“So,” Jane purred, suppressing the instinct to step back as he stopped right where she wanted him. “Just how much heat can you generate?”
“How much do you want?” He reached for her again. She managed not to flinch under his touch. He might look like Baran, but his hands didn’t feel the same as they rested on her hips. The shape and size were wrong—chunky palms, short, stubby fingers. If she hadn’t already known he wasn’t her lover, his touch would have told her.
Luckily, Druas thought women were stupid. And that was an advantage she could use to destroy him.
Stretching her lips into a feline smile and dropping her lids to hide the revulsion she knew filled her eyes, she reached for his chest. Pretending to study those illusionary Baran pectorals, she laid her left hand there.
And felt the scales of his T-suit under the illusion.
Hell. If he realized she should feel the suit, he’d know something was up when she didn’t react.
To distract him, she rose up on her toes and took his mouth in a kiss that was as deep and sensual as she could make it. His mouth had an odd, metallic taste, but she ignored it, ignored her own clawing revulsion, and pressed her body fully against his. One way or another, she had to distract him long enough.
The ring was growing warm around her finger. She hoped to God that meant it was working.
He moaned into her mouth. Something about the note of perverted excitement in the sound made Jane’s skin crawl. You’d better work, ring, she thought grimly. This bastard’s about to kill me.
Suddenly the ring spiked so unbearably hot she jerked back with a startled yelp.
“What?” Druas gasped. He looked down at himself in shock. “My suit! What did you…?”
As she stared up at him, his eyes widened with stunned realization. He looked down at her, his face contorting in fury. He lifted one hand. “You little b—”
The crash of rending wood and a roar of raw male rage drowned out the rest of the insult. Jane fell back as Baran barreled into the killer so hard the impact carried both men across the room to slam into the wall. The Sheetrock cracked around their bodies.
“I hope you know a good carpenter,” Frieka said to her, emerging from the closet as the two men fell to the floor.
His furious partner managed to roll on top and slam his fist into Duras’s face. The killer bucked in the Warlord’s grip, but Baran ignored his struggles, jackhammering blow after blow into his head.
Then Druas twisted around and got some leverage, sending Baran flying with a kick.
The Jumpkiller rolled to his feet even as the Warlord regained his own. Druas snarled at Jane, “You’re going to die for that, you little bitch!”
“No,” Baran hit him so hard his head snapped back, spraying blood. “She’s not. But you are.”
“Oh, she’ll die all right.” Baran’s image wavered around the killer and disappeared, leaving a hulking figure dressed in black scaled armor, a foot-long blade in his hand. “And so will you.”
“You may be hell on unarmed women….” The Warlord reached behind his back in a blur of motion and drew Tom’s hunting knife from its sheathe at the small of his back. “But I’m neither.”
“Oh, this should be good,” Frieka said as the two big men began to stalk each other. He moved back toward the doorway. “Come on, let’s give ’em some room to play.”
Jane stared at him, outraged. “Play, hell. Go help him!”
The wolf shook his head. “Sorry, already got my orders. And they say my first responsibility is to keep you from becoming Jane Kabob.”
Frustrated, she growled, but the wolf was right. As long as Baran knew she was relatively safe, he could concentrate on fighting for his life. And distracting him was a very bad idea. Reluctantly she joined Freika in the hall and poked her head around the doorframe to watch.
The fear and rage were gone.
Now that the battle had begun, all Baran felt was a cool, empty silence filled only with the flicker of Druas’s eyes and the pattern his knife described as it moved. The comp whispered a constant stream of sensor data into his brain, but Baran was scarcely aware of processing it. He was in the killing space, and he wouldn’t come out until one of them was dead.
The trouble was, his opponent was wearing armor and he wasn’t. That gave Druas a lot more targets to work with, while the suit would turn away all Baran’s knife attacks. He only had only two real ways of killing the bastard—either an attack to the eyes or cutting that thick bull throat under the jaw, where the protection of the T-suit ended.
