Behind him, Lethe crawled from the pa.s.senger to the driver's seat and out the door beside him. She also sat on the concrete, cross-legged, staring at her hands. He had good night vision, and with the faint light cast by one of the towering security lights, he could see every line of her face and feel every nuance of her heart inside his mind.

Her breath puffed out white, and she slumped in front of him, looking very small and alone. But strong. He felt her strength radiating like sunlight, warm and true. It made him feel stronger. He had to be strong-for her.

"It was my fault," he said quietly, hearing cars on the highway, listening to the first morning warble of birdsong. The sky was growing lighter in the east, just a blush. "I was careless."

She did not ask for details. Lannes sighed, unbuckling his wings-forcing himself to do so in front of the woman no matter how much a part of him resisted. He let the belt rest in his lap, his wings stretching painfully, invisible as the air. She bit her bottom lip, then held out her hand. It took him a moment to understand what she wanted.

He gave her the belt. She hefted it in her hands then looked at him and at the area just behind his shoulder.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, which was not the question he expected.

"To bind them? Yes. But it's better than accidentally b.u.mping into someone who wouldn't understand the discrepancy between sight and touch. Who wouldn't appreciate that discrepancy."

Lethe sat back for a moment, staring, then turned to scan the parking lot behind them. It was mostly empty, and they were far from the store. She started to stand, and he said, "Are you cold?"-but a moment later she was on her knees in front of him, and he lost his voice as she raised her hand, ever so tentatively.

"May I?" she asked, holding his gaze. He nodded, unable to speak, and she reached very carefully behind his shoulder. Her fingers grazed bone and skin, the hard thumb of his wing. He knew her intentions were innocent, born only of curiosity, but heat flowed through his body in slow aching waves, and the pleasure was so good, it was all he could do not to make a sound. He rested his head against the Impala door, trying desperately to control himself, when all he wanted-all he needed-was to take her in his arms, if only for a moment. Just one.

So he did just that.

Lannes ignored her gasp as he wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands sliding up her lean back, drawing her in. He held her as tightly as he dared, her body pressed against his own, and though he was mindful of his strength, he did not hold back. He was not shy. His blood was too hot for that, his need too great. And her body felt too good. Just holding her-as little a thing as that-was better than anything he could have imagined.

Then rational thought crept in, as did heartache. Lannes closed his eyes, bowing over her body, pressing his cheek against hers. He savored the stir of her breath, the sound of her heartbeat. Until, though he felt as though it would break him, he let her go.

Or rather, he tried to. Lethe did not move. She sat very still in his lap, her emotions fluttering through their link like the wings of some desperate hungry b.u.t.terfly.

"I lied to you," she whispered. "Back at the motel, when I asked for your help with my shoulder. I didn't need your opinion. I knew nothing was broken. I just...didn't want to be alone." She shut her eyes, trembling in his arms. "That's horrible, right? A person should be strong enough to be alone, but it terrifies me. My head is empty. I'm afraid it'll happen again. But when you're around I can pretend I'm safe, like I have an anchor. So that if I lose my mind..."

She did not finish. She did not need to. Lannes smoothed back her tangled hair and murmured, "So that even if you lose your mind, you'll still have a friend. You'll have someone who remembers you as you were. For a brief time, anyway."

Despair twisted down their link, across her face. "I shouldn't put that burden on you. I shouldn't even trust you with it. I shouldn't trust anyone."

Lannes held her away from him, forcing her to look into his eyes. "You think I feel differently? Do you know what would happen to my kind if I made a mistake-with you, with any other? Can you imagine?"

I don't want to, she whispered in his mind; deliberately or not, he couldn't tell-nor did it matter. He suddenly felt as though he had spent his entire life looking through windows, envying the closeness others seemed to have, and now, suddenly, he was his own window, with a life that someone else, gazing in, could envy.

But he hardly trusted it. No matter how much he wanted. Not even though her body was snug in his lap, her curves soft under his hands, her mouth right in front of him, soft and open-and those eyes, her eyes, which were a mirror of her mind...

Stick with your own kind, he remembered his father saying. Your fascination with humans is unhealthy. You can love them, but you cannot be with them.

"Because it's dangerous?" asked the woman suddenly, and then blushed a bright red. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hear your thoughts."

"Touche," he said unsteadily, fighting the urge to push her away from him-which made him an insufferable hypocrite. "And yes, because it's unsafe. I suppose, too, because there are so few of us left. Survival of the species."

