“Later.” On his feet, he stooped to gather her in his arms. “Luciana, is she—”
“Gone.” The relieved smile she flashed lasted only a second. Like him, she understood shaking the demoness didn’t equate to safety.
He tucked an arm around her back. “I know you hate being carried, but I run fast and—”
“No need.” She worked her feet under her and placed a hand on his shoulder for support. Before standing, she met his gaze and held it with an intense stare. “Fast is important, but not more important than finishing the job. We all leave. Together.” Delphine stood and offered him a hand up.
“Spoken like a true Hell Runner.” He grasped her hand and sprang up. “No offense.”
“None taken. Not anymore.” She flapped the hem of her wet shirt. “Turns out, I’m pretty good at this.”
“Yeah. You are.” His hope for a future with this woman no longer seemed out of the question.
A blast resounded. A canon compared to the holy water shots.
Real gun.
He froze, squeezing her hand in his.
“Zane!” Boone’s voice. “Nine o’clock.”
His head snapped to the left in time to see a holy water bullet slam into Savard’s chest.
From a distance, the rubber bullet did little more than explode like a paintball.
The French councilman’s shoulders rolled forward, and he stumbled backward one step, but he continued to clutch the handgun. Instant recovery, he raised his weapon, the barrel aimed at Zane. “Step away from the oracle, Mr. Gideon, then place the ring on the ground.”
“It’s over Savard. Luciana’s gone.” A vague if honest reply. Hard to say if her father succeeded in pulling her free or if grenade bombardment destroyed her. Curious, Zane ventured a glance behind him. The Ninth Ring asshole had hit the road. “Baalberith too. The ring will do you no good. Not without Luci—”
“The ring is all I need.” Smoothly, Savard adjusted his aim until the barrel aligned with Delphine. “Give it to me, or I will even the score.”
No one pulled a gun without intent. Even with the ring in his possession, Savard would attempt to claim a pound of flesh. Attempt, but not succeed. No way would Zane allow Delphine’s blood to spill.
Though the road was level, the embankment sloped a good forty-five degrees into the woods. With enough power, he could roll them to safety.
“Forget it, asshole,” Boone hollered from his unseen vantage point. “You’re surrounded. All of us run faster than you can pull that trigger. Drop the gun.”
From behind Savard, Jesse and Prudence ran into view. The steady slap of feet thundered almost as loud as the sports car’s engine.
Savard swiveled his head to see, yet maintained a steady arm on his weapon.
Zane clamped his arms around Delphine. “Drop,” he whispered into her ear.
Before she could buckle her knees, the familiar terrain vanished.
No trees. No road. No place to find cover.
In an instant, no light.
Darkness as dense as a grave swallowed them all.
Then a flash and a crack.
Gunshot.
His arms filled with precious weight as Delphine’s body turned limp.
Chapter Forty-Three
A rush of anxiety flooded Delphine’s system, the overload producing the opposite effect of adrenaline. Shutting down, her body reacted as though she’d been injected with anesthesia. Then the vision slammed her with such force, such intensity, she lost consciousness and all sense of perspective.
The darkness behind her eyes filled with tiny pinpoints of light. Thousands of yellow dots constantly moving, yet the vast blackness remained thick and unyielding.
Click. Click-click. Clackity-click. Clackity-clackity-click-click-click.
The sound reminded her of Henri’s claws on the kitchen floor while he begged for scraps and the sound of his teeth as his demolished every little bite. Only to the millionth power.
Instantly, she understood.
Yellow dots. Devil eyes.
The clack. Claws like the jagged nails on the hideous hand she’d drawn.
Her heart raced, begging her feet to move, but she couldn’t. Her limbs refused natural instinct.
The dots extended as far as she could see in the dark. An army of thousands, growing bigger and closer with every blink.
A ribbon of sulfur, like a bowl of freshly peeled hardboiled eggs, floated under her nose. In seconds, the stench grew unbearable.
Chemical warfare. They’d never get out if incapacitated.
