Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  Stepping farther into the hangar, his gaze rose to the screen and his heart dropped. “Oh God,” he whispered and broke into a run.

  25

  The Zyclonian fighter jet blasted through the hangar walls and into the dome, traveling faster than any earthbound vehicle, arriving at the Dallas football arena within a matter of minutes, crushing the crafts it settled over. Inside the stadium, the clueless fans cheered as the Dallas Cowboys advanced on the Denver Broncos.

  Katrina traded a glance with Matthew. The chains binding her wrists dug into her flesh with every yank from her captors. The emperor led the procession, killing anyone who dared intercept his march. Katrina had time to study the machines they rolled in with them and it took a few minutes, but then she understood their use and a cold fear plunged into her stomach, turning her bowels into watery fire.

  They were death machines, instruments of torture meant for her and Matthew.

  The band of Zyclonians converged into the stadium, unchallenged, even with their torture chairs within clear eyeshot. They stopped at the entrance to the field and the emperor turned to one of his subordinates. “Keep us on the air,” he commanded.

  Katrina clenched her teeth, knowing Sam was home watching the game. She prayed for André, for him to be alive, to find a way back, to get to Sam before this madman did.

  The emperor turned and stared at her and a crease appeared between his eyes.

  Katrina shut down her thoughts, closing his small window of opportunity.

  He swung his gaze back to the spectacle before him and marched their band onto the turf, disrupting the final minutes of the first half.

  Katrina had a moment to smile, this arrogant bastard’s entrance diluted by the crowd’s screams as Dallas’s quarterback launched a Hail Mary toward the end zone. Her smile vanished when the ball burst into flames in mid-air, stunning the crowd into silence.

  “What the hell?” the announcer’s voice filled the stadium.

  26

  Sam stared at the television, his mouth open in shock at the sight of his grandfather and mother dragged onto the football field in chains. Panic throbbed through his bones and he scanned the room, his gaze landing on the key rack, stopping on the single set for the craft parked in the driveway.

  After a moment of hesitation, he glanced toward the kitchen and his grandmother lost in the process of preparing dinner, trying to forget what lay ahead for her family. It didn’t take a genius to understand why she was so engrossed, and he took advantage of the situation.

  Sam flipped the television off, peeled the keys from the peg and headed out of the house.

  Guilt made him pause at the door. “Grandma, I’m going out for a little while,” he yelled. “The game’s a blowout. I’ll be back before dinner.” He closed the front door and bolted across the lawn, jumping into the hovercraft before she could intercede.

  Without another glance, he sped away, praying the cops wouldn’t pull him over and the usual Sunday drivers would stay the hell out of his way.

  “Come on, you piece of shit,” he muttered, pushing the craft to its limit, driving much more aggressively than he ever would with his parents in the craft. But the thing was not fast enough and he gave it an added mental push, catapulting into hyper-drive, the sonic boom shaking the craft and everything in its wake.

  27

  Katrina struggled against the soldiers holding her in place, but she was no match for four men, each with strength equal to André’s. One grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back.

  “I will enjoy seeing you torn apart,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Fuck you!” she growled and the emperor sent a glare over his shoulder. With it came an invisible gag, silencing her.

  The emperor took the microphone from the official. “Ladies and gentlemen. I am Viktor, the Emperor of Zyclon, ruler of the known universe, including this secluded galaxy.” He gave a nod to the soldiers with the chairs and they dragged the machines to the fifty-yard line and parked them side by side.

  With another nod, the soldiers surrounding Katrina each grabbed a limb, carrying her to the first of the two machines. She twisted in their grasp but couldn’t break free. As the gag was lifted, her screams and curses echoed in the stadium. She freed one of her hands and scratched a soldier’s cheek, drawing blood. Her moment of satisfaction ended with a hard smack that left her dazed enough for the men to strap her to the table. She glanced at Matthew and his cool demeanor as his wrists and ankles were bound, wondering how in God’s name he could remain so calm. He met her gaze and the muscles in his jaw jumped, giving away his fury.

  “I am looking for a traitor from my planet,” the emperor said, looking into the cameras, touching the scar on his face. “His name is André, and I will kill anyone who gives him safe harbor.” He turned toward Matthew and Katrina.

  Katrina let out a wordless roar, pulling against her bindings, her anger too much for her to contain. “You exiled a six-year-old, you bastard! He wasn’t a traitor. He was a child!”

  Matthew didn’t fight; instead he glared at the emperor. “My son is not a traitor.” He projected his voice above Katrina’s wild shrieks, loud enough for the microphone to pick up his words, and the emperor spun on his heels, matching Matthew’s glare.

  The wound in Matthew’s shoulder split open and he gritted his teeth but did not cry out. “You can go to hell.”

  “You both granted him safe harbor and this world will see what happens to those who open their doors to this traitor,” the emperor said, crossing toward Katrina. “This whore not only opened her door, she opened her legs, so I’m offering a treat to anyone who wants a piece of this filthy bitch.” With a nod, the table split, stretching her legs wide and she cried out in pain. He smiled, waving toward her, opening the invitation to the entire coliseum.

