’ve found you. We have a couple hours before they realize I’ve cut contact.”

  “You’re going rogue?”

  Chiana stared at him, stunned. She’d heard stories about agents who got so tied up in a case they took it underground.

  Suspicion rose in her. One more trick, that’s all it was. Like making her take her clothes off and feeling her up. He’d try to lull her into believing him, and then, as soon as they were clear of this place, a collection team would come swooping in and take over.

  Creed spotted the change the instant it began. Her face flushed, and her hands rolled into fists. Her eyes narrowed as she fixed a cold stare at him, assessing him. He tensed, preparing himself as she rose to the balls of her bare feet, her shoulders squaring and seeming to widen.

  “You’re not doing this, you bastard.”