Eternal by V. Forrest (new reading TXT) 📗

his gut that had driven him to that street corner the night he was shot down.

Glen wondered if he was making a mistake.

But something was pulling him. Someone needed him. His gut told him it was Fia. Or it was going to be.

Later, when Fia would recall the chain of events that followed, she would remember them in painstaking detail, played out in slow motion. She would remember the odor of the gasoline fumes, the crunch of the leaves, and Kaleigh’s muted cries. She would remember the overwhelming flood of guilt that washed over her, even as she flew through the forest, branches scraping her face, tearing at her hair.

But time seemed to speed up, almost to pass her, as the events actually unfolded.

Fia watched as Kaleigh left the path and her two friends behind. She saw the gangly young man in the hooded sweatshirt waiting beside the fire. Kaleigh threw herself into Derek’s arms, making apologies. Declarations of love. He wrapped her in his embrace and their mouths met, the two of them seeming to Fia to be all elbows and angles and inexperienced at lovemaking.

It wasn’t until the other two boys rushed out of the darkness and into the circle of firelight that Fia or Kaleigh realized something was wrong. It was a minute too late for both of them.

The hooded members of the high council stood around the ancient table, their daggers poised.

“These are unusual circumstances,” Gair intoned gravely. “Not normal procedure. I am hesitant to call for an aonta.”

“We can’t wait,” a young male, his face hidden by the hood of his robe, insisted.

“But Fia is not here. She should be included in such a—”

“She knew the general council was meeting tonight,” he interrupted. “She knows a high council meeting can be called at any time, as part of the general council’s decision. Once again, she’s straying. Once again, she’s not among us where she should be.”

“You should call for a vote,” an older woman argued softly. “He’s right. She had her chance. Too many chances, if you ask me.”

Gair studied the hooded figures around him. His lifetime task was to protect those around this table and those who slept in this town. He knew he could not show favoritism to any, not even to his dear granddaughter, who had always held a special place in his heart. It was also his responsibility to do what those who depended on him wanted him to do.

“Old man! Why do you hesitate?” the young man demanded. “Call for the aonta. If it is not meant to be, the daggers will not fall.”

“If it’s not meant to be,” chanted another. “It will not be.”

“We must strike before it’s too late. You heard our report. He knows more than he lets on. It’s not safe!”

“Not safe,” others echoed. “Not safe.”

Their fear was sharp in their voices.

“An aonta!”

“An aonta,” the council members demanded.

Gair lowered his head. Perhaps he was again getting too old to serve the sept as their chieftain. Too many years. Too much sadness. It was making him weak. “The aonta,” he said softly.

The ten council members present lifted their daggers, and the ship’s bell in the far corner of the room clanged angrily, seemingly of its own free will. At that moment, Gair knew he had made a mistake. He knew that he had allowed his people’s fears to prevail in a room where logic and fairness had always come first. In calling for this aonta, he had set aside the sept’s objective, which was to protect innocent humans.

But it was too late. He could not stop the daggers from falling. And at once, in unison, they all struck the scarred wooden table, tip down. Gair knew the count before he even gazed downward.

Unanimous. The human would have to die.

It happened sometimes. Not often, but sometimes it was the only way to protect the sept. In the end, they knew God would tally the hash marks on both sides, but for now, for tonight, it was so voted. It would be done.

“Now, when he has gone alone into the woods,” Regan cried, throwing back his hood, yanking the knife from the tabletop. He bared his canines. “Friends, come! We strike now!”

“Stop! FBI!” Fia cried out, lunging forward. At the same instant, Kaleigh realized she was in danger, and that Derek and his friends were not what they appeared to be.

Maria and Katy screamed as the boys grabbed Kaleigh by her shoulders and dragged her backwards, pulling her to the ground.

“Run!” Fia shouted to Kaleigh’s friends as she sprinted through the underbrush toward the clearing.

Fia couldn’t have been more than two hundred feet from Kaleigh and the boys, but as she ran toward them, the distance stretched into two miles. Fia slid her Glock from its holster.

“Derek! What are you doing?” Kaleigh cried, her voice high-pitched and filled with terror.

As Fia ran past the other two girls, frozen on the path, she gave them a shove. “Run!” she insisted. “Don’t stand there. Run!”

“But Kaleigh!” Katy protested as Fia shot into the darkness.

“I’ll get her!” Fia called over her shoulder. As she turned back, she saw Derek raise a long, slender stick and throw the full force of his body into it as he lunged forward.

To Fia’s disbelief, to her horror, the young man sank the stick into Kaleigh’s abdomen, impaling her on the ground. The young girl’s shriek rose up and rippled through the trees like the cry of a wounded animal.

“No! Stop!” Fia screamed, bursting into the clearing, her arms extended, her weapon drawn.

Derek turned to her, his fingers still wrapped around the stick. A pool cue. It was a pool cue.

“Back off, or I’ll do it. I swear I will.” He released his hold on the pool cue and drew an object from behind his back. The light of the fire reflected off the thin blade of the metal.

A sword? He had a damned sword?

“I’ll cut her head off. I swear to God, I will,” Derek threatened.