by Liliana Hart
Logan was positioned directly across from her behind the other half wall, and she gave him the signal for what she wanted. Once she saw he understood, she flattened her body into the mud and waited for his report.
His gun seemed extraordinarily loud, as if it was somehow amplified by the rain and wind, and time seemed to slow to the point where she could see each of his bullets cut through the air. Logan ducked back behind the wall as shots were returned, and he held up his fingers so she’d know the position of her targets.
There wasn’t time to think. She could lose her shots if she wasted those precious seconds. She took a breath and held it as she rolled into the open, firing in the directions Logan had just given her—seven, eleven, one, and four o’clock—from left to right, and then she quickly rolled back to the relative safety of her position.
They waited a few minutes more, and Logan signaled the all clear. “Go,” he said. “Finish off Kimball, and lets get out of here.”
She nodded and climbed back to the top of the guard tower, flicking the switch on her watch to check in with command.
“Dragon, I’m back in position to take the shot. Kimball’s moved the party to the dining area. I have a clear shot.”
“Everything okay?” Gabe asked.
She heard the worry and fear and relief in those two words and relaxed as she realized Jack had helped Gabe get out of the house.
“I’m good.”
And she realized she really was. Her mind was clear and her hands were steady. But this was going to be a hell of a difficult shot, and she’d only have one chance to get it right. It was close to a mile in distance to the main house—similar to the length of the shot she’d made when she’d taken out Peters—but the wind was going in the opposite direction, and rain was pelting her directly in the face. There were a lot of added variables with this shot that there hadn’t been with the other.
“Grim Reaper, what’s your position?” Gabe asked.
“I’m spotting for Kill Shot.”
“Stay where you are. Renegade and I are going to set off the light show a little early. Take out the target now, Kill Shot. Things are about to get crazy.”
“I’ve intercepted a signal that military aircraft are headed in our direction,” Ethan said. “Their attitude is hostile. We’ve got less than fifteen minutes before we need to be as far from this island as possible.”
“Roger that, Dragon. Close up shop and pick us up shore side.”
Grace adjusted her aim with every shift of the wind, blanking out the wind and rain and occasional voice from the com link until she was completely alone in her mind and silence reigned. Her weapon hesitated, and her finger flexed, wanting to pull the trigger, as she passed her scope across Tussad.
Her concentration was broken as she watched The Passover Project being demonstrated in front of the curious and terrified crowd. They were all just beginning to realize what kind of position Kimball had just put them in. They’d all be working for him before long.
Tussad fell to his knees on the floor, a fountain of blood coming from his mouth and splashing onto the white tile like red paint. She watched him die without remorse, her idea of justice being well served.
“Kill Shot,” Gabe shouted in her ear. “We’re waiting on your hit.”
Grace kept her eyes on Kimball and lined her shot up once more—her mind blank and the coldness of the kill steeling her spine. She breathed in slowly and held her breath as her finger squeezed the trigger.
“It’s a go,” she said, knowing she’d made the shot as soon as the bullet left her gun.
An explosion rocked the area next to the house, and she knew Gabe and Jack had set off the bomb at the pool house where Kimball’s scientist had set up a lab of sorts that housed all of his research and the components to the formula. Debris mixed with the rain, and chaos reigned over the island as she dropped down to the ground beside Logan. She slid the strap to her rifle across her chest and took out her pistol.
“Kill Shot and Grim Reaper headed to the pick up location,” she said to Ethan.
“I’m in position. Eight minutes and counting until military transport arrives.”
“We’ll meet you there,” Gabe said. “Five minutes.”
The helipad exploded within the next minute, and the ferry and docks went up in flames moments later. Seven of the world’s most dangerous terrorists were trapped with no way out but by military assistance. They were going to have a lot of explaining to do.
Five minutes passed, and she gave Logan a worried look. He turned the Zodiac so they were backed into shore.
“Ghost, where the hell are you?”
“Right behind you, sweetheart.”
Gabe and Jack appeared out of the shadows, running like hell towards the Zodiac. The bandage at Gabe’s shoulder was soaked through with blood, and she could tell he was running on pure adrenaline. Logan had the boat in motion just as they cleared the sides.
Gabe collapsed against her, and she felt for the pulse in his neck, trying not to show him how worried she was.
“I’m fine,” he said, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. “But I’m probably going to pass out soon. Don’t take me to the hospital.”
Grace leaned down and kissed his brow, cradling him against her. “Payback’s a bitch, my love.”
He smiled, and she took his face between her hands and looked into his eyes. “It’s over, Gabe. Tussad’s gone. I thought I’d feel something—more. But it almost feels as if I’ve lost her all over again.”
“Because you were able to let it go,” he said. “We won’t forget her, Grace. And we won’t forget what he did and how he paid. The future is ours.”
She leaned down to kiss him softly, her cheeks wet with tears. “I’m looking forward to it.”
