From his periphery he could see Thorne backing up. She knew what was coming. She was one of a few guardians who had seen the full extent of his abilities. He had thought it would have scared her off, but it hadn’t; if anything, it sparked more interest in the woman to ‘tame the dragon’ as she would often tease. Tame him she did. Her strength was exactly what his dragon blood needed to cool down. No one else understood Thorne, but he did.
He tethered to her energy, tracking her every movement so as not to lose her again. What would he do if something happened to her? She’d been seriously injured during the attack on the estate, and he nearly lost it. Had it not been for Jarron, and everything he did to talk him down, and help heal Thorne, he had been ready to walk away. He looked to her now, awed with the strength radiating from the stubborn woman.
She was inching back, circling to the right, her pistol in hand. She was going for Chase and Kimmer. On my signal, you get them high and dry, he connected with her telepathically.
10-4, Babe.
He smirked at the response. She wasn’t messing around anymore. Good. His fire was ready to burst. The heat was there, bubbling at the base of his throat, ready to explode upon command. With a roar, he opened his mouth, and let the fires of his ancestors rush through him. It felt liberating. The exhilaration and force of his elemental roots lifting him from the ground, the shimmer of embers lighting his skin from within. This was his other half. The side of him he’d rarely had to unleash, until recently.
Bad Breath roared, unable to escape the power of his fire even in his shadowy wraith form. Thorne, go! he bellowed in his mind to his mate.
She ran, ducking the breadth of his fire as she commanded the earth to rise up from beneath their fallen brothers. The earth shook, tossing aside both demons and vehicles as a large pillar of dirt rose up, lifting Chase and Kimmer into the air, keeping them safe from the storm of fire he spewed.
Burning demon bodies ran, shrill screams of pain piercing the night air. It wouldn’t take long; his fire burned hotter, fiercer, and more complete than human fire. The demons would be out of their misery in seconds, leaving only ashes to blow away in the cool night breezes. For the moment, he didn’t care if the vanquishing was only temporary. Their dark souls would return. The battles would go on.
Silence descended as he watched the last demon fall to the ground. His body cooled with the touch of his mate’s hand on his arm. She cupped his jaw and pulled him down into a kiss.
He stopped her. “The black goo,” he whispered. “I don’t want to get it on you.”
“You did good, Babe.” She smiled and lunged up to catch his lips. “Goo looks good on you.” She was breathless when she finally pulled back. She backed away with a devilish smile twisting her gorgeous lips. “Wait till I get you all cleaned up.” She winked before hurrying to the dirt pillar erected in the middle of the street.
Placing her hand lightly on the compacted dirt, she closed her eyes and brought down the formation with care until every rock, pebble, and grain of dirt was back in its place along with their injured friends, Chase and Kimmer. The men were wounded and bleeding, but they were alive. His team was intact.
Where the hell were Jarron and Brooks?
Chapter Twenty One
January 28th, San Francisco, California
Angling back at the hip, Jarron twisted in time to dodge a blow from a demon’s fist. The creature towered over him, its fangs dripping with mucus as it tried to bite his head. There were two beasts. Each one roared with jowls flapping heavily as they shook their massive heads. Shadow Beasts had it out for him ever since that night at the club when he’d first met Ellie.
White Purity was rising. White heat was building and cresting from within his chest. He could feel the power fill him, electrifying every nerve ending in his body. Thanks to his mind meld with Will, control of his new powers had become easier.
He looked down at his hand as pure white light gathered within his palm. The light hissed and crackled as it intensified. He stretched his arms, one in front, one in back. The Shadow Beasts were on either side of him. They moved quickly, having the ability to adjust in an instant. His aim needed to be precise for each beast.
It was hard enough to get a good aim at just one, but two on opposite sides? He focused, as he felt the purity of his light sharpen within him. He concentrated at the shadow beasts’ only weak spot, inside the roof of the mouth, in between the eyes. He took a deep breath, allowing his energies to root him to the ground. One shot. Simultaneous.
