by Kat Simons
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“It’s what I do.” More quietly and without meeting his gaze, she said, “And I owe this to Nira because I couldn’t stop Holland from killing her.”
Without another word, Zakin shifted to a giant, green and black-scaled snake. The creature hovered a moment, his body upright and swaying in the air. The ruby between his brow ridges winked in the darkness from a light of its own. His clothes hadn’t ripped away, like Deacon’s did if he shifted while fully dressed. Zakin’s clothes had changed with him, blending into the snake’s scaly hide. Deacon would be jealous of that skill.
The snake swung away and disappeared into the rocky out-cropping with a whispered hiss of scales across stone. Cary barely had time to watch his tail disappear through a fissure in the rocks when she heard movement in the woods behind her. She placed herself between the entrance and the sound of tramping feet and waited.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Light from more storm lamps accompanied the small army. Holland emerged from the midst of the group and glared.
“Persistent little bitch, aren’t you, Ms. Redmond?” he said.
Her answering smile was more of a snarl. “You have no idea.”
“This would be much less painful for you if you simply stepped aside.”
“Not gonna happen. You’re not welcome here.”
“The city is mine.”
“You’re going to have to get through me first.” She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone that made Holland growl.
“Fair enough,” he said.
He motioned sharply with his left hand, and a man Cary hadn’t seen before stepped from the shadows.
The man was beautiful, so perfectly sculpted he looked unreal. His hair was a dark fall of silk, his eyes a blazing green, his lips generous and red against his pale skin. High cheekbones, a straight nose, all combined to create a creature of such unflawed masculine beauty, he could be only one thing.
A vampire.
A wave of nausea rolled through her stomach. Deliberately, she met his gaze. “Gabriel’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you’re working for a demon,” she said.
The creature chuckled, a low vibration that hummed over her skin, making the hair at her nap prickle.
“You know the Master of Portland?” he asked.
“By reputation only,” she allowed.
“A significant reputation, I understand.”
Odd phrasing. “It would have to be to overthrow Ariel. Her, I did meet.”
“And survived?”
Cary shrugged, holding her ground as the vampire sauntered closer. “Ariel and I had an understanding,” she said. Another thick hit of nausea punched her. She swallowed, kept her jaw clenched against the feeling, and watched the creature as he neared.
“Indeed,” he said. “As I’m sure you and I can come to an understanding.”
“I don’t deal with underlings.”
His eyes flared yellow for a brief moment then settled into that sparkling green again. Cary’s stomach turned.
“I am no underling,” he said. “I am Antonio.”
A faint scent of rotting meat brushed past Cary. She gagged. “If that’s supposed to mean something to me, I’m sorry but it doesn’t. Don’t really follow vampire society. But, Antonio, you’re working for a demon. That would appear to qualify you as an underling.”
“I do not work for anyone.” He stepped to within a foot of her, near enough that one lunge would close the distance. “I work only for myself.”
She raised a brow and darted a glance at Holland. “Seems like you’re just following orders.”
“I have allies, of course. Wise men do. And Holland recognizes the advantages of an alliance with one such as myself.”
“Yeah, like what? Calling down the wrath of the Master of the Portland?”
Antonio laughed softly, and Cary felt like bugs were crawling under her skin. She took in a long, slow breath. What the hell was wrong? The vampire shouldn’t have been able to affect her with his powers. But her nausea, the itching skin, the difficulty she had holding his gaze weren’t normal. Not with an ordinary vampire.
“Gabriel’s wrath means little to me,” he said. He stretched out one pale hand toward her cheek.
When he was a few inches from touching her, his fingers began to smoke and a bright white circle of light cupped his hand. Cary gagged again, nearly doubling over as her stomach rebelled. Antonio continued to reach toward her for a second longer, then snatched his hand back with a snarl.
Her stomach settled somewhat, but she still felt like she might throw up. She settled her hands on her hips and concentrated on breathing. Antonio surged closer but hit the invisible barrier that protected her and was forced back a step. Cary pressed a palm to her stomach and clenched her jaw.
Through her teeth, she said, “You might want to stop that before I barf on your shiny black loafers.”
He snarled and reached for her again. This time both his hands burst into flame. Cary watched in fascination as he put distance between them and shook the flames out.
“Wow,” she said. That was a stronger reaction than most vampires got when they came up against her Protector magic. Usually, they just got flung backward. But flames after so brief a contact with her shield? Flames only happened with sustained contact. Or if the vampire was extraordinarily powerful. Which meant… “You’re a Master,” she said, finally catching on.
Antonio sketched an ironic bow, then studied his hands with a frown. As she watched, the pale flesh healed, restoring his hands to their former glory.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked without really expecting an answer. And she wasn’t disappointed.
“Antonio,” Holland stepped forward again, “I thank you for your efforts. But before she burns you more severely, perhaps we should try a different method.”
Antonio glared at her. Then slowly, he smiled, revealing viciously pointed canines. “Some other time, Ms. Redmond. If you manage to survive.”
Oh great. That’s what she needed, a Master vampire with a pride-grudge against her. But, as he said, she’d have to survive this stand-off first.