But Druas was too strong and too fast to make either strike easy. Baran was going to have to wear the bastard down by hammering at him. The suit could absorb penetration impacts, but part of the force still got through. And in riatt Baran could generate a hell of a lot of force. At least for a while.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t sustain the berserker state for long before his body ran out of reserves to burn. Too, he’d begin to spike in temperature as the body heat generated by his elevated metabolism overwhelmed the cooling system of his genetically engineered body. He was already streaming sweat, almost steaming as he circled Druas.
“You’re not going to be able to save her,” the killer hissed, his red eyes burning, the pupils contracted to narrow vertical slits. “She’s mine. And I’m going to make you watch while I cut her open and fuck the cooling remains.”
Baran’s foot whipped out so fast even the mercenary’s nano-injected muscles had no time to react. The scything kick slammed into the side of Druas’s head and spun him around.
But before Baran could close in on him, the mercenary used the momentum of the kick to whip around again. His knife flashed out, slicing a bright red path diagonally across Baran’s chest.
The Warlord snarled and drove his own blade right for one of those red snake eyes. Druas barely jerked back in time to avoid taking the point halfway through his brain.
“You don’t really think you’ll win, do you?” The killer danced away, blood smearing his face from his busted lip, one eye rapidly swelling shut. Baran was in no better shape. He could feel blood soaking his shirt from the knife wound, and half the side of his head felt numb. Something grated ominously in his chest; his comp whispered of a broken rib. And the room felt cold as an icebox as his body temperature rose.
“Oh, I’ll win,” Baran growled. “I’ll win and I’ll mount your head on a pike over Liisa’s grave.”
“Even if you do, it’ll be too late to save your pet bitch,” Druas taunted. “Jane’s fated to die, Warlord. And if you don’t let me kill her, you’ll cause a paradox that will kill us all!”
Baran didn’t even dignify that lie with a response.
“Think about it, Death Lord. If I knew she was supposed to survive, would I have strolled into this trap? Would I risk causing a paradox?” Druas smiled, cold and ugly. “Eventually she dies. If I don’t kill her, you’ll have to. Isn’t it better to let me do it?”
Baran’s only reply was a blurring attack that sent the killer scrambling back.
Jane stared in horror, then looked down at Freika. “Oh, God, please tell me he’s lying!”
The wolf flicked a dismissive ear. “He’s lying.”
“But why? If he killed me when I wasn’t supposed to die…”
“Jane, Druas doesn’t give a cat’s ass about paradoxes, or he wouldn’t have decided to become Jack the Ripper in the first place. If he’d been wrong, he’d have caused a cataclysm the minute he arrived in Victorian England. So he’s fully capable of trying to trick Baran into letting him kill you, just to see what happens.”
A flurry of motion dragged her eyes back to the combatants. They moved so fast, attacking and blocking with such blurring speed the fight didn’t look quite real. It was as if somebody had decided to stage a road show of The Matrix in her bedroom.
But the blood and sweat were real. Droplets of it flew with every impact, splattering everything in the room. And the snarls and grunts of pain were
more animal than any soundtrack she’d ever heard.
For a moment they slammed together, body to body, straining against each other. Then there was a quick grunt and twist, and suddenly Baran had Druas on the ground. Each man had one bloody hand wrapped around his opponent’s knife wrist.
Slowly, inexorably, Baran forced his own blade closer to the killer’s throat, lips peeled back in a horrific snarl.
Then Druas twisted his right arm somehow. Baran’s hand, slick with blood, slipped on the scales of the T-suit. He grunted.
The Jumpkiller shoved Baran’s knife away from his throat and kicked him airborne. Jane and Freika barely ducked aside in time as he rocketed through the hallway door.
Druas barreled through the doorway after him, ramming into him as he lay on the floor. The two tumbled together, writhing as they fought, knives and fists swinging.
“Shit,” Freika growled. “Druas tagged him.”
“Baran?” Jane stared at them, feeling panic rise. “Where?”
“Through the right side.” The wolf looked up at her, pale eyes grim. “He says for me to get you out of here. He’s not going to be able to keep this up, losing that kind of blood.”
