by Jade Kerrion
Logic, however, had little sway on emotions. I loved her. I could have made her happy, but—and there was the brutal and bitter truth—not without my empathic powers.
Without moving a muscle, his expression schooled into impassiveness, Danyael unleashed the vast power of an alpha empath. It whispered, subtle and irresistible, through the survivors of the fight just as the super soldiers killed the last of the Sakti terrorists and turned to seek new targets. It sliced the crimson edge off their bloodlust. The fangs bared in Zara and Galahad’s direction relaxed; the glitter in their eyes faded. “Come back,” he said, his voice quiet.
The super soldiers came obediently like trained hounds returning to the feet of their master.
The group hurried down the corridors toward the command center, with Zara and Galahad leading the way. Danyael stopped them before they rounded the last corner. “Let me go first.”
Zara scowled. “No.”
“The soldiers will come with me. They’ll attack if they see I’m in danger.”
Her eyes widened. “Is that how you’re controlling them? You’re putting yourself directly in harm’s way? God, you haven’t changed. You’re as suicidal and masochistic as ever.”
“Stop.” He slammed her back against the wall. Furious black eyes locked on startled violet. “You can think whatever you want, feel whatever you want about me, but that doesn’t give you the right to be cruel.” Belatedly, he realized that he had been able to catch her off guard only because she had not expected him to strike back. He fought to control his temper. “Zara, I need to focus on what I’m doing. Don’t—” He caught himself before the word “weaken” slipped past his lips. “Don’t distract me.”
Danyael pushed away from the wall and hobbled down the corridor. The super soldiers trailed after him. He turned the corner first and sent out a blast of fear, short but intense, at the large group of terrorists clustered around the partially destroyed blast doors. Men and women recoiled, cringing in terror. By the time they recovered, the super soldiers were on them.
The wide corridor became impassable, consumed by the large bulks of super soldiers striking out indiscriminately at anything in their path. They forged ahead of Danyael, driving panic before them and leaving blood in their wake. Sakti’s pretense at an organized assault fell apart; survival was both paramount and unlikely. Sakti had far superior numbers, but the odds slowly shifted, one death at a time, until someone shouted, “Kill the empath!”
Sakti’s focus changed, and the heart of the battle shifted. A small group of super soldiers fell back to form a protective circle around Danyael, but the sheer weight of numbers thinned their defenses. A super soldier collapsed in a hail of bullets, and a terrorist stepped through the gap.
Several feet away from Danyael, Scar roared. The super soldier ripped a man’s head off his shoulders and then scrambled, skidding across the blood-streaked tiles, in a desperate attempt to reach Danyael.
Salvation, Danyael knew, would not arrive in time. Unarmed and unafraid, Danyael reached out and touched the terrorist’s bare hand as the man swung his machine gun around, his finger tightening on the trigger. The man, a telepath, was psychically shielded, but it did not matter. Psychic shields provided no defense against direct contact from an alpha empath.
Emotions from memories raw with pain—memories of his ruined childhood, of his lost year at ADX, and of friendships ravaged by betrayal—churned past Danyael’s internal and external psychic shields. The emotions channeled through physical contact. They crested and then burst through the telepath’s psychic shields like a tsunami.
The telepath’s eyes widened and then blurred with tears. A low moan of inconceivable anguish rippled from his throat. His grip tightened, the muzzle of his machine gun shifted, and he pulled the trigger. Bullets entered the base of his jaw and exploded through the top of his skull. Blood sprayed. The telepath slumped to the ground, a marionette with strings cut.
Danyael closed his eyes briefly. Sorrow pulsed through him, but denial and horror lay mercifully quiescent. He understood, finally, what Reyes had once told him many months prior. It’s not about choosing one path over the other, once and for all time. It’s about accepting everything about who you are, and knowing that each time you act, you get to make a choice. That’s freedom. That’s true freedom.
When he opened his eyes, he found Zara’s gaze on him. “You’ve changed.”
Yes, he had. Pain made him powerful, and in that moment, his pain and his power would make the difference between life and death.
When other terrorists broke through the cordon of super soldiers, Danyael reached out, and with a touch, drove them to suicidal madness from the amplified pain of his emotions. The tiles were slick with blood, the floor strewn with bodies, when the fighting finally ended. Danyael tallied the cost of lives to the assault group and to Sakti. He had lost five of the super soldiers in fighting his way through to the command center, and another seven were injured, two critically. Sakti had sacrificed at least four score in the fight, perhaps more. Most were dead, but some were still alive, grievously injured. Scar, bleeding from bullet wounds in his left arm, returned to Danyael’s side. The ferocious expression on the super soldier’s face transformed first into a pitiful pout and then eased into a smile as Danyael healed the injury.
Peter rushed forward and pounded on the blast doors. “Open up. It’s clear out here.”
The blast door ground open haltingly, its faltering electronics supplemented by the strength of several backs. Peter stepped into the command center, his face paling. “Damn.”
