Mystic Read online

  Also by Cheryl Brooks

  Cat Star Legacy

  Maverick

  The Cat Star Chronicles

  Slave

  Warrior

  Rogue

  Outcast

  Fugitive

  Hero

  Virgin

  Stud

  Wildcat

  Rebel

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2019 by Cheryl Brooks

  Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover art by Aleta Rafton

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Excerpt from Maverick

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For all my buddies in the Indiana chapter of RWA.

  Thanks for keeping me going!

  Chapter 1

  In a vision, Aidan had watched her fall, disappearing through a fissure in the rock as the ground gave way beneath her, her screams reverberating through his mind like the tumbling roar of an avalanche.

  Although most people would’ve dismissed it as a dream, he knew the terrifying vision for what it was: a portent of a future event, which was not uncommon among his kind. Therefore, she hadn’t fallen—yet. The trouble was he didn’t know whether he was supposed to prevent the accident or rescue her after she fell.

  He’d spent the last week flying over the cliffs, his keen eyes searching the jumbled boulders for any sign that she’d ever been there. Thus far, he’d found nothing. No trace of any life aside from the cliff-dwelling condors and the assorted rodents that were widespread in the remote mountains of Rhylos.

  But the vision… He’d seen it four times now. This was the right place. He was certain of it. More certain, perhaps, than he’d ever been of anything.

  He skimmed over the plateau before swooping down over the edge of the cliffs—jagged rock fit only as a nesting place for the huge condors, which had been named for an extinct Terran species. Some said they looked similar, and, having seen pictures, he agreed. However, these birds were even larger than the original condors had been, and they defended their nests with a ferocity few avian species could match.

  His vision had been maddeningly vague. He should’ve at least known why she was there. Was she studying the condors? Or was she simply trying to find their nests in order to steal the eggs? He couldn’t think of any other reasons why anyone would venture so far from civilization to this, one of the few uninhabited regions of the planet. Neither of those reasons seemed important enough to warrant a vision. Visions came when they wished; he had no control over their timing or their topics. The only thing he could control was the wind, enabling him to don a pair of wings and create updrafts strong enough to carry him aloft.

  Only Valkyrie, the Avian clone, knew of his flights. Val would’ve hidden his own talent if he’d been able to remove his wings, but his were as much a part of him as his other limbs. No genetic manipulations could undo what had already been done to him.

  As Aidan flew back up the cliff face, a flash of light on the plateau caught his eye—the effect of sunlight on metal. Something was moving down there. Something he’d only seen because of his vantage point high in the sky.

  And there she is…

  How he’d missed her before he couldn’t imagine, especially on the open mountainside, unless it wasn’t quite as open as it appeared. As she climbed up the edge of the plateau as though ascending a staircase, the air crackled around him like a thousand tiny lightning bolts. The moment had come.

  He flew lower, hovering effortlessly, letting the wind do the work while he studied her approach. A backpack and other accoutrements were strapped to her upper body. Everything she wore—from her wide-brimmed hat, leather jacket, and khaki trousers, down to a pair of dusty boots suitable for climbing—was the same color as the rocks, causing her to blend in with her surroundings in a manner that seemed strangely covert.

  A visual sweep of the plain revealed no speeder or other conveyance nearby. Had she hiked into the wilderness?

  When she looked up, his eyes met hers—huge, expressive, and brown—with an impact that nearly caused him to fall out of the sky.

  In the split second before he shouted a warning, she slipped from view, leaving nothing behind beyond a puff of dust that feathered away to nothingness even as he plummeted toward her, his heart pounding like a drum. He chastised himself as he flew; he’d assumed he was there to save her when, in all probability, he’d actually been the cause of her misstep.

  A condor’s harsh cry made him alter his route from the plateau where she’d disappeared down to the opening in the cliff face and the cavern into which she had undoubtedly fallen. He soared through the opening just as he’d seen the condors do. Unfortunately, he’d only come prepared to rescue her, carrying a knife, a length of rope, a sling made of leather straps and carabiners, and a comlink. He hadn’t counted on having to get past an angry condor with murderous talons and a razor-sharp beak.

  Correction. Make that two condors and a nest full of eggs. At least he assumed there were eggs in the nest. He couldn’t see for sure, although given the female’s protective stance, he deemed it a safe bet. “Son of a bitch.”