Delphine fought panic and concentrated. The vision should represent a last warning. A chance to escape, not the inevitable.
All she had to do was wake up.
Zane. Zane. Zane.
She screamed his name over and over, but couldn’t be sure her mouth cooperated with her thoughts.
Why didn’t she wake from the vision? Wouldn’t deliberate action snap her out?
The loathsome stink burrowed up her nose. Her eyes watered beneath her closed lids, and she began to cough.
Must wake up. Must warn them.
“Zane!”
A screech cut into her yelling.
His spirit animal. Thank God. Somehow he’d heard her and jumped into a soul tap.
She looked up and waved both her arms over her head. An owl, not a hawk, swooped in circles so low she nearly touched the mottled-brown wing feathers.
Her heart lurched, and she withdrew her hands from the air, holding them close to her breast. If not Zane, who managed to violate her innermost sanctum?
“Get out,” she ordered. “Whoever you are, get out this instant!”
“It’s me, Cutoffs.”
She choked off a sob. Cowboy—not Savard—not a mind demon.
“Are you shot? I didn’t feel you bleeding anywhere.”
“No, but wake me up. I just had a vision.” Fast as she could, she described the army preparing for an onslaught. “We have to gather everyone and leave. Now!”
“Hell is total pitch. Can’t see my own hand in front of my face.”
“What about Niall?”
“Haven’t seen or heard from him. Apparently, he’s affected too. That’s why I changed my state to an owl. I need some serious night vision. As long as I can see, I can lead everyone through the Paris Gate.”
“How? A spirit animal is internal. You can’t physically shift.”
“No, but I can project my consciousness into the spiritual essence. Problem is, my physical eyes can’t see to move. I’m counting on you to lead me. Lead the others too. Gather them. Link hands and follow my caw.”
“What about Savard? He’s still out there.” She trembled thinking about the near miss.
“He can’t see you well enough to aim, and if he follows your voice, Boone and Jesse will put him down. He knows that. The man’s a coward, first and foremost.” He paused for an instant. “You’re standing on your own now. I feel your strength. Good thing. I see the troops gathering.”
Despite the urgency, she hesitated to leave him—to disconnect from their ability to communicate. Her heart ached to hear words he’d not said.
And to express what she feared saying first.
What if the demons moved on them too fast? What if they didn’t escape? What if she never got the chance again?
“Go, Delphine. Go.” His voice rang strong in her head, but the arms around her lost their sway.
She clung to his unresponsive body.
Their connection disintegrated, and she opened her eyes to an unwelcoming void where the tiniest dots of firefly yellow glowed in the distance.
Fear ratcheted up her throat, but she still found her voice.
“I love you, Cowboy,” she spoke to the void, wondering if he flew close enough to hear her.
No reply.
At least she’d said it once. She’d say it a thousand times if she got the chance again.
Entwining the fingers of her left hand with his righ
t, she squeezed to seal their union and then called frantically into the dark for the others to find her.
»»•««
Indisputably, Baalberith sent the hoard of feeders to dispose of them. Zane figured the Demon-Lord intended revenge and recovery all in one shot. The wicked minions would clean their bones, Swift included, allowing him to claim his ring without any undue risk. Having lost half a dozen of their best Soul Savers, Hell Runners would shut down for good.
The Ninth Ring Master would return to his throne unchallenged.
Except he fought like a sneaky chicken shit, and sneaky chicken shits never beat one Gideon, let alone two.
The lack of anything substantive in the First Ring actually helped. Though the sense of floating in space complicated a hasty exit, the complete darkness spared Delphine from Savard’s gunshot, and that was most important. With her safe, Zane could think. Act instead of react.
He glanced below.
Delphine clasped both her hands around one of his, holding the knot against her middle and hollering like a livestock auctioneer. Impressive, but he’d not expected anything less. She’d changed. Embraced her true self and ditched the fear. Not the good the fear that kept you alive, but the terror that kept you from living.
And from loving.
