covering of the parachute silk. Her long, pale legs were bare in the dark. Her gloved fists were clenched tight. Every muscle in her body was tense. When he touched her shoulder gently, she made a pained sound, then hissed through her teeth.
“Oh Gillian.”
He threw a circle of fire around them so he could see her more clearly. She was shaking.
He poured some of the water out of their canteen, using it to wet the handkerchief. When he laid it against her face, she jerked away with a piteous moan.
At a loss, Shayne stared down at her.
“Oh Gillian, please, please don’t,” he said, barely aware of what he was saying.
He took a gloved hand in his. He could feel how small her bones were, how fragile she was. He would do anything to protect her, but it wasn’t up to him.
“You’re strong, Gillian,” he found himself muttering. “You’re so strong. You can beat this.”
• • • • •
Deep in the woods, Gillian knew she was going to lose. She was fast, but the Templar was faster. In her spirit form, she could still feel the burn of her lungs and the ache of her legs, even if her body was being left far behind.
Every time she tried to circle back to the camp, the Templar was there, thrusting his spear at her. She realized with horror that he had no intention of killing her quickly. He wanted to run her to ground, to exhaust her so that she was completely worn out when he moved in for the kill. Even so, she had no choice. All she could do was run. But the farther she got from her body, the weaker she became. If she was going to do anything besides run to her death, she had to stand and fight. She tried to force herself to be calm. If she could think clearly, it might be an advantage over the raging monster pursuing her.
With a last burst of speed, she jumped sideways behind the cover of a tree. Though she had no illusions that he hadn’t seen her, she waited. His footsteps pounded closer. But as he turned, he led with the spear. She grabbed it, finding it surprisingly solid in her hands. Twisting her torso, she gave it a mighty jerk. For a moment, she thought she had it.
The Templar roared with wordless rage. The spear froze in midair, as though it were stuck in cement. He shook her off with such ferocity that she flew toward the ground, slamming into it. In the next instant, the Templar was standing over her. She didn’t even bother to glance around. It was over. As he raised the spear, she closed her eyes.
I’m sorry, Shayne.
A blast of cooling wind burst over her. She heard the Templar unleash that unearthly scream again. When she opened her eyes, the Templar was fleeing back in the direction from which they’d come. The clearing where she lay was suffused with a cool blue light.
“You poor little ghost. Look what he’s done to you.”
Gillian gasped and tried to jump up, but didn’t have the energy. Instead she pushed awkwardly into a sitting position and turned her head. The light wasn’t coming from a lantern or a bank of outdoor lamps. Instead it emanated from a young woman. She was short, with curly black hair that was cut in a close crop. She wore a tight white T-shirt and a pair of jeans that were stained with grease. She stood at ease, feet apart. Then she cocked her head, and took a few steps forward. When she offered her hand to Gillian, Gillian didn’t hesitate to take it.
“You still remember your name?” the young woman asked, helping her up.
It was an odd question. Gillian opened her mouth to say of course she did, and then she froze.
She had a name. She knew she had a name. Shayne said it teasingly, worriedly, in a panic, and once or twice, with desire. She had to have a name. Didn’t she? A new panic seized her.
The young woman made a comforting sound, and took Gillian’s face between her hands. They were blessedly, wonderfully cool. Gillian felt herself relax a little.
“Gillian,” she whispered. She stared into the woman’s eyes. “For a minute there, I
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