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“I won’t see him again,” Fawn whispered. “I won’t know him.”
She knew who Fawn spoke of and breathed out softly.
From what Judd had said, Gideon would kill them all now if he could.
“It’s for the best. It will keep you safe. He’ll kill you if he can.”
The younger girl’s breathing hitched as she fought to hold back a sob. “He wouldn’t kill me, Honor. I know he wouldn’t.”
“Child.” Orrin Martinez gripped her hand, drawing her from Fawn’s tear-filled gaze. “Neither destiny, fate, nor the battle you are to fight on this earth can be avoided. It can only be delayed. To each of you—” He drew back as the chanting began once again. “To each of you, a protector will be sent. When it is time, when the memories must surface to guide the battle you must fight, your protector shall appear. One in the form of chaos, and one—” He looked to Fawn with gentle eyes. “One, my dear, in the form of death.”
A brilliant arc of light filled the room at Fawn’s throttled cry of fear, and another herb was tossed on the burning fire, the wicked red stones that the water hissed upon sending a rush of steam to fill the sweat lodge as the chanting increased.
Light flared. The winds roared outside. There were cries, both startled and filled with anger, from outside the lodge. She swore she heard gunfire—
Honor turned her gaze from Fawn’s and stared up at the crisscross of wood that made up the low ceiling and watched as the droplets of steam seemed to come to the point of the ceiling before feathering down, landing on her face, her arms, her legs.
Whatever upheaval gathered outside, inside she was safe.
She would have thought it would be hot in the lodge, but it was cool. Moisture washed over her overheated flesh and soothed it, then seemed to fill her lungs with a slightly sweet, slightly bitter taste.
With each swallow, the taste of the moisture comforted her, sent lethargy stealing through her and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn’t wonder what tomorrow would bring.
She knew what it would bring.
They had explained it to her.
They had told her how the nothingness would be a comfort. How the years of pain and sorrow would slowly ease and who and what she had been would be but memories for others.
Who and what she had been would be no more until chaos filled the night.
Tonight, Honor Roberts and Fawn Corrigan would die.
The six chiefs of the People, the old men who came together from more than one tribe of Native Americans, to help them, to save them, filled Fawn with awe.
It wasn’t awe Honor felt, though. It was gratitude.
Finally, the fight to live, to survive, was a fight others could struggle through. Perhaps now, she and Fawn would have the chance to just live.
At least, for a little while.
What had taken hours to actually happen flashed through her senses in a matter of minutes. It was there, like a cascade of frightening images clicking into place, pulling in those odd, half-formed memories that had tormented her over the years and rebuilding her from the soul out.
But as it did, a sense of overwhelming pain shuddered through her.
She was Honor Roberts—without family, without a past, a heritage or a true place in the world.
“Chaos,” she whispered as she stared back at Stygian where he crouched in front of her. “A night of chaos, Stygian.”
Concern and a hint of gathering strength flashed in his eyes.
She knew what he was doing—he knew what had happened in those few flashing moments that she had only stared up at them, neither hearing nor seeing whatever was happening around her.
“Stygian—”
His fingers pressed against her lips to shush her. “Let’s get you out of here, get those cuts bandaged.” Lifting her into his arms, Stygian had every intention of getting her the hell out of there before Jonas arrived and caught the scent Stygian had the moment he approached Liza.
The scent of knowledge.
