Officers caught her, held her as she struggled.
“God, what a monster!” she heard. “Look at the size of him.” “Look at those teeth!”
Over and over, she screamed, “Guardian! No. Let him go!”
As Guardian fought the restraints, he stared at her, his blue eyes wide and desperate.
Then a man in a dark suit stepped out of one car, walked to the net, and waited.
Guardian glanced up. Saw him. Stilled. And shrank back.
The stranger was a tall man, middle-aged, sharply handsome, with brunette hair that curled in a wave on his forehead and pale blue eyes.
Charisma had never met him, never seen him before. But she knew he must be Smith Bernhard.
He was the real monster. He watched Guardian avidly, observing him with pleasure and greed. “What a delight to see you at last in your true form, Aleksandr. And what an interesting form it is. When I thought some trigger in your family’s brain must be present for transformation to occur, I envisioned that an actual animal would be the result. This”—he waved his hand at Guardian—“this is very unusual.”
Guardian snarled.
The police officers gasped and backed up.
Charisma struggled again. “No!”
“It’s okay, miss,” one of the officers who held her shouted. “We’ve got you. You’re safe!”
As if she were afraid of Guardian!
Guardian’s gaze shifted to the woman who uncoiled herself from the backseat of the car.
Charisma recognized her at once.
Iskra. The woman who had been at Aleksandr Wilder’s side when he vanished.
The police officers who restrained Charisma moaned simultaneously, piteously, in the throes of desperate, needy desire.
Charisma glanced at them.
Both of them were riveted by the sight of Iskra’s sinuous body, her flowing blond hair, her red lips and sensuously made-up eyes.
At that moment, Charisma recognized her as a thing. One of the Others. Like Ronnie, she had been given the gift of seduction. Like Ronnie, she had used it to destroy a member of the Chosen Ones.
No wonder Aleksandr had run off with her. He had known all was not right with her, but he hadn’t been able to resist her.
Guardian was Aleksandr Wilder.
And Aleksandr Wilder had been fatally seduced.
“Guardian!” Charisma yelled. “Aleksandr! No! Don’t look at her!”
He glanced at her. “Get away,” he shouted. “Save yourself!”
Even with Iskra here, he recognized Charisma. He wanted to save Charisma.
As Iskra stepped forward, voluptuous and lovely, Charisma screamed again, “Aleksandr!”
This time, he didn’t look back at her. He kept his gaze fixed . . . on Bernhard.
Bernhard, who gestured to the hovering helicopter to pull the net up.
Charisma screamed and cried until she was hoarse, straining against the men who restrained her. They wrestled with her, gently at first, then yelling in pain as she broke bones. The next bunch of officers subdued her with nightsticks to the head and arms.
She fell to her knees.
The police grabbed her by her arms.
“She’s gone crazy with fear,” one said.
“Or she’s just crazy,” said another.
The net began to lift off the street.
Guardian snarled and fought as he was lifted into the air.
From behind Charisma, someone plucked the remaining pistol from her belt. She heard the safety click off.
Also from behind her, the calm, imperious voice of Mother Catherine said, “Let her go.”
The police turned.
Charisma turned.
Mother Catherine, withered, sweet faced, five-foot-nothing, pointed an imperious finger at the officers.
Sister Marie Clare, younger and with a cold, cool gaze, held the Glock steadily pointed at the police chief.
Sister Margaret, who had taught at the school for forty years, caught the ear of the policeman who held Charisma. “Young man, let her go!”
The police officers released Charisma.
Charisma seized the moment. She crawled to her feet, ran, and leaped to catch the net with both hands.
Guardian still struggled wildly.
“Guardian!” she yelled.
Still mad with terror, he didn’t respond.
She crawled up the webbing, looked into his eyes, said intently, “Aleksandr.”
He froze.
“Aleksandr, get my knife.”
He came back to life, no longer a panicked animal caught in a trap, but a man. “Yes.” Reaching into her vest, he pulled out her blade and instructed her, “Jump.”
Fifteen feet off the ground, she dropped off the net and onto the street, crumpling in exhaustion.
The net rose closer to the helicopter. The helicopter headed over the building across the street.
And at the rooftop, Aleksandr slashed a hole through the net and jumped.
Bernhard yelled, “Get him! Catch him!”
Iskra stared, beautiful brown eyes narrowing.
Aleksandr ran along the rooftop.
The policemen raised their guns.
Bernhard hopped up and down. “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. He’s mine!”
Aleksandr disappeared from sight.
Bernhard pointed at Charisma. “Take her. Keep her!”
The police turned.
In a firm tone, Mother Catherine said, “Thou . . . shalt . . . not.”
The officers paused.
“You don’t impress me,” Bernhard said. “You have no authority here.”
“No. Not I.” Mother Catherine pointed to the spire of the church.
A disbeliever to the marrow of his bones, Bernhard turned red with fury. “Take the woman! We can use her to trap the beast.”
One by one, the police officers looked at him, then at Mother Catherine, and shook their heads. “She works for somebody more important than you,” one remarked.
To her nuns, Mother Catherine said, “Pick Charisma up. Bring her inside.”