  “You bastard,” Katrina screamed and her gaze darted to the crowd. At first no one moved, but then she saw a group of Hells Angels glance at one another. The feral smiles that surfaced slammed the fight right out of her, replacing it with the memories of the brutality visited on her years ago, and with it came the debilitating fear.

  Matthew cursed under his breath and returned his gaze to the emperor. “You are a sick bastard.”

  The emperor turned back to Matthew with a smile and a shrug.

  The first man to approach Katrina staggered and fell on his ass. “Stay away from my daughter,” Matthew growled at the man without moving his eyes from the emperor.

  Katrina’s gaze jumped from the man to Matthew in time to see his cheek split. He winced but that was the extent of the visible emotion, but she knew. She felt his fury growing steadily inside him and the memories of the attack on Linda fueled it.

  The perverted fantasies of the approaching men overrode everything else and Katrina snapped her gaze toward the group of men. Her skin crawled at their thoughts and she fought against the bonds, frustrated at her inability to break both the physical restraints as well as the mental commands holding her in place. A sob escaped and she hated herself for sounding so pathetic.

  “André is going to tear you apart and I hope he does it slowly,” Matthew said and Katrina actually felt his anger-fueled power sweep past her, tingling her nerves.

  The man’s scrotum exploded and he screamed, grabbing his crotch and backing away from Katrina, a red stain spreading over the lap of his pants at an alarming rate. One look at the results, and the rest of the men backed away.

  The emperor’s face split open in the same spot André tore so many years ago and Katrina turned toward Matthew and his smile of satisfaction at the emperor’s gasp of pain.

  The emperor’s hand shot to his face. When he pulled his bloody palm away from his cheek, Katrina’s soul filled with terror.

  Searing pain split his abdomen and Matthew screamed. It felt like a wild cougar raked his claws through his torso and blood spurted out of the gash. Matthew closed his eyes for a moment, slowing down his heart rate like André taught him. The pai
n was unbearable, but he had to keep himself alive and conscious.

  As long as he was alive, the emperor wouldn’t hurt Katrina.

  The emperor laughed and Matthew opened his eyes.

  “You really think that as long as you’re alive, I won’t hurt her?” He approached Katrina and ran his finger down the length of her arm, slicing the skin like a scalpel.

  Katrina whimpered, but did not cry out; instead, she kept eye contact with him and the hopelessness reflected in her irises seared his soul.

  I’m sorry. I failed you, he thought.

  Katrina shook her head and her voice filled his mind. No, you didn’t, Dad.

  Matthew glanced back at the emperor. “I wonder. What will André tear off first?” He sent a mental punch to the most tender of manly regions.

  The emperor doubled over.

  Matthew’s legs split open, tearing both femoral arteries. Dizziness overtook him and the pain receded with each ounce of blood pouring onto the field. André, if you can hear me, hurry.

  I’m going as fast as I can. Just hang on.

  André’s response made Matthew smile and the knowledge that he lived allowed Matthew to harness what was left of his strength. Love you, kiddo. He pushed the thought to André and with the last vestige of his strength, he focused on the emperor, willing whatever damage he was capable of inflicting.

  The emperor’s forearm split to the bone, bringing forth a roar of pain and frustration.

  Matthew’s throat burst open but he was beyond pain. He forced a smile of satisfaction before the darkness dragged him away.

  28

  “NO!” Sam’s voice echoed with heart pounding panic. The sight of the arterial spray arcing from his grandfather’s throat unlocked his paralysis and he stepped into the shadows as the emperor’s gaze passed over where he stood.

  Hide, baby, please hide. His mother’s voice assaulted his mind.

  He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, blinking back the sudden burn of tears. His grandfather’s passing hit him harder than a sucker punch, leaving a hollowness in his stomach. The injustice and brutality of his murder bloomed, bringing with it an anger that straightened his back and set his jaw tight.

  If he had been a few seconds faster, his grandfather wouldn’t have died, and he was damned if he was going to let this monster kill his mother too.

  “No, Mom, I won’t hide,” he whispered and stepped into view.

  The emperor’s reaction brought a smile to Sam’s face.

  Fear.

  He saw fear in the bastard’s eyes. His smile faltered when the emperor stepped behind his mother, using her as a shield.

  You coward.

  His anger morphed into hatred. Hatred so strong that it sprung a life of its own, traveling through his bloodstream like a ravaged monster, and he took a step in the direction of the field, reveling in the power flashing in his veins.

  “Well, well, well,” the emperor said, staring at Sam. “You were hiding something after all.”

  “Don’t hurt my baby,” she whispered, the microphone picking up the plea and broadcasting it through the stadium.

  “I’m going to take great pleasure pulling him apart, piece by piece,” he said and stood, his words producing a fear in his mother’s face, one Sam couldn’t abide seeing.

  With each step, he felt the power coiling into a tight ball, like a cobra ready to strike. He didn’t need to scan the crowd to pinpoint where the rest of the Zyclonian army stood; he felt them, sensed their stalking, murdering eyes watching him descend the stairs in the silent arena.

