Chaos Unbound (The Metis Files Book 2)

by Brian S. Leon

  The slender figure to the right fully emerged from the shadows. “Besides, many of us here are hanner brid,” said a distinctly female voice.

  Snaggletooth let out a snort.

  “The Hanner Brid, not half-breeds in general,” Duma replied, dismissing her comment with a wave of his hand. “He’s here.”

  “There are only those you see, Duma,” Gracen said. “So unless one of us is the Demon Fae and doesn’t know it, I suggest you and your friend leave the way you came.”

  Gracen turned his head in my direction, though I still couldn’t see much of his face under the hood. Short of fishing, my patience stretched about as far as one of those little rubber bands dentists used for braces. Since I’d pushed my limits about as far as I could while waiting outside for the door to open, I was about to break.

  “Maybe one of you is…” I examined my hands then adjusted the thin leather strips I wore instead of gloves. I could feel everyone’s attention shifting to me as I spoke. “If this… Demon Fae, as you called it, is here and you are hiding him, I suggest you bring him forth before I have to search for him.” I didn’t want to take them all on in a fight, but given that they were outcasts who preferred to hide, I doubted they would offer up much resistance if it came to it.

  Duma stepped in front of me and frowned, his brow heavily furrowed and his teeth bared slightly. “D, don’t—” he said, the muscles along his jawline twitching.

  “Duma, enough.” I shoved past him toward Gracen. “I mean these beings no harm, but we’ve wasted enough time, and I will dismantle this place if I need to in order to find the bastard. There are far more lives on the line than those here.”

  I came to a stop so close to Gracen that I could finally see into the hood and smell his breath. It was rank. The face, on the other hand, was pale and shared the same fine features as Duma’s and Ab’s. Gracen had to be a Peri, though something was different about his eyes and his nose. I stared into his pinkish-white eyes for a long few seconds, hoping to let him know I was neither afraid nor bluffing, and I could tell his nose was aquiline rather than straight and perfect like Duma’s. No one moved until Duma put his hand on my shoulder. I kept my gaze on Gracen for a few more seconds before turning.

  “D,” Duma said, “you can’t do that, not here. Give me a minute. I’m asking you to trust me on this.”

  “Ah, this human barbarian must be the Guardian, Diomedes,” Gracen said behind me, “N’est-ce pas? I knew you traveled in questionable company, Duma, but why would you choose to help this… butcher?”

  I reached for my gun. If Duma hadn’t been faster than I was, I would have drawn it, too. With one hand still on my wrist, he grabbed my vest with the other and shoved me back a few steps. That couldn’t have been easy for him physically since I was far stronger. Ignoring him, I continued to glower back over Duma’s shoulder at Gracen, until Duma put his face right in mine.

  “Duma, let me go,” I said. “The prick called me a butcher. I do not kill wantonly.”

  “No, no, he didn’t, Diomedes.” Duma pushed me back another step then let me go. He remained right in front of me. “He called you ‘bruchad,’” Duma said, pronouncing the word slowly and distinctly. “It’s the term Peris use for humans. Now. Back. Off. I’m telling you if you want to find out anything here, back off.” He placed his open hand in the middle of my chest.

  “You know there is a sizable bounty on your head, Guardian.” Gracen smiled. “More than just money.”

  I eyed Gracen. I wasn’t sure if I believed Duma about what Gracen had called me, but he was right—ripping the place apart wasn’t going to help anything. Readjusting my vest, I trudged over to a rickety wooden table, pulled out a beat-up old chair from it, and sat down heavily. Several of the beings around me exhaled audibly, and a few shoulders sank noticeably as everyone started to move again.

  Duma walked back to Gracen, and they began speaking very quietly in the same mellifluous language Duma used with his brother, but I did not understand. Meanwhile, I watched as the slender female figure from the shadows walked forward and threw herself onto the couch with a dramatic flourish that made her appear to float down rather than fall. Out from the shadows, she was devastatingly beautiful—and that was through a filter of partial darkness. She knew it, too.

