by Angel Payne
The shadow looming over me. His sweat dripping on the back of my neck. His bellow, booming through me. “Aha! Here they are!”
More banshees. More spears of pain, tearing through my body, especially my left shoulder and arm. Pushing up on it caused my vision to double. I forced my thoughts to clear long enough for a fast prayer upward. Training and instincts were only going to take me so far.
But damn, I hoped that distance was much farther than this.
The desperation stampeded in. Annihilated everything except an instinct so old, it was trite. Kill or be killed. Jag had often talked to me about what to expect if I ever fought anyone for my very life, but I’d listened to his accounts like a kid hearing fairy tales. Adrenalin drowning pain? Vision clouded with rage? Every other sound in the room dropping away? Sure. And giants climbed beanstalks while wolves passed as grannies.
I owed Jag a huge apology.
As soon as I killed this asshole.
Jayd screamed again, making it impossible to think—or maybe that was due to the soldier’s hand, wrenching into my hair. He hooked his other arm around my waist, using that to hurl me to the couch. I braced for the impact of the terror—for the memories to once more flood back, turning me back into that terrified girl, sucking in lungs full of dead flowers, fresh sulphur, and stark fear—but it never came. I was too pissed. Entirely too ready to look this dude in the eye and let him see exactly what I thought about him and his “friends” attacking my friends—
And my home.
I sucked back a breath through my teeth. Expelled it in a hiss. Jerked up my head, steeling for the blow certain to come—but not until I’d gotten a good, hard glare at this guy. Two seconds. That was all I’d get as material to analyze about him. His stance, his focus, his strength—most importantly, his weakness. There wasn’t a fighter I’d met, beyond Samsyn, who didn’t have a weakness.
Nothing like expecting something to go one way to ensure it didn’t.
I didn’t get two seconds to look at him. I got three. Then five. Then seven and even nine, as the eyes behind the ski mask turned whiter and whiter, gawking like I’d turned into a ghost. Had I? Was there a crucial step I’d missed here…that tidbit called dying?
“Untoten,” he snarled. “Untoten!”
I had no idea what he was saying nor did I care. The bonsun who’d grabbed me was now the soldier losing his shit in front of me, and I didn’t need fate to toss the gift twice. Weakness discovered. Time to move. Now.
Though my vision still showed two of him, I lurched at the craptoid. The less fuzzy one had to be him, right? One knee to his groin and I’d buy the seconds Jayd and I needed to run for deeper cover—
I was halted short. Robbed of strength and even air by a Hulk punch between my ribs. I doubled over and dropped to my knees, gagging on waves of nausea. Somehow, I managed to battle the pain—and Jayd’s next scream—to confront the giant who’d stomped to his friend’s rescue.
Shit. Looked like his ski mask had been a damn good idea. Even through the thing, I could tell the bastard had broken his nose too many times. Glimpses of his skin showed pits worse than the Asuman caves. He leered at me, exposing teeth—all four of them—apparently held together by old particles of food. That had to explain his breath. As the monster used my hair to drag me back up, I prayed for relief from the eau de dead cat spewing with his breaths. This couldn’t be right. Wasn’t I supposed to be thinking of clouds and white light and the glorious times of my life, instead of wishing I could take a bath in mouthwash?
“Brooke! Oh, Creator! Brooke!” Jayd was really sober now. As more rifle fire thudded the air, I forced my hand up and down, motioning her to stay on the floor. Syn would never forgive me if she died. I’d never forgive me if she died.
Down, Jayd. Stay down!
I thought I heard myself yell it. Right before I set the stellar example—by doing it.
Okay, not me. Really not me. My knees, joining the pain parade with dual screams, helped drive the point. Hulkie had dropped me—right before falling to the deck himself. He hit the floor with a massive whomp. His unblinking eyes, bloody mouth, and bullet-punched forehead were morbid twins in my vision.
My breath returned, only it was agony too. My lips spewed wild whimpers. Somehow, I found the shut-off switch. Killing the cries didn’t help the horror. I scrambled from Mr. Halitosis as far as I dared, while still searching for Jayd. Where the hell was she? Hadn’t she just been here a second ago? Fuck. Fuck. Had they gotten her? And who the hell had shot the giant? Had that bullet been meant for me?