She loved him. Said so to all that could hear. He planned on holding her to it, not to mention a lot of other things once they breathed easy in Paris.
Fast as the champion he claimed to be, Boone reached her first, slamming into her back. She jolted forward, but never released the knot of hands. She explained the plan succinctly, and his brother latched onto his other hand and added his strong voice to the beacon.
From high in the limitless sky, he could see Vipond, Jesse, and Prudence on their respective trajectories destined to intersect with Delphine. So far, his plan seemed sound.
Savard also wandered in the direction of their calls. Hard to say if he’d actually have the nerve to try and join the crew or if he’d lag behind at a safe distance. Thanks to Niall, he’d never know. The spirit swirled like a tornado around his body, mimicking Boone and taunting Savard into dropping his gun. In this dark, it would require more luck than the bastard possessed to find it.
Intelligent if evil, eventually the French councilman might figure out the trail and cross the Gate alone.
If not, Zane would return for him. No one deserved to be eaten alive. Besides, he’d rather see the Society dish out justice on the son of a bitch.
Another thorough search proved the Ring empty. His spirit almost faltered.
No Swift. Not anywhere, and he could see for miles.
Once again, his old buddy chose to disappear. That gnawing vision tried to wield into his thoughts, but he didn’t have time to contemplate anything more than their freedom. He swung a wide loop toward the Philadelphia Gate.
Even without his exceptional owl vision, he’d have known the demon army charged toward them at a remarkable pace.
They chewed the air, chattering and gnashing their teeth in a blood-chilling rhythm. Their breath spewed a stench so rank it curdled the ebony void into rolling clouds of charcoal.
Owl eyes forward, he zeroed in on the details.
The dark nearly camouflaged their sleek bodies. Shiny skin as black as asphalt stretched taut over sinuous muscles from their hairless scalps to their hooved feet. Double horns protruded from their frontal lobes, straight like blades of honed steel above eyes of onyx. Long tails with twin barbs on each swished high above their heads. Electric sparks danced off the tips, bright amber dots of doom. Delphine hadn’t seen their eyes in her vision but the weapon for disabling their victims.
They ran as feral as a pack, yet as unified as soldiers.
And closer than he suspected.
Zane circled back at breakneck speed. Though gathered barely fifteen feet from the Paris Gate, the feeders possessed the speed and numbers to overtake them.
Wings back, he dove and then leveled out, skimming the air over Delphine’s head and screeching like crazy.
“It’s Zane,” she said. “He’s ready.”
“’Bout fuckin’ time, bro,” Boone yelled up.
Led by Delphine, the group moved with alacrity, following his shrieks.
He flew tight circles before the Gate, low enough his friends could discern distance and high enough to watch the pursuing masses.
The feeders must have sensed their impending escape. A storm cloud of sulfur jetted ahead of their arrival, contaminating the air.
He flew above the burst, but below no one escaped the poison.
Chokes and gags replaced the sound of shoes battering the stone road. Mere feet from freedom, Delphine, Boone, Jesse, Prudence, Vipond, and his own body hit the ground in a unified slump.
Snarls mingled with howls of victory cut across the diminishing distance.
The beats of his heart drummed a panicked tattoo, and his cries matched every thump.
The most important people in his life shouldn’t—couldn’t—end at the devil’s trough. Least of all with him watching from above.
He dove toward his body, intensely cognizant of every second.
A flash at the Gate’s threshold caught his attention.
Zane slowed for half an instant, knowing what he needed to do and without a clue how to accomplish it.
Then plunged into his limp body.
Chapter Forty-Four
Like wild animals before a massacre, the yelps of the feeders echoed through the pitch black. Maybe because he’d seen the oncoming devils in detail or maybe because his limp body didn’t breathe as deeply as the others, Zane managed to regain consciousness.
Before he dove beak first, he noted the position of his body. Prone and with the top of his head pointed at the Philadelphia Gate like a compass needle, he rolled onto his back. All of him ached, but not enough to keep him down.
