Sam stood. “Agreed.” It was good he’d be able to control this situation.
“Um, Sam?” For the first time, Caleb looked serious. “This is gonna hurt. Forces beyond imagination will rip you through dimensions, and predators will come at you from every direction. Your chances of survival aren’t great.”
Sam flashed him a smile. “They never have been, Prophet.”
He returned to the present, standing outside Honor’s home, already feeling her energy. His entire body heated and then calmed. He could control this reaction.
There was no choice.
* * * *
Back at home after a goodbye dinner with several of her friends, Honor finished rolling two more pairs of socks into her overstuffed suitcase. She’d changed into a plain white T-shirt and blue sweats, keeping tennis shoes on so she could load her car.
She’d drive down the coast and stay along the ocean until she reached San Diego. Afterward, she wasn’t sure where to go. Probably Scotland? It didn’t matter. She’d stored up airline points for years and was ready to use them. She looked over her checklist again. Her plants had been moved to her friend Maisey’s house, her mail had been forwarded to her accountant, and all her services for the house would be shut off the next day.
She was packed—and ready to go first thing in the morning. In fact, she’d meet Kyle for breakfast, return his square-shaped diamond ring, and then head off into freedom.
When she’d cleared her mind and had enough of an adventure, she’d return and start that clinic she dreamed about. The one where she helped people by using her odd abilities instead of trying to trap them in lies.
Why was her brain continuing to return to the mysterious Sam? Humming to herself, she strode from her bedroom to the kitchen of her two-bedroom townhouse in a perfectly manicured neighborhood of young professionals. While she’d waved to her neighbors once in a while, she knew nothing about them. Someday she’d like to live in an area where neighbors shared keys, just in case somebody was locked out. Where kids played in the street and left their balls in everyone’s yards. Where people maintained green yards and not rock formations that took zero maintenance. In the meantime, this worked for her.
But she was restless. Had been for a while—even before Kyle had shown his true colors. Plus, the dreams were getting stronger; it was time for a vacation. Everyone should take one once in a while. Sometimes she wondered if she was going crazy, and that’s when time at a beach became necessary. She could live with that solution.
The muscles in her palms twinged, and she rubbed them against her legs. What had Sam done to her?
It didn’t make sense. She’d grabbed his arm, felt the fabric over his skin, and then had experienced a flash of fire. But she wasn’t burned, so what had he done? And how had he done it?
There must’ve been some sort of chemical on his clothing. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been time to take samples. It figured he’d have such chemicals, considering he had blown up those two buildings.
He’d been telling the truth when he’d spoken to her, but it was only the truth as he believed it to be. If he were insane or guided by some other power only he could hear, then he would’ve thought he was telling the truth. But there was no question he, and the man who’d burned up in the building, had created not only these explosions but the other ten that had occurred during the last couple of months.
She’d had to let him go. Rather, the DHS had been forced to release him. By whom?
Sweat dotted her brow. Had she left the heat on too high? It was autumn, and a mild one at that. Rain pattered softly against her windows, the tinkling sound peaceful. She walked into her small kitchen and took out a glass to fill with water. She drank the entire amount and felt somewhat better.
Smiling, she moved to wash the glass, and fire erupted from her fingers.
She cried out and dropped the glass, shaking her hand wildly. Nothing. Blinking, she turned her hand over to study the palm. No fire, no burn marks, no…nothing.
She was losing her mind. It had finally happened. Even so, a residual pain throbbed through her pinkie finger.
The atmosphere around her wavered. Sparkles popped. She backed away from the sink, her heart pummeling her rib cage until it hurt to breathe. The air was sucked away from her, leaving a vacuum. She gaped like a trout out of water and instinctively planted both hands over her ears.
The sliding glass door on the other side of the round table was ripped open, the lock protesting with a loud scratch. A hulking form rushed inside. It took a second for her eyes to clear enough to recognize him. “Sam?” she whispered.
Bubbles popped all around her.
He leaped over the table and picked her up, barreling through her small home into the bedroom.
She screamed and fought him, sucking in air as fast as she could, trying to fill her bruised lungs. Panic grabbed her, replacing thought with pure instinct. To fight and flee. Her fist connected with his neck while she kicked her feet, but he didn’t seem to notice. Holding her easily, he grabbed her top mattress with one hand and pivoted, shoving it against the door.
An explosion echoed from the other room.
“What did you do?” She punched him again, squirming in his arms, so panicked her brain wouldn’t work.
He grunted. “Stop hitting me.” His voice was a low growl, barely human.
Think. She had to think. The man held her easily, and she was no lightweight. Her best move, only move really, was to get free and run. Fighting him was a losing proposition. “Okay,” she said, trembling against his chest.
“I won’t harm you.” Holding her aloft, he shoved the mattress out of the way and opened the door, peering into the hallway. His arms were unyielding around her, and his chest felt as if he was wearing a metal shield. The strength in him was surreal. And terrifying.
She tensed. If he released her, she’d run.
He cautiously stepped outside the room and then into the hallway, twisting his torso to prevent her head from hitting the doorframe. Then he moved back into the kitchen, where smoke billowed from the counter by the sink.
She gasped. Her paper towel roll was on fire. She started to struggle again.
He went to the sink, turned on the water, pulled out the faucet, and sprayed water until the flames sputtered out. Burned pieces of paper towel wafted around. Then he reached across the sink to open the window—still holding her.
“Put me down,” she snapped, fear riding her hard.
He set her on her feet. “Don’t run. You won’t make it.”
The open back slider, damaged with the lock mechanism hanging off the edge, was her only bet. Her muscles tensed to run.
Sam planted a hand against her upper chest with his fingers extending to her neck. He pushed her against the counter, which pressed uncomfortably against her butt. “I told you. Do not run.” His eyes blazed an unfathomable green, and at the moment, anger glowed in them.