I plopped onto my butt, back against the couch, fighting for every breath—
When massive arms banded me again.
I let the banshees out. Let the rubber bands fly off the tight ball. Lost my mind—and was grateful for it. If this was the end, I was sure as hell going down with a scream in my throat, a pair of crushed balls beneath my knees. One of my hands clocked the asshole’s jaw. My knee jabbed his upper thigh. Dammit. Not close enough. I’d just try again. I’d fight until I couldn’t. Scream until I was hoarse. Struggle until they tied me up and—
“Brooke!” Jayd again. Shrill and sober as ever. Thank God. “Brooke!”
“Save…yourself.” Where the hell had that strength come from? And did it matter? “Get out of here, Jayd! Get out while you can!” Shit. This jerk was stronger than the other hulk. And smarter. He knew every one of my evasion tactics, as if taught by Jagger himself. Maybe he had been.
Somebody had to lodge a complaint with the universe. Death was not the package I’d been promised. I wanted my clouds and angels.
“Astremé. Dammit, please be still.”
Ohhh. So that was the shit up fate’s sleeve.
No angels.
Only one.
And for him, I’d gladly give up the damn clouds.
My sharp sobs turned into shaky laughs. I clutched at him, needing him close. My senses collided, struggling to process how different he suddenly was. His hair was nearly gray with caked soot. The stuff was even layered on his thick lashes. Soot streaked the perfect angles of his face. He even smelled different. It went beyond the battle residue. Something deeper, more acrid. And why did he still look so eyeballs-deep in despair? Surely the insanity—or whatever the hell it’d been—was over.
“Hey…big guy?”
He smiled. Sort of. “Yes, my little warrior?”
Wow. Now that was nice. I wanted to tell him so, but turning thoughts into words felt harder by the second, and I still had important questions to ask. “Is—is everyone safe? Cam? Evrest?”
He stared like I’d asked him how to get to the nearest wormhole but answered softly, “Yes. Everyone is fine. Please be still, Brooke.”
“Why? Are we still under attack? Wh-what happened?” I lifted my head. Not slick. Pain and dizziness pushed it back down, into the pillow of his elbow.
“Dammit!” So much for gentle giant Syn. His roar tore through him then me, terrifying in its intensity.
Shit. Because he was terrified?
“Bo! Where the fuck are the medics?”
He was answered by goobly-gook squawking. I heard the same chatter near my neck; my comm line had likely been knocked loose. I couldn’t make out any words. Only knew that Bo sounded much more collected than Syn.
“Not fast enough,” Syn barked. “Not fucking fast enough!”
“Syn—”
“Shut up, Jayd.”
“Hey.” The smoky sough was the best I could do—but watching it effect Samsyn like a dagger to the gut made my gut hurt. And other places. All my ribs felt crushed at once, squeezing my heart, threatening my air. “It’ll be okay, big guy.”
He looked ready to tell me to shut up too.
“Samsyn.” I blinked hard. There were suddenly two of him now—on a regular day, not a damn bad thing—except that I lifted a hand to brush comforting fingers to his jaw, and got a knife of agony down my arm instead. I writhed, letting the limb fall. Syn caught it, his gri
p gentle but his voice furious.
“Dammit, woman! Stop moving or I’ll tie you down!”
My giggle felt like bubbles in my ears. “Ooooo; really?”
“Brooke—”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Hmmm. I’d probably like that too.” My sultry smile slipped as a shiver took over. “But can we do it someplace warmer? I’m really cold all of a sudden.”
Darkness began to join the chill. I flailed against it, but the current grew too strong. So strong. The black waves pulled me like a rip tide, dragging at me harder…harder…
A wave of it crashed in, too huge and mighty to fight anymore. But as blissful and quiet as the black sea was, I struggled to get back to shore—where Samsyn still bellowed like a wild, wounded animal.
“Bo! Get them here now. By the Creator, if you bonsuns let her die, I shall exact your fucking flesh as payment!”
