Dreams of a Dark Warrior

by Kresley Cole

  Just as an alarm began to wail, the lights wavered again, then failed altogether. No backup electricity fired, no emergency lights. The alarm faded to silence.

  Darkness. The only sounds came from the gale intensifying outside.

  Impossible. Some force had taken out all his many redundant systems.

  Still rubbing his throat, Webb hastened to the emergency exit. "I'll go. But remember--you have a target on your back. Every creature in here wants you dead."

  That's why I'll keep them in their fuckin' cages. Declan met his gaze. From the man's expression, he figured his eyes were flickering. "If I see your face again, I'll end you."

  "After I saved your life? I was a father to you for twenty years."

  "Which is why you're still alive--"

  Three crashing booms sounded in succession; the corridor bulkheads had descended, sealing the wards. Both he and Webb knew what that meant. There'd been a breach in at least one of the cells.

  The deployment of those bulkheads triggered an hour-long self-destruct sequence, one that could only be overridden by an officer--after the facility had been secured.

  Without the override, incendiary bombs would detonate all over the island, wiping this place off the map.

  Webb asked, "Can you secure the facility?"

  He had to try. With any cell breach, the installation was considered hot, a quarantine situation. There was no evacuation of personnel. If he failed, everyone would die in the bomb blasts.

  Declan set his watch as he rushed to his armory. He donned a plated tactical vest, then shrugged into his dual holster with its pair of Glocks. After strapping on his sword belt, he grabbed two MK 17 assault rifles, packing armor-piercing rounds.

  He turned toward the door, ready for battle.

  Just before Declan left, Webb said, "If you radio me before the sequence ends, I'll override remotely. Good luck, son."

  Declan's shoulders stiffened, and he didn't look back. "I'm no' your son."

  THIRTY-ONE

  RIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!"

  With a grimace, Regin limped to the glass--ignore the metal, ignore the staples--to peer out into the darkened corridor. "What the hell's going on, Nat?"

  Just moments before the power had abruptly failed, she'd heard a male's outraged bellow, thought it was Chase's. Yeah, that's right, boyo, I survived your little science experiment this morning. Hour by hour, she'd been healing. At least physically.

  After that bellow, she and Natalya had felt a weighty malevolence descending over them, some shrieking creature.

  Natalya joined her at the glass. "I don't know what's out there, but maybe we'll get a chance to break out."

  Regin glanced down at her chest. How far could she get like this? Outwardly, the wound was in the reddened, itchy stage of regeneration. Inwardly, who knew? As she'd begun to move around, she'd determined that she still had her full range of motion--but it hurt like hell.

  She'd be damned before she slowed Natalya or anyone else down.

  As the storm outside grew even more violent, the grapevine went abuzz. Yet the inmates repeated only one phrase: "La Dorada."

  Regin rolled her eyes. "Who or what is La Dorada? Sounds like a snack chip--"

  "RIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!"

  "A really pissed-off snack chip."

  The shifter next door whispered, "She's the Sorceri Queen of Golds and of Evil. They say she's come for Lothaire, the Enemy of Old."

  "RIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!"

  "You want your ring?" Lothaire yelled from down the corridor. "Then come and get it, you bitch!"

  "Lothaire, the S.O.L., sounds like." Serves him right.

  Then the shifter said something that really got Regin's attention. "Farther up the ward, Dorada's removed torques from other Sorceri and some members of the Pravus."

  Natalya said, "Then there will be an escape. As soon as one of them is strong enough to break the glass."

  Regin exhaled a deep breath, wincing from the movement. "Like Portia and Ember." Two of the Sorceri in Carrow's cell, rumored to be lovers for centuries.

  Portia, the Queen of Stone, could move Mount Everest into her backyard if she felt like a climb. Emberine, the Queen of Flames, could shoot fire from her hands or turn herself into flame. A single blast from her could grievously wound an immortal. A human--or a young immortal--would stand no chance.

  Carrow and her little cousin Ruby were trapped with those Sorceri. Gods help them.

  "Volos could shatter it," Natalya said distantly. "With one kick." The creature was huge, eight feet tall and packed with muscle. "I could face him here. Finally."