  Protect yourself, the panicked voice of his mother whispered in his mind. Their eyes met and hers went wide. Pain filled his mind as her scream carried through the stadium.

  André ran through the entrance, his heart throbbing in his chest and his lungs screaming from exertion. Katrina’s scream filled his head and echoed throughout the stadium, cutting off abruptly.

  “NO!” Sam’s scream overrode Katrina’s, and André emerged onto the field in time to see Sam crossing at full tilt, an angry mask of murder transforming his young face. Instead of attacking the emperor, André ran straight at his son, tackling him before the emperor could gather another targeted strike.

  Sam’s fury radiated off him as much as his building power and André shuddered at the consequences if Sam let that ball loose. He held his flailing son tightly to his chest as they rolled and whispered in his ear, “I need you to control your power, Sam.”

  “They killed Mom,” Sam said when they stopped rolling.

  “I know,” André said. He stood, facing the emperor with his arms still wrapped around Sam. He pushed Sam behind him and out of the emperor’s strike line. Fury, raw and wild, snaked through him, almost getting away from him as his peripheral vision picked up the remains of his wife and father.

  A Zyclonian soldier stepped forward.

  “Watch out,” Sam whispered and André felt a stinger of power escape from his son.

  The soldier screamed.

  “Don’t torture him, Sam,” André said, his eyes never leaving the emperor’s. “Just kill him.”

  Sam obeyed his father and the soldier’s chest exploded.

  “You killed my wife,” André said, not allowing the lion’s share of emotions tied to that statement to surface. Fury was the only allowance.

  Another Zyclonian soldier stepped onto the field.

  André raised his hand and the soldier evaporated to dust, the level of controlled power erupting a gasp from Sam.

  “How very humane of you,” the emperor said stepping into the open space between the two halves of Katrina, forcing André to see how his wife died.

  André looked at the halved remains of his wife and shock racked his brain. The bastard had split her right down the middle from head to crotch. A clean slice like he had run her through a particularly sharp industrial table saw. On the heels of shock came the full force of loss, punching him in the gut. He shoved aside the urge to crumple to the ground and let the emperor kill him.

  The only reason he remained standing was the boy behind him. “You bastard,” he whispered, blinking back the tears. His shoulder split open.

  The emperor smiled. “Emotion still rules you, just like your parents.”

  “Perhaps, but this time, you are on my turf. This is my country, my planet,” he growled taking another step forward. “This is the United States of America and it is not for the taking.” He stood a fraction taller, the words like his own personal talisman projecting his powerful voice through the silent stadium.

  Cheers erupted.

  “Take the soldiers out, Sam,” André said over his shoulder. “Just like I did.”

  Sam wasn’t as humane or as clean as André and the soldiers exploded.

  André tilted his head and glared at the emperor. “It’s just you and me now.”

  “And your son,” the emperor said.

  Sam cried out and André twirled catching him before he hit the ground. Sam whimpered, grasping his leg, holding the wound the emperor created. He set Sam on the ground meeting his gaze.

  André stood, turning back toward the emperor with his thoughts on lockdown. He needed to put distance between the emperor and his son and the only way to do that was offering himself as bait.

  “I bet you wouldn’t be able to take me with just your bare hands,” he growled, playing on the emperor’s vanity and giving Sam time to glean the plan from his mind. He had a way of stopping the emperor, but he needed his son’s superior control because his was just about tapped.

  “The thought of squeezing that scrawny throat of yours until you die is tempting.”

  “You don’t have the guts,” André spat, positioning himself so he was blocking the emperor’s direct line of sight to Sam. He caught a glimpse of himself in the side projection, his bright blue irises outlined with laser red, reminding everyone in the viewing audience that he wasn’t human.

  The emperor laughed and took a step toward André.
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  André circled as the emperor approached, putting his wounded shoulder behind the line of his body, trying to protect Sam as long as he could. He left his hands loose and elbows slightly bent so he could strike out with his fists if the emperor took the bait. In his mind, he replayed the scene fifteen years before, the way his fists felt punching Captain Trevor and feeling his nose break, broadcasting the little show so the emperor picked it up instead of the underlying current between André and Sam.

  When he stepped to the side, leaving Sam unprotected, his heart leapt into his throat and he taunted the emperor. “Come on; let’s see what you’ve got.” The words rumbled from his chest.

  The punch came from nowhere and tossed André onto his ass. He scrambled to his feet. “I figured you wouldn’t play fair.” André smiled; his eyes moved past the emperor and met his son’s. “Now, Sam.”

  The emperor fell to his knees under the power Sam unleashed and André felt it sizzling in the air, begging to do more than just hold the emperor in place, containing the emperor’s power to a six-inch radius around him.

  “Sam, just hold him there,” André said, still meeting his son’s gaze. I promise the bastard will pay, but not at our hands. A part of André smiled at the same words his father said to him years ago and then he focused back on the emperor.

  He rubbed his chin. “Now, what was the reason you exiled me at six?” he inquired, tapping his finger on his lips. “Oh, now I remember.” He looked at his son. “It was the prophecy. Supposedly a boy with blue eyes would either rule or destroy Zyclon,” he said and glanced back at the emperor.