Murder Game (GhostWalkers #7)(86)
Author: Christine Feehan

Chapter 17

Naughty, naughty girl.

The voice was chilling. It sounded taunting and disembodied, as if coming from a great distance, down a long tunnel, but carrying untold menace and a dangerous threat—of what, she had no idea.

Tansy turned her head to try to catch a glimpse of the speaker, but no one was there. Goose bumps rose on her skin. Fear skittered down her spine. She swallowed hard and remained very still, trying to determine where she was. It was difficult to see; there were no lights, but she had the impression of people moving around her.

She shifted, wanting to find light, but her leg didn’t work properly. Her hip and thigh throbbed with pain. A dark, almost inky black substance ran down her leg, in a long stream to pool on the floor. The ink dripped steadily from above her, as if the ceiling was a sieve. One fat drop plopped onto her shoulder. She frowned and tried to brush it off.

It won’t come off.

Tansy took another look around her. The walls were leaking the same inky black stuff. It was sticky and thick. Her feet were covered. What is it? she asked, puzzled.

There was a moment of bursting triumph. She felt it resonate through her, a kind of wild elation that was both victorious and smug. She pressed her lips together, determined to remain quiet and not give the hidden watcher more ammunition. She had the feeling he was feeding off her fear, wanting her to recognize his superiority.

Tansy squared her shoulders and forced confidence. If he had to hide his identity from her, he was no doubt concerned about her abilities. All she needed to do was find her way out of this strange maze she seemed to be in. Her feet were weighted down with the thick goo, and it was rising, now ankle-deep. Shadows moved in the ooze. She bent to peer at them. Her father’s face stared back at her, eyes wide open in terror, mouth gaping wide.

Tansy drew back, her heart leaping, air slamming out of her lungs. She touched her leg, and her hand came away with the inky blackness on it. She lifted it and saw that it wasn’t black, but red. Blood coated her hands.

Daddy!

She reached for him, trying to grip his shoulders, not understanding why he was drowning and she was now only up to her knees. She tried desperately to pry him free, yanking at his shoulders and arms, but he was trapped. She couldn’t dive in—her leg refused to move—she could only hold him, watching in horror as the blood rose and he continued to drown right before her eyes.

She heard screaming, the keening wail of anguish, heard her father’s last desperate gurgle for air, and then he went under, and she could only hold his shoulders, her arms buried deep, refusing to let him go, even though she knew he was already gone.

Daddy’s girl shouldn’t be so naughty. Look what happens when she’s bad.

The screaming filled her mind, burst through her head, roared in her ears to consume her. She became aware that she was fighting, punching at something solid with her fists, pummeling hard, kicking, and writhing, until something caught her wrists in a vicious vise and slammed her arms hard to the mattress.

“Tansy! Stop. You’re safe. It’s a bad dream. You’re safe. Look at me. Look at me, baby. You’re safe, here with me.” Kadan’s voice cut through the screams.

She realized that she was the one screaming. Her throat felt raw and sore; her heart was beating wildly, her mind chaos. She clung to the sound of his voice, pushing through the layers of her mind. “There’s so much blood.”

Kadan pressed kisses along her face. “There’s no blood. Open your eyes, honey. Trust me. There’s no blood.”

“My father?” Her voice hitched. She forced herself to pry open her lashes.

Kadan’s face was above hers. Real. Solid. So strong. She looked beyond him to see the other three GhostWalkers, guns drawn, crowded in the doorway. She didn’t recognize the room, but it was light and there was no evidence of blood anywhere.

Ryland, Gator, and Nico turned and went out, closing the door behind them, leaving Tansy staring up at Kadan’s face again. She could see the lines there, the stamp of hard authority, the cut of his mouth, so grim, his eyes, watching her intently, wholly focused on her, but more important, he was there in her mind, filling her up until there was no room for horror and fear.

His thumb slid along her wrists and he reluctantly let go of her arms. “Are you okay now? Let me look at your leg and see that we didn’t open that gash.”

She remembered the hurried exit from the other house the night before, although she’d been drowsy and suspected he’d put painkillers and something to make her sleep in the IV. Shockingly, her leg hurt less than her bruised hand. Whatever Nico had done had really helped.

“It’s fine.” She felt shaky, wanting him to hold her. “I think he was there.”

Kadan’s gaze jumped back to her face. “He? Who?”

She moistened her dry lips. “The puppet master. I think he found me.”

“It was a dream. Last night was very traumatic, Tansy. There was blood everywhere. It stands to reason you’d have a nightmare.”

She shook her head. “I think it was more than that. Please make certain my father’s all right. He was in my dream, drowning in blood, and I couldn’t save him.”

Kadan rubbed his chin along the top of her head. Rye. Check in with Tucker and Ian. I need to know her parents are safe. It stood to reason she’d have nightmares about her father; after all the revelations, how could she not?

“Rye’s calling now, honey.” He kissed her forehead and moved back to examine her hip. Her screams still echoed in his mind. He’d known more fear in the last twelve hours than he had since his childhood. “Tell me why you think the puppet master found you. Tell me about your dream.”

She did, in a hesitant voice. It occurred to him, as he watched her face, that she didn’t expect him to believe her. She must have had nightmares before her breakdown, very similar to what she was suffering now, and no one believed that the voices wouldn’t leave her head. She could still hear the victims and their killers long after the police had closed the case. He had to be very cautious in his reaction. Her fingers plucked nervously at the sheet, and that small telltale action tugged at his heartstrings.

“The last dream I had, for one moment I thought I heard his voice, but then it was gone and it was all part of the nightmare. This time I’m sure it was him.”

Kadan let out his breath, his mind turning the possibility over. “Can you do that? Talk to one of the killers in a dream?”

She shook her head. “No way. I get impressions, sometimes very strong ones, but it’s always of things they’ve done in the past, not present. The puppet master is a tracker and he can follow my impressions, but he shouldn’t be able to enter my dreams.”