EPILOGUE
One Year Later…
Marseilles, France: New Collective Headquarters
Jack was restless.
Maybe he was burned out. Or maybe he was jealous that Gabe and Grace had managed to have their marriage resurrected from the ashes. They’d worked hard to save what was most important to them, purging the demons that had tried to destroy them. They were happy. And he was happy for them. But there was a part of him that knew that kind of happiness would never be a part of his future.
He’d thought of retiring or taking an extended vacation, and he could tell by Gabe’s long looks and probing questions that his friend knew he wasn’t satisfied. He just—needed something more.
Even now, Jack was only halfway listening to the team briefing for their next mission, his mind finding it hard to settle on any one thing.
“This one is all you, Jack,” Gabe said, sliding a black folder in his direction and getting his attention. “We’ll all be there as backup, but it’s you our target needs to trust. Do whatever it takes to get the information we need.”
“He always gets the hot chicks,” Ethan muttered.
Jack looked at the picture Ethan had put up on the wall screen and felt lust slam through his system. He read the description that accompanied the photo until he found her name. Lissa Yamagata. Her face was exotic—eyes that tilted slightly, high cheekbones, and lips that were luscious and full. Just the thought of her mouth and what it could do had him shifting in his seat to accommodate the painful erection behind his zipper. She was small, only a couple of inches over five feet, and she had a waterfall of silky black hair that fell straight as rain to her waist.
Her mother was an American citizen, but her father was a Japanese warlord. According to the data Ethan had collected, she was brilliant, fluent in several languages, and had a hell of a sword collection.
The team was watching him carefully, waiting for some kind of reaction, and he realized he must have missed the complete rundown of the mission. Something wasn’t right, and he met Gabe’s stare head-on and without apology for not paying better attention.
“And what happens after I get the information I need?” Jack asked.
Gabe�
�s eyes narrowed, and he leaned back in his chair. “You kill her.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Liliana Hart is a bestselling and award-winning author in both the mystery and romance genres. After starting her first novel her freshman year of college, she immediately became addicted to writing and knew she'd found what she was meant to do with her life. She has no idea why she majored in music.
Liliana is an avid reader and a believer in all things romance. Her books are filled with witty dialogue, steamy sex, and the all-important happily-ever-afters her romantic soul craves. Since self-publishing in June of 2011, she's sold more than half a million ebooks all over the world. She lives in Texas with her husband and four children, and they occasionally let her meet her deadlines.
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Read on for an excerpt of Breath of Fire! Coming June 4!
CHAPTER FOUR
I lifted my nose a little higher, hoping to get another whiff. The atmosphere was thick with ozone, and lightning raced horizontally across the sky. Mist crept in slowly, building in white waves so the ground below it was invisible to the eye. The rain fell harder, almost as if it were a sign of bad things to come. And then the mist grew thicker, taking the shape of a man—a mist dragon. I’d never seen one before, only heard the stories passed down through the generations.
He appeared to my left and wasn’t large, maybe a few inches taller than me, but he was thick across the shoulders and chest—built like a brawler. His jeans were old and torn, his white T-shirt ragged and stained with blood. He gave me a feral grin as he stopped at the edge of the garden path.
I answered his smile with one of my own and leaned against one of the stone arches, enjoying the theatrics. His smile dimmed a little when he saw I wasn’t as afraid of him as he’d hoped I’d be. I held the weapon I’d brought out with me in my left hand so it was hidden behind the railing.
It wasn’t long before the others appeared out of the trees and joined the first. There were five in all. Maybe half of the original group who’d attacked the woman last night. I recognized their scent. There had been others with this group when they’d killed the woman, but those Drakán had moved on.
I was looking specifically for one of my own clansmen. Each clan had a unique scent—ours smelled of clean rain and damp forest—and I’d recognized it immediately around Jillian’s body. It was the reason I’d been able to see Jillian’s death in my vision, even though she was from a different clan. I’d kept that information from Cal.
There was only one female in this group, but she was the one I focused on. I’d seen a little girl once holding a doll with blonde curly hair, blue eyes and rosy cheeks—the porcelain of her complexion so pale and flawless it seemed as if even the slightest touch would cause her to shatter. That’s what this woman reminded me of.
Sapphires the color of the deepest part of the ocean were embedded in her human skin—up her arms and across her collarbone—and a single winking jewel glittered above her left eyebrow like a beauty mark. This only happened to those dragons who slept on top of their hoard in human form. It’s why we were never able to wear jewelry—our human forms absorbed the jewels. It was just another way for us to keep our treasures close.
The female hoarder stood in the center of the group, slightly in front. Two other males—one as dark as onyx, the other as pale as buttermilk—flanked her left side. Their power was minimal. The last male was almost as old as the female. But not quite. The only difference was his clothes were pristine, his face calm, while dried blood and mud covered the others. This male stood in the rain eerily still, his dark hair plastered around his face and his eyes knowing. He gave me a slight bow with his head, and it was then I knew he had psychic abilities—pitiful as they were. He was practically an open book. But I could use him.