 
Fortunately, the female seemed disinclined to move from her position on the nest. The male, however, was already advancing on the woman’s crumpled body. Against the far wall of the cave below the crack in the plateau, she lay unmoving amid the rubble that had fallen with her. A soft moan told him she still lived.

  No doubt the condor, which was easily twice her size, intended to change that.

  Focusing his attention on the huge bird, he created a gust of wind with a sweep of his arm, sending the condor fluttering to the side of the cave where his nest and mate were situated between two upright slabs of rock.

  Undaunted and angrier than ever, the condor hissed and began stalking toward him. Aidan really didn’t like the idea of killing or even injuring the bird, but he might not have a choice. Taking advantage of the bird’s position, which was now between him and the mouth of the cave, he created another gust that sent the bird flapping out into the open air.

  One glance was enough to inform him that this woman was quite small. Val could’ve carried her easily. Never having flown with more than his own weight, Aidan wasn’t sure he was up to the task. His own physical strength wasn’t the only factor. The wings and their harness were sturdy but not unbreakable. Not for the first time, he wished his wings were a part of him the way Val’s were, although when it came to sitting and sleeping, wings large enough to enable a man to fly tended to get in the way.

  Upon reaching her side, he recoiled immediately when he spotted what he took to be a snake but was actually a leather bullwhip.

  He almost laughed aloud. “Who do you think you are? Indiana Jones?” Upon closer inspection, her outfit was exactly the same as that worn by the fictional archaeologist. For trekking through the mountains, such garb was quite practical, although the resemblance to “Indy” ended there. She was small and undeniably female, with shiny black hair that had been braided back from her face and pinned into a twisted knot at her nape. His gaze swept over her exotically beautiful face, taking in the rich brown of her skin, the fullness of her lips, and the lovely arch of her brows.

  “No,” she murmured. “I am Sula.” Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a gasp. “Are you an angel, come to take me to Raj?”

  Given his feathered wings and long, golden curls, her assumption was reasonable enough, although not many people believed in angels anymore.

  “Hadn’t planned on it,” he replied. “Who’s Raj?”

  Her attempt to raise her head must’ve triggered more pain or had simply been too much of an effort, for she lapsed into unconsciousness. He folded his wings and detached the sling he’d brought, grateful that she’d fainted. This maneuver would undoubtedly be terrifying and—depending on her injuries, which, he could see at a glance, included a break in her left lower leg—excruciatingly painful. Moving her was risky; leaving her where she lay meant almost certain death.

  A wingbeat drew his attention to the opening in the cliff face. Mr. Condor appeared to have recovered nicely and had returned for another round. Aidan’s response was to summon up the wind and literally blow him away.

  He’d brought along a few basic supplies, but his vision hadn’t included treating a broken leg or fighting off enraged condors. Fortunately, Mrs. Condor remained on her nest, providing Aidan with the opportunity to scavenge for something he could use as a splint. He found a large piece of a bamboo-like material, which he was fairly certain he could split lengthwise down the center with his knife.

  That was, until he found a spearhead that had been chipped out of stone.

  Although he’d never heard of such a thing on Rhylos, apparently a primitive culture had once lived there. A glance at the cave walls revealed crude drawings of condors similar to the two he’d been dealing with. The drawings appeared to be fairly old—scuffed in some places, quite clear in others—and depicted strange beings brandishing spears to drive the birds from the cave. Primates with elongated heads and surprisingly short arms…

  Rhylosian cavemen?

  Possibly, although they were unlike any species he’d ever seen. Someone’s idea of a joke, no doubt. To the best of his recollection, Rhylos had no indigenous primates. Unless they’d died out long ago.

  After splinting her leg with the bamboo and fastening it in place with her bullwhip, he rolled her onto the leather sling and then snapped it onto his wing harness. To support her head, he made another sling from her own scarf—the only item of her clothing that was colorful rather than drab—and tied it so her head wouldn’t fall back as he flew. He didn’t have to fly her very far—just out of this cave and away from irate condors—but he certainly didn’t want her to wind up with a broken neck in the process.

  Mr. Condor returned, somewhat befuddled and as dangerous as ever.

  “Persistent fellow, aren’t you?” Aidan muttered before blasting him out of the cave one more time.

  Standing upright with Sula in his arms took surprisingly little effort. Clearing his mind as he made his way to the edge of the cliff, he let the sling support her weight, then raised his hands and produced a strong updraft. As the wind whipped past him, he tapped the control to spread his wings and stepped out into thin air.

