Dark Child of Forever (Dark Destinies Book 3)

by S. K. Ryder

  But he hadn’t quite gone three steps yet when the handful of guards morphed into ten.

  Then twenty.

  Thirty.

  More.

  Too many.

  Vampires swarmed out of the cavern’s depths, moonlight glinting off their weapons. Figures blurred everywhere, gray smears punctuated by flashes of stillness. The slam and hiss of steel meeting steel at extreme speeds shattered the forest night. As did shrieks and howls and heavy thuds.

  Five vampires materialized near Jackson. Two were Douglas, Genevie clutched in his arms. Three more surrounded him. One was armed with a machete, the others swung pipes. Douglas hunched over Genevie to shield her from a blow. It never came.

  Jackson heard Dominic’s swords sing before he ever saw him. The three screamed and fell to the ground, their legs gone from under them. Literally gone. Enraged as Dominic was, he still maintained his no-kill policy. They were disabled, but only long enough for both Dominic and Douglas with his burden to blur away. Feeling a bit queasy, Jackson watched as the victims snatched for their legs and shoved them back onto their stumps. Seconds later, they were whole again. Then they, too, disappeared.

  Esteban stood off to one side of the fighting. There was a huge splotch of blood on his neck and a splatter across his face, remnants of Dominic’s attack, apparently aborted to rush to Douglas’s aide. Esteban had a sword now, but he wasn’t engaging. Securely flanked by several of his guards, he appeared more interested in directing his supernatural pack of warriors.

  Maybe a dozen of them—hard to be sure at this speed—circled Dominic. They moved with swift precision, coordinating their attack as tightly as dancers to keep Dominic on the defensive. Again and again, the Lord of Night stepped over their thrusts, twisted beneath their strikes, and leapt out of their traps. His swords hummed around him, parrying at blinding speed. Together, his body and his blades moved like a liquid that knew nothing of gravity.

  This was sustained effort on a scale and at a velocity that defied even vampire imagination. And yet Dominic made it look easy, made it look like he could have killed all of them in seconds. Instead, he continued to find openings to sever an arm here or a leg there.

  Most times, the limbs were caught and re-attached before they hit the ground. Some, however, went flying into the forest. Jackson didn’t even have time to duck when a leg crashed into the tree behind him, bounced off, and narrowly missed kicking him in the head with the disembodied boot.

  Fuck. He slipped halfway behind another tree and checked the flying leg’s trajectory. It had come from Isao and Makoto, who worked as a well-practiced team to disable their own swarm of attackers. Dismembered bodies howling with impotent rage piled at their whirling feet.

  Nearby, Lyle took issue with the no-kill directive. The boy stormed into the fray with his two knives as though they were machine guns. Jackson’s heart squeezed in sympathy. He knew a suicide mission when he saw one. So did Kostya. The hulking vampire shielded his charge from the worst of the battle, but Lyle wanted none of that. When he tried to dart around his protector, Kostya hooked Lyle’s skinny frame in one arm and dragged him away. They stopped a heartbeat later right in front of Jackson’s tree.

  “Let go of me, you fucking moron!”

  “I’m not going to let you—”

  “Watch out!” Jackson yelled. But the shimmer of motion he saw heading their way had already arrived and struck with vicious speed.

  Kostya’s head lifted from his broad shoulders and dropped with the weighty thump of a bowling ball. His body collapsed, releasing Lyle who whirled around just in time to raise one of his knives and block the deadly strike against his own neck. In almost the same motion, he thrust his second knife deep into his assailant’s chest.

  For a moment the kid just gawked at the vampire swaying at the end of his hilt as though he couldn’t believe his good fortune. Then he twisted the blade hard, causing a massive gush of blood to erupt from the chest. He must have grabbed his attacker’s weapon as it fell and swung it hard because the next thing Jackson saw clearly was another headless body drop.

  “Are you all drunk? You outnumber them, you incompetent fools,” Esteban shouted over the battle field. “Let’s get on with this. Capture the pretender and kill the rest!”

