Pain burned past his nose with a sulfur sting, followed by the barley there scent of rose petals. Seeking more of the last sweet smell in his hazy, half dream state, Cord inhaled deeply.
Abruptly fire bit low in his back and jerked Cord awake. He jackknifed to a sitting position and dazedly swung his head around. Nobody was in the dark room with him. More than human senses made him certain.
The burn swarmed up his back with the vengeance of angry bees. He shook his head to clear it and glanced at the clock.
Four a.m. What the hell was happening?
Pain washed over him. Cord fell forward, head sinking between knees to breathe through wrenching agony. Perhaps he was dying. Was this what happened when there was finally nothing more? He didn't know.
The pain subsided, evaporating into a mist of rose petals. Cord frowned. What did rose petals have to do with dieing? He'd smelled all the scents of death, every damn one human kind could dream up and there'd never been rose petals before.
The fire up his spine spread to his shoulder blades. He gingerly stood and found he was steady on his feet. Kicking an empty bottle of Scotch out of his way he stumbled to the kitchen. Jerked on the faucet and thrust his head under the water.
Ice cold well water penetrated the mass of tangled hair and Scotch-induced fog. Cord grit his teeth and endured it a little longer just to make sure. Flipping long ropes of coal black hair out of his eyes, he straightened. Steel eyes narrowed as focus returned. Dark pupils elongated to slits. The animal woke beneath a man's skin.
That's when he felt it. A call to, "Come now!"
It came on the wings of white power with the kick of a bolt-arrow to the heart. The jolt slammed him across the galley kitchen and up against the wall. Unprepared for the hit he nearly blacked out as it thundered through him. Power sizzled out his extremities. He looked down at his hands to be sure they were still there.
White power! Where had it come from? It'd been thrown at him with a clumsy strength as if the wielder had no idea how to handle it. That was dangerous.
Cautiously he breathed in deeply, testing the scents left in the wake of the hit. Yes, there it was. The trail of power whispered low in the air. There were no rose petals on it, but there was something else he didn't recognize.
Cord strode from the cabin not bothering with a change of clothes. Grimly he swung up into the truck. He had no other thought besides finding the source. No other option.
This time he felt the white power coming and braced for the hit. Even more potent than last time, it pounded through him but he was able to absorb the energy, using it instead of letting it escape his starved body. Being sober helped. The first shot had evaporated the Scotch from his system. Ignoring the burn as long unused faculties roared to life he drove on. He couldn't control involuntary responses to the concentrated infusions and tears streaked down lean, almost gray cheeks. This time he managed to send a response.
"Calm. You must calm down. I'm coming." He didn't know if the sender could read him. He'd put as much push as he could afford on the thought, wrapping it in peace and security.
He immediately felt the answer, puzzlingly faint in a trembling whisper, "Now, now!"
That was confusing considering the strength of the wielder. He hadn't felt white power since...okay, perhaps he'd never felt something exactly like this. Even back in the time before he'd never encountered this concentration of power in one individual.
And he knew it was one person. There were no melodious strains of music to the power. No harmonious voices melding together to throw it. This was a single voice that didn't sing. The person had simply hurled power at him as if it were a ball to be tossed about.
Barreling down the mountain he skidded around curves. Speed didn't bother him. The wielder bothered him. He had no option but to respond and that'd never happened before. If someone could compel him, why the hell hadn't he heard of them?
Cord automatically slowed as he neared town. The mystery scent intensified. Power pulled him at the same time it forced its way into his body. His eyes burned as did every vertebra down his back. His hands and feet tingled with the endless sting of a thousand needles poking in nonstop staccato.
"Be calm. I'm coming!" he sent again, trying to get the wielder to tone it down. The power being force fed into his starved frame was difficult to assimilate this way. It lanced through every joint and system.
"Much hurry!" was the insistent response. The wielder didn't tone down the compulsion.
A child? Could this be a child? It didn't seem possible. Deep within him the beast stirred. His nostrils flared on the smell of that response. Baby powder? No damn way! He didn't even know what baby powder smelled like.
Pulling in to the drive of the house that compelled him, he sat panting a moment and looked at the tidy little Cape Cod Cottage. The house vibrated with white power.
