Finally, the exertion took its toll though, and Harmony knew she would have to stop, rest. She wouldn’t have much longer before she had to head back. Lance would be furious when he found her gone, despite the note she’d left. But she needed this. She needed to focus, to clear her mind, to accept the unacceptable.
She couldn’t kill Mason. Even as Death, that wouldn’t have been acceptable. Death didn’t strike until first blood had been shed. But Death had never allowed herself to become involved as Harmony had.
Panting, she slowed her run until she was pacing, cooling off and letting the blood settle naturally in her veins. She inhaled deeply, lifting her face to the cooling breeze and feeling the sweat that poured from her body.
The memory of Jonas rose in her mind. How he would come to her the moment he arrived from a mission, as though he knew the pain that wracked her body. He would move her from the thin cot in the cells and take her to the comfortable private room he had been assigned. And there, he would ease her onto the cool, soft sheets. He would brush her hair. Sometimes, she thought, he might have crooned lullabies.
“Fuck this!” She snarled at the memories. Those days were gone. The girl she had been. The brother he had been.
“Such language from such pretty lips. Would you speak in front of a child in such a way?”
Pivoting to a crouch, her weapon clearing its holster, she stared back at the old man watching her from the shade of a cottonwood several feet away.
Great. She was so damned messed up now that old men could creep up on her. Then her eyes narrowed.
“You’re Lance’s grandfather,” she stated, sliding the gun slowly into its holster as she kept a wary eye on him. “Why are you here?”
“Because you are.” His smile flashed with an edge of male charm that reminded her of Lance.
“Fine.” She shrugged, still watching him closely. “Now what do you want?”
“Perhaps to get to know my new grandchild.” He walked toward her slowly, his bowed legs carrying him to an outcropping of boulders that sat beside a grassy knoll.
He waved his hand over the rocks. A hiss, a scurrying in the brush around it, and a second later a disgruntled rattler slithered from the rocks.
Harmony stepped back, watching the serpent make its way to a narrow ditch, then between the rocks farther below in a shallow arroyo.
“Cool trick.” She lifted her brow as though impressed.
Joseph Redwolf grunted. “That is nothing. All creatures of the earth have such abilities. They have only to learn how to use them. Come, sit with me.” He patted the wide rock with gnarled fingers.
“I don’t know, you remind me too much of Lance. That could be dangerous to my mental state.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, seeing the pleased smile that creased his weathered face.
“Ahh, you are a charmer.” He shook his finger chidingly at her. “And think to turn an old man’s head with flattery.”
“I have a feeling flattery is the last thing that would turn your head.” A reluctant smile edged at her lips. “Did you know I would be here?”
She stepped over, easing down on the rock as she pulled the water bottle from her utility belt. She remembered her first impression of him and knew he was like Lance. Only stronger. This was a man the earth listened to as well as spoke to.
“I knew. The winds whispered your name and led me here. So I came.”
She uncapped her water and handed it to him. When he waved it away, she tilted it back and took a long, refreshing drink.
“So, why would the winds lead you to me?”
“Ahh, the winds sometimes keep a few secrets.” He sighed. “I merely follow their guidance.”
Somehow, she doubted that.
“You are uncertain of my grandson still?” he asked her then.
Harmony braced her elbows on her knees as she stared at the ground.
“I’m not uncertain of him.” She shrugged, uncomfortable. She didn’t talk to others easily. Lance was an exception. But she couldn’t not talk to his grandfather. She had a feeling he wouldn’t let her ignore him anyway.
“Perhaps you are uncertain of yourself,” he said softly.
She lifted her head, staring into the distance with a frown.
“Perhaps,” she finally admitted softly. “No matter how much I want what he offers, Death is still there.”
“And Death bears great guilt and much responsibility.”
She nodded at the statement, not even bothering to question how he knew the difference between Death and Harmony.
“My grandson, he is a good man,” he said. “I have watched him grow, watched a boy’s laughter turn to a man’s amusement. I have watched him fall to his knees, force himself up again, and watched him walk proud. He is a man more accepting and understanding than most.”
“Death soils him,” she whispered. “She brings danger and blood. He’ll never be safe.”
His laughter shouldn’t have shocked her. She stared back at him in disbelief as he reached out, waved his hand, and the breeze in front of them began to churn the dust and dirt, growing larger, picking up more and more until it rose more than twelve feet above them and screamed with power.
Just as quickly, it eased, steadily diminishing until the dark cloud settled back to the ground and the dirt scattered at their feet.
“The earth protects those who seek her embrace.” His voice deepened with warning. “My grandson and what is his will always know its protection. No matter which land they step upon or which side their enemies think to attack. She will always protect him, and cherish what is his. The earth gave you to his embrace, and only the earth can tear you away from it.”
She turned, staring back at him as his words sank inside her mind, her soul.
“Why would it choose me?” she whispered. “Every part of me is stained with blood.”
He snorted. “You did the land a favor in the lives you have taken. But the time for that is now at an end. Return to my grandson, and as you do, decide once and for all. Are you Harmony or are you Death? For the two can no longer entwine and survive. Make your choice now, woman, before you destroy not just yourself, but the man who would give you life.”
Make her choice. If she chose Lance, then Death would be gone forever and so would vengeance. And so would the safety of the young women and children she protected. It was a choice she feared could end up destroying her.
Jonas slipped through the silent house, eyes narrowed, his senses alert as he sought for signs of something other than death.
His eyes narrowed on the figure lying in the center of the bedroom floor. Tommy Mason’s throat had been cut, a near perfect imitation of a Death Caress, the signature slice attributed to the serial vigilante who had struck across the United States and Europe over the past ten years.
There were a few slight anomalies to the cut. Depth, the angle of the cut, the width of the blade used. But not enough that anything other than a Breed could identify. Only someone much too familiar with Death’s training would notice the anomalies.
“Where’s the wife and kid?” he spoke into the comm link quietly.
“Still locked in the basement. They’re alive.”
He knelt beside the corpse, studying the body. Mason hadn’t been dead long. An hour maybe. Jonas glanced at his watch. It was barely eight in the morning.
“I can’t smell anything unusual anywhere else in the house,” Merc reported over the link. “Nothing but fear and filth.”
Jonas rubbed his hand over his jaw. Someone was definitely framing Harmony, and they expected him to tie the noose around her neck.
Sanctuary’s spy, he thought, shaking his head. Only a select number of people had known about Death’s presence in the cells below the detention building. He was narrowing the suspects down, but he would have preferred to do so in a different way.