Chapter Fifteen
‡
LIGHTS INTRUDED AGAIN, all too fast. So bright. So blaring. I resisted them, along with the hands that prodded and poked and stabbed, tearing me from the sea of silence with ropes of pure pain. All of it was connected to my left upper arm. I screamed, trying to pull away, but they were damned intent on making it feel sawed-off before they actually hacked it. That had to be their plan. Nothing else could feel this horrendous.
“Dammit! Fucking…butchers.” I dug in my heels, bucking against their captivity. In seconds, the pain in my arm shot through my body. A hundred hands swept in, subduing me again. I panted hard. Fought waves of weariness and helplessness. Felt myself losing.
Only one thought eclipsed the deluge. It spilled from my lips in a pleading whimper. “Samsyn.” He’d been here, hadn’t he? Bellowing and snarling and threatening at Bo and half the island. His voice, breaking my heart. His warmth, keeping me sane.
“Samsyn!”
I was so cold. So desperate to be done with this.
“Here.”
Yes.
He was here. Commanding away the cold, infusing me with his strength…bringing the light I wanted to fight for. I clung to our connection, twisting it into my tendons and bones, using it to get in one breath without agony. Another.
“Don’t go.” I all but sobbed it, though was ashamed. Could I be any more selfish, begging him to stay when some very bad guys had just done some very bad shit? His comm line probably sounded like an awful action movie. I sure as hell expected reality to jump back in soon, turning this back into a figment of everyone’s imagination. “But if you have to, I understand.”
“They shall not move me from this spot, astremé.”
“You’re being sweet. And I appreciate it, but really, if you have to—”
“Brooke.”
“What?”
“Do you truly think I was going for ‘sweet’?”
“Good point.” There was a rustling near him, as if someone else had stepped over. He was still there, though. The rough heat of his knuckles brushed the crest of my cheek. Something pinched my arm. I winced, making him turn the soothing touch into something more directive. He hummed a soft sound. My senses glided on its velvet, soon swirled with a new sensation. Warmth. Numbness. Bliss. “Wow,” I heard myself say. “Wha the hell is thaaaa?”
Syn sifted gentle fingers through my hair. “There. You can call the painkillers ‘sweet’.”
“‘Kay.” I was fuzzy…floating. “This is sweet, Syn. You ah not.” My giggle echoed in my head. I felt good enough to open my eyes. “C’mooooon, big guy. Tha was funny.”
He lifted a smile, though not enough to earn me a glimpse of teeth. “Yes, astremé. That was funny.”
“No. Huh-uh. Wasn’t.” I pouted. “Didn’t earn me any tee.”
“Tea?”
“No. Teeth.” Ow. Okay, this was officially a No Thinking zone—though I couldn’t avoid the contemplation of how cute he was, cocking that ornery frown. Holy shit, the man was so jumpable.
“Teeth? Brooke—what—”
“You nevah show me your teeth, Syn. You evah stopped to think abow tha? Why no teeth?” I lifted my hand to cover his own. Just my right one, since the butcher fuckers still had my left trapped and pinned. They hadn’t gotten out the saw yet, though. The limb still throbbed like a rhino on the hunt, though now it was a baby rhino instead of a bull. “You have such prettah teeth, big guy.” I reached along his arm, toward his face. His eyes glittered, intense as quicksilver. His jaw clenched, though I figured the soft chuckles around the room had more to do with that than my compliment. Nevertheless, I really wasn’t getting any teeth now.
He curled his other hand around mine. Gently lowered it back down but didn’t let it go. “You need to be still now, Brooke.” His long fingers curled in deeper, pushing into my palm in emphasis. “Keep looking at me—and be very still.”
“Why?”
He pushed harder with the other hand, rubbing my hairline with his thumb. “They cannot run the risk of putting you out; not with a concussion still likely.” A deep breath widened his nostrils. “But it has to come out, favori.”
“Come out? Wha does?”
“The bullet.”
“The wha?”
I didn’t know who to hate more: whoever started digging into my shoulder like Hannibal Lecter with a grudge, or the man helping to hold me down, invading my hell with his bronze angel’s face.
Couldn’t be knocked out, huh? That had to be because he knew the pain would do it, instead. And he would’ve been right.
