You need to get out of town. Get away from all this. It was the first and only idea I had. Following my own proposal, I picked up my pace, proceeding to the street leading out of Seattle. Eventually, I might run into someone with a car willing to take me to the next city or maybe the next state.

The only thing hindering my plan was the need for something to eat. The last time I ate was the snack of carrots and ranch dip I shared with Lexie after school. Jo was not a shopper, and when she did, it was c.r.a.p like chips and TV dinners. With my own money, I tried to get Lexie and me real food. I was no cook, but I tried to balance Lexie's diet. Because of her condition, staying healthy and strong was essential.

I had no money. My bag was back in Daniel's car, which was crushed under millions of pounds of concrete. From a distance, I spotted a gas station. It didn't appear to be touched by the storm or fire. Food was a necessity, and stealing was my only option.

The closer I got, the more surprised I became to see the building intact. Humans in a full-blown crisis were predictable. They freaked out, letting reasoning and thought go to the wayside. A lot would use it as an excuse to rob and ransack their own people. Now I was only going to do one of those. As I made my way down the street, people milled around; most ignored me. The shock was still too deep for them to register what had happened. I snuck around the back. I was exceptional at picking locks, but I didn't have any bobby pins on me. I had to do it the old-fashioned, crude way. I picked up a rock and smashed the handle till it clattered to the ground. Guilt streaked across my chest. Sorry, I mentally expressed to the unknown person who owned the place.

Funny. I never used to feel remorse. I didn't realize how much Daniel and Lexie had transformed me over the years. I used to be the kid full of att.i.tude and problems: breaking into people's houses and cars, stealing, getting into fights, giving every teacher and foster parent h.e.l.l. Some deserved.

It all began to change with Lexie. I wanted her to have a good role model. Since I knew Jo wasn't capable, it went to me. Lexie looked up to me anyway and followed my every move. I couldn't tell her to do well in school if I didn't. How could I convince her she was worth more, if I didn't believe it about myself? I barely graduated high school, entering community college only in hopes there was more out there. Then I joined DMG, and under Daniel's strict guidance and rules, I actually started to get good grades and believe there was more, taking action to change my life. They both gave me dreams and aspirations to get out of the cycle I had been condemned to as an infant, to turn around and help others like me get out of what felt like a helpless situation. There was only one thing I hadn't given up till the last possible moment. It brought in money for Lexie and helped curb my temper. I stopped soon after I became a member of the DMG and my feelings for Daniel grew. Daniel would never want to be with a girl who fought. Not the way I did. He deserved a woman.

The unlit store was eerily quiet as I snuck in. The only light coming in the hazy windows was on the far side near the cash register. Even though it was well into morning, the sky grew darker under the ash and embers rolling over Seattle.

I immediately s.n.a.t.c.hed a candy bar and shoved half into my mouth. Munching hungrily, I grabbed a messenger bag off the display rack and hurried to the cashbox, taking a set of bobby pins from the shelf as I went. I hated to steal the money, but hopefully the owner was insured. In desperation, right and wrong were not so definite. At least now I felt bad about it. That was something. The drawer popped open with a few twists of my pins, but there was only a few hundred in cash and change. The bills went into the pocket of my new bag, along with my cell. I wanted nothing in my pockets. Too easy to fall out or for others to steal. Water was next on my list. Then, I moved to a row of canned food, the ones with pull-off tops. I would need more than candy bars for food, even though they weren't light to carry.

As I filled my bag, I heard a car door bang. Peering around the aisle, I saw a truck parked next to the closest gas hose. Two men piled out of the vehicle. What were they thinking? There was no electricity and no one here. Did they think they could fill up like every other day?

One man fumbled with the pump, swearing at his friend when nothing happened.

"I told you, man. You can't get gas with no electricity," the pa.s.senger said back.

"f.u.c.k you," the short, squatty driver replied. "I'm on empty. We can't get out of here if we don't find a way of filling up."

