felt her anywhere. The longer he looked, the more miserable he’d become. He hated the scruffy bushes and sparse trees of the desert. The mountains, if you could call them that, looked more like deformed fingers pushing up through the earth than actual mountains.
How could Celia stand it here? This dry, barren land couldn’t compare to the lushness of their forests back home. Towering cedars and redwoods laced the air with the scent of pinecones and the richness of evergreen. Here all he could smell was dry, dusty dirt.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to convince her to come home after all. Once he found her. If only he could transform and run free. He’d be able to use his wolf senses and cover more ground. But there was nowhere to hide in this large expanse of open land void of thick bushes or large trees. Out here in the open, he could be seen by anyone passing by.
He continued walking down the trail, searching the canyon for another twenty minutes, but still no sign of her. He stared down at the crudely drawn map the girl from the shop had made him. He was where he was supposed to be. Celia wasn’t here.
As he looked at the barren land around him, he realized she probably never had been here. He’d been duped. Anger tightened his fists, crumpling the paper clutched in his hand. Time was running out for the shifters at the Colony, and for him. The crystals protecting the Colony needed to be rejuvenated, and she was the only one who could do it. He didn’t have time for lies and games. He spun round and stormed back down the path toward his truck. They couldn’t waste time like this. He had to get her back to the Colony. He started to run, down one path after another, skirting around a large boulder. He almost plowed into another Abatu.
Damn. They were everywhere.
He hurried past, aware of the black shadows surrounding the man’s head and what was moving within them. A beefy hand clamped down on his shoulder. Malcolm’s eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t have time for this. He had to find Celia. He had to tell her the truth about her mother, and about what was happening back home. If he didn’t, none of them stood a chance. He jerked out of the man’s grasp, turned and crouched down just as the man swung at him. And missed. The second swing didn’t. Malcolm felt the blow to his head, like a hammer pounding against a nail. The ping echoed through his brain, sending a spray of white dots behind his eyes.
Malcolm wasn’t a big man, but he was agile and quick on his feet. He managed to avert the third blow and the fourth, jumping to one side and then the next. The man swung again, this time landing the blow, knocking Malcolm flat on his back.
The Abatu fell on top of Malcolm, pushing the air from his chest in a painful whoosh. He hit him again, a series of blows, pummeling his face. A burning pain stitched his face as his eyebrow split and blood poured into his eyes. He had to get away. He reached forward blindly, searching for the man’s eyes, hoping if he could just grab hold, push his fingers deep enough, he could get the beast off him.
The pressure on his chest from the man’s knees was becoming unbearable. He felt a rib snap as the man pushed down, leaning forward, using his bulk, his weight, as a weapon. Pain screaming through his system, Malcolm jerked up, snapping his head forward, smacking it into the man’s cheekbone and nose with a dull, squishy thud.
The sound of crunching bone was immensely satisfying. He rolled quickly, jumped to his feet, then attacked the Abatu viciously with his feet, kicking him over and over until finally he had the upper hand. The demon lay on the ground, groaning in pain and clutching his middle. Knowing he wouldn’t be down for long, Malcolm turned and ran back down the hill and toward his truck. He glanced over his shoulder and couldn’t believe the Abatu was back on his feet, chasing after him. What the hell?
Malcolm reached his truck and unlocked the door, the Abatu almost on him. He could practically feel the big man’s hot breath rushing down his neck. Without looking, Malcolm jumped inside his truck, slammed and locked the door and turned over the engine. The Abatu slapped a meaty hand against the side of the truck with a loud thunk as Malcolm peeled off down the road.
He’d made it maybe a mile when he caught sight of his wrist. Staring in disbelief, he hit the brakes and the truck screeched to a stop. The string of crystals, his protection against the Gauliacho, was gone. Should he go back and try to find it? Would the Abatu still be there? Could he make it all the way home without it? No! Every Abatu for miles around would be coming for him, and if they didn’t get him, the Gauliacho would.
He would have to go back.
* * *
Like a bug trapped in a jar, Celia paced the small shop. She had to run. But where? This was her home. Her shop. Her new life. She wasn’t going to let Malcolm chase her out of it. Besides, she couldn’t disappear without rejuvenating his crystals. If she did...well, that was more than she wanted to be responsible for. She didn’t want anything to happen to him. She just wanted never to have to see him again. Why couldn’t he have just stayed where he was?
“It’s going to be all right,” Ruby said, patting Celia’s back.
“I know,” she whispered. But she didn’t know.
“You want us to stay?” Jade asked.
Celia shook her head, though part of her wanted to say yes. To have them as a buffer. But she had to face Malcolm on her own. They couldn’t hear that conversation. “No, thanks.” Celia watched her cousins walk out the door and was sorely tempted to call them back. But she didn’t. Instead she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and sat back down behind the counter to wait for Malcolm to arrive.
* * *
By the time Malcolm pulled to a stop in front of the shop, he was furious and hurt everywhere. He was still bleeding, and worse, he’d never found the stones. He was working on borrowed time. Time he couldn’t afford to lose. He jumped out of the truck, wincing at the arc of pain slicing through his ribs, and hurried toward the shop.
He pulled open the door, cringing as the bells pierced his throbbing brain. “Celia!” he bellowed.
Silence greeted him. He was about to call her again when the door to the back room opened and she stepped into the doorway. His breath caught in this throat, strangling the yell that had been perched on his tongue.
“Hello, Malcolm,” she said, her warm, brandy-laced voice washing over him. She walked into the room. As if nothing had happened. As if he weren’t covered in red dirt and blood.
“Celia,” he said, not trusting himself to say more.
She walked forward, her long, gorgeous legs hidden beneath a gauzy dark blue skirt. Graceful. Elegant. And yet, as her chocolate-brown eyes caught his, they were filled with wariness. He’d done that to her. Her eyes used to be wide-open and filled with joy. Now they were guarded and hard.
“It’s good to see you,” he said. She looked beautiful, her copper hair a wild mane bouncing around her shoulders. How he’d missed that hair tickling his skin. How he missed her.
“What are you doing here, Malcolm?” A note of coldness entered her voice, and she clasped her hands tightly in front of her.
“I needed to see you—”
“That’s not a good enough reason to intrude on my life. I don’t want to see you. To have anything to do with you. Not now. Not ever.” Fire flashed amber in her dark eyes as they took in the cut on his brow, the blood on his face. “I would have thought your little field trip into the canyons had made that clear.”
Anger fired like a .22 bullet ricocheting off his insides, bouncing within him. “You sent me there on purpose?”
“Of course.”
What had happened to her? The Celia he knew never... “You could have got me killed,” he said evenly.
“Oh, please, men like you don’t die, Malcolm. They live on to make everyone else suffer.”
Her sharp words cut him deep. “My protection is gone. I lost the bracelet of crystals in the canyon