He shot upright, now facing the direction he needed to be—Paris. With a lunge, Zane raced ahead, all air under his body. Twisting, he crashed down on his wounded side. The ensuing throb heated and then radiated to his limbs. With any luck, he’d reopened the laceration.
Extending his hand, he grappled along the threshold where Gate met bronze footplate. His fingers located the object from perfect memory.
The ring.
Zane didn’t understand why Swift left them in dire straits when they risked everything to bring him home.
But he also kept his word. He wouldn’t rule anywhere, and if he kept the ring, he’d inevitably want a throne.
Placing the ring at the Gate ensured they’d find it and not Baalberith. Hopefully, Zane could wield enough of that dark magic to save them.
He stumbled to his feet, turning to face the sea of wicked sparklers.
Light. Enough illumination to see their way to the Gate while he held back the demons. If only the sulfurous effects wore off.
Jamming the ring into his open lesion, he squeezed the flesh around it until he saw more stars than the electric points of demon tails. Blood oozed sticky and thick over his fingers.
Heat from the feeders wafted over him.
Out of time, he loped over to Jesse and Prudence. With his friends behind him, Zane shoved the ring onto his thumb and whipped his arm out in an arc. His blood sprayed off the ring. Droplets crested as high as his head before splattering the stones at this feet.
A moan issued from the army, and he heard the halt of their clopping hooves.
“That’s it. Get back.” Braver, he dug into his wound again, squeezing and soaking the ring before flinging more of his DNA over Hell. He repeated the process ten full times until he saw a glistening, protective ring of blood surrounding them.
The feeders kept their distance but refused to retreat. A sign the demons knew what he didn’t, until now. The protection wouldn’t hold without replenishing. He’d run out of blood before they’d give up.
At least he’d bought a little bit of time.
He kneeled beside Delphine and cradled
her head in his lap. “Come on, Cutoffs. Wake up.” He patted her face. “Wake up so we can get out of here.”
Nothing. Not even the twitch of an eyelash.
Hooves pranced on the stones, impatient for the spell to disintegrate.
“Come on,” he urged, heart breaking as he felt their future come to an end. He bent low, pressing his lips to hers. The taste of salt spread between their mouths. Tears. His tears.
He lifted his face to the coal-colored sky and screamed, long and loud until his lungs burned.
Never had he questioned God—His existence or His plan. Never had he prayed for personal gain or silly gifts. Never had he asked for special favors. He embraced free will—the reward and the consequences.
But never had his life and those he held most dear been threatened by non-existence. That’s what would happen if consumed by the feeders. No bodies. No souls.
Total nothing.
“Why? Haven’t we applied our gifts to Your liking? Haven’t we saved souls to fill Heaven? Isn’t that what You want? Don’t You want us to keep saving them?” He screeched every word, his throat hoarse and his voice close to giving out. “If You demand a price, then take me. But save them. Please. Please. Let them wake up and run.”
Tears flowed as freely as his breaths.
Like a star falling to earth, light so pure cut a splice into the black.
The feeders wailed and shuffled furiously, their hooves pounding a stampede as they tried to escape into the black. Many broke away. Many more fried in the fluorescence.
“Zane?” Through squinted eyes, Delphine gazed up at him. “What’s happening?”
“You’re free.” Heart heavy, he chose his words carefully.
Shielding her eyes with one arm, she placed an elbow on his thigh and propped up. “Really? What did you do? How did you manage to get rid of the demons?”
A question he hesitated to answer. Her touch reminded him of all he’d miss.
“I can’t take credit for that.” Crooking his head toward the brilliant seam, he let go of most regrets. All except leaving her. “Come on.” He kissed her lips lightly, unsure if it would be for the last time. The feeders beat feet, but he owed a debt all the same. He lingered with his lips resting on hers for only a moment, longer would be unbearable, and then he jostled forward to get his feet under him. “Come on.” He extended his hand for her to take it. “Before the light goes out.”
Dream Breakers, Oath Takers Page 34