Awaken the Darkness

by Dianne Duvall

  “Go ahead,” Chris said. “Get it out of your system.”

  Grumbles and complaints erupted from several as Stanislav shared a long-suffering look with Yuri, then pulled the damned mask down over his head.

  “I hate this thing,” Yuri grumbled.

  “Feels like I’m suffocating,” Stanislav agreed.

  “Is this damned thing thicker than it was before?” one of the Brits groused.

  “Yes, it is,” Chris said as he rolled up his map. “Now suck it up and get moving.”

  Only Chris Reordon could get away with talking to immortals like that.

  Stanislav and his fellow Immortal Guardians made their silent way through the forest until they clustered together in the evergreens across the street from the mercenary compound’s front gate. Thick trees and a bounty of chest-high weeds hid them from the guards’ view and stymied the sunlight each time it tried to penetrate the dense foliage and hint at their presence.

  A few immortals had not yet donned their masks, waiting until the last minute. Those that had, however, were difficult to tell apart. Seth, David, and Zach were all so old that they didn’t need to wear suits or masks. The rest of the men, however, were all of a similar height—in the six-feet to six-feet-four-inches range—and muscular build. The only way to distinguish one from another was the unique weapons each bore and, in the case of the married males, the size of the females they stuck to like glue.

  Stanislav had no difficulty identifying Yuri. He had given Yuri the weapons his friend bore and even in battle would be able to identify him simply by his fighting methods.

  Eyeing his friend, he bit back a curse.

  Yuri shifted his weight from one foot to the other, practically dancing in place he was so damned eager for the coming violence.

  Okay, everyone, Seth told them mentally, Chris is making the call.

  On Chris’s mark, all cell phone reception would be disrupted and the landlines cut. Satellite phones would still function though, so Stanislav and the other immortals had been instructed to keep their ears open and prevent any calls from going out. The electricity would also be cut. Seth would take out the backup generators with several grenades.

  Seth vanished.

  Stanislav slid two katanas from their sheaths.

  Wonk! Wonk! Wonk!

  The soldiers at the gate jumped when an alarm began to blare and gripped their weapons tighter as they tried to look in every direction at once.

  Boom!

  Flames and debris appeared to fly from four different locations as Seth teleported from generator to generator with lightning speed and tossed the grenades. Chaos erupted as the alarm ceased blaring. Mercenaries ran about the compound, trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

  Two grenades skipped across the ground toward the gate that blocked the only entrance and exit.

  One of the guards caught the movement and looked down as the objects came to rest at his feet. “Ah, shi—”

  An explosion cut off the man’s words. Stanislav winced as the thunder pierced his sensitive ears like needles and left them ringing for several seconds. Bodies and body parts flew. The gate blew open and broke apart, flinging shrapnel across the two-lane street.

  Stanislav and the others ducked as pieces of metal flew past and embedded themselves in the trees around them. Then they raced forward, David in the lead, to confront their enemies.

  From the corner of his eye, Stanislav saw Chris’s Network battalion surge forward in their armored vehicles.

  Shouts rang out.

  Mercenaries opened fire.

  Sticking close to Yuri’s side, Stanislav sped toward the armory, taking out every mercenary he could along the way. The front of the main building on the right exploded into chunks of granite and glass as they passed it.

  David crashed through it all—Lisette, Zach, and Marcus on his heels.

  Stanislav swung his katanas, cutting down mercenaries as he raced past the training fields. Screams erupted. Bullets flew through the air like swarms of bees. But the suit he hated so much stopped a hell of a lot of them.

  Beside Stanislav, Yuri sheathed one of his katanas and yanked an automatic weapon from the hands of one of the mercenaries. As he continued toward the armory, his pace never slowing, Yuri sprayed the enemy with bullets.

  Stanislav laughed. Sheathing his own weapons, he did the same.

  The armory rose before them. Two stories high. Large enough to store a hell of a lot of weapons and ammunition. As expected, many of the human mercenaries scampered toward it like rats scenting cheese.