  The floor began vibrating beneath them. Small fissures cracked in the cement, sending up clouds of grit.

  "Is that what I think it is?" Natalya asked.

  "Feels like Portia's getting frisky. Hold on to your ass," Regin said. "Thad must be wigging. If we get free, we snag him then go straight for my witch friend."

  "Agreed."

  The shifter relayed, "Portia's bringing up a mountain of stone."

  When the rumbling strengthened, Natalya said, "If a mountain keeps rising, doesn't that mean the surrounding land will start falling away?"

  Regin nodded. "Yep. And we're on the surrounding land." Smoke began oozing down the corridor. "Looks like Emberine got loose." Could Carrow escape those two with a little girl in tow?

  Again and again, glass shattered as more creatures were freed.

  "La Dorada's coming," the shifter whispered. "Ah, gods, she's coming."

  Seconds passed, then ... La Dorada skulked into view. She was half-mummified, but sodden. Gooey.

  Regin let out a low whistle. "The Mummy Returns meets Dingoes Ate My Face."

  Strips of rotting gauze clung to the sorceress's body. Her face was slimy with pus and appeared to be missing a couple of chunks, as well as an eye.

  Surrounding her like a pack of guard dogs was a dozen Wendigos. They were as contagious as ghouls, but much faster and smarter. Of course, the average loogie was smarter than a ghoul.

  "Look at the gold," Natalya breathed in awe.

  Dorada wore cool gold pieces--a golden crown on her lumpy head and an elaborate breastplate over a surprisingly intact rack. With each of the sorceress's steps, gold flakes drifted down.

  "She's altogether ooky. But I'm not picky." Regin banged the bottom of her fist against the glass, ignoring the pain radiating out from her chest. "Yo, beautiful. Come pop this collar off me."

  Natalya hissed, "Are you mad?"

  "What's she gonna do? Vivisect me? Imprison me? We've got a pact to fulfill, remember?" To Dorada, she cried, "Seriously, sweetheart, shake that mummified ass over here." Regin kicked the glass. "Lemme the fuck out--"

  La Dorada swung her head around, peering at Regin with her one eye.

  "Okay. That's freaky. Lookit, Gollum, if you spring me, I'll help you find your Precious."

  Regin could have sworn the sorceress's mouth gaped with a toothless smile. Then she slinked away.

  "No, no, no!" Regin cried. "I'm about to do evil! Help a bitch out!"

  But she was gone, leaving Regin and Natalya trapped like sitting ducks, still wearing their torques, while Pravus soldiers began prowling the ward. Once they'd eliminated the humans, they'd be coming for their true adversaries.

  They'll come prowling for us.

  As Declan marched out of his sanctum into the sealed-off research ward, he swept an assessing glance over the area.

  Down the corridor in front of the multi-ton bulkhead, three dozen soldiers had set up a secondary barricade, just as he'd instructed them in repeated exercises.

  They'd improvised with lighting, illuminating the ward with randomly placed outdoor spotlights and chemical glow sticks.

  At this end, farthest from the bulkhead, dozens of terrified scientists and other support staff huddled. They'd evacuated here as per the contingency plan he'd made them drill again and again. He dimly noted that they looked relieved to have spotted him.

  Dixon wasn't a
mong the evacuees. Had she been, he would've tossed her to the fucking wolves.

  Vincente was absent, the loyal guard who'd apparently been trying to tell Declan about Regin.

  But Fegley was here. And I don't have time to kill him right now.

  The need to defend his base burned within Declan. My land. My territory. He ruthlessly drove thoughts of Regin--and of Webb's revelation--from his mind. If he didn't secure the facility, all would be lost. Including her.

  Declan pointed at Fegley and said simply, "You're as good as dead." The man cringed.

  At the barricade, Declan called for the senior officer. "Where are the breaches?"

  "In ward two, Magister. Soldiers trapped behind the bulkhead radioed that there are at least twenty confirmed cell breaches. There's some kind of foreign miscreat in there, a being from the outside. Nothing can stop her. None of our weapons. She's somehow removing the torques from specific prisoners."

  Impossible. But then, how the hell had she even gotten in here? "Which prisoners?"

  "The most violent ones, sir."