Less than ten soldiers stood upright. The rest curled on the bloodstained carpet, protected behind a barricade of furniture, Amanda among them. Danyael knelt beside her and swept his healing powers over her, halting the blood loss from the two bullet wounds she had sustained. The bullets, however, would have to be surgically removed before he closed the injury. Unable to fully heal her, he dulled her pain, gritting his teeth against the echo of her pain as it pulsed through him. Her blue eyes locked on his briefly, before fluttering closed.
He glanced around, his heart sinking when he counted the number of injured. “Where’s Carson?”
“Dead.” The general holstered his pistol. “He was one of the first to die.”
Danyael dragged a hand over his face. How many could he save before his strength gave out? Not enough. “I can stabilize the critically injured, but we’ll need to get them to a hospital.”
The general nodded. “Is the compound clear?”
“We think so. There may be more injured men in the two damaged barracks.”
The general turned to look at his exhausted men. “Jackson, take two with you and clear out Barracks B. Martin, you and two others are on Barracks D. Bring the injured to the infirmary. Danyael can triage them there. Erich, you’re on the APC—round trips to the army hospital. The most critical will go first.”
Danyael glanced at Peter Dieter. “Can you call the hospital? They’ll need to know that we’re coming in with at least twenty people.”
Peter nodded and sat at the communications console.
While Peter worked, Danyael moved among the wounded. By the time he pulled the sixth soldier back from the brink of death, his head was reeling, and his stomach pitched with nausea. He took a moment to brace himself before slowly pushing to his feet. Reyes, concern pasted over his haggard features, took a step toward him, but it was Zara who caught Danyael, dragging him upright when he could barely make it off his knees.
He pulled away from her, but she did not let him go. Instead, she snorted in his ear, “Don’t be a stubborn prick. Take a break. Catch your breath before you heal someone else.”
“I’m fine.”
“We both know you’re not. You don’t have to act strong around me.”
A sigh escaped him. “I can’t afford to be weak, either, so where does that leave me?” Danyael slumped in a chair and buried his face in his hands. “I just need a few minutes.”
Danyael looked up. “Wait, what do you mean the hospitals are filled?” Miriya?
I don’t have time for you right now.
Make the time. What’s happening?
Sakti’s everywhere. The attack on the National Mall pulled the emergency responders out there, and then all hell broke loose elsewhere. Sakti is all over D.C. They’re breaking into homes and killing parents in front of their children. The police can’t respond quickly enough, and the phone lines are jammed. Telepathy is the only damn thing that still works.
And the council?
We’re doing the best we can, but we’re outnumbered. Can the assault group help?
The assault group was the first to get hit. We’ve probably got ten or twelve left standing. Galahad and Zara are with me; they’re fine.
We could use everyone. There’s too much ground to cover. Sakti is moving in teams of twos and threes—big enough to do major damage to unsuspecting families, but small enough to avoid detection. We don’t know how to corral them. They’ve been seen as far north as McLean.
Danyael’s eyes widened. Lucien?
He’s probably fine. He’s got a security team. It’s everyone else I’m worried about. Tell Zara that Laura’s fine, too. Xin grabbed Laura and her babysitter from Zara’s townhouse when she heard that Sakti was behind the attacks. Laura’s safe with us at the council HQ, if any place can be considered safe.
We’ll join you at the council as soon as we can. Danyael looked up and met Zara’s quizzical gaze. “We have to go. The city’s under attack—Laura’s fine, she’s with the council.”
The general asked quietly. “How do you know this?”
“Miriya Templeton.”
“The alpha telepath? The enforcer from the council? You’ve been in mental contact with her all this time?” The general’s blue eyes were cold. His hands curled, ready to strike.
Danyael pushed to his feet, holding on to the wall for support. His world spun around him, but willpower kept him upright. “She was with me through ADX. She kept me sane after you took Lucien from me.”
The general blanched, but he held his ground, chin lifted. “I did what I had to do, nothing more. You are critical to the super soldier project.”
The super soldiers. Danyael’s gaze cut over to Scar and the others loitering outside the command center. “We’ll need the super soldiers to stop Sakti.”
The general shook his head. “Reyes said that Sakti could have four or five hundred men out there. Even with the super soldiers, you don’t have enough men to make a difference. If you leave the compound, you’ll be arrested, and the council will send you back to ADX.”
Danyael glanced at Zara, an involuntary movement that he checked quickly. Surrender wrenched his soul. “Everyone I love is in that city. I’m not going to let them get hurt.”
Resistance coiled through the general.
Danyael touched him, empathy flowing through their physical contact. With the gentle persistence of a river carving a path through a gorge, Danyael wore down the general’s opposition. “We can save lives, General. Isn’t that what the super soldier program was always intended to do?”
General Howard’s lips pressed into a faint smile. “Yes.” He caught Danyael’s arm as the empath turned away. “But it will cost you.”
It was a warning, not a threat. Danyael met the general’s cold, hard gaze without flinching. “I know Alex will claim his pound of flesh, but whatever the cost, I’ll find a way to pay it.”
A thin voice said, “I’m coming with you.”
Danyael looked at Reyes. “No, it’s not safe.”
Reyes arched his eyebrows and waved his hand across the ruins of the control center. “And it’s safe here? Thomas’s doing this because he’s angry. Maybe I can find him and convince him to stop this madness. I’m coming,” he said firmly when Danyael opened his mouth to object. “I may be an old man, but I can still move faster than you.”