The beasts charged, zig-zagging their line as they rushed in his direction. Their damned mouths were closed, teeth bared, mucus flying through the gaps of their fangs. Sweat slipped down the sides of his face as he swept his attention from one to the other. He dug in, planting his feet as the beasts’ thunderous gallops rattled the street. They were almost on him, their dark energies shrouding around him. Light burst from his chest, spreading around his perimeter to block the crawling fog of darkness slowly reaching for him. The beasts came, one leapt in the air, mouth opened in a roar. He fell back, arm shot out, light aimed inside the beast’s gaping mouth.
The white beam speared through the top of the demon’s skull as the demon fell heavily on the street. The other looked stunned and stopped. Eyes glowing white with hatred, fangs bared in a snarl, but it backed away, dissolving into the night.
There was no time to be thankful for a lucky break. Brooks had been cornered. Fear rose sharply with the need to find his friend. He pushed up quickly from the ground, running for the next block. Jarron dodged a fireball aimed at his head as he ran down the ravaged street. A quick twist, and he escaped with only singed hairs near his neck.
His pulse accelerated when he spotted his friend’s waning energy in the distance. Almost all thoughts escaped him, all but one, save him. Brooks was in trouble. Jarron pushed himself--running faster as volleys of fire speared through the smoke-filled air, flying towards Brooks’ fallen form.
Brooks had his back pressed against the under belly of a toppled car, pistol held loosely to his side, legs stretched out in front of him.
“You’re bleeding.”
Brooks’ left sleeve and left pant leg were soaked in blood, the coppery smell strong even through the stench of fire and fumes around them.
“Ha! Your head is smokin’,” Brooks’ voice came out in a raspy sigh. He spat on his gun, a trembling arm attempting to slather the side of Jarron’s head.
Jarron jerked back avoiding Brooks’ mothering gesture.
“It’s just spit. Ain’t gonna hurt.” He chuckled and coughed.
“Let’s get you out of here before you bleed out.” Jarron’s tone was serious as he examined his friend’s damaged state. Brooks was a good warrior, a good friend, and he needed help quickly. He was fading fast, his energy pulsing in low tones. “Hold on.” Jarron bent down, easing Brooks onto his shoulder.
Brooks coughed against his back, his intake of breath sounding sharp and wheezy. “You better hurry, I’m ‘bout to pass out.”
Jarron ducked and twisted avoiding streams of fire coming towards them. He ran, agile steps leaping and adjusting over the burning debris littering the streets. The city was being destroyed. Yet the populace remained blind, unable to see the reality that had befallen them. Perhaps, it was better that way. He wouldn’t wish this nightmare on anyone. Maybe it was a sick type of mercy provided by the demons. Keep the humans locked in a walking dream, unaware of the massacre going on around them. They would feel no fear, no hatred. They would be easy prey.
Jarron sucked in a breath as a sudden, sharp bite struck his leg. Shrapnel had hit his calf from a nearby explosion. “Brooks, you all right?” he asked, not knowing if his friend had been hit behind him too. He’d been too quiet. “Brooks!” he growled.
“Wha, what?” He didn’t sound good, his voice coming out weaker than before. Brooks’ energy was seeping out of him, fading just like his voice was fading. He was losing too much blood.
He
needed to stop the bleeding, but their vehicle was too far, the estate even further. Jarron diverted, a cawing catching his attention. High above, a raven circled the night sky, guiding him into a large Victorian house at the end of the street. He quickly scanned the dwelling: empty. He kicked open the door and set Brooks down in the hallway. The house was solid, reinforced with iron frames. Odd.
He sent his light to seal the old iron front door with an energetic shield, it took a lot, the iron absorbing more than wood would require. It left him depleted. This was no ordinary house. But if the demons decided to attack, his shield would only hold for so long.
He carried Brooks into the living room, setting him down on a large cigarette-style couch. The room itself was huge. Had the room been lit, the furnishings would have sparkled in opulence.
Brooks groaned, his face falling limp against the couch’s back rest.
