I—There are no words. I loved her.”
“I know you did. That’s why you’re still alive.” He moved to the cage nearest him and began freeing the otherworlders.
Most sprang from behind the bars and ran, never looking back. Tawny fur grew from Kitten’s pores, covering her entire body as she disappeared around the corner, but she quickly returned with an unconscious, bleeding circus performer. She dumped the body on top of Jecis, kicked it—the performer was still alive, judging from that gust of pained breath Vika heard—and disappeared again . . . only to return with another body. This time, she was a little bloody herself and missing several patches of fur.
The Bree Lian raced toward Vika, his claws bared.
The Targon grabbed him by the back of the hair and jerked him to the ground. He loomed over the otherworlder and scowled.
“You don’t touch the girl. Ever. She took care of you and was your only means of protection.”
A trembling “All right.”
The Targon freed him, and he lumbered to his feet. He didn’t bother glancing or glaring in Vika’s direction, but sprinted away.
Criss strolled out, stopped and checked her cuticles.
“Run,” the Targon said. He’d finished releasing the otherworlders and dropped her father’s thumb on the ground. “I don’t owe you any protection, Cortaz, and I won’t offer it. You’ve got an attitude that needs adjusting.”
“I think I’ll stay,” the girl said with a confident smile. “When Jecis died, my brothers were finally able to get a lock on me. They showed up a few seconds later.”
The Targon spread his arms. “And where are they? Because they can feel free to bring it.”
A brighter smile. “You see the fires?” Looking beyond the otherworlder, she called, “The circus is charbroiled now, guys, so stop showing off. I’m ready to go home.”
A second later, five glittering lights surrounded her, blocking her from sight. Those lights were shaped like men, and when they faded, Criss was gone, her footprints nothing more than charred grass.
Kitten dropped another body in the ever-growing pile and turned to grab another victim. But cops suddenly swarmed the area, their guns raised, stilling her. She held her hands up and said, “Don’t shoot. I’m with AIR, and the Targon and the blonde are with me.”
“Kitten?” a male voice growled.
“Dallas?”
A handsome dark-haired man with otherworldly blue eyes that reminded Vika of Solo—a sharp pang in her chest—shoved his way forward. Kitten caught sight of him, squealed, and threw herself in his arms.
He hugged her, but he never lowered the barrel of his pyre-gun.
Pyre. Something only AIR agents carried. And Kitten had said she was an agent, hadn’t she. And yet, Jecis had enslaved her. Well, he had signed his death certificate the moment he’d done so. If Audra hadn’t shot him, AIR would have eventually found him. Everyone knew they never gave up.
“What are you doing here?” Kitten demanded. “This isn’t New Chicago . . . I don’t think. Unless we’re in a contaminated section I’ve never visited.”
“No. Not New Chicago,” the blue-eyed agent said. “Word got out that a certain circus had a Teran in a cage. We hoped it was you, but didn’t really think it was. Still, we kept out feelers, and the moment we heard the circus had landed in the flatlands last night, I hopped a plane.”
Oh yes. Jecis’s downfall would have happened one way or another.
“A family reunion. How sweet.” The Targon chuckled, and in the next moment, the entire world stilled. The flames stopped crackling, the smoke stopped wafting. “Come on, little Vika. I told your man I would take care of you. Vowed it, in fact.”
How like Solo. “What did you demand from him in return?” She doubted the creature had been willing to help out of the goodness of his heart. Daddy Spanky wasn’t the type.
He tugged her to her feet. “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t really want what he was offering, just wanted to see how much he was willing to give up. By the way, he was willing to give up
Just like that, tears burned the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away—they were silly. X would bring him back, Solo would insist on it, if Solo wasn’t at the farm already, and she would have the opportunity to say thank you, to tell him of her love.
“Now, come on. I’m weak, and I know that’s not saying much. My weakness is actually the strength of ten men, but I’m not sure how much longer I can hold such a big group of people with the magnificent power of my mind. If we stay, they’ll question us. If they question us, they might decide to keep you. I don’t relish the thought of springing you from prison.”
“Yes. Let’s leave.”
They wound around the now-blackened tents, darted around the frozen bodies, the flickering fires, the wafts of smoke. “In case you’re wondering, I’m going to do you another solid,” the Targon said. “I’m going to take you anywhere you want to go. Anywhere in the world. I can’t open solar flares like your father, but I can drive and I can keep the cops off your tail. I doubt you’ll receive a better offer.”
“The farm,” she rushed out. “I want to go to Solo’s farm.” She rattled off the address Solo had forced her to memorize.
“That’s a few states away. If I buy a car, give you time to clean up and rest, I can have you there in three days. If I steal a police cruiser, I can have you there in two. If you ask me to drive all night, I can have you there in one.”
“Steal and drive all night,” she said. “You can mail the local PD a check.”
“Thought you’d say that,” he grumbled.
• • •
“There it is,” he said. The Targon stopped the car, put it in park, and emerged.
Vika opened the passenger door, warm air bathing her, amazingly fresh and clean, layered with scents she remembered from long ago. Animals. Fur, hay, pine.
The sun beat down on a white, two-story house, a picket fence around it. Beyond that, mountains formed the perfect backdrop. Trees stretched in every direction.
Her knees nearly buckled, but she managed to race forward, calling, “Solo! Solo!”
An older man with silver hair stepped out from behind the house. He wore dirt-stained gloves. “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Solo.” She pounded up the porch steps, heart galloping in her chest. The front door was unlocked and she soared inside, leaving the Targon to handle the human. A lovely little living room greeted her.
A soft leather couch. A well-worn love seat. An oblong coffee table, with books scattered across. An unlit fireplace, a plain but soft-looking rug. The kitchen reminded her of the one in the log cabin, with an island counter and pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, only these were a lot higher up. She would never be able to reach them without a ladder—or Solo.
Two bedrooms were upstairs, and she had no trouble picking out Solo’s. It smelled like him, with a subtle hint of peat smoke. The bed was huge, the biggest she’d ever seen, and there were no covers, only a sheet. A sheet without a single wrinkle. The closet was filled with shirts, pants, and shoes, all black. But there was no sign of Solo.
And the other bedroom was empty.
He wasn’t here, she realized.
Shoulders slumped, she made her way down the stairs. The Targon leaned against the doorpost, his arms crossed over his middle.
“Didn’t find what you were looking for, I take it,” he said.
This was Solo’s farm. His home. But he wasn’t here.
She burst into tears.
