might kill the bastard.
The other Daemoni advanced two steps toward me as I continued with the force on Ian. I held my left hand up.
'Don't. Make. Me. Fry. You.'
A warlock held his own hands up, threatening me with his magic. 'Leave then.'
'We leave after you do,' Tristan said. 'We're not abandoning these innocents.'
'We're watching,' the warlock warned. 'You don't leave, we attack. Again. And again. And again … until you do.'
Tristan cocked his head and I heard what he heard–with my ears and my mind–and my breath let out with relief. I let Ian go.
'Not a problem,' Tristan said.
An old, rusty truck appeared down the road, heading straight for us and swerving for the Daemoni. They popped out of sight.
'Need a lift?' Owen yelled from the driver's side.
'Get in, princess,' Jax called from the passenger's seat as the truck slowed down enough for Tristan and me to jump into the back. But I didn't move until I saw the little blond head wedged between Owen and Jax. He's safe. I sprang into the truck's bed.
'Take cover,' Tristan yelled at the Amadis and the burning village instantly disappeared. 'The truck, too, Owen!'
Owen thrust his hands up to shield and cloak the truck and then yanked the wheel in a hard left turn, throwing Tristan and me against the side of the bed. Several figures popped into existence in the direction we had been heading, but not able to see us, they gave up and disappeared again. Then the truck back-fired, slowed and stopped.
'Is something wrong?' My voice cracked on the last word as panic tried to grip me.
'Nah. This is where I get out, princess,' Jax said. 'I only came to show warlock here how to find Kuckaroo. He would have never made it in time, the direction he was going.'
'How did you know?'
'My bird friend brought me a message about the Daemoni. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what they're looking for.' He peered back the way we'd come, as if he could still see the hidden town. 'I guess those are the closest I got to mates. I can't abandon them. Better see what I can do.'
He took off down the road, no time for any of us to say long goodbyes.
'Thank you for everything,' I called out.
'Any time, princess.'
Owen jammed the truck into gear, and it lurched, then rumbled on. I jumped to the front of the bed and pulled Dorian through the open window to the cab, welding him against me, never wanting to let him go. I kissed all over the top of his head, every part that wasn't buried against me.
'Mom … can't … breathe,' Dorian gasped against my chest.
I laughed, an unfamiliar sound mixed with joy and grief–joy to have my baby in my arms, grief for what we left behind.
'You have a plan, Scarecrow?' Tristan called over the truck's ear-splitting engine.
'You're the plan man,' Owen yelled back.
'Can you still fly?'
Owen laughed. 'Oh, yeah! Those were the only classes I didn't mind sitting through.'
'There's a private air strip about a-hundred-and-fifty kilometers due west.'
'Gotch'ya! It'll take a while with old Bertha here,' Owen said, slapping the ancient truck's dashboard, 'but we should get there before dark.'
We rumbled along through the bush on no apparent road. The benefit of Owen's shield, besides the fact that it made us literally disappear in the Outback and lose the Daemoni, was that it magically protected us from the dust. Not that I could be any nastier with dirt stuck to the dried sweat and blood from the morning.
Tristan leaned against the front of the truck's bed, wrapped his arms around us and pulled us between his legs, Dorian still in my lap.
'I love you, ma lykita,' Tristan murmured against my ear. 'I'm sorry about earlier.'
'Me, too. I have no idea what overcame me.'
'Could have been Vanessa's mages messing with us before we saw them.'
'Ah.' I closed my eyes. Bitch. 'You know I love you more than anything, right?'
'Of course.'
'More than me?' Dorian asked.
I thought for a moment. How do I explain the difference to a seven-year-old? 'Hmm … more than anything but Dorian. And Dorian, I love you more than anything but Dad. Okay?'
Dorian considered this for a moment. 'Awesome. I'm the same as Dad.'
I leaned my head against Tristan's chest and closed my eyes, tears silently seeping through my eyelashes. Another village attacked, more people dead. Because of us. And we couldn't even stay to help them. The best thing we could do for them was leave. And never return.
We were on our own.
Chapter 13
Tristan wiped my tears away and whispered in my ear, 'At least we're together.'
I nodded against his chest.
Those were the last words spoken for nearly two hours as Bertha bumped through the wilderness, her rusty moans and creaks filling the silence. Dorian fell asleep in my lap, my body cushioning him on all but the worst of the bounces while Tristan's body cushioned mine. After grieving for the Amadis we left behind, my thoughts switched to our escape, and I hoped Tristan was concentrating on the best solution to get us off this God-forsaken continent. My experiences so far marred my perception of Australia–wild, dirty and frightening.
Owen must have grown bored after two hours of driving through the barren terrain–he broke into song. He had an unbelievable voice I never knew about, imitating the singers perfectly, from Elvis to Chester Bennington, and even the instrumental parts. It was the closest we had to a radio, so we didn't mind. As he finished Shadow of the Day, the sun already low in the western sky, he slowed Bertha, eventually bringing her to a stop.
'Is this it?' Owen asked.
I opened my eyes and almost whooped out loud when I saw the homestead. Bertha sat in front of an old farmhouse, facing a faded red barn. My mind was already inside, drinking a cold glass of water and then standing under a hot shower. But as I looked around more closely, my heart sank to my lap. Siding hung off the dilapidated barn, and the roof was caved in. The fields and stock pens were overgrown and unkempt. Paint peeled off the walls of the house, and grime tinted the windows a yellowish-brown color. A tiny, old airplane sat at the end of what once may have been a dirt runway, but now was littered with overgrown weeds and potholes nearly the size of Bertha. This can't be it.
'Yep, this is it,' Tristan said, pushing me forward so he could stand up.
Owen turned in the driver's seat, and his face looked how I felt. 'Dude … seriously? I think the owners abandoned this place decades ago. Probably ran away scared.'
'Perhaps. I haven't been here in … a lifetime.' Tristan hopped out of the truck. 'Come on. Let's check it out. There's nothing here you can't fix, Scarecrow.'
'True,' Owen agreed, sliding out of the driver's seat, 'very true.'
Somehow, Dorian slept through the loud screech and bang of the truck's door closing. I stayed with him in the truck bed and listened while Tristan and Owen explored. Their discoveries didn't sound good. Based on their comments, Owen was right–the owners apparently took off years ago, leaving everything behind as if they were going to the store, including trash and dishes in the sink. The pipes creaked as they tried to turn the water on, but it sounded as though only a few drops actually dispelled from the faucet. So much for a drink or a shower.