"You won't be able to get it that way, but I know they have tanks under here we can siphon from."

"Such a bad idea," I mumbled to myself, continuing my own quest.

Wheels screeched to a stop outside the window. I popped my head around the corner again. Another car pulled into the gas station, thumping with music. My adrenaline picked up when three men exited the car, all carrying bats. They reminded me of guys from my neighborhood, trouble written in the way they carried themselves. I needed to get my stuff and get out. Now.

Voices drew closer. "Get the cash, and let's get out of here." Gla.s.s cracked as two men took their bats to the window. Where was the third man? No time to dwell on his whereabouts, as they were after the cash. The very same money tucked in my bag.

I rushed for the back door and swung it open. The third man's foot was still in the air, and he looked a little stunned at how easy it was to open. His eyes shifted over me, immediately taking in my overfed carrier. "Well, well... looky here." His teeth were large and dominant as he grinned at me. The other guys who tried to break through the window gave up their endeavors and came around the back.

"Look, boys. We have a little kitty burglar." His friends looked me up and down, their eyes glinting. I recognized the intent.

Dammit.

"I like p.u.s.s.y... cats," one of the men said. He wore a Mariners baseball hat. The last one had on a Seahawks T-shirt. My mind already named them: Teeth, Mariner, and Seahawk.

Teeth took a step in. I backpedaled farther into the store away from him. "Don't be afraid of us, girl. We promise to all be gentle." Teeth laughed.

"I don't." Seahawk shook his head.

My attention went quickly to the two men out in the truck trying to unlatch the covers to the gas tanks. Would screaming for help work?

Teeth sensed my debate, leaped forward, and grabbed me, his hand covering my mouth. I tried to scream, but he pulled a gun from the back of his pants and shoved it into my temple. "Get the cash, and let's go. We can take her for enjoyment later."

Rape happens a lot more in bad neighborhoods or in foster care than most will admit. People are so angry about life, and they need to feel in control. This somehow makes them feel powerful and in charge. It's disgusting the way people can rationalize violence like this-an extreme version of bullying and getting off by making someone feel weak and helpless. I would not go back to being a victim.

Mariner rifled the register. "It's gone."

"What?" Teeth gripped me tighter.

"The money is gone."

Oh h.e.l.l.

There was a moment of silence while his brain figured out why the money was missing. Then he turned me to face him; burning rage filled his eyes. "Did you take the money, you f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h?" The gun barrel tapped against my temple.

No response came from my lips.

"Give it to me. Now, s.k.a.n.k." He c.o.c.ked the hammer.

BOOM!.

An explosion hit the gla.s.s from the outside, splintering the window into such small pieces it turned to dust. Racks and shelves flew along with the four of us as the pressure pounded into the small store. Time slowed as I soared into the air, my brain noticing bits of the gas pumps and two cars on fire were tossed high. I did not see the other two men, but there was little doubt they did not survive.

Idiots.

When I did hit the floor, my lower back collided with a magazine rack, then slammed into a counter, causing a hot dog roaster to topple, crashing next to me. The pain was ruthless; my body immediately going numb. I lay in a daze. Everything stilled around me, except the crackle of the blazing gas pump. The three men sprawled unmoving in different parts of the store. One faced me, eyes open. Dead.

Nothing registered, especially the pa.s.sage of time.

A m.u.f.fled voice drifted to me. There was a person next to me, speaking. My ears rang so loud I couldn't make out words. With all my might, I willed my head to turn.

I recognized the man, but the identification didn't go any further. His hands were drenched in red. He fumbled with something behind him, a loud snapping of metal, then I was in the air. I couldn't feel his hands or my body as he lifted me. He pressed me close to his chest, extracting us out of the shambles.

Consciousness weaved in and out. Every time sleep claimed me, I was shaken awake by a shirtless guy. His muscular torso labored in breath as he ran. Why was he topless?