Jarron flicked his wrist, releasing a Kodachi blade from beneath his sleeve. He sliced Brooks’ sleeve and pant leg open. He needed to examine his wounds. “Damn it.” His jaw clenched as he observed all the bloodied metal pieces sticking out of Brooks’ arm. Some metal shards were embedded deep in his flesh, oozing blood, while other parts of his limb were badly burned and swollen with wet, seeping blisters. The thigh was worse with the largest wound being deep and long. It was like a trench running the length of his thigh. He’d been sliced by a demon’s blade. He could smell traces of sulfur from the wound.
Jarron was all too familiar with the kind of damage a saber could inflict. This wound was meant to cripple, not kill, at least not right away. It was inflicted for a slow debilitating death.
He harnessed his energy, tapping into the elemental fire within his chest, letting it mix with the living white light that flowed through his veins. He collected it all, molding the light, mixing it with fire, taming the energetic frequencies to induce healing, and not destruction. He took a deep breath knowing his healing was neither gentle nor painless; it was abrupt, but efficient. He laid his palms over Brooks’ bleeding thigh, and pushed energy into the leg. Brooks screamed, his whole body going rigid like a rod. He could snap in two, but he had to trust in Brooks’ strength.
Jarron lifted one hand and moved it to the wound on his friend’s arm. He gripped the warrior’s large bicep, altering the energy to wrap around the metal shards buried in Brooks’ flesh. He willed every piece of broken metal out of his friend’s injured limb. The shards were tainted with demon enchantment, resisting his efforts, instead burrowing deeper--fighting the healing. He squeezed Brooks’ arm like a vice, forcing light and energy into Brooks’ entire body.
The injured guardian glowed white. Brooks’ pain was gut-wrenching as he tremored against Jarron’s hold. Blood spilled from every puncture and laceration. Brooks was fading.
Jarron clenched his jaws as he worked to manipulate his light inside Brooks’ body. Stop the bleeding, he commanded within his mind. Pure white light thickened around his friend’s damaged arm and leg, cocooning the limbs. Small white wisps of smoke escaped from Brooks’ wounds, cauterizing flesh to stop the bleeding.
Brooks’ mouth snapped open with a pained roar, and his body twisted in sheer agony.
Jarron released him, his own breath ragged from the work.
Brooks’ body went limp on the couch, but his energy was stabilizing. “Why’d I smell barbeque?” he grumbled weakly before passing out.
The bleeding stopped, but his friend needed further medical attention. He needed to be in the estate’s infirmary. They just needed to hold out until daybreak when the demons receded from their nocturnal activities. In the morning, the demons would be gone, and all that would be left would be the wasted streets. In the morning, the people would wake to attend to their routines, never seeing the destruction littered around them.
Laying blankets over Brooks’ shivering form, he had to settle for getting his friend as comfortable as possible. Brooks wasn’t out of the woods. He feared the wounds were infected. He’d cleaned them as best he could with heat energy, but he couldn’t draw out the poison already swimming in his friend’s system. Demon toxin was beyond his capability as a healer.
Jarron sank down to the floor, and finally checked his calf. A small piece of metal had cut through his jeans, and stuck to his leg. The small shard pulled out easily. He twisted to watch his friend. He’d finally fallen asleep; his breathing more even than it had been before. He blew out, relief that Brooks was resting.
Pulling up his legs, he rested his arms on his knees. He let his head fall heavily to his chest, his thoughts drifting to Ellie.
Ellie’s bubbly laughter rang in his mind. She was standing in the ocean, joy completely washing over her. The soft light of the moon making her look aglow. He’d been unable to breathe while watching her. She almost didn’t seem real. She was like an angel reaching out to him. Her graceful fingers soft upon his jaw. Her tenderness asking him to let go and trust her.
He woke with a jerk, the energy of her touch warm upon his skin. “Ellie,” he muttered as he twisted about looking for her. Brooks’ snoring returned him to reality. He blew out heavily and rose from the floor. The fighting had not stopped, even now he could hear gunshots and explosions outside. Their Guardian brothers and sisters were fighting out there.
Ellie was out there--somewhere.