She was still flushed red, and refused to look him in the eye. But he felt her mind again, the hum of their link, and remembered how little flesh had seemed to matter when it was only their thoughts binding them. Floating in the abyss, together.

And with that thought came another, unbidden, an image in his mind of them entwined, naked, his body buried inside hers, thrusting hard.

It was an overpowering thought, visceral and hungry, and when the woman-Lethe-let out a m.u.f.fled gasp, he realized with shame and horror that he had dragged her several inches closer, and that she was sitting snug and tight against the erection straining beneath his jeans.

But when he let go of her, she did not move. When he tried to push her away, her arms flew around his neck and she held on.

And moved, slightly.

The pleasure was so intense he almost lost his mind. She did it again, and he realized with shock that it was on purpose.

I'm an idiot, she whispered, on the outskirts of his mind. This is so dumb.

Incredibly dumb, he told her, hardly able to think straight. But don't stop.

She burst out laughing, which was a delight, and not just because it made her jiggle against his aching groin. Lannes had never heard her laugh. He supposed she'd had no reason to, but it was beautiful. And short-lived. Her smile died into something small and sober, but though a trace of pain entered her gaze, he found warmth, too. Unaccountable, unfamiliar.

As though she liked him. Him. And not just because of the illusion. This woman had seen more of him than any other, protected him when he was vulnerable, taken care of him when she had no reason to. Accepted him without fear. For now.

Lethe held his gaze and moved again, grinding her hips against him. Her own pleasure rocked down their link, melding with his-and, feeling like a fool or some stripling hardly out of his first wing-growth, he cupped her breast in his hand.

They were sitting in the dark parking lot of Wal-Mart, totally exposed for the world to see, if anyone should glance in their direction, and he did not care. Neither did she, if her reaction was any indication. She closed her eyes, breathing raggedly. Her nipple was hard through the sweater. No bra, which he found unbearably s.e.xy.

He felt like he should warn her. Give her another chance to push him away.

"I'm not human," he said, which was the first thing that came to mind, and felt about as awkward and dumb as his overwhelming desire to unzip his pants.

"Whatever," she breathed dismissively, and then gasped as his thumb flecked her nipple, hard. "Oh...oh, do that again."

Make me forget, she said inside his mind. Which seemed to him the last thing she should want, though he understood.

Forget just a little, for a brief time. Forget the pain, the blood, the fear. Be here. Now.

Make a new memory. Something to fill the abyss.

But he never got the chance. An engine rumbled, ominous and loud. Lannes and the woman stiffened, and a moment later she began scrabbling off his lap. But in midmovement she leaned in close and her lips brushed his cheek.

At first he thought it was an accident-he could hardly believe otherwise, despite the intimacy of the last few moments-but he caught her gaze for one split second, and there was something in her eyes that shot through him like those bullets that had been flying so freely. She really did like him. Holy c.r.a.p.

He stood beside her, placing his hand under her elbow as she swayed on her feet. A truck faced them, parked more than fifty feet away: a Toyota Tundra, huge with muscle. As soon as they looked at it, high beams switched on.

Fear spiked down their mental link. Lannes muttered, "How fast can you get in the car?"

"Faster than you," she said, under her breath.

Lannes' cell phone rang. Both he and Lethe flinched. He did not want to answer, but the ring tone belonged to his brother. And those headlights continued to burn, blinding him.

"Get in the car," he said. "Slowly."

Lethe did, sliding in on the driver's side and crawling into the pa.s.senger seat. Lannes got in after her, his gaze never leaving the truck. He gave his cell phone to Lethe and started the engine.

A new roar filled the air outside the Impala. The truck was revving its engine-and suddenly it accelerated toward them.

Lannes swore, slamming the car into reverse. He hit the accelerator, and the Impala lurched backward, tires squealing. His door was still open, but when he spun the Impala around, it slammed shut, right on the tip of his wing. He snarled. Beside him, Lethe was speaking frantically into the phone, fighting to get her seat belt on.

The truck sc.r.a.ped the rear b.u.mper, but Lannes switched gears and slammed again on the accelerator. Lethe, one arm hooked through her seat belt, flew forward against the dash. Lannes flung his arm in front of her at the last moment and stopped her momentum.