  Regin was in that ward. "Why haven't the soldiers gassed the place?" Each guard carried canisters of nerve gas and a breathing apparatus as part of his standard gear.

  When the radio crackled with hoarse yells, Declan snatched it up, ordering, "Deploy your canisters. Now!" No response. "Confirm the order and carry it out!"

  "Sir, the Sorceri ... raising a ... and fire ..." In the background, screams of terror rang out. Glass cell walls continued to shatter.

  "Goddamn it, gas them!" Gurgling sounds followed. Then utter chaos.

  The guards flanking Declan went bug-eyed. The floor began vibrating. Then came a sound Declan couldn't believe.

  The steel cell walls in ward two were groaning as they ... crumpled.

  Just then some force battered their bulkhead, denting the six-foot-thick metal.

  The civilians screamed; Declan clenched his slackened jaw, then ordered, "If it goes, fire at will." The guards clutched their weapons--MK 17s, TEP-Cs, grenade launchers. "Steady ..." He cocked and aimed his own rifle.

  These were hardened soldiers, handpicked by the Order, but they knew what awaited them if they fell into the hands of these enemies.

  A fate worse than death.

  Another pounding of unimaginable power. Then another. "Steady ..."

  The bulkhead flew open in a rush of sparks, like a door kicked in. A shock wave of air and sound clouded his vision, deafening him. Dust and smoke every-where.

  Through the murky gap left behind, winged demons soared above. Cerunnos slithered in.

  "Hold them back!" Declan yelled, firing at the demons, burning through a clip in seconds. He grounded four of them, then stormed to the opening to meet the threat head-on. A volley of bullets whizzed past his head as his men covered him.

  Declan fought his way past the onslaught, but as soon as he caught his first look at the facility, his breath left him. Dozens of prisoners ran free. The bulkhead to ward two had also been breached, and a ... a mountain was rising within.

  Two Sorceri females stood nearby; Declan recognized Portia and Emberine--the Queen of Stone and the Queen of Flames. Neither wore a torque, which meant both possessed their full ungodly powers.

  With a wave of her hand, Portia continued to draw up that colossal pediment of rock.

  Emberine was beside her, incinerating any soldiers who'd had been caught outside the research ward. One shot to the chest rendered their bodies to ash.

  If that stone rose any higher, the entire facility would be demolished. Declan wouldn't be able to save anyone on this island from the self-destruct. He wouldn't be able to save Regin.

  Regin. Declan finally understood what his victims had felt when he'd tortured their mates.

  A madness to protect.

  Have to eliminate the Sorceri. He yelled once more to the guards, "Hold the line!" then charged straight into hell.

  As he tore through the riot, he dimly realized that the creatures without their torques were uniformly those from the Pravus alliance.

  That "being" had come from the outside to free only one army.

  Now the Pravus preyed on their weakened Vertas enemies.

  Regin was injured and likely still wore her torque. If the glass of her cell shattered, she'd be left unprotected. As a Vertas, she'd be targeted. ...

  Finally he garnered enough room to raise his rifle and take a bead on Portia. He squeezed the trigger and held it, but before the spray of bullets could hit the female, Emberine melted them in midair.

  Then the Queen of Flames turned on him, eyes filled with malice. A fireball blazed in her raised palm. He leveled his aim at her, emptying a clip, but she'd already hurled the ball at him with the speed of a rocket.

  A kill shot.

  It took him right in the chest, exploding him across the facility.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Dorada is in the building. Lothaire mused. Here, just as he'd predicted.

  His nemesis Nix might have her foresight, but Lothaire had insight. He could calculate what Loreans would do with exceptional accuracy.

  The bitch had come for her ring--able to track whoever had touched it last over the entire earth. But she was also here for retribution. And she wouldn't give a damn that he'd been working for her side in the war between good and evil for millennia.

  "I told you we'd escape soon," Lothaire grated to the demon male across the corridor. Since Malkom Slaine's arrival, Lothaire had tried coaxing him into an allegiance, patiently explaining the value of allies in the Lore.

  He himself had made pacts with all kinds--whatever the Endgame required. In ages past, he'd fought side by side with a Valkyrie when all he'd wanted to do was torment her. He'd aligned with various demonarchies that thought he was the devil incarnate.