It was situations like this one where I thought our laws kind of sucked. I couldn’t kill them just because I knew they’d killed one of our own. Legally, I had to file a warrant with the Council and wait for it to go through. The only way I could kill them today was if they moved to attack me first.
“You guys are pretty far from home,” I called out.
“And your welcome is quite disappointing.” It was the female who spoke. Her accent was thick and Slavic.
I cast my psychic power from my body and read them all quickly. The woman was obviously from the Russian clan, but what had me worried was that the other members of the ragtag group were representing three other clans—the Romanians, the Belgians and the Irish. Our clans had been feuding since the Banishment, and I had no idea why they were working together without animosity now. They thought of themselves as a unit—a family. And for some reason, I couldn’t siphon the reason they’d joined together from their minds. All I could read was that they needed me, and if I didn’t cooperate, then I had to die.
“You made a mistake last night,” I said. “You shouldn’t have killed her. And you definitely shouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave enough of her body behind so I could find her. Now I have to kill you.”
The brawler to my left laughed thin and high, and the insanity of it raised chills on my arms. “You think you can kill us, Enforcer? You’re outnumbered. And we have powers you could only dream of.”
It was my turn to laugh. “I don’t think so. You’re the pawns. Who’s your Master? None of you has the power to breathe fire.”
The brawler took a step forward, his anger making him stupid.
“Bartolomé,” the female said harshly. “Stand down and follow orders.” Bartolomé stepped back, but he didn’t like it.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I’m here to ask you to join us,” the female said. “When the time for battle comes, you don’t want to be on the losing side.”
“And let me guess, it would help to have a psychic with my abilities on your side to even the odds a little.”
“It would,” she acknowledged.
“You already have a psychic.” I gestured to the quiet male with them. “You don’t need me.”
“Christos’ powers are dimmed in comparison to yours. Your mind is virtually untouched. Unexplored. Our Master can help you. You’ll be one of the most powerful Drakán to walk the Earth.”
“You still haven’t told me your Master’s name.” I was stalling. It was hard to ignore the rush that the promise of so much power would bring me. My dragon nature wanted to take their offer and never look back. The human in me kept a more level head. “I’d like to know who I’m working for.”
“His name is unimportant. You only need to know that there is no other of our kind who holds more power. He will be king.”
“Tell your Master his arrogance looks like ignorance when he sends five children to the house of Alasdair. You are all foolish for following someone who holds so little value over your lives.”
They all moved at once, closing the half-circle they’d formed as they pressed in on me. My finger tightened on the weapon I held. I knew I’d get no help from my family for this battle. Erik wouldn’t know we were under threat unless they broke into the house, Cal was probably still asleep, and Alasdair would never help me. He would probably dance on my ashes if I died.
“Our Master will not like to hear your decision,” the female said. “Maybe we can change your mind.”
I waited patiently. All it would take wa
s one of them to lose control. “You’re all traitors to your Archos. No better than cowards.”
Bartolomé growled low in his throat and rushed me, his hands shifting into sharp claws. It was all the excuse I needed. I pulled the trigger of the crossbow and watched as he crumpled to the ground with a howl of pain.
The cold numbness took over my mind as I faced Christos—the other psychic—and enveloped him in my power. The others didn’t get a chance to react. Christos turned and faced the remaining three, his eyes wide with fear. The others looked at him in confusion. He wasn’t in control of himself anymore. He belonged to me. He pushed his arms out into the empty air in front of him, and his friends went flying backwards toward the trees. The dark-skinned male hit against a tree so hard that the base of it cracked in two, the echo deafening as it toppled to the ground.
“Kill them both,” the female screamed.
I came at them with a vengeance. I was going to get hurt, but I was going to take as many as I could down with me. The female came up on me fast, her fists a blur as she struck at me, but I was able to dodge the blows. Something grabbed me from behind, and I struggled against the tight grasp fiercely. I didn’t see the female strike, she was too quick, but I felt the sudden pain in my chest. Something inside me tore—muscle and cartilage that ripped away from bone. If someone hadn’t been holding me in place I would have crashed into the side of the house. My vision greyed, and my heart stuttered.
Despite the damage to my body, I knew I had to think or die. A calm overtook me, and I sent waves of pain, as fierce as knives, into the one who had me trapped in his arms. He let go of me and dropped to the ground, clutching his head between his hands.
The rain sizzled off my skin so steam rose in a cloud around me. I was pissed. And now I was through playing. Christos was no longer of any use to me. His head lay detached from his body a few feet away, his eyes still panicked and his mouth opening and closing as he gasped for air that wasn’t there. The two men that were left moved closer together and turned to face me. I didn’t have time to reload the crossbow, so I threw it to the ground.