  Lyle wasted no time. Hefting his new weapon, a machete, he skulked toward Esteban.

  Jackson wasted no time either. He retrieved Kostya’s sword and hurried after the young vampire who promptly found himself challenged.

  “Going somewhere, pup?”

  Lyle held the machete up in front of him. “Stand back, Gregory. I’m older than you. And stronger.”

  “You’re a boy and always will be.”

  And those were the last words out of Gregory’s mouth. Racing up behind him, Jackson swung the sword in a well-practiced move, separating vampire head from vampire body.

  Lyle gaped, but not at Jackson. Jackson was still invisible, and as far as Lyle was concerned, this Gregory had just spontaneously lost his head.

  “You’re welcome,” Jackson said. No reaction. They couldn’t hear him either. That poor slob, Kostya, had never heard his warning.

  Catching another blur from the corner of his eye, Jackson spun around and almost lost his footing on the blood-slick rocks. Another one of Esteban’s rabid soldiers ran straight into Jackson’s swerving blade and effectively decapitated herself. Blood fanned out in every direction, slapping Jackson in the face.

  Shocked out of his astonishment, Lyle leapt backward, then turned and resumed his approach on Esteban. This time he moved faster than his ghostly guardian had any hope of keeping up with.

  “You’re going to get yourself killed, you little shit!” Jackson yelled, even as he heard a sword cut the air behind him. He dove forward, stumbling over a dismembered arm, and lurched away from the vampire who tripped over the body Jackson had just made. He hadn’t hit the ground yet before Makoto’s katana slashed through both his legs and one remaining arm. The tip of her blade caught Jackson’s shoulder and missed his head by a fraction of an inch. “Fuck!” Never mind Lyle getting killed. Jackson was going to get himself killed even faster if he didn’t get his invisible mortal ass out of the war zone.

  He scrambled forward only to get hit by Lyle’s flying body. The boy righted himself in an instant and crouched low, growling.

  It took Jackson a moment to realize that the noise of conflict had diminished to scattered snarls. The clearing was littered with bodies and limbs that looked as though they had spilled from the mouth of the cavern like the macabre contents of hell. Dominic, Isao, and Makoto were the only ones standing, their swords dripping blood. They faced Esteban who held his still-clean sword and clearly struggled to find words.

  Over the wind moaning through the cave, Dominic sounded as cold and calm as a glacier. “Am I still underestimating my situation, do you think?”

  A guttural growl was his response. Esteban hadn’t gone full-on out-of-control vampire beast, but he wasn’t far from it. “You crude, pitiful joke of a blood-drinker,” he roared. “You will pay for this insult!”

  “No insult, Esteban. An opportunity.” Dominic gestured at the carnage. “Most of them still live. And if you submit, they will continue to live. Very generous terms, non?”

  “Hell, no!” Lyle shrieked, getting to his feet. “He has to die for what—”

  A dagger flew from Esteban’s hand and buried itself in Lyle’s chest. In the same motion, Esteban snared another weapon from a fallen soldier and, brandishing both blades, charged at Dominic who appeared to have expected the move. The steel of their swords hummed between them in furiously fast clashes.

  Lyle dropped to his knees, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth, and Jackson hurried to his side. Maybe there was no point pulling a dagger out of someone so hell-bent on dying, but Jackson
did it anyway. The kid’s glowing eyes widened with astonishment. Jackson grabbed his hand, letting him feel what he couldn’t see. Understanding dawned on Lyle’s face, then his eyes focused on him.

  “I’ve got this, brother,” Jackson said.

  “Kill him,” Lyle mouthed.

  “And you? You’re going to die, too, then. You know that, right?”

  Lyle only nodded.

  Jackson sucked in his lips, the way he sucked in his emotions. He knew that look. He had seen it in the mirror often enough. Without his twin, Lyle was half. He was done.

  The boy closed his eyes and went as pale and still as a corpse, waiting to become one, which could happen at any second the way Dominic was going at Esteban. But the Spaniard was a skilled swordsman and over four centuries of strength and speed showed. The two combatants bent and twisted as their blades whirred, their swipes and stabs missing their targets by nanoseconds and millimeters.