Cord half fell out of the truck and ran up the short path to the front door. He was almost there when the door opened. He stumbled as a punch of power flooded his system. He came to a stunned halt.
Framed by the lights behind her stood three feet of trembling, sobbing, pink footy pajamas clutching a purple bear. Flaming red gold curls rioted about her face and large hazel eyes sent tears down baby plump cheeks already glassy with misery. Cord pulled himself through the power she was forcing into him and dropped to a knee on the bottom step of the porch.
Rigidly controlling his eyes, forcing them to appear human, Cord gritted as gently as he could. "Please, sweetheart. Try to calm down."
"Mommy! Basesent!"
He mounted the stairs slowly, hoping he wouldn't scare her. Currently his frame was six feet and lean. He knew he hadn't shaved in at least a month and didn't recall the last time he'd had his hair cut. Bathing might have occurred last week. He was a mess. Burning eyes sent tears dripping into his beard and haggard would have been a kind word for what was visible of his face.
Reaching out with the senses he could muster, he flashed them through the house looking for occupants. Only one other life force in the house and it was quiet.
"Honey, I'm here to help. You've got to believe me," he crooned gently hoping to reach her with his intentions.
"Yes, yes. Hurry." The clear tones of her voice held no fear. No fear of him at least. Her little hand reached out and grabbed his. Pale as a Paper White Lilies, her fingers curled around one of his to drag him inside. "Dagon hurry. Mommy basesent!"
As soon as she touched him the pain dissipated and he was able to concentrate as footy pajamas led him to the kitchen. His eyes caught every detail. Boxes stacked against the wall. Some open on the floor. Half the walls bare, the others partly decorated. Things stacked on chairs. The occupants were either moving in or out.
In the spacious country kitchen a narrow door was standing open. Feeble light punctured the damp darkness below and the scent of rose petals misted up from the depths.
"Mommy, basesent!"
Cord looked down into her tearful face. The little miracle in footy pajamas compelled his future. Her fingers couldn't even close around one if his grubby digits. She clutched him extending perfect faith that he'd rescue her mommy. The most amazing thing was, she knew exactly what he was. She knew everything and she knew nothing.
At the door to the basement she let go of his hand and stepped back, hugging the purple bear. Thankfully she was calmer and the thundering power emanating from her churning emotions was mostly a roar. It was a roar of confidence that everything would be fixed now.
"Stay right here, sweetheart," he tried to sound parental so she'd understand the importance of remaining in close proximity to the basement door.
Little Miss Miracle nodded and jammed a thumb in her mouth.
Cord turned to the darkness and hurried down the stairs. He eyes didn't need the pitiful light from the bare bulb to see the problem. It was his nose that told him he was in real trouble. The woman passed out on the floor was the rose petals. Her scent invaded his system and went straight to his libido. The shattering power emanating from the little miracle upstairs had shielded his senses from the real danger.
A feral growl built in his chest as the animal responded to seeing her trapped and injured. There was no repressing it. She lay with an ancient, hulking water heater tank crushing her left leg. He could tell she'd been there a while, trapped and alone. He was thankful she'd passed out.
Remnant scents of her emotions were strong enough to tell him she'd been through hell. If she'd had an implement its possible she would have damaged herself to get out and back to her daughter. She'd considered removing the leg. Wisps of that determination offended his system so badly he nearly lost the bitter remains of the Scotch he'd drugged himself with.
Sliding to his knees beside her head, his hand shook as he brushed whips of gold hair off her face. Words breathed out of his mouth. Words no one had spoken since the time when his kind disappeared from this world. They gave her peace, insuring her sleep was deep and dreamless, protecting her from the pain.
Her skin was alabaster with shock. Looking at her face he knew it had all the regular features a woman should have, to him it was stunning. The beast within was strangely silent as he drank the sight of her.
The tank on her leg must have been brought down in peaces and built in place, perhaps a hundred years ago. At full strength he could have easily lifted it, but he was nowhere near that. Currently he was a starved, gaunt shadow of a being and had almost no hope of moving it. Almost didn't mean none.
Bounding up the stairs he dropped to one knee in front of Miss Miracle. "What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked as calmly as he could.
