Ganriel

by D. B. Reynolds

  “I’d rather switch positions and get Hana away from that window. It seems like an unnecessary risk, but I assume you’re doing it to maximize distance from the rest of us, so I’ll deal with it.”

  “Great. Hana, you ready?”

  She stood and shrugged off her jacket, her hands flexing at her sides. She was in great shape, Nick noted. Gabriel had called her a warrior, and he saw it in the way she held herself, the lithe muscles in her arms and legs, the utter focus in her gaze when she looked at him. “I’m ready,” she said calmly.

  “Then let’s do this.”

  GABRIEL STOOD IN the kitchen, or as close to it as he had to be to keep Nico from scowling at him. Cyn was closer to Hana, standing between the couch and the window, seeming relaxed, but he could tell she was listening to what was happening outside, not watching the magic lesson. Everything seemed to be going well with that, but what did he know? Hana was relaxed, concentrating on what Nico was telling her, the same way she’d focused single-mindedly on their enemies back in Nagano. He felt a wave of pride. She was amazing. Here she was, thrust into the middle of a danger no one had anticipated, hunted by one of the most powerful sorcerers on earth, and being tutored by another, while forced to learn complicated magical techniques that could mean the difference between life and death. . . . And still, she remained calm and resolute.

  He grinned when she successfully cast some spell or other and glanced over at him, her dimples twinkling as her beautiful face lit with happiness.

  “That’s great, Hana,” Nico said, approving and clapping his hands once. “Let’s try shielding now.”

  Hana swung her attention back to Nico, but Gabriel could see the way her shoulders tensed. She still didn’t quite trust his friend and former leader when it came to shielding, worried that he’d go ahead with his plan to cast a spell that would give him control over her magic. Gabriel had tried to reassure her. Nico’s playful exterior sometimes gave the wrong impression. Underneath, he was as much a warrior as any of them, and his word mattered to him. If he said he wouldn’t perform that spell, then he wouldn’t. In his own way, he was as honorable as Raphael.

  “Okay, babe,” Nico said. “Now don’t freak out, but I’m going to get inside your magic briefly . . . just briefly,” he reiterated when she started to protest. “The best way to teach you to shield is from the inside, so you can see what I’m doing. You’ll have complete control the entire time. You can shove me out any time you want. But this will go easier if you relax and let me work. Do you understand?”

  Hana regarded him steadily, then glanced over her shoulder at Gabriel, who gave her a small nod of confidence in Nico’s word. She turned back to him and said, “I’ll do it. But if you fuck me over, you’ll regret it.”

  Nico grinned. “I love fierce women. If you weren’t—”

  “But she is,” Gabriel growled, making Hana turn toward him with a laugh.

  “I am,” she agreed, giving him a smile. She looked back at Nico. “I’m ready.”

  “All right, just relax and observe.” Nico closed his eyes and did . . . nothing. Which was usually what it looked like when he worked magic. There was no waving of his hands or ripples of colorful magic to dazzle the eye. Most of the time. On the battlefield, his magic had always been so thick in the air that even someone with a minor talent could choke on it. Nico’s war had always been waged with the op­posing sorcerer, above the men fighting on the ground. His hands had been plenty active then, raising defensive shields to knock down the destructive balls of energy conjured by their enemy, and casting his own in return. But tonight, in this house by the sea, with the waves a steady susurration of sound outside, Nico’s magic was quiet and contained.

  That didn’t stop Gabriel from watching his every move. Kato and Damian both had tried unsuccessfully to engage him in conversation. Their women had gone upstairs to watch a movie, bored by the nearly silent lesson going on. Kato had been confined to the kitchen with Gabriel, his sword sheathed to prevent it from “fucking with what I’m trying to do here,” as Nico had put it. Damian was a different story. He was magic, since Nico had conjured him into his reality back when they were both small boys. Which apparently made him part of Nico’s magic, so there was no interference from his presence. But he’d re­mained in the kitchen with his brother warriors, anyway. Better than sitting on the couch, watching nothing happen, he’d told them.