  He and Yuri took out dozens before they ran out of ammo.

  Yuri tossed his weapon down, grabbed another, and started for the door.

  Stanislav beat him to it. “I’ll clear it out,” he called. Because of Yuri’s recent self-destructive behavior, he didn’t think it wise to let him loose in a building full of explosives while he carried an automatic rifle. Dropping his own rifle, he drew both swords and dove inside.

  Shouts erupted as men frantically grabbed weapons and ammo and swung around.

  Damn, they’d moved fast. There were more crammed inside than he had expected, but it didn’t slow him down. Stanislav cut a swath through them, inspiring such terror that some decided to risk firing their weapons.

  Swearing, he hoped like hell those bullets wouldn’t hit any grenades or other explosives as he slew one after another until only he remained standing. He swept through the building—upstairs and downstairs—one last time before he headed outside.

  The mercenary compound had transformed into a war zone. Stanislav didn’t know how in hell Chris Reordon was going to keep this from appearing on the news but didn’t doubt the human would do it.

  Yuri stood with his back against the wall, spraying mercenaries with bullets.

  “Clear,” Stanislav called and backed up to the wall on the opposite side of the doorway.

  The number of humans charging toward them, though substantial, had dwindled a little. Immortals Bastien and Melanie swept through the mercenaries, inflicting fatal wounds and sparking terror. Network soldiers, all clad in black, swarmed in their midst too, picking off any mercenaries the immortals missed and guarding the immortals’ backs.

  This was not their first clash with mercenaries, but all were determined to make it their last. Not one man would be left alive to resurrect the outfit in the future.

  From the corner of his eye, Stanislav saw Yuri drop his rifle and go to work with his swords. Alexei and Dmitry—Stanislav’s and Yuri’s Seconds—approached in a crouch, barely recognizable beneath their helmets and body armor. Alexei took up a position at the corner of the building on Stanislav’s side, his automatic rifle spitting fire and bullets that kept mercenaries from sneaking up behind Stanislav. Dmitry did the same, parking himself at the opposite corner and protecting Yuri.

  A tank rumbled forth from one of the hangars that Immortal Guardians Étienne, Krysta, and Sean were clearing out.

  Shit. The mercenaries must have—

  Two missiles struck the tank, launched by Chris’s men. Flames reached high into the air.

  Dmitry whooped.

  Alexei laughed.

  Stanislav grinned. He might be concerned about Yuri and Alexei’s safety, but he nevertheless enjoyed a good fight.

  Yuri grunted.

  Stanislav did, too, when a bullet penetrated his suit where the material thinned along his neck. Fortunately, it missed his carotid artery. “How many of these bastards are there?” he grumbled. He had slain dozens on the way to the armory and inside it. But more kept coming, each one determined to get his hands on the weapons the two immortal warriors guarded.

  Explosions overshadowed the gunfire in occasional bursts.

  In the distance, flames spewed forth from the flamethrower atop Chris’s Humvee as vampires darted out of the building that housed their sleeping quarters, deciding sun exposure posed less of a threat than the powerful immortals inside.

  Another
bullet struck Stanislav in the side. The uncomfortable suit he wore stopped several where it was thickest. But some areas were thinner so it wouldn’t restrict his movements. And every once in a while a bullet would find a weak point and penetrate it like a blade.

  Centuries of fighting enabled Stanislav to compartmentalize the pain and continue swinging his swords. Some vampires who had miraculously evaded the flamethrower’s reach joined the mercenaries he and Yuri faced, surging forward. Their skin blistered in the sunlight as they ducked Bastien’s swords.

  Dmitry’s weapon quieted as he hastily reloaded.

  Stanislav kept an eye on the vampires zigzagging through the combat as his sword spilled another human mercenary’s blood.

  Alexei suddenly swore and fired a frenzy of bullets toward the back of the building. Eager to take advantage of the opening, three mercenaries altered their paths and lunged toward him.

  Stanislav leapt over to guard his friend’s back, killing those who meant to slay Alexei while his Second dispatched the mercenaries creeping toward them from the rear.