Sensations gradually came back. Pain in my side was the first throbbing I experienced, but it was a dull ache.

"Stay alive, human," Ryker's gruff voice snarled in my ear. The shrill ringing in my ears had dampened to a low hum.

"Hospital," I managed to mumble.

Ryker shook his head. "No. They're searching for you. They will have people staking out places like that. We can't take the chance. The medical centers will be overrun right now with people hurt last night. You will die before they're able to help you."

My head fell back against his arm to look up at him. He seemed to understand the question in my eyes.

"I know a healer." Ryker's lips pressed together. "I hope she's there." As we zipped through back alleys, my lids slowly closed. "No." He roughly shook me. "If you die, my powers will be trapped inside you. I will never be able to get them back," he growled. "f.u.c.king stay awake, human!"

"Kiss my a.s.s, Wanderer." My tone didn't come out nearly as strong as I would have liked.

He sighed.

I forced my lips into a smile. It took more energy out of me than I planned. My head bobbed and rolled to the side. The throbbing in my side had been growing steadily worse, but until my gaze landed on it, I didn't think it was more than a bad bruise. In Ryker's large hand was a balled-up shirt, his T-shirt, which was soaked with blood. Protruding from the shirt was a chunk of metal embedded in my side. It was a piece of the magazine rack I had slammed against.

Panic circled around my throat like a dust cloud, choking me. The natural instinct was to pull it out, to get the foreign object out of my body, but I knew Ryker did the right thing leaving it in. I would have bled to death in a matter of minutes if he withdrew it. The body and brain were amazing things. They were protecting me from unmanageable pain.

"Don't look at it."

My gaze turned to the ash dropping on us like dark snow. Small charged flakes gracefully fell from the burning sky-the tears of the buildings and people who were no longer here.

The remains of people's lives settled on my face and lashes. The heavy sadness and memories in each fragment pushed on my lids till they could no longer stay open. Pain, stress, and shock shut my body down, protecting it from the harsh world and memories of the people I lost.

TEN.

"Hey, girl. Time to wake up." A hand tapped roughly on my cheek. My lids lifted, wide and confused. Bright hazel eyes contemplated me. A woman with long, thin beach-blonde dreads leaned over me. "Finally decided to join us again, huh?"

I touched my cheek. What the h.e.l.l is going on?

The room was doused in candlelight and the glow from a fire. In the soft light, she appeared to be in her mid-thirties. She was naturally beautiful, but there was something unique about her beauty, a confidence in her own skin that shined through.

That and she was fae.

"Where am I?" My voice cracked with dehydration. She helped me sit up. One arm was covered in a tattoo, the other had a band wrapped around her bicep, and a handful of bracelets dangled from her wrist. The cot underneath me creaked and moaned as I wormed up. The ache in my side struck so fast and quick it ripped the breath from my lungs. Pain filled me as I snorted and grunted in agony.

"Take these." She dropped two white pills in my palm and handed me a cup of water.

"What are they?"

"Painkillers," she snapped. "Now take them and shut up."

"Who are you?" I glanced around. The tiny, dark, cluttered room smelled of fire, herbs, and rubbing alcohol. It was a windowless s.p.a.ce with tons of plants lining the shelves and filling pots on the floor. A small clay fireplace burned in the corner with an overstuffed loveseat and a side chair facing it. Books were stacked in every corner and were being used as a side table for the sitting area. It was bohemian chic without the chic part.

"My name is Elthia, but having my name does not answer the question you seek."

"What do you mean?"

"My name is only something you call me. It is not who I am." She brushed her dreads off her shoulder.

"O-kay. Then, what are you?"

"I am a healer. I mended your outer injuries. Your inner wounds are too deep. They are tearing you apart.

I rubbed at my head. Let's try another approach. "How long have I been out? How did I get here?"

"You have been out for three Earth days. And you came here by way of a G.o.d." A glint stroked a secretive smile across her lips.