Sister Marie Claire and Sister Margaret grabbed Charisma under the arms and dragged her into the schoolyard.
Mother Catherine adjusted her sleeves, adjusted her glasses, and followed.
Chapter 43
As soon as the Chosen Ones arrived back at the mansion, Samuel said, “’Scuse me. Gotta go find Isabelle and tell her we’re okay. She worries.”
“Tell her we kicked some big gang booty!” Caleb lifted a fist.
“Tell her we’re all healthy!” Genny rubbed her ribs. “Mostly.”
Samuel watched everyone head for the stairs. “I’ll tell her you’re all sweaty and are going up for much-needed showers.”
He got a unanimous thumbs-up on that one and headed to the library. No Isabelle. He checked the kitchen and found McKenna, who sent him then to the gym.
There he found Isabelle dripping sweat, working out with the weights, her face frozen in that fixed expression that said she was determined to do better this time than last time.
He loved that look. She got that look whenever she took over their lovemaking and made him cry for mercy.
Everyone thought she was such a lady.
She was.
Except in the gym.
And in bed.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said. “We’re back.”
She leaped at him so fast he never saw her coming. She wrapped herself around him and kissed him deep and hard, then fiercely asked, “Are you all right?”
“We rescued those tourists from the stranded subway car, and exterminated an entire gang and half a dozen demons at the same time, and escaped relatively unscathed.” He grinned at her. “And my hip is fine.”
“Liar.”
“It’s good enough.”
“Liar.”
“I can get it on right here and now if you want me to prove it.”
“No.” She wrapped her fingers into his collar. ?
??Listen. I’ve got a problem.”
“You started your period.” It was the only reason he could think of that she wouldn’t want to get it on.
She sighed. “You are such a simpleton. Not every problem I ever experience is related to my reproductive cycle.”
“I know, honey.” But when she was holding his collar like she wanted to choke him, there was a pretty good chance. “Would you like me to tell McKenna to rustle you up a steak for dinner?”
“No! Listen to me.” She thought. “That is, yes. A steak would be nice. Rare. Better have McKenna get out a steak for the other women, too.”
“Women in prison cycle at the same time. Of course the female Chosen Ones will do the same.”
“Would you listen to me?” Isabelle came as close to shouting as she ever did, and she backed him up against the wall.
He stood with his hands up. “I’m listening!”
“I think Charisma is pregnant.”
He dropped his hands onto Isabelle’s shoulders. “What?”
“I think Charisma is pregnant!”
“I heard you.” He could scarcely collect his thoughts. “Why? Why do you think she’s pregnant? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“Last night, when I tried to give her strength . . . I thought I would cure her of any lingering malaise. Then I realized . . .” Tears filled Isabelle’s eyes. She swallowed, but her voice wobbled as she continued. “I realized the venom in her system was still there waiting, and she couldn’t be cured. I realized she was doomed. And she’s my friend, you know.”
“I know. She’s my friend, too.”
“I . . .” Isabelle released him, turned away. “I got distracted. I have feelings, too!”
“You’re the most sensitive person I know. The most sensitive member of the Chosen Ones.” Stepping up behind her, he placed his hands on her arms, rubbing up and down, trying to convey his concern for her.
“I can’t fight a battle because when I inflict pain, it echoes back at me. So I have to stay home and wait to see whether you’re killed in combat.” She took a shaky breath. “It sucks. I hate it.”
He knew it was tough on her. But it was unavoidable, and not worrying that she would be hurt sure made his battles easier to fight. “Honey . . .”
“The thing is, last night I got distracted by the impending death of my friend. But this morning I started thinking. . . . I’d noticed a faint pulse of life in her womb.”
“But . . . how?”
Isabelle twisted out of his grasp and faced him.
“Okay, the usual way. Sorry. Dumb question. Who?” In a roaring burst of fury, Samuel shouted, “Was she raped?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Not raped?” He could see again. Breathe again. “That girl. She’s like the sister I never had—and always wanted to slap down.”
“I know, dear.”
“She’s such a smart-ass.”
“So are you.”
“She’s always getting in trouble.”
“She always gets out of it without any help.”
“She’s a bad influence.”
“On who?”
He shouldn’t have said that.
She wrapped his collar in her fists again. “On me? Really? On me?”
“She wears those clothes. And those shoes. And when you were mad at me, she encouraged you—”
“She told me you were the man for me.”
“Really?” He perked up. “In so many words?”
Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “Can you focus on someone besides yourself for five minutes?”
“Right.” Charisma. Going to have a baby. “You’re sure she’s pregnant?”
“Yes. The life was faint and new, but it was there.”
“Who?”
“I guess . . . Guardian. Aleksandr Wilder, if that’s who it is.”
“Holy crap.” Samuel groped his way to the weight bench and sat. “None of you women have ever conceived.”
“We’re all careful not to. Right now it’s too dangerous, and we’re needed on the front lines.”
“Yes.” Samuel was a realist. “But in the heat of the moment, things happen that maybe shouldn’t, and us guys . . .”
“I can’t speak for the other men, but I know you’ve done your duty.”