  “Behind you!” Dmitry suddenly shouted.

  Stanislav spun around.

  Mercenaries had taken advantage of his brief inattention and surged toward the doorway. One of the men aimed a tranq gun at Yuri and fired.

  The dart hit Yuri in the neck as he turned at Dmitry’s warning.

  Inside his mask, Yuri’s eyes rolled back in his head. His knees buckled. His swords fell from hands that went limp as Yuri collapsed, hitting the ground hard.

  Stanislav grunted when a blade bit deep into his side.

  The vampire wielding it shouted in triumph. His skin charring, he yanked the blade out and raised it high.

  Dmitry’s gun resumed fire. “Shit!” he shouted. “Yuri’s down! Yuri’s down!”

  Stanislav blocked the vampire’s next swing and struck a blow of his own. Then another and another, putting on a burst of preternatural speed despite the blood loss that drained his energy. He heard Alexei move away behind him, still firing his weapon furiously.

  More mercenaries must be coming around the back corner.

  Stanislav swept the vampire’s head from his shoulders, then swiveled to aid Yuri.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt true fear, but—in that moment—it struck him with the force of a quarrel from a crossbow.

  Yuri lay on the ground, unmoving, the tranquilizer dart sticking out of his neck where the suit was thinnest while Dmitry fought off a wave of mercenaries.

  Another blistering vampire darted forward and grabbed one of Yuri’s fallen swords.

  Stanislav lunged forward. “Nooooo!” he bellowed, swinging his blades wildly as he fought past four more blistering and burning vampire mercenaries.

  Too late.

  The vampire struck fast, cleaving Yuri’s head from his shoulders.

  All the air left Stanislav’s lungs, sucked away in an instant by grief and horror and disbelief. It couldn’t be.

  It couldn’t be.

  Yuri couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be dead.

  But he was.

  A suffering greater than that spawned by all of his wounds combined crashed through Stanislav. They’d killed him. They’d killed Yuri. They’d taken his fucking head!

  “Yuri!” he roared, rage igniting his insides as tears blurred his vision.

  He pushed forward, cutting and knocking bodies out of his way, feeling as though he were wading against a swift current in chest-deep water. Bullets struck him. Blades bit deep. But he paid them no heed.

  Something round flew at him. Stanislav knocked it aside, his only desire to get to his friend—his brother—before the symbiotic virus inside him devoured Yuri from the inside out and left nothing behind for Stanislav to hold and bid farewell.

  Yuri was dead. His brother was dead.

  A sob caught in his throat.

  The object he batted aside flew through the armory’s doorway and skittered across the floor with a clatter he barely heard over the pulsing heartbeat in his ears and the gunfire and bullets that peppered him.

  Just a few more feet…

  Thunder shattered his eardrums. Flames and shrapnel slammed into him, knocking him off his feet.

  Agony engulfed him.

  Blessed darkness.

  A hand clamped around the raw flesh of his wrist, rousing Stanislav.

  Torturous pain battered him.

  Difficult to breathe.

  Razor blades in his lungs. Smoke in his nostrils.

  Something abraded him from his ass to his boots. Rough. Almost rhythmic in its repetition. The hand manacling his arm stretched it above his head. A thousand knives seemed to stab him in the shoulder.

  Thunder rumbled. Distant gunfire split the day. Flames seemed to sear his skin.

  He struggled to open his eyes.

  “Hurry,” a voice hissed.

  Something kept hitting his legs… or what was left of them. It felt as though little flesh remained on his shattered bones.

  What was it? Where was he?

  He drew in a wheezy breath and nearly passed out from the pain it generated. Liquid rattled in his lungs. His right eye wouldn’t open. The left he cracked enough to see daylight flickering behind a dense canopy of leaves.

  The ground swept past in a blur.

  His head lolled backward, giving him an upside-down view of a man dragging him across the ground, a second man at his side.

  They moved swiftly. Too swiftly for humans.

  Vampires?

  A large, hazy object abruptly loomed before them.