*
MY EYELIDS FELT coated in glass, and my throat the sand dune that’d created the shards. Parched. Hurts. The rest of my body didn’t fare much better, though with every movement, my muscles confirmed the lingering fog of the painkillers.
Painkillers.
Was that it? If so…why was I on painkillers?
What the hell was going on?
Then the memories blared. Brief flashes at first, followed by longer stretches.
The blast. The smoke. Those men…stomping, prowling…
Searching.
For what?
Not for what. For whom.
The sweaty soldier, yelling like the kid who’d found the golden egg. Then his friend, carrying last week’s dinner between his teeth, using me for punching practice. Smelly jerk-wad.
Only then…he wasn’t anymore.
Somehow, the jerk-wad had morphed into Samsyn.
Samsyn…who’d held me tight and whispered I’d be okay, only to roar at the damn world like a dragon with an injured princess in his arms…
Okay, now you’re just getting stupid.
It was more outrageous than thinking he’d stuck around while the medics subjected me to that torture. That he’d whispered so tenderly to me, just before the violence of their invasion…
Not memories. These had to be dreams…just like the one I was having right now. A fantasy that seemed so real, with his arms around me, his breath in my ear, his body close and big and hard. And warm. Wherever we’d landed in the dream, it was ass-freezing cold, and I was dressed in nothing but my camisole. I hunched against the chill, burrowing against the heated bricks of Syn’s chest, curling in my arms to take advantage of our proximity—
Okay; attempted to.
Pain. Lots of it. Down my left tricep and wrist. Hell. The butchers had let me keep the damn thing, and now I only wanted it gone.
As soon as my moan sliced the air, Syn growled in reprimand. “Calmay olmak, astremé. Be still. You are not healed.”
“Healed.” I murmured it while letting him guide my head back down to his chest. Slowly, the scrambled eggs in my brain folded events into a cohesive omelet—though pieces were still missing. “From what?” I drowsily asked. Syn had started combing fingers through my hair and it felt so…damn…good.
“You do not remember?” His voice was as soft as his touch, as he urged a straw to my mouth. While I sucked down blissfully cold water, he brushed the hair off my face.
“Not everything,” I finally re
plied. A joyous moan almost followed, as his fingers combed through my hair. Damn, the man had talented hands. “There was a huge blast. Lots of people…men…ninjas…everywhere. At first I thought it was a Pura stunt, but those douche bags were definitely there for something. Or someone.”
“Douche bags.” He echoed my slang as he often did, his tone a curious question.
“Let it slide, big guy.”
Fortunately, he did. “What happened next?”
Shock. Sudden, stabbing. It turned physical, gashing through my brain, but I jerked the damn thing up anyway. “Flayre. Oh my God Syn, it was Flayre. That was how they got in after the perimeter check. He betrayed us!”
He swallowed hard. “That much we do know.”
“He confessed?”
“You could say that.”
“Shit.” Though his grim tone already clued me in, I stared into his tired eyes with the silent insistence for the spill.
“We chased him out of the mansion and up to the cliffs over the shallows. He…jumped before we could get to him.”
“Fuck.” I let my head drop again. “Was Blayze there?”
“No.”
“Thank God.” I absently stroked the seam between his pecs. “How’s he doing?”
“Not well.”
“No doubt.”
We were silent, each lost in thought. My spirit ached for Blayze. He loved serving Arcadia, and was engaged to a woman just as devoted to the kingdom. Flayre’s integrity flush would stain everyone in the family for a while, especially him. There wouldn’t be any security details or trusted group missions for him in the near future.
At last, Syn broke the silence with another quiet query. “Can you remember anything else, astremé?”
Soft snort. Deep frown. “I don’t think so. That’s where things get fuzzy.”
“Ah. Of course.”
“Of course?” I chuffed. “Like you know?”
He hummed out a grunt. “The rest of the room felt miles away? You noticed strange little things, like dust on a table or a mole on your enemy’s arm—”
“Or their really bad breath?”
“That would fit.” His lips pressed the top of my head, feeling like apology and commiseration in one. “And then, the realization that the white clouds and angels are never going to appear…”