“No!” Jane gasped. Now that Freika had pointed it out, she could see the bright red soaking from the wound in Baran’s side as the two men fought. “I’m not leaving him!”
“Maybe not willingly.” The wolf reared and slammed into her, knocking her back against the wall. Before she could struggle free, he sank his teeth into the collar of her shirt and dragged her to the floor, then started hauling her toward the stairs.
“No!” Frantic as a trapped mink, she batted at him, but he scrambled around so he was at her head and kept right on dragging her. “Dammit, Freika, let go!”
“There’s nothing you can do for him, Jane!” the wolf said, his synthesized voice strained. “There’s nothing either one of us can do.”
Ninteen
Situation critical, Baran’s computer whispered.
Fuck, tell me something I don’t know, he thought back, straining to keep Druas’s knife from his throat. The Jumpkiller sneered at him, snake eyes blazing.
The damage is too severe for conventional healing. I sent nanounits to clamp the bleeding and begin tissue repair, but you’ll still lose too much blood.
How long before I crash?
Given Druas’s strength, you have forty-eight-point-three seconds of effective combat time left.
It’ll have to be enough. Blow the reserves, comp.
Inadvisable. Body temperature already too high.
Blow ’em!
“Bleeding out, Warlord?” Druas panted, struggling to drive the knife into Baran’s chest as he fought to hold it back. “Let’s see if we can speed it up!”
Then the power hit like an explosion of pain and fire, so hot and ferocious it tore a scream from Baran’s throat. The Jumpkiller’s eyes widened as Baran’s hand clamped down convulsively on his knife wrist. Bones grated, crunched. Druas howled in agony as the Warlord’s comp forced his body to pour out every ounce of power it had left, crushing his wrist despite the armor, despite the mercenary’s reinforced skeleton.
Baran thrust Druas’s broken arm away so violently the knife spun off to lodge in the wall. Maddened, he slammed his fist directly into the killer’s face, once, twice, again. Druas fell back, stunned by the savage blows that jarred his brain even through his reinforced skull.
Baran exploded off the floor, grabbed him by the shoulder, and rammed his fist up into the Jumpkiller’s gut so hard he would have slammed Druas into the ceiling if he hadn’t had a grip on him. The knife fell from Baran’s hand, but he didn’t even notice. Frenzied by the biochemical storm racing over him, all he wanted to do was beat his opponent to death with his bare hands.
Halfway down the stairs, still dragging Jane, Freika stopped and stared upward as Baran began pounding Druas like Rocky assaulting a side of beef. “Oh, shit,” the wolf said, “he’s blown the reserves. If Druas doesn’t go down now, Baran’s dead.”
Jane took advantage of his distraction to jerk away from his teeth, ignoring the ragged sound of her shirt ripping.
“Wait a minute!” The wolf lunged for her pants leg, but she dodged. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get my gun!” She raced up the stairs with Freika at her heels, slipping past Baran as he methodically pounded his struggling opponent.
As fast as it came, the last of Baran’s berserker reserves drained away. Druas’s limp body suddenly seemed to weigh more than Jane’s truck. Unable to hold him up anymore, Baran staggered back and watched the killer fall in a heap in the hallway floor. Black spots danced in front of his eyes.
Blood pressure dropping, the comp said.
No shit. “Gotta…kill you now,” Baran panted, and looked around for the blade he’d had a minute ago.
His eyes fell on something sticking out of the wall. Druas’s knife. He wondered vaguely how it got there. He tried to pull it out, but his bloody hand slipped on the hilt. Bracing his other palm on the wall, he fought to pull the blade free. It came loose so suddenly he reeled back, hit the opposite wall, and fell on his ass.
Blinking, he stared at his fallen enemy, who glared back at him with malevolent hate.
“Oh, that’s rich,” Druas said with a wheezing laugh. He coughed. A bubble of blood formed over his mouth and popped. “You used it all up. You don’t have enough left to kill me.”
“I do,” Jane said, stepping into the hall. She held her father’s gun in her hand.