  His captors stopped. A thunk sounded. Hands gripped him, magnifying the pain. Then Stanislav went weightless, rising into the air before he hit a hard surface with a thud that produced such agony the darkness returned.

  Movement shook Stanislav awake, then rocked him in a manner that might have been soothing if he didn’t feel as though his body had been put through a meat grinder.

  A rhythmic rumble penetrated the pools of blood in his ears.

  A car?

  Again he cracked an eyelid open and tried to make sense of his surroundings.

  He was in the trunk of a car?

  How had he gotten there? Who had put him there?

  The car jumped as it hit a bump, tossing him up an inch or two, then slamming him back down.

  He moaned. His head swam. Nausea rose.

  Darkness.

  Shick. Thud. Shick. Thud. Shick. Thud.

  Something settled upon Stanislav’s legs, fanning the burning flames that seemed determined to devour them. He gritted his teeth, knowing only pain for several moments as consciousness beckoned.

  Moaning, he tried to open his eyes. One was swollen shut. The lid blanketing the other lifted just a bit.

  What…? What had happened?

  Shick. Thud. Shick. Thud.

  Where was he?

  “Stop pacing and dig, damn it,” a male ordered. “He’s starting to wake up.”

  Curses filled the air.

  More of those pats on his legs, like David’s cats leaping down on him and settling in for a nice nap. Every touch sent new agony coursing through him.

  He tried to focus, tried to clear his vision, his mind. He wiggled his toes, alarmed by how difficult the task was. Managed to make the fingers of both hands twitch, too.

  He hadn’t lost any limbs. His whole body hurt so much that the knowledge came as a surprise.

  Something hit him in the face. Dust invaded his nose.

  He coughed, then damn near passed out again at the suffering that seized his body.

  “Shit!” someone swore.

  The shick-thuds sped up.

  More weight pounced on his raw, burning legs. His stomach. His chest. His broken arm. His face.

  Again he coughed.

  Dirt. Someone was burying him.

  Two someones.

  “Are you sure he won’t be able to get out of this?”

  “Yeah. Look at him. He looks li
ke barbecued ground beef that’s been chewed up and spit out. With that much damage and no blood supply, no way in hell is he going to claw his way out of this.”

  More dirt. More torturous coughs.

  “Won’t he suffocate if we bury him?”

  “Nah. I heard the higher-ups say nothing short of beheading will kill an immortal. They’re like fucking water bears.”

  “What the hell is a water bear?”

  “Forget it. Just keep digging.”

  Why were they burying him? Why weren’t they beheading him? Why not just take his sword and…

  Ice clawed its way through the pain.

  Yuri. Something had happened to Yuri. Someone had decapitated him.

  Grief tore through him.

  He had to get to Yuri. Had to get to what was left of him before he lost him forever.

  He rolled onto his side. Moaned.

  “Fuck the shovels! Just push it in!” an anxious voice barked.

  Stanislav dragged an arm up. A bone protruded from the skin.

  He growled in agony as he curled the arm over his face and head.

  A mountain of dirt showered down upon him like a never-ending tidal wave, the weight of it growing and digging into his battered form. The light dimmed. Then darkness blanketed him, this time not triggered by unconsciousness.

  The landslide ended. Quiet fell.

  Stanislav tried to move.

  Dirt trickled down into the pocket of air his arm had trapped around his face.

  He stilled.

  The voice was right. His wounds had left him too weak to burrow his way out and kill… whoever the hell had put him here.

  A rumble of voices overhead told him what his beleaguered senses couldn’t. The two vampires remained on the ground above him.

  Fighting the pain, he called upon his gift and scrutinized their emotions. Both felt fear. But as minutes passed and Stanislav didn’t burst from the ground and attack them, relief crept in, followed by triumph.

  Well, fuck that. For all he knew, one of the men above him had slain Yuri.

  Both would pay for it.

  He seized their triumph and warped it, morphing it into distrust, suspicion, and anger.

  Their voices rose, the words they spoke running together as they argued.