  Unfortunately, he’d overestimated the increase in weight, and the two of them shot up into the sky with enough force that he was sure his wings would snap—along with a few of his ribs. The harness squeezed the air from his lungs, and he fought desperately to inhale. Passing out now would be fatal. He focused on reducing the wind speed to tolerable levels, only managing to gulp in sufficient air just as his eyesight began to dim. Air flowed back into his compressed airways, and his vision cleared.

  The male condor gave chase for a while before flying back into the cave. Evidently, it had decided that, however tasty they might appear, Aidan and Sula simply weren’t worth the trouble.

  In truth, the condor could have caught them fairly easily, because unlike a bird’s wings, Aidan’s weren’t very effective at creating forward thrust. Although he could manipulate them to a certain extent, flapping them was so tiring that he’d developed a sort of swooping flight pattern. Using his control of the wind, he would rise high enough to allow him to glide forward and downward, letting momentum and gravity create the thrust. Flying alone was difficult enough; he’d never tried to fly carrying a living, breathing passenger. If she were to awaken and begin to struggle, maintaining altitude would be tricky, if not impossible.

  During his flights over the area, he’d spotted a likely site to rest or set up camp if necessary. Greener than the surrounding terrain, the nook was an oasis of sorts, complete with soft grass, a few small trees, and a spring-fed pool. He might have to compete with the local animals for the water, but unless there were condors defending the territory, he was the largest critter around.

  He kept his eyes peeled for any type of vehicle Sula might’ve used to travel out so far. That he never saw anything didn’t mean nothing was there. Even with his keen eyesight, he couldn’t see through rocks. If she’d left her speeder beneath an overhang, spotting it from the air would be highly unlikely.

  He stumbled as he landed at his chosen campsite, thanking the gods that Sula was still unconscious. There would come a time when being out cold would be detrimental; for now, he was grateful.

  Strangely enough, he had no idea what she planned to do—not with her life or whatever had set her on a path into the wilderness. With most people, he had some inkling of their desires, their dreams, and occasionally, their fate. He hated that. Hated knowing things about people that they didn’t know themselves. Such knowledge was unnerving, and for that reason, he didn’t pass on the information. Timelines were significant. He didn’t want to be responsible for messing them up.

  This one, however, was different. He felt as though he was already a part of her timeline, somehow entwined with a woman he’d never met until today. Fate had obviously brought them together. Was he only there to save her and send her on her merry w
ay? Or were they destined to remain together forever?

  Raj…

  She’d hoped an angel would take her to someone named Raj—a man’s name, surely. A lost love, perhaps? He could feel the sadness and the sense of longing in her. The hope that she might be reunited with someone she’d loved.

  Clearly, she’d had no premonitions that a Zetithian “angel” named Aidan Banadänsk would save her and go on to become an important part of her life.

  He’d never had anyone like that in his life. He had roamed the galaxy with his family and never found a single, solitary soul to complete him, to give his life purpose or joy. His gifts had set him apart from everyone he’d ever met, even the family he loved. That it hadn’t driven him insane was a wonder. His sister, Althea, had a similar problem, although she’d finally realized that the one man whose emotions she couldn’t read was the one destined to be her mate.

  He’d had a vision about Sula. Not a premonition. There was a difference. The one was chiefly visual and a Zetithian peculiarity. He could deal with that. Such visions were infrequent and didn’t necessarily involve the people around him. The other was pure Mordrial, allowing him to glimpse the future of anyone he met and also to push his consciousness ahead a few seconds. Quite often, he felt nothing beyond a sense of foreboding or elation upon meeting someone new, while other readings were visceral and terrifying. Readings among friends and family usually concerned only the near future, whereas shaking the hand of a stranger often showed him their ultimate and sometimes horrific fate.

  Kneeling on the soft, fragrant grass, he attempted to release her from the sling without worsening her injuries—or thinking about what would’ve happened to her if he hadn’t been tormented day and night until he finally solved the vision’s riddle.

  Had he saved her for himself or for some greater purpose?

  Time would tell. This was one outcome he couldn’t predict.

  As he removed her backpack and placed it like a pillow beneath her head, something about her stirred the depths of his soul, bringing his own destiny into question. For perhaps the first time in his life, he was annoyed by his inability to know what fate had in store for him. Of all the people he’d ever met, the only two whose futures were as murky as the fogs on Taelit Ornal were himself and now Sula.