  Nick had stopped whatever he was doing, to explain something to Hana. He was speaking her to her in a low voice, his hands gesturing as if describing something, while Hana listened intently. She gave a slow nod, then looked up and met Nico’s gaze. “Got it,” she said. Nico stepped back, ready to resume the lesson, then froze.

  All at once, the house was filled with thundering power, the walls and windows rattling from the force of it. It was Nico’s power, repel­ling an attack from outside, Gabriel realized, barely a moment before the deadly chitter of sub-machine guns sounded from the beach below the house.

  Gabriel raced for Hana, but Cyn was closer, pulling her away from the windows and back to an interior wall. Gabriel had already scoped out the house and knew there was a bathroom behind that wall, with a windowless room behind that. The wall itself was next to a gas fire­place, which Cyn had already turned off with a flick of a switch. Gabriel strode over to join them, grabbing Hana and shoving her behind him, as gunfire erupted from the front of the house as well.

  “Gabriel, I can fight,” Hana objected, stepping around him with a 9mm handgun held low and ready.

  He glanced down at the weapon in surprise. “Where—”

  “I gave it to her, you idiot,” Cyn said impatiently. “She’s an experi­enced fighter, not a fragile flower.”

  “Right.” He knew that, but she was his, and she was human. He didn’t want her anywhere near flying bullets.

  Across the room, Nico broke out of a motionless stance and stared at them, his face a mask of concentration as he said, “I can’t just stand here. He’ll destroy the house itself to get to her. I’ll draw him away, while you deal with the rest of his fighters.” And then he disappeared, his power rippling across the room, buffeting them like a strong wind.

  Hana gasped, and Cyn swore. “He does that,” Gabriel muttered. “It’s a weird way of traveling fast from one place to another.”

  “It’s how Sotiris escaped last time,” Damian added, shooting a glance over his shoulder. He was standing by the stairs, arguing with Casey. She wanted to join the fight, while he wanted her upstairs and safe. “Cassandra,” he snapped finally. “We have plenty of guns outside. You and Grace are too vulnerable, and you don’t have any protection. You’ll be a distraction. You can kill people from the fucking upstairs window.”

  Gabriel knew Damian was right. But for a moment, it looked as if Casey would rebel. “We’re going to talk about this later, asshole,” she snarled, then grabbed Grace and ran upstairs, heading to the right, where Gabriel knew there was a window overlooking the courtyard.

  Damian shot a glance their way, his gaze skimming over Gabriel and the two women with a questioning look.

  “We’re good,” Gabriel said. “And the front’s lightly manned. They need you.”

  His warrior brother nodded. “Stay alive, brother,” he said, repeating the order they’d always given each other before battle.

  Gabriel echoed him. “Stay alive.” Then he turned all his attention to the sounds of battle on the beach. Kato and Damian would handle the front. The danger was from the beachside. He’d seen enough of Raphael’s people, in sparring sessions and on the gun range, to have faith in their abilities and courage. Plus, they were vampires—hard to kill. But that damn big window . . .

  He hadn’t finished the thought before a huge explosion rocked the beach, shattering glass behind the drapes.

  “Fuck me.” Gabriel scanned the house, searching for someplace to take
a stand, someplace that didn’t have big, fucking windows that were now nothing but bits of glass.

  “I know,” Cyn said tightly, echoing his thoughts. “But this is the best position in the house. If it comes down to it, we shove Hana in the bathroom—sorry, Hana—and take a stand in that damn hallway.”

  Gabriel felt a surge of relief. He hadn’t been sure about Cyn, but the confident ease with which she handled her weapon, her reaction time, and the way she’d immediately identified this position as the most defensible, all in a matter of seconds, told him she knew what she was doing.

  “Raphael?” Gabriel asked, without taking his gaze away from the heavy drapes, looking for any sign of movement.

  “Already aware and on the way,” Cyn said, then cocked her head in a listening position as Gabriel did the same.

  “The fighting’s stopped,” Hana whispered.