  He'd even quelled his abundant pride and sworn fealty to a vampire king--one who sat upon Lothaire's own throne. ...

  Yet though Slaine was part vampire, he hated all "leeches." He just sat there obsessing about his witch, plotting his revenge, refusing to ally with a red-eyed vampire.

  Though I know everything about this world, and Slaine knows so little.

  Though he was a slave in Oblivion, and I'm soon to reclaim my kingdom.

  The ground quaked beneath him. So Portia was raising a mountain? Then the whispers were true--Dorada was removing the prisoners' torques.

  At least from the evil ones. He knew he'd receive no such boon from her.

  Twisting metal clanged, echoing down the hall. The walls began to warp. The glass of his cell couldn't take much more of this pressure.

  Perhaps escape could be had before Dorada reached him?

  No. She neared even now.

  He'd brought her down upon himself recklessly, had known better. But he would have done anything for that ring--the Endgame demanded it--and he'd never imagined he'd have to contend with her in this state.

  "One way or another, this ends tonight." Lothaire paced, as ready for battle as he could be, considering he still wore a torque--and was starving.

  For weeks, he'd been denied blood, and Chase's torture had left him compromised, his skin still missing in places.

  But at least that bastard had given him salt. Lothaire filled his pockets with it.

  Everyone in the Lore knew that a Wendigo's contagious bite or scratch would transform even an immortal into one of its kind. But they didn't know much else because few survived an encounter with them intact.

  Yet centuries ago, one wizard had discovered what salt did to those creatures--a wizard who'd died under Lothaire's fangs, unwillingly yielding his memories and knowledge. ...

  "I am ready to have done, Dorada!" Lothaire yelled. "Face me, crone!"

  Seconds later, he spotted her just outside Slaine's cell, a walking corpse, surrounded by a frothing pack of Wendigos.

  She was even more hideous than the last time he'd seen her mere weeks ago. His eyes narrowed. Though she should be invincible, scorch marks branded her de
composed skin. The mortals had shot--and wounded--her.

  Why hadn't she regenerated to her full power before she'd attacked? Too anxious to get to me?

  Wait, Dorada was removing Slaine's collar? Lothaire hadn't thought Slaine was particularly evil. And he was usually right about these things.

  Who am I kidding? I'm always right.

  Then Emberine appeared and shattered the demon's cell wall with her fire. Slaine the slave, freed of his torque and his jail? The injustice of it all.

  Dorada swished to a stop in front of Lothaire's cell and shrieked, "RIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!"

  "You know I don't have your ring, suka."

  La Dorada raised her withered arm. In a wave, the Wendigos rushed the glass of his cell. As they repeatedly barreled against it, blood and contagious saliva smeared the fractured glass, their claws clattering down it. ...

  The barrier shattered. The stench of them--of her--nearly felled him.

  But as the creatures charged, Lothaire dug into his pockets, tossing salt. The granules burned their gaunt skin, shriveling it like a leech's.

  He aimed for their faces to blind them. Putrid flesh gave up smoke, yet they kept advancing through that haze.

  He dodged their knifelike claws, swinging his fists to send them flying. But they recouped in turns, continuing their attack.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Slaine climbing from the wreckage of his cell. As Lothaire clashed with the Wendigos, he bit out, "Slaine? A hand here."

  Dorada swung her head at the demon to shriek, "RIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG?"

  Slaine strode away, calling over his shoulder, "Where's your allegiance now, vampire?"

  If you're not with me, you're against me, Lothaire thought as he repelled another charge. You've erred for ill. ...

  Again and again, he cast the rabid creatures out. But the quaking beneath his feet intensified, keeping him off balance. The roof began to sag above him as the facility threatened to collapse. He waged a losing battle.

  Suddenly, the cement beneath the Wendigos fractured, the jagged line widening--

  In a deafening rush, the ground opened up, creating a yawning ravine; five Wendigos plunged into that blackness. The others hung on to the edge, scrabbling for the steel rebar that jutted from broken concrete.

  Under the immense pressure, the two rock faces of that new crevasse jerked forward and back as if the earth breathed.