  Or so it seemed.

  Isao and Makoto stood by, but made no move to intervene. Jackson was pretty sure those two weren’t suicidal. Just as he reasoned that something else was happening here, it happened.

  Esteban cried out when the katana slid through his arm. At the same time, the tip of Dominic’s shorter blade first sent Esteban’s second sword flying away and then jabbed under his jaw, pinioning him in place a mere three feet away from Jackson. Fresh blood streamed along the fine edge.

  Dominic’s eyes were living flames in the darkness. “If you care anything at all for yourself or your spawn, you will submit to me,” he said, calm as though he hadn’t just been fighting for his life. Because he hadn’t, Jackson realized. This is precisely where Dominic wanted Esteban. He wanted him to know that even his very best effort was nothing compared to what Dominic could do.

  And so close to Jackson. That couldn’t be an accident either. With a tight hold on Kostya’s sword, Jackson stood.

  Esteban’s lips drew back in a vicious sneer. “Just because you have tapped a powerful vein or two, doesn’t make you master of me. You are nothing but a pretentious youngling fool.”

  “Who is holding a sword to your throat,” Makoto pointed out.

  “You are condemning all your spawn to death, Esteban,” Isao’s rumbling baritone added. “When you could be delivering them to peace.”

  “You’re the last one I had thought would buy into this drivel of the new so-called Lord of Night, Isao. You, all of you, have earned yourself Adilla’s eternal wrath!”

  “That shallow creature’s wrath is nothing to me,” Dominic murmured. His voice took a strange, otherworldly wing in the night as though the wind carried it out of the cave, out of the forest, out of the sky. Out of time. “His pitiful tantrums are nothing compared to the wrath of a father’s shattered heart. And a brother’s broken soul. Nothing at all.”

  Slowly, Dominic withdrew the point pressing into Esteban’s throat and stepped back. Esteban didn’t move. His obsidian eyes locked on Dominic, filling with the shock of a man who beheld a miraculous truth and knew he saw it far too late.

  Jackson stepped in front of Esteban and knew Dominic allowed him to be seen when the Spaniard’s face lit with stunned recognition. “You . . .”

  He raised his sword. “Feel the wrath, Esteban. Feel the wrath.”

  If Esteban had any thought of defending himself or taking flight, those impulses never translated to his feet. “You,” he said again.

  Then the sword fell to his neck, and he fell silent forever.

  Chapter 35

  The Silver Gambit

  “I need to use a toilet.”

  Cassidy glanced at her fellow captive in the backseat. They had just merged into highway traffic and were picking up speed. Francesca stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused, her face the color of milk in the strobes of passing headlights. The bruise spreading on her cheek stood out in ugly relief. These were the first words she had uttered since regaining consciousness in Cassidy’s lap almost ten minutes ago.

  Their captors skipped restraints and gags, relying on their supernatural speed and strength instead. Cassidy knew better than to run, much less try to solicit help from anyone they encountered. The fact that she and Francesca still lived was a good sign. It meant someone valued them as hostages, and the only reason for that would be to gain Dominic’s cooperation. For which purpose didn’t interest Cassidy. The important thing was that she would be with him before the night was over, and as long as she stayed alive and conscious, they would, like always, find a way out of this together.

  Francesca was of a different opinion. She flat-out begged for help from the couple who shared the elevator with them. When the woman looked at the vampires with alarm, the thug vamp yanked her close and drove his fangs into her neck. Boss vamp told the man that his companion was fainting and the two of them were alone in the elevator. By the time the doors opened, the man was oblivious to all but the unconscious woman in his arms with the blood soaking the collar of her blouse.

  In the lobby, Francesca screamed as if possessed—shrill and desperate—for all of two seconds. That’s how long it took before she was backhanded so hard she passed out herself. Cassidy scrambled to catch her and soften the fall.