  She wore her blond hair very short and was dressed like a refugee from a corny medieval movie—thigh-high leather boots, an oversized shirt loosely secured at her neck by a thin leather cord, and leather bracers on her wrists. She crossed her long, lean legs at the ankles as she threw them up on a nearby chair and flashed me the barest hint of a grin. All at once, the entire structure began to tremble as Snaggletooth approached. The female glanced past me and barely shook her head, and the monstrous creature stopped. Its twisted mouth opened a little to reveal several broken teeth, then the creature let out a heavy breath that resembled a bull sneezing and averted its eyes.

  Duma and Gracen continued to talk. Gracen kept his arms crossed and stared at the ground, constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’s afraid. I sat as patiently as I could, breathing audibly through my nose, drumming my fingers on my knee, while keeping a watchful eye on everyone in the room.

  “My, my, we’re uptight, aren’t we?” the woman asked.

  I growled in response. She took her legs down, got up, stepped to the end of the couch closest to me, and sat back down and crossed her legs again, all in a single fluid movement. As she shifted, I could hear Snaggletooth grumble and feel him take a slight step forward. Again, she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, stopping the massive creature instantly.

  “I’ve never seen a Guardian before,” she said, practically purring.

  I tried to focus on Duma’s conversation, but the woman was at the edge of my line of sight. I growled again, but she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at me.

  “They are an endangered species,” a male voice said from somewhere near the building’s entrance.

  The entire atmosphere suddenly became electric. I recognized the voice at once from the rooftop back in Sirte. Duma and Gracen’s quiet but heated conversation stopped instantly, and everyone faced the speaker, wearing expressions of genuine surprise. Either they really didn’t know this guy was here, or they didn’t expect him to reveal himself. I bolted upright, knocking my chair back as I spun to face him, my right hand resting on my chest, just above the gun on my vest.

  The woman hopped up and vaulted back to keep the full length of the couch between her and the mystery man. The action was so graceful and dexterous that it was like watching her in slow motion. Snaggletooth took a few heavy steps forward, as well. The three figures near Duma, including Gracen, all spread their feet and dropped their arms to their sides. Clearly, none of them knew this guy was here before now.

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” I said.

  He let out a short, derisive laugh then strolled out from the shadows, leaving only his face still obscured, though I could see a golden glint in his eyes as he stared back at me. His odd brownish aura made even less sense up close: It resembled the aura of an Old One but was stunted somehow. The energy was less intense and almost parasitic, as if it were feeding off him. I could feel the tension growing in the room as his aura pulsed rhythmically. Something was about to happen, even without the cool showdown music. It’s times like this I wish I could whistle better.

  He was still dressed in the desert camo fatigues and body armor, and from the neck down, he resembled almost any modern special-ops operator or private military contractor. He even had a keffiyah draped around his neck, covering the lower part of his face. His right thigh was heavily bandaged with duct tape—a common way to secure a pressure dressing in the field—and the injury made me smile. It was Deeta’s final blow that had provided our ability to track the prick.

  I could see only
the thin long-barreled Ruger in a holster under his left arm, but I knew he had to have that big gun on him, as well. I didn’t dare reposition my hands, for fear it would instantly devolve into a full-blown shootout. The problem was my nearest serious cover besides the couch was, unfortunately, Snaggletooth, a few yards back and to my left.

  I squinted at the Hanner Brid, giving him my best Clint Eastwood scowl, and for the briefest of moments, I considered telling him to make my day. “Make this easy on yourself and give up now,” I said instead.

  Duma began to creep to his left, putting a hallway to his back. It wouldn’t have been my choice, but then Duma and I rarely shared tactical preferences. The golden glint in the Hanner Brid’s eyes shifted to follow Duma’s movement then returned to me.

  Damn, I need my own soundtrack.

  “I tell you what,” I said, taking a slight step forward to keep him on edge, “at least tell me what to call you, because frankly, Hanner Brid just sounds dumb.”