“Heaven forbid,” Holland said, chuckling as the vampire disappeared into the shadows. A few of Holland’s other soldiers glanced nervously at each other.
She’d make a bet they weren’t nervous about her.
She faced Holland again. Suddenly, and without warning, a bolt of blue-white electricity shot from his hand and slammed against her barrier. The shot ricocheted into the army and one small, skinny man who looked vaguely mole-like didn’t move fast enough to avoid it. The ball of energy hit him in the chest. He screamed and blew apart, scattering bloody chunks across the nearby trees and those soldiers unlucky enough to be standing too close.
Cary swallowed hard and looked away. “That was really gross.”
She wasn’t sure how she felt about her powers ricocheting an attack back on an innocent bystander like that. Granted, the guy was in this group, so he probably wasn’t so innocent. But usually her powers either absorbed an attack or bounced it back on the attacker.
Knowing the skinny little man would have tried to kill her given the chance only made her feel a little better about the fact that he was now scattered in pieces on the forest floor.
“You channel power well, Cary,” Holland said.
She blinked in surprise. He’d dropped the formality of calling her Ms. Redmond. That couldn’t be good.
“The few others like you I’ve met couldn’t keep channeling their protective magic for long,” he continued, “not while using their offensive skills.” He tilted his head. “You don’t try to strike back, though. You just—” he gestured vaguely in her direction, “—stand there.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept her mouth shut. She knew she was unique among Protectors for being so fundamentally normal, but she never considered how her sheer ordinariness would affect the way her magic worked.
She wanted to ask what had happened between Holland and these other Protectors but was afraid of the answer.
“The others all died,” Holland said, as if reading her mind. “As will you.”
“Well, yeah, eventually,” she said. “Us mortal-types always do after a while. It’s called aging.”
“Do you suppose you’re being funny?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I’m entertained by me.”
“I’m glad you’re so amused only moments before your death.”
“Yeah.” She grinned without humor. “Me, too. But it’s gonna take my death to get at this city. Oliver.”
He raised a single brow. “As you wish.”
33
Power slammed at Cary, first from Holland, then one by one, the sorcerers and wizards joined him. Cary lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of light created by the spells. She gasped when a large, hairy shape bounced off her barrier just to the left. From the corner of her eye, she watched the werewolf shake itself then lunge again.
Another blast of fire fountained off her shield and she realized with a start there was another dragon shifter in the group. Given how rare they were, that stunned her.
The powerful magics combine with the lunging physical attacks from shifters and other creatures she couldn’t quite see battered at her. She could feel every jolt and hit, dully so they didn’t hurt much, but with enough force to steal her breath. One volley hit so hard, she was forced backward a few steps.
She steady herself by sheer will, braced her legs farther apart, and ducked her head, leaning into the pressure of the attack as it continued in ever increasing intensity. She flung her hands out to the side, balancing herself as best she could.
Panting, she realized with a start that she could feel her Protector barrier more distinctly than ever before. Usually, she accepted its presence and strength on faith and practice. It was just there. She’d felt the rebound of power and the tingling along her skin after the magic had worked. She’d been hurt through the protections, which according to Liruk was somehow Cary’s fault. She’d even seen the shield visibly flaring to meet certain attacks. But in six years, she’d never actually felt the barrier itself.
With the feel of the shield, she became aware of the power channeling through her, the vibrations of it in the soles of her feet, tingling up her fingertips, bubbling in her blood like carbonation.
She gasped.
The attack’s intensity increased. She could practically see her shield moving closer now, leaving less and less space between her vulnerable human body and the barrage of weapons hammering her. She dropped to one knee, ducking her head. The air around her crackled and blazed. Breathing got harder, as if the magic sucked away all available oxygen. The stink of sulfur and roasting hair and flesh mixed with the sweet scent of burnt pine needles.
Through the din, she heard Holland’s voice. “More. She’s faltering.”
Cary gulped in what little air she could. And her barrier moved closer.
She was going to fail. Again. There were too many of them, with too much power, and they wanted the city too badly.
Gritting her teeth, she flexed her muscles and willed herself to hold on, hold out just a little longer. Give the Nagas time to secure the city. She had to protect them, as long as she could. She had to.
The tingling in her system that she now recognized as her magic swirled and heaved. Without thought, she focused on the power she knew came from outside herself and yet was as much a part of her now as her own blood and bones. She drew on the power, heaved in a breath, and on the exhale forced her barrier out an inch. Another breath, another exhale, another willed inch.
She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the shield. If she could just force it back another few inches, she’d be able to breathe, she’d be able to hold out for a few more minutes.
Another push, another two inches. Better. The attack felt more like mid-sized rocks than boulders pummeling her now. She concentrated on gaining another few inches and the rocks became pebbles. With a groan, she forced herself back to her feet, and gained another few inches. Splaying her hands, arms stretched out to the side, she heaved—
And gained a foot.
The pebbles became sand.
Cary took a deep breath and blinked open her eyes. Holland’s eyes blazed red in the darkness. His hands crackled with preternatural fire. When he pointed that fire at her, the shock of impact against her barrier knocked her backward a step.