  “Fucking bitch,” boss vamp cursed. Then he turned to face the handful of shocked mortals who witnessed the scene. “You see nothing out of the ordinary.” His voice rolled with compulsion. Most people resumed their business with no more than a small shake of the head. A few needed a more personal follow-up compulsion.

  Francesca was dumped into the backseat of their current ride, Cassidy shoved in right behind her. “You’re going to regret this,” Cassidy promised as the car squealed out of the lot. They ignored her.

  Downtown traffic mired them at one stop light after another. She watched the pedestrians who might have given them cover if not for Francesca who was in no condition to bolt. Not that they would have gotten far. These two clowns could be tapped into the minds of anyone who would see them. A neural network of surveillance spanning a city. Two human women didn’t have a chance.

  “I need to use a toilet,” Francesca said again now, calm and polite, and Cassidy wondered if her mind had cracked at last. Francesca’s hands lay flat on her thighs. Only the pinkie finger of her left hand moved—along a cylindrical shape in her trouser pocket.

  Cassidy’s breath caught.

  Thug vamp didn’t bother turning in the passenger seat to deliver a shot of compulsion. “No, you don’t.”

  “Not too bright, are you?” Cassidy ventured. She didn’t shift in her seat but became aware of the small, hard object in her back pocket.

  Thug swiveled his head around. “Shut the fuck up already.” More compulsion.

  Cassidy forced a derisive smile. “We may be mere mortals, but we are under the protection of someone far more powerful than you. You cannot compel us.” This earned her a fanged snarl.

  Boss vamp at the wheel clapped a warning hand to the thug’s arm. “Knock it off. She’s just trying to bait you. Ignore it.”

  “I’m just trying to tell both of you the facts, gentlemen,” Cassidy continued. Provocation was the last thing on her mind, but maybe she could convince them to see the error of their ways before Francesca provoked them to a point where they would lose control and forget about their orders to deliver them alive. “Wouldn’t you rather live your own lives than be forever—literally forever—under Esteban’s boot heel? Or Adilla’s? I mean, that guy is just unhinged. No telling what—”

  “I. Need. A. Toilet.”

  Francesca still stared out the front window. The car was moving fast now. Far too fast to distract a driver, even one with supernatural reflexes. Cassidy hoped to God that wasn’t her plan, prayed that Francesca wouldn’t pull out that canister before they had stopped.

  “For fuck’s sake. Cross your legs,�
�� boss vamp said. He was past trying compulsion on them.

  “I am an old woman who has had three children. My control is limited.”

  “Try harder.”

  Breathless, Cassidy watched Francesca’s mouth twitch and her eyes narrow. “Too late.”

  Boss vamp smacked a fist at the steering wheel and took his foot off the gas. “You can go piss in the bushes then.”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” the thug spluttered as the car decelerated with several hard jerks and veered into the outside lane.

  “Do you know how hard it is to get piss out of upholstery?”

  Under the cover of being jostled about, Francesca pulled the silver canister out of her pocket. Cassidy followed suit, thinking she was just getting prepared. Not so. Next thing she knew, Francesca had stuck her hand out between the window and the passenger seat and jammed down the trigger.

  The oily stream struck thug vamp full in the face and splattered away in glittering filaments. His deafening shriek had a tangible force in the car’s sealed confines. He pawed at his eyes, but only got more silver-laced oil all over his face and hands.

  It took boss vamp precious seconds to figure out what the hell was going on, but when he did, he turned in his seat and reached for Francesca.

  Which was when Cassidy unloaded her canister into his face.

  Their combined screams rattled her brain. Francesca pressed her hands to both ears and doubled over in her seat. Cassidy didn’t have that luxury because now the car was out of control and drifting back into traffic. Squealing tires shadowed them. The furious blast of a truck horn sounded practically on top of them.

  Heart galloping in her throat, Cassidy lunged forward and grabbed for the abandoned wheel. The center console slammed into her tender gut. Headlights glared out the front window. She twisted the wheel away. More honking. Tail lights, brake lights, swerving, spinning.