I groaned and looked down at my palm and tossed the pills into my mouth without hesitation, hoping they were poison. The New Age-or maybe in her case Old Age-spiritual c.r.a.p was too much for me. My brain could barely hold a thought.

Pain. Too much pain.

The water was cool and soothing as it slid down my throat. Discomfort kept me from caring I was only in my bra and panties. She didn't strike me as someone who cared much for clothing. Tape wrapped my waist, holding a huge piece of gauze in place which was dyed a soft pale red.

Right. I had been impaled on a magazine rack because two stupid idiots tried to siphon gas from the tanks the wrong way. But how mad could I be when their actions had stopped me from getting kidnapped, raped, and murdered?

My memory gave me glimpses of a shirtless man carrying me. Bringing me to this place.

Ryker.

"Where's Ryker?" My voice sounded hoa.r.s.e. Talking took a lot of effort. Tired. I was very tired. My lids lowered under the heaviness. My head dropped farther into my pillow. Pain dissolved away from my side, and a sensation of floating took hold. Light from the fireplace swayed in my vision, turning into a version of animated characters dancing a waltz.

"What's in those?" I held up my hand where the pills once were, watching it make impressions in the air in different colors.

"It's a home remedy." She smiled.

"I feel... a-mazing..." It was all I could get out before I heard her shush me.

"Sleep, girl."

"Okay." I nodded and drifted off, the drugs taking me to faraway lands, which seemed very similar to Fantasia.

When I woke again, I felt much better. The pain in my side was still there but was a dull throb instead of razor sharp. My head rolled to the side, hearing a steady rhythm of breathing. Ryker sat in the chair, his head fallen back in sleep. The fire shimmered across his chiseled face. Even sleeping, he was intimidating.

Sensing my gaze, he lifted his lashes, and his eyes locked on mine. I could not decipher any feelings underneath his stoic sh.e.l.l. He did not move an inch or utter a word. His glower only grew more intense, capturing the air in my lungs.

I turned my face to the ceiling. "If you're going to torture me for running, then this is the perfect time. I'm defenseless and vulnerable."

The chair creaked as he got up, his boots. .h.i.tting the old wooden floors.

"Seriously, do it now." I probably shouldn't have been encouraging him to hurt me, but if he were going to do it, I wanted it over with. Then, maybe Elthia would give me a few more of those White Rabbit pills. They were amazing.

Ryker reached the side of my bed. He still did not speak, which irritated me more than the idea of him torturing me.

Narrowing with annoyance, my eyes flickered to his face. "Oh my G.o.d. Talk. Say something." I tried to sit. It hurt like h.e.l.l, but I was not going to show him I was in pain. I wiggled up enough to lean against the wall.

"You've been unconscious for a week now. I had many opportunities to hurt you."

A week? Last time I was conscious, it had only been three days.

His eyes darted to my waist and slowly came back up to my face, stalling for a bit around my b.o.o.bs. His lids narrowed, his eyes flashing with disgust. Even though I hated his guts, his revulsion of me, of my body, hurt. No, I wasn't stick thin like his model girlfriend, nor was I fae. Instead, I was two things he obviously didn't like-human and curvy. I s.n.a.t.c.hed the blanket and pulled it higher.

"Don't flatter yourself." One of his eyebrows twitched.

"Go f.u.c.k yourself." Wow. He seemed to bring out the best in me.

He clamped his jaw together and leaned over, placing his palms on either side of my pillow, barricading me. "Do not p.i.s.s me off, human. I can rip you in half without even trying," he hissed through his teeth. I pressed my head back onto the wall, trying to put distance between us. He only moved closer; anger heated his eyes. "I have to keep you alive, but there is such a varying range in that. You only need to be breathing. Somewhat."

I forced my chin to stay up; my fists clenched. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. I held my ground. It's what I did. Actually, with an ordinary guy, I would use this situation to my advantage, but Ryker was not a normal male. He did not find my curves a distraction but more an aggravation.