  She was right, but only on the ocean side. It was still going on fiercely out front, including the clash of metal and plenty of screams, which told him Kato had unleashed his blade. But what the fuck did the silence on the water side mean? And when was Nico coming back?

  “Someone’s on the deck,” Cyn said quietly. “Take Hana to the bath. I’ll cover from here.”

  “Gabriel,” Hana protested briefly as he hustled her down the short hall and into the bathroom doorway. She shook her head in frustration, then reached up to grip his hair tightly and pull him down for a fast, hard kiss. “Stay alive,” she ordered, then took a step back into the bathroom and closed the door, while Gabriel grabbed the couch and dragged it to block the hallway. At the same time, Cyn put both hands on a heavy cabinet filled with breakable shit and toppled it to the floor.

  Glancing over, he saw her taking cover behind the thing, pulling magazines of ammo from her pockets and laying them on the floor then setting two 9mm handguns next to them, before looking up and giving him a nod that said, “I’m good.”

  Gabriel dragged a chair up onto the couch and ducked behind it just as four men came through the door, ripping the heavy drapes down and darting into the room in synchronized pairs, firing as they came.

  The house filled with the sound of sub-machine gunfire and breaking glass, punctuated by the dull thud of rounds hitting walls and furniture, while the air filled with the stink of burning nitro. Something punched his arm as he took down one of the gunmen, and he knew he’d been shot, but the arm still worked, so he didn’t bother to look. Ten feet away from him, Cyn cursed loudly. He spared a glance and saw blood pouring from her scalp.

  “You okay?” he called.

  “Fine,” she replied, sounding more angry than hurt.

  They both kept firing, taking down enemies as they came through the door, having the advantage of cover while the invaders had to brave the open space to get inside. Gabriel was beginning to feel good about their chances, knowing reinforcements would arrive any moment, when a huge fighter strode through the tattered shreds of the drapes and into the room. He didn’t run or dive for cover, because he was armored from head to toe, barely flinching as Gabriel and Cyn both fired round after round. Walking into the hail of gunfire, he raised the biggest handgun Gabriel had ever seen and fired two rounds, destroying the cabinet Cyn was hiding behind. She cried out when the second round hit, flying back against the stone hearth and slumping to the floor, where she lay motionless.

  He swore, but kept firing, hoping Raphael would arrive in time to turn the battle around, hoping it wasn’t already too late. Seconds seemed like hours as the armored gunman turned his weapon on Gabriel’s position. Ignoring Gabriel’s steady hail of bullets, the gun­man walked right up to him and fired point blank, pulverizing the sofa and continuing to fire until there was nothing between them. Three rounds slammed into Gabriel’s chest, slowed but not stopped by his tactical vest. The weapon was too big and too close. Ribs broke, and every bit of oxygen was punched out of his lungs as he fell to the floor, but he kept firing until the ominous click of an empty cartridge was the only sound in the deafening silence.

  Until the one thing he desperately didn’t want to hear came from behind him.

  The bathroom door opened, and Hana stepped out, gun held in a two-handed grip as she fired non-stop, targeting the invader’s chest first, then his head. The man grunted, her 9mm rounds at that short distance leaving divots in his face shield. But then Hana’s gun, too, ran out of ammo, and before she could drop the empty mag and reload, the big man grabbed her gun and threw it over his shoulder.

  A flash of teeth showed behind the damaged shield as the bastard grinned. “Hana Himura, I assume?” He pointed his gun at Gabriel’s unprotected head. “Come quietly, and he might live. Make this difficult, and you’ll still come with me, but he dies.”

  “Hana, don’t,” Gabriel rasped. “Help is—”

  Their attacker grunted. “He’s right. Help is almost here, so decide, bitch. Not even vampires can survive a 50 cal round to the brain.”

  Tears were flowing down her cheeks as she dropped next to Gabriel and brushed his mouth with a kiss. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but I can’t.”

  Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief, ready to die if it would keep her safe. Gathering his remaining strength, he waited for her to make a move to escape, planning to do whatever he could to distract their at­tacker and give her more time. But then she stood and said, “Let’s go.”