  “How’d you get in here?” Gracen asked with a faltering and unsteady voice.

  “Gracen, shut up,” Duma said.

  “See? His name is Gracen; that’s Duma,” I said, taking another half step forward. “And my name is Diomedes.” I glared at him as I said my name, hoping that it would strike fear into his heart. It didn’t. I tilted my head in disappointment. “I can’t keep calling you… what was it again? Hammer Head?” It was childish, but it was all I had at the moment.

  Duma shifted again, turning so that he was facing the Hanner Brid in profile, with his left shoulder forward in order to present a slimmer target. We all stood there for a long few moments without anyone saying a word. If this were Hollywood, the scene where we’d all end up dead in deep pools of blood because someone accidentally stepped on a stick was about to happen. I could feel it.

  “Why’d you come here?” Gracen asked, his voice still cracking. For some reason, he was trying to assert authority.

  “Gracen, why don’t you and the others clear out, so you don’t get hurt,” I said.

  “Do as he says, Gracen. Just get everyone out of here,” Duma said through clenched teeth. “Now!”

  “You want to know why I came here?” the Hanner Brid replied in a smooth, even voice as if everything were happening exactly as he’d planned. “To protect you. From him.” He motioned toward me with his chin, keeping his hands loose at his sides.

  Confused, the five derelicts eyed each other, then me and Duma, then the Hanner Brid again.

  “He’s come to kill you all.” His aura pulsed brightly for a split second.

  A strong buzzing began inside my head, similar to the sensation I experienced back on that rooftop in Libya. I blinked hard twice and pushed the sensation back as everyone shifted around me. Knowing what he was trying to do, I became concerned about Duma.

  “That’s just dumb,” Duma replied, his voice flush with confusion. “Why would he come here to kill me?” Without taking my eyes off the Hanner Brid, in my periphery, I could see Duma juddering his head in short violent jerks as if to clear it. The others in the room started to surround me.

  “I’m only here for the Hanner Brid,” I said, remaining still so as not to come off as threatening. “Duma, are you with me?”

  I could see the flash of a smile through the shadow around the Hanner Brid’s head and simultaneously sensed movement to my left. The female was floating a foot off the ground, a short sword in each hand, causing me to do a double take. I lost track of the Hanner Brid.

  “Duma,” I shouted as loudly as I could while he shook his head, “if you’re with me, don’t let him get away.”

  Gracen pointed a small handgun at me while his two lackeys each drew long knives. Somewhere back, to my right, the Hanner Brid laughed.

  This is going to be all kinds of ugly.

  The floating woman came at me like a whirling dervish, or more accurately, a helicopter blade, given the swords she wielded. Not wanting to kill her or any of the others unless I had no other choice, I grabbed the chair I had been sitting in and swung it at her as she closed in on me. The impact shattered it and sent her flying into one of the columns with a thud. She fell limply to the floor.

  The second she hit the ground, an enraged Snaggletooth charged me with a deafening roar that echoed through the warehouse. Crazed, he awkwardly swung a massive arm in a wide arc that was easy to evade. I ducked and darted farther to my left, sliding past the mountainous creature. Once behind him, I jumped and hammered my fist down on the back of its massive skull with a blow that nearly broke every finger in my hand. I don’t think Snaggletooth even noticed it. The lumbering hulk spun around, but he moved so predictably that it was like watching a film in slow motion. I pushed at him with my good hand as hard as I could, forcing the giant further off balance. He stumbled into the couch and fell, crushing the ratty piece of furniture beneath him.

  At the moment I shoved the behemoth, three sharp pops rang out, followed by several minor impacts to my chest and abdomen. Back across the room, Gracen was unsteadily aiming his small pistol at me. The harsh report of the little gun startled Duma, who stood only feet away, still trying to clear his head, and he almost fell over.

  “Duma, are you with me?” I said, shouting again.

  Regaining his composure, Duma eyed me, blinked hard several times, then pulled his two kukri knives from their sheaths.

  Holy hell.

