Silence fell over the area except for the latent hum of the still-cooling Jeep. He held his breath, waiting. His racing heart pounded loudly in his ears as he strained to hear any noises.
Finally, footsteps slapped on pavement in a steady rhythm. The person wasn’t running. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“What the hell! Why did you just…pat him?” Lucien’s voice was hardly more than an annoyed growl.
“I wanted to chase him again,” Baer replied, humor lacing his tone. “It was fun to knock him down like that. Sometimes the animals I shift into—their instincts—take over a bit.”
“The damn thing nearly got to Grey. You should have just ripped out his throat first thing.”
“What’s the fun in that?”
“Asshole,” Lucien murmured as he reached Grey. “We got it. Better get out of here before the liquor store guy calls the police. We’ll go to a different shop on the way back.”
“What finally took it out?” Grey asked as they scrambled into the Jeep.
“Fire,” Baer grumbled, and Grey could so easily imagine him pouting. “You singed my damn fur.”
“Well, if you hadn’t been playing with it, that wouldn’t have been necessary.”
“It was only one, so I decided to have some fun. Sue me.”
This time, Baer’s voice came from the driver’s side, and Grey held on as the Jeep lurched out of the parking lot, loose gravel crunching under the tires. Baer drove like a lunatic, so he scrambled to put on his seat belt. Every moment behind the wheel was a chance to race. Helpless rage boiled in his stomach, pulling him from thoughts of Baer’s driving.
There was that damn word again. Helpless. But that was what he was. Just a week ago, he’d been powerful. He’d had magic. He’d had skills. He’d been able to protect his new family. Protect the world.
And now…he was stuck in the back seat of a Jeep, no help to anyone. A danger to all of his family and himself.
What the hell was he going to do?
“Now you know why I wanted to drive,” Lucien complained. He cursed at Baer. “Slow the fuck down! Nobody’s after us.”
“I wanted to get us away before the police showed. That guy saw some of the fight, and he sure as hell saw me as a lion.”
“I wonder what he thought when he saw the lion attacking that guy. Probably called animal control instead.” Lucien chuckled. “Shit! That was a stop sign you just ran.”
“Oh, was it?” Baer laughed and the Jeep rocked to the right, sending Grey into the door. He shook his head. Sirens or not, Baer always drove like this.
“Ever wonder what the authorities find when they take in the pestilent bodies?” Baer asked. “I mean, they only look like us on the outside. I bet they have like, two hearts or something.”
“They probably rot even faster when dead, considering that’s why they stink so badly when they come into our world.” Grey grabbed on to the back of Baer’s seat when he was jostled again. “You really can slow down now. I don’t hear any sirens. Either that guy didn’t care or we’re far enough away now.”
“I have slowed down,” Baer grumbled and then chuckled. “You two are wusses.”
“You shouldn’t be allowed to drive.” Lucien cursed again as the Jeep came to a hard stop. “At least you saw this stop sign. Next time, I’m letting Grey drive.”
Baer’s laughter filled the vehicle as he hit the gas again. “We still need to get whiskey. You remember where that other liquor store is?”
Grey had no idea where they were, so he didn’t bother to answer. He listened as Lucien murmured under his breath as he probably searched his phone. Grey had to guess at what he was doing.
Closing his eyes, he rubbed them against the dryness. He was tired and wanted to go home to his own quiet apartment. Wanted to be away from…everything.
He knew he should be grateful that he was alive. That battle could have gone horribly wrong. He could have been killed, and his brothers would have had to wait another thirty years or so for the appearance of the new Soul Weaver. Then it might be too late. They were already sucking energy from this world, and there were still two missing Weavers.
The combined power of all six Weavers was needed to stop the pestilents.
Which brought him to the thought that woke him in the dead of night in a cold sweat. Now that his powers had been taken away…would he still be able to help? Or would his loss of powers defeat their efforts?
Maybe he should have been killed in that battle after all.
Chapter 2
Was the light on?
Grey got up from the small sofa with the navy-and-green plaid covering to make his way to the switch on the wall. The light didn’t affect him, but company was coming, and the small apartment over the garage was kind of dim if the blinds were closed. The dimness never bothered him. He liked the small apartment and the privacy it gave him. He’d moved out here before he’d lost his sight, finding it helped to somewhat stop the bombardment of thoughts from the rest of the Circle when they were feeling passionate or upset about something. Plus, it was easier to work here—quiet and cozy.
The rehabilitation therapist was due to arrive at any time, and Grey was not looking forward to the visit. He preferred to be left alone and didn’t want some stranger messing about in his business. He flipped on the light, went to take a step back toward the sofa, and knocked something to the floor. Kneeling, he cursed when his fingers slid across the smooth, cool lid of his laptop.
His latest manuscript was on the thing. Not that he’d been able to work this past week, but he was determined not to lose his livelihood on top of everything else. There were dictation programs he could be using. He’d just have to figure out how to get one of those working for him.
Familiar anger filled him as he set the laptop on the coffee table and made sure its corners weren’t hanging off. Knocking the laptop to the floor didn’t do the machine any favors. He’d have to be more careful.
Standing in the living room, nothing but darkness around him, he worked to picture the room. It was probably a mess of dirty clothes and dirty dishes since he’d been mostly holed up here the past week. Cleaning had never been a high priority, but he’d at least kept up with the dusting and vacuuming prior to his injury. He probably should have at least tried to tidy the place, but he couldn’t bring himself to care that much.
Footsteps pounded on the stairs and someone knocked on the door. Although he’d been expecting it, he still jumped.
“Grey?” Dane called out, his voice slightly muffled. “The therapist is here.”
“Come in, it’s unlocked.”
Dane had lived in the apartment before he’d moved into the main part of the house with Clay, so he knew his way around. Grey heard him leading his visitor through the kitchen to the tiny living room Grey stood in.
“Hi,” a deep voice said as his hand was taken into a handshake. “I’m Cort Newton, your vision specialist. I’ll be working with you on your rehabilitation.”
His hand was warm, strong, and friendly. Was it even possible for a handshake to feel friendly? Just the right amount of pressure without becoming overbearing. Or maybe it was in the voice.