  “No!” he gasped, realizing he’d misunderstood. “Hana!”

  But it was too late. The big man flung her over a shoulder and strode away, ignoring his dead and dying compatriots, shouting orders as he stomped outside and across the deck, his voice clear enough that Gabriel knew he’d finally yanked off his head gear. He heard Hana’s cry of pain and struggled to rise, but agony stabbed his chest, and suddenly he was fighting to breathe as blood poured from his mouth.

  And then nothing.

  RAPHAEL HAD HIS door open and was leaping out of the Suburban before it had stopped rolling. He could tell from the disaster that had once been a courtyard that the fight was over and his people had won. But what had they won, and who had paid the price? Juro met him halfway to the door, bloody and bruised, but whole. He didn’t need the big vampire to tell him Cyn was alive. He already knew that, just as he knew she’d been injured. That alone would have been enough to plunge him into the darkest rage, but several of his vampires were badly wounded, and one was dead—Nathan, barely a century old, and not the strongest of his vampires. But he’d been loyal and disciplined. An excellent member of Raphael’s team.

  “I know we lost Nathan,” Raphael said as he came even with Juro. “What about the wounded?”

  “Everyone on the beach side is down. They hit our people with grenade launchers. Nathan was practically on top of one when it went off, four others were wounded severely enough that they were out of the fight before it started.”

  “And the rest?”

  “Everyone but Ken’ichi was down by the time they took Hana, and he was barely conscious. They abandoned their dead, but one of the ones they left was still alive. I saved the poor fellow, and he’s showed his gratitude by agreeing to talk to us.” Juro bared his teeth as he said it, and Raphael knew the prisoner’s agreement had been less than voluntary. “They outmanned us three to one when they attacked,” Juro continued. “They came in heavily armed and firing. No warning. Front of the house was hit by a standard ground assault, but the attackers on the beach side came in from the water. Ken’ichi thinks they had to have been floating out there before we arrived, which means they knew Hana would be here.”

  “Which means we have a traitor,” Raphael said grimly.

  “Either that or Sotiris has a way of listening in. It’s doubtful they could eavesdrop from our side, but this house . . .” He gestured behind him. “It’s an ordinary residence, which means thin walls and lots of open windows. Grace’s father is in finance, so phone and c
omputer security might be good, but someone with a parabolic dish sitting in a boat one hundred yards off-shore—even farther if they had more powerful equipment—could hear every word that was said, especially if Katsaros and the others were stupid enough to talk about their plans while sitting on the deck.”

  Raphael had kept walking as they spoke, wanting to get inside to Cyn. He could sense her pain, and her grief, too. She’d know by now that Nathan was dead, and even though she probably hadn’t known him, his Cyn considered all of Raphael’s vampires to be hers.

  She looked up when he entered the house, her beautiful eyes filling with tears. She wouldn’t have cried before now, but she could share her grief with him.

  He strode across the room to kneel in front of her, his chest tight­ening with both anger and fear when he saw the blood and bruises covering half her face. Her cheek was swollen to twice its size, a deep gash still oozing blood as she leaned against the wall, watching him.

  “I made them take care of the others,” she said, before he could complain. “I’m fine. Well, okay, not fine. I think some ribs might be broken, but you’ll make it better, won’t you?” She gave him a forced smile, losing it with a wince when a few tears escaped to roll into the gash on her cheek.

  He didn’t know which emotion to go with. He wanted to get angry, to tell her she couldn’t do this kind of thing anymore, that his heart couldn’t take it, and it wasn’t necessary for her to throw herself into danger. But he was so glad she was alive, that she was well enough to tease him, when others were clinging to life. He sighed and sank to the floor next to her, pulling her into his arms and holding her gently, feeling her fingers grip his shirt as she buried her face against his chest and let the tears come. “I love you, my Cyn,” he murmured.

  She nodded silently.

  “Don’t worry, lubimaya. We’ll get her back, and we’ll make that bastard pay.”

  She lifted her head with a hiccupped breath. “Damn right.”