She planted her feet, clenched her jaw, and let the power bubbling in her blood rise. From the distance, she thought she heard someone shouting her name.
Her gaze locked on Holland, she sucked in a deep lungful of air and held it as the Protector magic flowed through her faster and faster, feeding her barrier in a stream of effervescent energy. She couldn’t feel the attack any more, but then she couldn’t feel much of anything beyond the power flowing through her veins.
A few inches more. Another foot. And she could hold out as long as it took. Pulling on all the energy rolling through her, flooding her shield, she gave one, huge shove.
Heat and light exploded forward, carried by a shockwave of energy. The pale purple pulse spread like an expanding bubble but with the battering force of a moving mountain. Those of Holland’s army still standing were leveled, cut down like so much grass. The screams stopped abruptly when the power flowed over them. Cary shook as the bubble expanded, farther into the woods, running over the few soldiers who tried to escape.
And then, suddenly, the bubble burst, spilling power and light into the soil like water.
As the light dimmed, the only sound in the forest was Cary’s harsh breathing.
Very slowly, she sank to her knees. Exhaustion like she’d never felt dragged her limbs down until she thought maybe gravity had doubled while she wasn’t looking. She blinked away the spots in her eyes but couldn’t find the energy to turn her head when she felt a warm body settle on the ground beside her.
“Cary?”
Firm hands cupped her cheeks and provided the power for head movement. Deacon stared at her with wide, golden eyes.
She smiled. Or at least tried to. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” Without another word, he pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight.
She snuggled against him with a contented sigh. “Did you demolish your clothes again?” She rubbed her cheek against his bare chest.
Kissing the top of her head, he said, “No. I was stripping so I could shift and come help you. Jaxer stopped me.”
She nodded but couldn’t think clearly enough to decide if it was good or bad Jaxer had stopped him. She pressed her lips to his chest, wrapped her heavy arms around his waist and hugged him close, or at least tried to with limbs that felt like rubber.
“Cary?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
“What did you do?”
“No idea.” She waved vaguely toward the flattened soldiers. “Not even sure if they’re dead or alive. Pretty good trick though, huh?” Her brain was so clouded with exhaustion she thought she might pass out soon. She had a hard time keeping her eyes open. Part of her did wonder what she’d done, but she was simply too tired to think about it now. She’d wonder about it more later.
“Since you’re still alive?” Deacon said. “Yes, it was a good trick.”
She closed her eyes and let him rock her, vaguely aware of the sound of shuffling feet and the hiss of scales moving over the ground behind her. She only forced her eyes open when she felt Deacon tense.
Jaxer stood over them, but his gaze was turned to the downed army. She glanced in the same direction, noted the Nagas moving over and between the bodies, then looked up at Jaxer again.
“Are they dead?” she asked.
“Some,” he said. “Not all.”
“Holland?”
Jaxer turned his attention to Zakin bending over Holland’s inert body.
“He’s still alive,” Zakin said.
&n
bsp; The hint of satisfaction Cary heard in his voice made her turn away. That tone did not bode well for Oliver Holland. A dark shape threw a shadow across her face, and she looked up to see Zakin standing over her.
They locked gazes for a long moment. Then the Naga blinked, a slow, careful flick of the lids. He dipped his head. “Nira would be grateful for all you did to help our city. You have our thanks. And our debt.”
Without waiting for her response, which she was really too tired to make anyway, he returned to Holland’s body where several other Nagas hovered and talked too quietly to be heard.
“Jaxer, what the hell did I do?” she murmured.
Her mentor frowned down at his feet before meeting her gaze. “I have no idea. No other Protector in the history of Protectors has ever managed something like that, not using Protector magic or even their own powers while still channeling Protector shields. And you don’t have anything else but Protector magic—which doesn’t work offensively. At least, not like this.” He nodded to the downed army.
“Meaning?” she asked.
“You shouldn’t be able to tap into Protector magic directly and use it like a weapon.”
“I did that?”
He gestured at the fallen army again. “What else would you call this?”
“But how?”
“I don’t know.”
If she’d had the energy, she’d have rubbed her forehead. “But…”
“Maybe we should find a more comfortable place to discuss this,” Deacon said. “Sally will want to know Jon is safe.”
Jon must have decided that was his cue. He appeared from nowhere and threw himself at Cary, burying his face against her shoulder and hugging her tight.
Between Deacon’s arms and Jon’s, she felt enveloped in relief. She wrapped one arm around Jon and patted his back.
“I’ll help the Nagas clean up,” Jaxer said, “then meet you back at Cary’s place.” He dropped a gentle hand on her head, held her gaze for a long moment, then walked into the forest with the Nagas.
Once they got Jon home, it took a good ten minutes to talk him into letting Cary go. He held her hand even as he lunged into his mother’s arms. Cary spent another ten minutes convincing Sally and Jon they were safe now. Finally, mother and son allowed her to leave. Once Sally had her son all to herself, Cary figured it would be a while before either could let go. She left them to their tearful reunion and let Deacon drive her home.