“You make it easy.” His half smile faded. “So, Charisma, who hasn’t even looked at a man since that scuzzball Ronnie, went belowground, was chased by demons, bitten and almost killed, rescued by the beast that is probably Aleksandr Wilder . . . and had a grand time screwing her brains out with him?”
“Simplistic, I’m sure. But yes.”
“And got pregnant.” He tried to wrap his mind around the concept. “She’s expecting. Got a bun in the oven. She’s knocked up.”
“She’s with child,” Isabelle said softly.
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Yeah. This has to mean something significant. What?”
“I don’t know, but we’ve got to tell Jacqueline and see if she’s had a vision about this.”
“Good idea. And get Rosamund working on the research books.” He contemplated their next move. “How pregnant is she?”
Isabelle widened her eyes in pretend astonishment. “You can’t be a little bit pregnant, Samuel.”
“Smart-ass.” He rephrased: “Does she know?”
“Absolutely not. She has an IUD with only a one percent chance of conception. One percent, Samuel! For her fertility to have coincided with this meeting with Aleksandr Wilder, for implantation to have taken place in her uterus . . .” Isabelle seemed to have trouble finding the words. “It’s a miracle.”
“Go, Aleksandr!” Samuel cackled with joy. “This kid’s going to come out holding an IUD.”
“She’s not going to live long enough to have the baby!” Isabelle said angrily.
His brief burst of elation faded. “Right. I forgot. For a minute I felt hopeful, and I just . . . forgot.”
Isabelle eased herself into his lap, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, put her head against his, and looked into his eyes. “I keep seeing this as a good omen; then I realize what we’re facing, what will happen to Charisma, and . . .”
“Have you talked to her about it?”
“No. She’s still asleep.” Isabelle ran her fingers through the short hair at his forehead, stroking it back from his face. “And she was so exhausted I can’t bear to wake her up.”
“We have to talk to her.”
“I know.” Isabelle stood and straightened her shoulders like a soldier going into battle. “Come on.”
He followed her out the door and tried very hard not to concentrate on the sway of her ass in the tight-fitting workout clothes.
As they climbed the stairs out of the basement, Isabelle moved more and more quickly. They ran up the stairs to the second floor and headed to the women’s wing.
Seven years ago, when the Chosen Ones had first gathered together, all the women had slept over here. Now only Charisma kept a room there, and not that Samuel was sensitive or anything, but as he followed Isabelle along the corridor, he felt the loneliness of the empty rooms.
She stopped at one narrow door. She knocked.
No one answered.
She knocked again. She turned to Samuel. “I’m so worried about her. She’s been asleep more than twelve hours. We’re going to have to go in.”
“You go,” he said.
She nodded. She turned the knob, entered the room.
“Samuel!” Her voice was frantic enough to send him rushing in. “Samuel, she’s gone!”
He looked around the wildly messy, feminine space Charisma had created for herself and shouted, “Where can the girl have disappeared to this time?”
“She couldn’t have gone after Aleksandr by herself, could she?” Isabelle begged rather than asked.
“I don’t know. If she’s in love with him—”
“We’ve got to tell the Chosen.” Isabelle caught his hand and pulled him out the
door and down the corridor.
Then Jacqueline’s scream sent them careening toward the men’s wing. They met the other Chosen in the corridor, ran in a discombobulated mass into Irving’s room, and halted at the sight of the open box, the floating white feather . . . and the empty wheelchair where Jacqueline knelt, sobbing.
Chapter 44
Slowly, stealthily, Aleksandr crept toward the Guardian cave, using his every human and animal perception to sense danger. Yet all was peaceful. Nothing was out of place. He could smell no new scent, see no nets or traps.
But he didn’t trust even his senses.
Because he had been sabotaged. Suckered. Betrayed.
Taurean had come to him, warning him that Charisma was fighting demons against impossible odds. He’d rushed to her aid . . . and there he’d found his nightmare waiting to seize him once more.
A trap had been laid, and by someone who knew him, and Charisma, and what had passed between them in the safety of the Guardian cave.
Who?
He lingered in the shadows, waiting, his mind coldly checking off suspects.
Amber. She loved him. Could bitter jealousy have driven her to fury?
Moises. His childlike mind feared change. Had he helped stage the trap, not understanding it was Aleksandr who would be captured, not Charisma?
Taurean . . . He couldn’t bear it if it was Taurean. She was the one person he trusted above all others.
Davidov. Aleksandr wanted it to be that handsome bastard Davidov. But he didn’t believe it.
And one name stood out above all others. . . .
Aleksandr crept closer to the entrance. Closer.
He sniffed the air. Yes, his people were in there. His people, and . . .
He heard the rumble of a man’s deep voice.
A grief-stricken wail rent the air. A burst of weeping and a groan of anguish.
The man spoke again.
Aleksandr knew that voice.
Dr. King. It was Dr. King.
Dr. King said, “I am so sorry. Guardian was betrayed. He was captured. He’s not coming back.”
Aleksandr crept inside and observed the scene at the table.
Dr. King stood on a chair looking kind and sorrowful.
Taurean was on the floor in the fetal position, rocking and weeping.
Moises scratched at his own face with his fingernails.