The thumb came out. She glanced at the open door and back at him, her forehead wrinkled in distress. "Bing Mommy."
"Yes, I will bring mommy, but I need your help. Please tell me your name, then we get mommy."
"Minuet."
"Alright Minuet, have you been down to see mommy?"
Light shimmered off flaming curls as her head shook no. "Minuet skeered basesent," she confessed solemnly.
Damn, that was bad. "You know what I am, honey?" he asked cautiously to see how much she was actually aware of.
"Dagon. You airs dagon."
Again he was stunned with her innocent, clear understanding that was uncluttered with normal human perceptions."Yes. Air dragon. Do you know why I look like this?"
Minuet frowned. "Dagon sick?"
"Exactly. Dragon sick but I need to lift a very heavy thing to help mommy. Will you help me?"
"Minuet berry small," she informed him holding out a hand to show him, her look telling him she was concerned that he'd missed this critical point.
He took her extended hand and folded it in his. The connection with pure power snapped with the force of an electric current. He was as depleted as a polio victim, not just weak, but one whose muscles had actually wasted away.
"Do you feel what happens when you hold my hand, Minuet?" he searched her eyes, desperately hoping shock and revulsion would not suddenly bloom there, unable to quite figure out why it didn't.
"Dagon feel better?"
"Much better. Minuet is medicine. Will you come with me to help mommy?
Big eyes glanced at the door to the basement and back at his. Her forehead wrinkled in concentration and she stepped closer to him. "Me skeered basesent," she repeated directly into his face.
"I know, sweetheart, but mommy needs both of us. Can you be very brave? You don't have to walk down, just climb on my back, close your eyes and hold on. I'll bring you both up the stairs and then you can open your eyes. Can you do that for mommy?"
Nodding she placed the bear carefully on the floor and held up her arms. Cord helped her climb onto his back, her little arms clamped around his neck. The two pink covered feet couldn't reach very far around his chest, but she had the clinging ability of the very young in any species.
"Close your eyes. You must be calm to help, "he cautioned, "Ready?"
"Yes."
Cord hurried down the stairs, the little body on his back acting like a power pack. He lifted the huge cylinder and set it aside, being careful to place it so it appeared he'd been able to tip it off. Scooping up the woman he tried to ignore the burst of need exploding up his body. Carefully he carried his burdens up the stairs.
For an instant he was loath to put her down, carrying both of them created such an intoxicating mix of power and passion, both of which his starved frame hungered for. What they were to him was magnified by the years he'd endured without even a taste of what he craved.
Placing the woman carefully on the floor, his hand went to her leg without hesitation. She was in shorts, the damage painfully evident. Passing over it he felt crushed bones, mangled arteries and dieing muscle. Even with the little one on his back he didn't have the strength to fix it all, so he swiftly did what he could with the arteries and veins she needed to ensure a healthy leg. The rest modern medicine could set but the tiny blood vessels would have been beyond them.
He grabbed a kitchen towel off the back of a chair and draped it over her leg to hide the ugly reality from the little miracle on his back. No child should see that. He turned away and dropped to a knee so Minuet would be facing away from the deadly pale form of her mother when she opened her eyes.
"Okay. You can open your eyes and get off, honey. You did very well."
Her little body slid off and she dashed around him, grabbing the purple bear as she went to her mother's side.
"Mommy wakes up!" Grasping a limp hand she franticly shook it. Power was building in the room as Minuet struggled to wake her mother.
Cord, already on one knee beside her, gathered deceptively frail pink shoulders under his arm. "Mommy is sleeping and that's good. Her leg would hurt her very much if she was awake," he tried to explain and calm the tearful child. Her vibrations at this level of distress could echo too far. She was so young. There was no way to explain the deadly cost of that much white power flowing across the countryside. His own actions were compounding those dangers but he couldn't do otherwise.
From the first rose petal scent to penetrate his booze induced fog he'd be helpless to overcome the instincts that brought them to this moment. Rose petals and pink pajamas. Who knew these were the tools that compelled him to forsake sacred vows and wring from him his last hope of redemption from a God that didn't know him.
The directive he was ignoring was a perfect theory. His commitment to this mission had dragged him through endless decades of remaining sentient. It was the one thing left to do. Kill them.