Key of Valor
Page 79

Light showered through the dark. And color, and movement. He stood in the doorway of his New York offices, his breath heaving from the run. Blood from his wounded hands fell onto the polished oak of the floor.
Through the wide triple windows, he saw the skyline, all those gleaming spears that rose into the morning sky.
A young blonde in a sharp black suit walked by, shot him a sunny smile. “Welcome back, Mr. Vane.”
“Yes.” His lips felt stiff. Why was it so cold in here? “Thanks.”
Michael, his assistant, hurried up to him. He wore red suspenders over a blue shirt and carried a thick appointment book. “I have your schedule for the day, Mr. Vane. Coffee’s on your desk. We’d better get started.”
“I should . . .” He could smell the coffee, and Michael’s aftershave. He heard a phone ringing. Confused, he lifted his hand, watched the blood drip from the puncture in his palm. “I’m bleeding.”
“Oh, we’ll take care of that. You just need to come in. All the way in.”
“No.” He swayed. Nausea roiled in his belly, sweat poured down his face with the effort. “I don’t.” Gripping the doorjamb for balance, he looked behind him, and into the dark. “This isn’t real. This is just more bull—”
He broke off as he heard Zoe scream.
Whirling, he shoved away from the door.
“You’ll die out there,” Michael shouted after him, seconds before the door slammed. A bullet shot.
Brad plunged into the dark, calling for Zoe. He couldn’t see, though he tore frantically through briars, he couldn’t see anything but that unrelieved veil of black.
He couldn’t find her, would never find her. And what was in the dark would kill them both because he hadn’t held on to her.
She only wants your money. A rich father for her bastard son.
“That is such crap.” Exhausted, sick, he fell to his knees. He was letting himself get roped in, letting himself believe the lies.
It had to stop.
He threw back his head, bunched his fists. “It’s not real. It’s not happening. Goddamn it, I am home. And so is she.”
He woke, gulping in air, with the last tendrils of the mist fading and Moe standing on the foot of the bed, snarling like a wolf.
“Okay, boy. Christ.” Still a little shaken, he started to reach out for the dog, but felt the pain shudder through his hand. Turning it over, he saw the blood smeared on his palm, welling fresh from several punctures. “Well, some of it was real.”
On a long breath, he shoved his bloodied hand through his hair. And the next instant was leaping out of bed. Zoe. If the blood was real, her screams might be.
He raced to her room, threw open the door. In the soft morning light he could that see her bed hadn’t been slept in. Pushed by panic, he whirled to Simon’s room, shuddered with relief when he saw the boy curled up with the puppy.
“Stay with him.” Brad ordered Moe into the room. “You stay with him,” he repeated, then tore downstairs to look for Zoe.
Shouting for her now, he burst into the great room just in time to see her stumble in from the deck.
WHEN she opened her eyes, Zoe saw Brad’s face, pale, with his hair tousled around it.
“You need a haircut,” she mumbled.
“Christ Jesus, Zoe.” He gripped her hand hard enough to rub bone against bone. “What the hell were you doing outside? What happened? No, quiet.” He snapped himself back from the line of utter terror. “Lie still. I’ll get you some water.”
He hurried to the kitchen, filled a glass, then just braced his hands on the counter while he fought to steady his pulse.
Ordering himself to take slow, deep breaths, he washed the blood off his hands, then picked up the glass of water and went back to her.
She was sitting up now, and the color was back in her cheeks. He’d never seen anyone so white as she’d been when she’d come through that doorway.
“Take it easy,” he ordered. “Sip slowly.”
She nodded, though it was hard to obey when her throat was on fire. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay.” He didn’t shout it, but there was a slapping edge to his voice. “You fainted. You’ve got a bruise on your face and blood on your hands. You’re not f**king okay.”
It was amazing how he did that, she thought. How he never raised his voice, but managed to have the temper and the authority crush you into dust.
“It’s not my blood. It’s his.” It steadied her to see it again. To know what she’d done. “I scratched his goddamn face. I have good, strong nails, and I tore that bastard’s cheeks open with them. It felt great.”
She handed Brad the empty glass, and because she thought they both could use it, kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry I scared you. I was . . . oh!” On a sound of distress, she snatched his hand. “You’re all scratched and cut.”
“I had a little adventure in the woods while you were . . . whatever you were doing.”
“He worked on both of us,” Zoe said softly. “But we’re here, we’re right here, aren’t we?” She lifted his wounded hand to her lips. “Let’s go clean up these cuts, and you’ll tell me what happened to you. I’ll tell you what happened to me, but first I want you to know something.”
She took his face in her hands, looked into his eyes. “I want you to know it’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right. Let’s go in the kitchen. I want to wash my hands, bandage yours, and make some coffee.”
She drew a breath and got to her feet. Her legs were steady, she noted with some pride. And her mind was set. “We’ll talk about the rest while I work.”
“Work?”
“I’ve got a turkey to stuff.”
Chapter Nineteen
I don’t know how you can be so calm.” Malory washed fresh cranberries at the kitchen sink.
“Oh, I’ve roasted turkeys before.” Zoe shot a grin over her shoulder and continued to prepare the yams.
“I don’t know how she can be such a smart-ass,” Dana commented, scowling at the mountain of potatoes she had yet to peel. “You’d think a pissing match with an evil sorcerer god, a fainting spell, and cooking for an army would spoil her mood, but oh, no, our Zoe’s in some form today.”