Free Twilight Illusions by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page A

as a last resort. And in the meantime he’d watch over Shannon, keep any harm from coming to her.
    A job that would be a lot easier if only he could listen to her mind. The idea of trying it again sent a bolt of phantom pain throbbing through his temples. Still, it was one of the benefits of being who he was. He ought to use every tool he had to solve this puzzle, to keep her safe.
    He braced himself, and very slowly, began to lower his defenses to allow the myriad vibrations outside to filter into his mind. He consciously kept a thin veil in place and focused all his energy on her, putting her image firmly in his mind’s eye. He tried to attune his senses to hers, to feel what she felt.
    For an instant the rush of sensations surrounded him, but he forced himself to bear it. He grated his teeth against the bombardment and concentrated harder. Gradually, the intensity eased, quieted, lightened. He sifted, searched, sent his mind out in search of hers.
    She wasn’t in the apartment.
    He stiffened in his seat as he felt her thoughts. Anger. Alarm. Urgency. Something about her car. She was running…a rear exit. A parking lot.
    Damien was out of his car like a shot and speeding around the building. He saw her there, her feet and legs bare and cold in the autumn chill. She wore a short blue nightgown that shimmered like silk, but wasn’t, and her hair was pulled up into a bushy blond ponytail that bounced wildly as she ran over the pavement.
    He looked in the direction she ran, and saw two young men crouched at the door of a primer brown Corvette that had to be as old as Shannon was. One of the men turned as Shannon approached, and he laughed. She never slowed her pace. The thief started toward her and lifted his hand. Damien saw the tire iron he held. He lunged forward, knowing as he did that he couldn’t reach her in time. Already the two stood close, and the man’s hand swung down, no doubt about to crush her skull.
    But Shannon’s small hand shot up and gripped the man’s wrist, stopping the tire iron’s descent. Her knee jammed hard into his groin, and the man grunted loud, doubled over. The tire iron clanked to the broken pavement. Damien froze for a shocked instant as Shannon spun backward, smacking her heel across the man’s chin and laying him flat on his back. It happened in two clicks of a second hand.
    The second man turned toward her, pulling a gun from his tattered jeans. Before he leveled its sights on her, she kicked it out of his hand, sending it sailing in an arc and then skittering across the pavement. He swung a fist at her, but she ducked, and when she straightened, she brandished the tire iron the other one had dropped.
    He held his hands up in front of him, backing away. “Okay, lady. Okay, you win.” As Damien hurried forward, the thug helped his partner to his feet, and the two ran into the darkness. He heard their rubber soles slapping. They didn’t go far, though.
    He gripped Shannon’s arm, still dazed by what he’d seen. “Are you all right?”
    She nodded, but didn’t say anything, still trying to catch her breath. Damien turned to look at the unpainted car and shook his head. He was going to blast her for risking her life over a hunk of scrap metal, when he heard the unmistakable click of a hammer being pulled back. His head went up, and his piercing night vision showed him one of the two thugs, holding the gun, pointing it at Shannon.
    Damien whirled toward her, propelling himself forward just as the blast shattered the night. He felt Shannon hit the ground hard underneath him. And he felt a searing pain burn through him.
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    Anthar watched as he always watched—witness to every breath the pagan drew—and smiled slowly to himself. The bastard. The insolent, blasphemous bastard. Damien the Eternal. Whatever he called himself now, it didn’t matter. He’d be gone, vanquished, destroyed by his own hand.