Fear flickered behind Druas’s snake eyes before the killer laughed again. “I’m wearing armor, you stupid slut.”
“Maybe.” Her face cool and grim, she stalked down the hall to stand over him and point the gun at his face. “But you’re not wearing anything on your head.”
“Won’t do you…any good.” He peeled his bloody lips back from his teeth. “My skull’s reinforced.”
“I’m not aiming at your skull.”
Baran blinked, realizing the weapon was pointed at one of the killer’s snake pupils.
The gunshot boomed, astonishingly loud in the confined space.
“Damn,” Freika said, watching the body slump sideways to the floor, “I didn’t think you’d do it.”
“Neither did he.” Jane turned and dropped to her knees beside Baran. He looked up at her, his eyes unfocused. They were bright red—not from riatt this time, but from burst capillaries. She laid a hand against his cheek. His skin was so hot it seemed to burn.
“Damn, your fever must be over a hundred!” she said, alarmed.
“One-oh-three,” Freika said.
“I’ll call 911…” She stood.
A boom from the bedroom shook the house. “Don’t bother,” Baran said, his voice faint. “I think our ride’s here.”
Jane turned toward the bedroom just as Octopussy darted out at a dead run, fur on end from ears to tail. Without hesitating, the cat hurled herself into her arms. Jane caught the little animal automatically just as a figure appeared in the bedroom door.
“Well, you evidently lived up to your reputation, Warlord,” the man began as Jane gaped at him. His skin was an inky black with shimmering blue highlights that was not even remotely human. The darkness stood in stark contrast to the fiery shimmer of red curls tumbling around his ethereal face. “You’ve completely wrecked this….”
Then the man’s metallic gaze fell on her, and he looked every bit as dumbfounded as she felt. “You’re alive!” He look a half-step back. “You aren’t supposed to be alive!”
“Shit,” Jane said, clutching Octopussy so close the cat began to squirm. “I knew it.”
Baran struggled to focus on the TE agent despite the hallway’s slow revolutions around him. “What do you mean, she’s not supposed to be alive? You told me…”
“You were supposed to try to keep her alive—you weren’t supposed to succeed!” The agent gave him a wild-eyed look. “You have to kill her now!”
Baran looked at him, feeling even colder and sicker than he had a moment ago. “Fuck off.”
Accurately reading his snarl, the Enforcer looked at Freika, who stood at Jane’s side as she cradled Octopussy in one arm, the gun held awkwardly in the other hand. “Forget it,” the wolf told him. “I wouldn’t even touch her cat.”
The Enforcer squared his shoulders, taking on a grim look. “Then I’ll do it.” He took a step forward.
Jane, standing on the other side of Baran, began to back up toward the stairs. Terror grew in her lovely eyes as she read the menacing intent in the agent’s.
Hell, Baran thought. Give me something, comp. I’ve got to…
No reserves left.
The Enforcer started to step across his sprawled body. Never mind, I’ll use what I’ve got. He lifted one leaden hand, wrapped it around the agent’s ankle and jerked.
With a startled yelp the Enforcer went down as Baran forced his drained body to roll onto hands and knees and scrabble after him. He didn’t so much pounce on the agent as fall across him.
“What the hell are you doing, Arvid?” the Enforcer roared, struggling to escape as the Warlord wrapped his legs around his body and curled an arm across his throat.
“You’re not killing her!” Baran gritted, glad the bastard didn’t have sensors. Otherwise he’d know how close he was to passing out.
“Do you want to cause a paradox! She’s got to die!”
“Did they find a body?” He held on desperately as the Enforcer writhed in his grip. It was a good thing the little bastard was a standard human, or he’d be screwed.
“Yes!” The agent tried to tear loose, instead managing to roll Baran onto his back. The Warlord kept his grip, but it felt too damn good to lie there. He fought his body’s need to collapse as the Enforcer panted, “She had a .38 bullet in her brain!”
Baran felt a spurt of relief as his comp reported the man’s bouncing heartbeat. “Never lie to somebody with sensors, asshole. They didn’t find a damn thing.”
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