The Impala roared across the parking lot, the truck close behind. He and Lethe should have had a substantial lead, but the other vehicle was surprisingly fast, and Lannes cut across a gra.s.sy zone, rocketing onto the four-lane highway that doubled as a city street for the town. Headlights flashed, brakes squealed, but no one got hit, and Lannes wrestled the Impala into the appropriate lane, gunning the engine.

The truck was still behind him, high beams reflected in the rearview mirror. He glanced sideways. "You okay?"

"Fine," Lethe snapped, one foot braced on the dash. "Your brother said help is close."

"Sure," Lannes muttered, seeing a red light ahead. "Hang on."

Lethe suddenly strained backward into her seat as Lannes punched down on the accelerator, hammering on his horn. Cars were turning at the intersection, but Lannes swerved around them by a hairbreadth. The truck had to slow-but not enough to put a sizeable distance between them.

Up ahead, there was more traffic on the road. Lannes swung onto the shoulder, still leaning on his horn, his left tires churning up gra.s.s as he accelerated past a long line of cars making steady progress in the lane beside him. Cars honked, swerving to get out of his way. Lethe ducked down, so low in her seat he could hardly see her.The truck gained. There was no way to see the driver, but Lannes a.s.sumed he or she was armed. If nothing else, the truck itself was a weapon. And at these speeds, one good blow on his b.u.mper or side might spin him out of control. His own driving might do that.

The road emptied out just enough for him to swing off the shoulder and into the left lane. Beside him, Lethe said, "This can't go on forever. Someone's going to get hurt."

Lannes gritted his teeth, searching for a place to turn off the highway. He saw nothing. The truck roared up, rode his b.u.mper, then swerved into the next lane, trying to creep up against their side. Engines snarled. The speedometer ticked close to one hundred miles per hour, and up ahead appeared taillights. More traffic.

"Lannes," hissed Lethe, glancing over her shoulder. He pushed the car a little more, outpacing the truck...but then it slammed into the corner of his b.u.mper, nearly sending them out of control. Only brute force kept the Impala on the road. Lannes reached out, searching for the mind of the truck driver, trying to get a sense of who was chasing them. All he got was a barrier. A wall.

"He's going to try again," Lethe called out, her voice sharp with fear.

Lannes accelerated and wrenched the wheel to the left, cutting the truck off. He saw, in his rearview mirror, another car bearing down on them. A large dark ma.s.s. A Humvee.

The truck pulled behind him again, blocking out the sight. Ahead, more traffic. Lannes got ready to escape onto the shoulder again.

Until quite suddenly, he heard the screech of metal, and the truck lurched hard, swerving. Lannes glimpsed the Humvee, and braked just as the truck spun past him onto the heavily forested median, skimming so close it ripped off the Impala's side mirror. The Humvee, showing far more control, roared after the out-of-control truck. As it pa.s.sed, Lannes looked through the window and saw a man staring down at him, face chiseled and hard. Golden eyes flashed.

The truck crashed sideways against some trees. Lannes was long past, but he braked hard, yanking left on the wheel. Lethe let out a small yelp as the Impala's tires squealed, and then suddenly they were spinning off onto the median, making a tight circle. They stopped on the median, facing the opposite direction of traffic. In front of them was the Humvee. The truck lay on its side against the trees. Other cars on the freeway were slowing. People were pulling over. There was no time.

Lannes drove across the b.u.mpy gra.s.s and watched as two men leapt out of the Humvee. One of them, the man who had matched his gaze, wore sc.r.a.ppy jeans and an unb.u.t.toned denim shirt that revealed a great tangle of tattoos across his chest. He had a lean, tanned face. Wild black hair. Golden eyes.

Golden, inhuman eyes.

The other man was also not human, but in some indefinable way that made Lannes' skin crawl. Danger, he thought, looking at him. Impossibly dangerous. The man wore all black, and his skin was a light brown color. Sharp green eyes glanced over at Lethe as she exited the Impala. Lannes, instantly protective, followed her. Two long steps around the hood of the car, and he was at her side.

"Koni," the green-eyed man snapped, never taking his gaze off Lethe. "Keep those gawkers back."

"Bossy," muttered the other man, but he ran gracefully across the median, shouting warnings at the gathered gawkers. His arms were like wings, Lannes thought, looking at him. Graceful, lean and strong. Shape-shifter.

Lannes ran to the truck, Lethe behind him. The green-eyed man was already there, face twisted with disgust. He climbed gracefully from the b.u.mper onto the side of the vehicle, and Lannes joined him with one good leap- wings flaring slightly to keep him from landing hard on what could not possibly be solid footing.