  “Duma, don’t do this.” I raised my hands in front of me. “It’s me, Diomedes. I saved you and your brother from Rubezahl all those years ago.”

  He took a slow step forward, lowered his head, then charged, spinning so quickly that I barely had time to react. I was able to grab one hand as he spun, but he was too fast to stop. He brought the pommel of the knife in his free hand down on my left forearm. Wincing, I grasped my arm and stepped back. Duma faced me, holding both knives down at his sides. My arm wasn’t broken, but it hurt.

  Reluctantly, I pulled my swords. “Come on, Duma…dammit, it’s me.”

  The others kept their distance as if waiting to see what happened between us. Duma was much faster than me, but I could overpower him easily. My only option in fighting him would be to get close—but not too close—and keep it that way.

  Again, Duma charged, turning and slashing as he advanced. I parried his attacks as fast as I could, trying to use my longer swords to keep him from getting near enough to connect with his knives. Twice, he drew blood from my arms. Being on the defensive wasn’t working, but I didn’t want to attack him. On a calculated risk, I drew him in, narrowly avoiding a blow aimed at my neck. Sword still in hand, I slammed my fist into Duma’s chin then heel-kicked him, pulling the kick and punch as much as I could. He fell awkwardly back into the wall as the thin wood shattered. He doubled over but didn’t fall.

  “Duma, snap out of it!” I screamed. “All of you.”

  With Duma down for the moment, I glanced quickly around the room, searching for the Hanner Brid. There were no signs of him anywhere. I don’t have time for this crap.

  I stepped toward the shorter of the two henchmen, putting away my swords, trying to impress upon him that I was not a threat. “I’m not here to hurt you, I swear,” I said calmly. The problem was that the creatures were not fighters—but they were survivors. That made them desperate and unpredictable.

  Unfortunately, the shorter of the two henchmen stepped toward me, his long, thin stiletto pointed in my direction but angled downward, his other hand extended for balance. He circled warily to his right, and I took a few more deliberate steps toward him to close the distance. I waved my hands around as I walked, making a show of the fact I was unarmed but keeping them ready just in case. Behind me, Snaggletooth had managed to drag himself back to his feet and snatched one of the wooden roof support columns loose with one hand to use as a club. The snapping wood freaked the knife-wi
elding henchman out enough that he lunged at me.

  I was too far away, and his attack was sloppy and unfocused, which made it easy for me to sidestep him, slap his arm farther to my right, and kick him in the butt as he flew past. The little guy bounced off Snaggletooth’s gut with a meaty smack then dropped to the ground in a daze. Snaggletooth roared again, wielding the wooden beam like a baseball bat as he stepped over the prostrate henchman.

  Luckily his combined size and the length of the club made swinging it nearly impossible, so the infuriated creature attempted to charge me instead. Given enough distance to build up momentum, that kind of an attack would have been frightening to see, but in the tight confines of the building, it ended up resembling a toddler taking his first steps before a face-plant. I slid the rickety wooden table into the giant’s path, further entangling his ungainly gait. He crashed into a pile of trash and through a wooden wall, rattling the warehouse and probably every one nearby as well.

  Duma slowly regained his composure but continued to shake his head violently. Gracen had closed the distance between them as if hoping the Peri might offer protection from me. Gracen watched Duma for a moment then reluctantly raised his little pistol at me again as I faced him. Without warning, Duma dropped one knife and chopped his open hand into Gracen’s throat. Continuing the motion fluidly, the Peri spun to face the tallest of Gracen’s henchmen, stopping with the giant curved blade of his knife resting on the henchman’s throat. Duma had pinned him before Gracen finished falling to his knees.

  With Snaggletooth out of the way, Duma—back in control of himself—kept the kukri’s blade pressed against the tall henchman’s throat. Gracen was on his butt, legs splayed, sucking in air audibly while clutching at his throat. I quickly glanced around the rest of the room but found no sign of the Hanner Brid anywhere. The entire damn thing had taken less than a minute, and he was gone.