Reyes had made a fair point. Pain and exhaustion had dragged Danyael down to the point where he could scarcely stand. His lips twitched at the mental image of himself being carried into battle. I just need to get through a minute at a time…the same way I got through ADX. He reached for his crutch, but brushed it with clumsy fingers, numb from the chill that consumed him from the inside. It toppled over, falling to the ground.
He pressed a hand against his spinning head and slowly bent down. The torn muscles in his left leg cramped in protest. His sharp inhalation of breath became a gasp of surprise as Zara wrapped her arm around his waist, steadying him. She leaned down to grab the crutch and pulled him upright before handing it to him.
“Thanks.” He lowered his gaze, unable to meet her eyes.
“You should be in a hospital bed.”
“I’ll have time for that later.” He adjusted his crutch and slowly limped out the door, accompanied by Reyes, Galahad, and Zara. Without being asked, the super soldiers followed.
Their first stop was the infirmary. Reyes’s eyes widened when Danyael filled a syringe with liquid from a small glass container that he had removed from a cabinet marked “Authorized use only.”
“What is that?” he asked.
“Hydromorphone,” Danyael said. “Painkiller.” He gritted his teeth, slid the needle into a vein, and slowly depressed the plunger.
“But if you can’t feel pain, you could push beyond what your body can handle. You wouldn’t know when to stop.”
“I’ll be careful,” Danyael said.
Reyes frowned. “Danyael—”
“I don’t have the strength to deal with my own pain right now. It’ll be fine, Reyes. I promise.” He discarded the first syringe and picked up another, filling it with adrenaline. The adrenaline shot helped almost as much as the painkiller. He straightened his shoulders. “All right, let’s go.”
Zara chuckled, the sound without humor. “I’m sure you’re not the first person to attempt to save the world, but you’re probably the first one to try while high on painkillers and synthetic adrenaline.”
“What better way to go out?” Danyael smiled.
She grabbed his wrist, her grip tight. “The point is to live, not die.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the sound of running feet.
Peter raced around the corner. “The general told us to go with you. He’s sorry, but we’re all he can spare.” He shoved a set of body armor into Danyael’s hands.
“Thanks. We’ll need transports, enough to move the thirty-eight super soldiers.”
“Three of our largest trucks should do it.” Peter looked at his two companions and nodded his head toward the door. “We’ll get them and meet you out front.”
Progress was slower than Danyael would have liked, but within fifteen minutes, a car and three trucks rolled slowly out of the Mutant Assault Group compound.
“Where to?” Peter’s voice came over the radio frequency. The three assault group soldiers drove the trucks, while Zara drove the car with Galahad in the passenger seat beside her.
From the back seat of the car, Danyael gave an address in McLean. Beside him, Reyes wrung his fingers together.
Zara’s eyes narrowed. “We’re going to Lucien’s house?”
“Miriya said Sakti was seen as far north as McLean.”
“Lucien’s well-protected. He won’t need us.”
“Thomas’s angry with me, or about me. Lucien’s been hurt before, because of me. I’m not going to let it happen again.”
Zara scowled but turned the car north toward McLean. “You’d still put yourself in harm’s way to protect Lucien, wouldn’t you?”
Not again. Hadn’t they been through that argument once before, when Zara accused him of prior
itizing Lucien over everything else, most particularly her? “Sixteen years of habit is tough to give up.”
“I’d like to know where I stand.”
“You are the mother of my child, which makes you important to me. Satisfied?”
Zara’s violet eyes glowered at him through her reflection in the rear view mirror.
“Didn’t think so,” Danyael murmured. He released his breath in a soft sigh and turned to look out of the window. Avoiding difficult conversations was as cowardly as running away from a fight, but he had no answers that would satisfy Zara.
The four vehicles sped through a city trapped in the throes of terror. The car accelerated away from the three trucks, racing past burning homes and people who screamed and wept in the streets. Zara did not slow down, not even when the roads curved dangerously around McLean’s heavily wooded estates.
Zara pulled into Lucien’s driveway and cursed under her breath. Danyael’s breath caught when he saw what she had seen. Too many cars. Too many lights. He opened the car door before she slammed on the brakes, and he was racing up toward the house as she screamed his name.
The front door was open, its lock smashed. The familiarity of his surroundings spiked his urgency. He followed the trail of emotions past the crumpled bodies of Lucien’s security personnel. His hasty footsteps dragged freshly spilled blood over the marble tiles and lush carpet and imprinted them on the cedar staircases as he hauled himself up the steps to Lucien’s study on the second floor.
Two people, waiting at the top of the stairs, threw themselves at him. A blast of pain sent them reeling back, but they recovered as he ran past. They did not have a second chance at him. Zara, who had been right behind Danyael, was on them. Someone screamed once, but not Zara. He kept running.
Danyael stumbled into Lucien’s study and slammed the door shut behind him. His mutant powers lashed out, fear and panic whipping out of him and spinning into an empathic storm. The six men attacking Lucien recoiled, curling in upon themselves, pitiful whimpers emerging from their throats.