For every quiet moment he had, his mind kept looping back to the night of the attack at the estate. He had watched her; she was a spawn, lost to her maker. But then, he’d seen her life spark emerge. Her energy had been so bright, it was a beacon in the darkness. Then dark, thick, sludge quickly enveloped her, drowning her essence, and she vanished right before his eyes, taken away from him. Taken by Baal’s demons. Baal was using her. His fists clenched, remembering how close he’d been to plunging a blade in Baal in the Nether.
He wouldn’t allow Ellie to be used. Not by the demon king, not by anyone.
He would get her back.
Chapter Twenty Two
January 28th, San Francisco, California
City lights streaked with rays of white as three immortal beings flew over the city. Will, Wanda, and Sarah’s speeds too great for human eyes to see their forms. Sarah lifted, catching an upward draft with her grand, white wings whose shimmer rivaled that of the stars. Her eyes were closed, her energy pulsing in wide arcs like a sonar, looking for her daughter.
Will could feel the steady vibrations emanating from his wife, searching for the only energy in the universe who was similar to hers. An energy that only a child could share with a parent. He felt Sarah entirely, knew exactly where she was located without even having to look for her. He knew her energy even better than his own, the way it made him feel. He remembered the day she walked into Rosa’s restaurant in Tijuana. He’d been sitting in the back when her energy had called to him. He had lifted from his seat as if carried to her by a siren’s song. The wind had been knocked from his chest when he beheld the dark-haired girl looking like a frightened cat at his mentor, Rosa.
Sarah was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was only seventeen at the time. Shy. Quiet. Unsure of herself. She had no clue what she was, but he did. He saw beyond her physical vessel. He saw that she was an angel incarnate, and she was his. It blew his young mind. He couldn’t believe it himself, that such a pure and wondrous thing was destined to be with him.
Rosa had told him about reincarnations, past-lives. She could see their destinies were intertwined. But she warned, Destiny may have a different idea. There were no guarantees that in this life, they were meant to be mates. Connected, but not necessarily mates. He couldn’t bear the thought of not being with her. He closed his eyes now, wanting to feel her energy blanketing him. He still couldn’t bear the thought of not having her. His heart ached, the pain reminding him of what was important. His family.
Despite his need to be with Sarah and Ellie, he left them so they could live without the constant threat of demons on their back. They deserved a better life, but with his energy tied
to the Dark Ones, there was no way for him to hide from demons. He scoffed to himself, enemies by design. There had been no choice, it was either he left and knew his family was safe under the fierce and watchful eyes of Rosa; or stay and risk their lives. He had made his decision. He should have told Sarah, but she would have never agreed to it. Rosa tried to talk him out of it, but in the end, she agreed the danger was too great for his young family, especially Ellie who carried his Carrion blood.
He walked out of their home with a broken heart, leaving behind everyone and everything that had made him feel happy and complete. Ellie grew up without a father. Without knowing who she really was. If he had stayed, would it be different? Was Jarron right? Would they still be in this situation? He pushed down the bitter sting in his heart. Sarah managed to forgive him, perhaps Ellie will too. But they had to find her first.
He scanned the city blocks from overhead. His powers allowing him to view multiple parts of the city all at once. He can close in or pan out city blocks within his mind as if he was in several places simultaneously. He shuddered at the waste the city was becoming. The damage was worst in the areas surrounding the dead zone. Rubble from damaged buildings lay in heaps on the streets. Bursts of fires were constant from deserted vehicles. The bright murals displaying cultural pride of the neighborhoods had been destroyed. Even the plants and flowers that normally brightened the neighborhood windows, were dead and brown. The districts farther out from the dead zone, at least for the time being, were still intact. Even in his angel form, he couldn’t come to grips with the stark contrast of seeing one part of the city destroyed, while in another, people walked about smiling, laughing, continuing their daily activities of going to work, going shopping, and taking children to school, as if nothing bad was happening just minutes away from them. If he could be thankful for anything, at least the hordes were moving slow. Methodical. With their numbers, the entire city of San Francisco could already be laid to waste. But it wasn’t.
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