some of her friends had encountered the tiger-demons before the Rakshasa had gotten ensnared in the temple’s containment?
“I am taza Elana.” The woman gestured to herself, then to the silent, staring men in the chamber and the tunnels. “Since you’ve retained your host’s supernatural strength and senses, what do those senses tell you about us?”
John frowned and sampled the air again. “That you’re demons—but also not demons. I smell as much human as I do tiger.”
“Yes.” Elana lowered her withered hand. “We were once human, all of us, before we were scratched or bitten by Rakshasa.”
“You’re trying to tell me that you’re Created?” John gazed at Elana, then glanced at some of the fighters again. No patches of fur, no tails, no crazy fangs or wild eyes like most people turned into demons by Rakshasa wounds.
No way.
These were normal-looking guys, not insane killing machines with shoddy control over their demon essences. They looked like an out-of-uniform army regiment standing around a four-foot-tall blind colonel.
“All Created go mad,” John muttered, repeating the rule he had followed since he started hunting Rakshasa. No Created could be trusted. All of them lost their minds and started slaughtering anything in their paths.
“Not all.” Elana reached out to touch the arms of her nearest fighters, two big bubbas who could have been WWF wrestlers before they ended up in an aqueduct under New York City. “We call ourselves Bengals, and we keep ourselves apart from the creatures who stole our lives—when we’re not hunting them. The Rakshasa Eldest and their minions would force us into slavery or murder, or claw us to shreds on sight.”
John’s gaze traveled from Elana and the bubbas to the six guys who had taken turns whacking at him with dumpster lids in that alley. “They were tracking Strada to kill him.”
Elana’s nod confirmed his suspicion. “When they found you, they sensed something amiss in your essence. You weren’t what they expected, so they brought you to me instead of taking your life.”
John brought his focus back to Elana. “Now that you’ve made your inspection, you know I’m telling you the truth. I’m John Cole, and I’ve got Strada’s body. So, what now? Do we make an alliance and help each other wipe these demons off the face of the earth?”
“Perhaps.” Elana folded her thin arms. “But first I want to know how you came to possess that flesh.”
John sighed.
There it was.
The question he didn’t want to answer, and the information he’d kept Elana from reading in his mind when he let her go sifting around in his consciousness. “That’s off-limits. Sorry.”
Elana’s expression sharpened, like she was sorting him out all over again. Then her strange eyes narrowed. “I think I understand. You want to protect the woman.”
Her casual statement jolted John so deeply he almost jumped to his feet and let out one of the snarls echoing from the back of his mind. His fists clenched as crazy came charging at him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it, or the memories he didn’t really want to ignore.
Auburn hair, so long he could wrap his hands double in the soft strands.
Wide, sad eyes, aquamarine like the ocean after a storm.
An exotic scent, floral, like the yellow fawn lilies he used to gather for his mother in the spring when he was a kid back in Georgia.
He’d used remnants of Strada’s knowledge to shut those images away from Elana, he was sure of it.
So how did she know?
And she did know. He could tell from her posture, from the look on her face. She had some of the information, and she was expecting him to supply the rest.
“You can’t hide thoughts from me, John,” Elana said, gesturing for him to stand. “I’ve been on this earth far too long. When it comes to understanding the ways of the mind and how such powers work, I have almost as much experience as the one who once lived in that body.”
John
“I am taza Elana.” The woman gestured to herself, then to the silent, staring men in the chamber and the tunnels. “Since you’ve retained your host’s supernatural strength and senses, what do those senses tell you about us?”
John frowned and sampled the air again. “That you’re demons—but also not demons. I smell as much human as I do tiger.”
“Yes.” Elana lowered her withered hand. “We were once human, all of us, before we were scratched or bitten by Rakshasa.”
“You’re trying to tell me that you’re Created?” John gazed at Elana, then glanced at some of the fighters again. No patches of fur, no tails, no crazy fangs or wild eyes like most people turned into demons by Rakshasa wounds.
No way.
These were normal-looking guys, not insane killing machines with shoddy control over their demon essences. They looked like an out-of-uniform army regiment standing around a four-foot-tall blind colonel.
“All Created go mad,” John muttered, repeating the rule he had followed since he started hunting Rakshasa. No Created could be trusted. All of them lost their minds and started slaughtering anything in their paths.
“Not all.” Elana reached out to touch the arms of her nearest fighters, two big bubbas who could have been WWF wrestlers before they ended up in an aqueduct under New York City. “We call ourselves Bengals, and we keep ourselves apart from the creatures who stole our lives—when we’re not hunting them. The Rakshasa Eldest and their minions would force us into slavery or murder, or claw us to shreds on sight.”
John’s gaze traveled from Elana and the bubbas to the six guys who had taken turns whacking at him with dumpster lids in that alley. “They were tracking Strada to kill him.”
Elana’s nod confirmed his suspicion. “When they found you, they sensed something amiss in your essence. You weren’t what they expected, so they brought you to me instead of taking your life.”
John brought his focus back to Elana. “Now that you’ve made your inspection, you know I’m telling you the truth. I’m John Cole, and I’ve got Strada’s body. So, what now? Do we make an alliance and help each other wipe these demons off the face of the earth?”
“Perhaps.” Elana folded her thin arms. “But first I want to know how you came to possess that flesh.”
John sighed.
There it was.
The question he didn’t want to answer, and the information he’d kept Elana from reading in his mind when he let her go sifting around in his consciousness. “That’s off-limits. Sorry.”
Elana’s expression sharpened, like she was sorting him out all over again. Then her strange eyes narrowed. “I think I understand. You want to protect the woman.”
Her casual statement jolted John so deeply he almost jumped to his feet and let out one of the snarls echoing from the back of his mind. His fists clenched as crazy came charging at him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it, or the memories he didn’t really want to ignore.
Auburn hair, so long he could wrap his hands double in the soft strands.
Wide, sad eyes, aquamarine like the ocean after a storm.
An exotic scent, floral, like the yellow fawn lilies he used to gather for his mother in the spring when he was a kid back in Georgia.
He’d used remnants of Strada’s knowledge to shut those images away from Elana, he was sure of it.
So how did she know?
And she did know. He could tell from her posture, from the look on her face. She had some of the information, and she was expecting him to supply the rest.
“You can’t hide thoughts from me, John,” Elana said, gesturing for him to stand. “I’ve been on this earth far too long. When it comes to understanding the ways of the mind and how such powers work, I have almost as much experience as the one who once lived in that body.”
John
Similar Books
