Destiny Kills (Myth and Magic 1)

God, why wouldn’t my memories just damn well return? Tell me who I was? What I was?

And why wouldn’t the cop leave?

He stood there for another minute or so, then finally turned around and made his way up the hill. I waited until he’d disappeared from my watery sight, then slowly rose up until my head was free of the murk. I blinked, and that odd sensation happened again. It definitely felt like something was being drawn across my eyes.

A tremor ran through me. I licked my lips, tasting the muck in the water, knowing that if I wanted to, I could name the minute particles that ran across my tongue. Part of me was desperate to remember the reason behind the skill. The rest of me just wanted to get the hell out of here.

When the cop had finally disappeared, I got out of the water, scooped up my clothes, and ran for trees. I had no idea where I was going, but the property’s road seemed to head in the same direction as the line of firs, so maybe the main road was up that way. There had to be a town somewhere close by, because the newlyweds hadn’t been gone all that long before they’d come back.

With a cop who’d actually come to investigate the report of a body on the beach. Which they wouldn’t find, because Egan was long gone, but they would probably discover the blood-soaked sand where he’d lain, and that in itself might be enough to bring out more hunters.

I had to get to Maine.

Had to see my dad before it was too late, and tell him . . .

The thought faded, and I resisted the urge to scream. What was so important that I’d crossed continents and risked the life of a rare friend to tell my dad?

I blinked at the thought, then kicked the soil savagely. And only succeeded in stubbing my toe hard enough to feel like I’d broken it. I cursed and hobbled on.

By the time I hit the trees, my body was a little drier and I was able to dress. I wrung out the remaining water from my hair, and half-wished I had something to tie it back with. It was only just over shoulder length, but that was long enough to be bothersome when running.

I twisted it into a knot instead, knowing it wouldn’t hold long, then continued on my way. Twigs and leaves rustled under my bare feet, and in the shadows of the pines, the day was cool. Insects buzzed lightly, but little else stirred. After a while, the drone of traffic began to invade the peacefulness, and I slowed cautiously.

Ahead, the tree line came to a sudden halt. Beyond that was a short run of grass to a fence, then what had to be a main road, given the traffic that passed by regularly.

I had no money, no identity, and no clue as to where I was. And no way of getting out of this area quickly. Which meant my best option for the moment was hitching. I could worry about finding a way to Maine once I knew where the hell my starting point was.

Of course, getting someone to pick me up when I was barefoot, wild of hair, and looking a little worse for the wear was easier said than done.

After half an hour of less than stellar results, I was getting more than a little frustrated, so when the red Ford crested the distant rise and zoomed down toward me, I marched into the middle of the road and held out a hand.

I swear to the Gods of sea and sand, the driver gunned the engine rather than slowing, and the car rocketed toward me. The roar of the motor seemed to fill the air, and my stomach began to churn. I licked my lips, but stood my ground. Damn it, I needed help, and the bastard in that car was at least going to stop and listen. Or rather, listen to a rather creative lie, because who actually knew the truth?

As I stood there staring at the car, silently demanding it stop, another sound edged through to my consciousness. The baying of dogs.

The cop had called for tracker dogs at the dam. While I hadn’t seen any police cars go by, that didn’t mean anything. There could be a hundred different roads into that property that I didn’t know about. And while those dogs might not actually be hunting me, I really couldn’t take that chance. Which meant it was more important than ever that this car stop.

As the vehicle grew closer, the blur that was the driver gradually clarified into a broad-shouldered man with sun-kissed brown hair. I could see his strong hands on the wheel, see the almost insolent grin twisting his lips.

And realized I was facing a man playing chicken.

I might not want to get caught by the cops, but I sure as hell didn’t want to die, and that’s what faced me if I stood my ground any longer. I threw myself sideways, hitting the side of the road hard, skinning my palms and the tops of my feet as I slid to a long stop in the dirt and stones. Heard the screech of brakes and twisted around to see the car slew to a stop only feet away.

The idiot could have killed me. If I had stood there a moment longer, he probably would have. He’d only missed me by inches as it was.

I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths to try to calm myself down. A hard task when I was shaking like a leaf. My hands and feet were stinging, and my heart was beating like crazy.

Behind me, a car door opened, then footsteps approached. “What the fuck are you playing at, lady?”

Even with the anger so evident in his rich, deep tones, the stranger’s voice was as sexy as all get out.

Not the sort of thoughts any sane person would be having about the man who’d just tried to run them over.

“Me?” I said, voice little more than a squeak thanks to a mix of annoyance and pain. “You’re the idiot who apparently forgot where the brake pedal was.”

I tried pushing upright, but that forced more stones into my already scraped hands, and I yelped.

He muttered something under his breath, then stepped closer. “Here, let me help you.”