The green-eyed man tried the driver's door, but it was locked. Lannes reached down, his fingers punching holes into the metal. Stealing energy from his surroundings, his chest hot, he yanked up with all his strength. Metal groaned. So did Lannes, but the door finally ripped off its hinges. He did not dare to look around to see if anyone had noticed. His only consolation was that it was still somewhat dark, though that was changing.

A middle-aged woman lay inside the car, slumped sideways against her seat belt. She had curly hair, and wore a loose flannel shirt. Gla.s.ses hung askew off her ear. Lannes saw no weapons. She was conscious, barely. Fury warred with caution, but he jammed his hand into the truck and grabbed her arm. He tried to punch into her mind-and slammed up against the old hateful wall.

The injured driver smiled, blood flecking her lips. "Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned. A real monster."

Her voice was rough, stilted, as though she was unused to talking. Lannes tightened his grip, listening against the barrier in her mind. It reminded him of the one that surrounded Lethe's thoughts when the intruder awakened- only this was cruder. Given enough time, he could exploit the c.h.i.n.ks in this wall.

"Simon, I presume," said Lannes, remembering what Etta had said.

"Not quite in the flesh," the woman-or at least her controller-wheezed. "Where's the girl?"

"Down here," called Lethe dryly from outside the truck, and held up her hands. Lannes grabbed them with just one of his, and pulled her up beside him. The green-eyed man, still perched on the other side of the open driver's door, gave Lethe a long, thoughtful look.

The injured driver peered up at Lethe. "Hard girl to kill. Those men in Chicago were supposed to be good. I paid cash for their trigger fingers."

"Then you wasted your money," Lethe said. Lannes felt a thread of horror winding down their link and instinctively reached for her, mind to mind, bolstering her strength with his. She glanced at him, startled, but regained her composure in a heartbeat.

"Why are you trying to kill me?" she asked.

"It's not personal," said the woman, spitting blood. "You're just a tool. But I won't die that way. I won't go, crying into my bedpan."

Lannes heard sirens. The green-eyed man said, "We gotta go now."

"Little girl," whispered the injured driver. "If you kill the old hag first, I'll let you live. Find her. Strike her from your mind. We'll call it even."

"You'll do that anyway," Lannes rasped, but the injured woman laughed, an ugly sound that lasted only a moment before the barrier fell and Simon's presence fled. The driver in the truck lapsed into unconsciousness, though her heartbeat was strong.

The Humvee engine roared. The man named Koni stuck his head out its window, waving frantically. Lannes wanted to stay longer, examine the unconscious woman's mind for more traces of Simon, but there was no time. He jumped off the upended truck, reached up to grab Lethe around the waist and lift her down. The green-eyed man leapt gracefully from the truck and ran for the Humvee. Lannes did not watch him. He and Lethe raced up the median to the Impala.

By the time the police arrived, they were all long gone.

Chapter Thirteen.

There are over five million miles of paved road in the United States, a black tangle weaving from east to west and all the directions of the wind in between, and Lethe was quite certain she was doomed to travel every inch of them. She was like some female Odysseus, condemned to wander-blood behind her, uncertainty in front, monsters lurking at every turn.

It was midmorning by the time they drove into West Baden. Dried cornfields lined the curving lane, filled with crows dancing on their wing tips. Golden light crested the tops of the trees. Lethe's eyes were gritty with exhaustion, but she was awake enough to appreciate the quiet beauty of the land.

She glanced at Lannes, who held himself rigid. His window was rolled all the way down to combat the smell of the dried blood soaked into the leather seats. Also, she thought, so that he could stay awake.

"You need to sleep," she said, examining the curve of his shoulders, seeking out any indication of his wings. She saw nothing except a faint depression in the seat behind him, as well as a good inch of s.p.a.ce between the leather and Lannes' back. She hesitated, then gently poked the air behind him. Her finger hit something solid. Lannes flinched.

"Sorry," she said, embarra.s.sed. "Couldn't help myself."

He grunted. "I suppose you should be curious."

"I suppose," she said dryly. "I have a lot of questions. What you are, exactly, is at the top of them."

"Gargoyle," he rumbled. "That's what my kind are called. Or Thunderbird. Mothman. Jersey Devil. Any legends involving humanoid types with wings are probably referring to my people."