by I. T. Lucas
The guy slowed only to yank the thing out and kept running.
Brundar had to let him go.
He couldn’t maintain the shroud over the fight scene and at the same time cast another around the pursuit.
Unfortunately, Anandur’s pitiful illusionist ability was limited to shrouding himself only, and even that was not done particularly well.
Brundar checked himself for injuries, satisfied that his many cuts and bruises were already healing. In a few moments, the bloodstains drying on his shredded clothes would be the only evidence left of the pounding he’d taken.
A glance at Anandur reassured him that his brother was just as banged up but no worse. The concrete floor where their downed opponents lay crumpled like ugly rag dolls was splattered with blood, and though some of it must’ve been his or Anandur’s, most of it came from the Doomers.
Looking down at the incapacitated immortals, Brundar figured it wouldn’t be much longer before their bodies repaired the damage.
It presented him with a dilemma.
Clan law prohibited injecting a fallen enemy with a deadly dose of venom. It was akin to execution, which neither he nor Anandur were authorized to carry out. Of course, the rules were different if it happened in the heat of battle; all was fair when fighting for your life. But in this situation, the boss had to give them the green light.
Anandur pulled out his phone. “Kian, we have two down and one escaped. What do you want us to do with the two we got? We don’t have much time before they resurrect.”
“Bring them to the brink, but leave them in stasis. How are you guys doing? Everything okay?”
“Nice of you to ask, but truly, it offends me that you do, boss.” Anandur was right. He and Brundar were invincible; the Doomers hadn’t stood a chance.
“My offer from before stands. You can kiss my ass. Stay where you are. I’m sending a clean-up crew.” Kian hung up.
Anandur pocketed his phone and grimaced as he turned to Brundar. “You heard the boss, we inject to the brink. Though I’ll be damned if I know why he wants the scum alive. Maybe he plans to make hood ornaments out of their ugly carcasses.” He chuckled. “I wonder who he’s going to send to do the clean-up. Can you imagine Okidu in his suit with a white apron over it, on his knees, scrubbing blood from the concrete?” Anandur chuckled again.
He lost his smile as he glanced at the purple-faced, nearly dead male lying crumpled at his feet. “I don’t believe I have to put my mouth on this filth.” Anandur’s face twisted with utter disgust.
He cast a quick glance at the other Doomer whose bleeding heart was already on the mend, slowly pushing out the knife embedded in it. “You’d better hurry.” He crouched down and immediately turned his head sideways. “Whoa! Mine stinks.”
Brundar was ready, his fangs were already fully extended from the heat of the fight, dripping venom and primed to go. Grabbing the male by the hair and twisting the guy’s head, he exposed the neck and hoisted it up to his mouth. With a loud hiss, he sank his needle-sharp fangs into the Doomer’s flesh, keeping them embedded as the venom pulsated, invading the man’s bloodstream.
Injecting to the brink was a precise art. Too little did diddly-squat, and too much meant a permanent address in a hole in the ground. Listening carefully to the immortal’s heartbeat, Brundar waited until it slowed down to almost nothing, then pulled his fangs out and sealed the puncture wounds.
The man could still die, but if he did, it was no sweat off Brundar’s brow. He’d done what he’d been ordered to do. If he’d miscalculated, then oh, well; he’d done his best.
Anandur was still at his prey’s throat, the man’s undamaged heart taking longer to slow down. When he was done, he licked the wound closed and spat out.
“I need to rinse out my mouth after this shit!”
Anandur kept spitting out and wiping his mouth on his sleeve in between fits of spitting.
Eventually, Brundar took pity on him and handed him the flask of whiskey he had hidden in his jacket’s inner pocket.
“Thanks, bro, you’re a lifesaver.”
Anandur took a big swig of the Chivas, gargled it in his mouth a few times and then spat it out. After the second and third swig had gone down his throat, he handed the flask back.
Brundar cranked his neck back and emptied what remained of the whiskey down his own throat. As his adrenaline level began dropping, Brundar’s aches and pains made themselves known, and the beating his body had taken became hard to ignore. Slumping down to the floor, he propped his back against the cold concrete wall and let his head drop back.
Now, with their gruesome task done, all that was left was to wait for the clean-up crew. Until then, they had to maintain the shrouding and guard their prey.
Brundar felt tired, yet energized.
It was good to be fighting again, to feel the adrenaline rush, to use the skills he had practiced and perfected over the centuries.
Lately, he’d been feeling almost useless. What was the point of being a perfect killing machine if you never got to kill anymore?
As he reveled in the sense of power and utility, there was a small tinge of guilt in all that satisfaction. The enemy was attacking his family, but instead of the dread he should’ve been feeling, Brundar felt invigorated from the rush he’d gotten from the fight.
It was good to be needed; to carry out tasks only he and his Guardian brethren could.
Perhaps now, with this new danger looming over the clan, they could call in some of the others, those who had left the Guardian force for lack of purpose.
With a rare, fond glance at Anandur, he reminisced about their stormy past in the force. The battles, the brotherly revelry when they had come back home victorious, the pride of accomplishment, the gratitude of the clan.
Closing his eyes, Brundar welcomed the visions of his glorious past and smiled wistfully.
He missed those halcyon days.
Chapter 18: Syssi
Syssi’s cheek was resting on something hard and smooth that smelled amazing.
Strong fingers caressed her cheek. “Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re here.” The deep, masculine voice reverberated through her rib cage.
Who? Where?
Suddenly, it all came rushing back.
Kian.
He was holding her tucked against him, caressing her and talking to her as if he gave a damn.
She stiffened, attempting to sit up and shake his arm off, but the sudden movement made her head spin, and she had to lean back against the seat... and his arm.
“Take it easy, beautiful, give yourself a minute; there’s no rush.” He kept stroking her cheek with his thumb.
They were in what seemed to be an underground parking structure, still sitting in the same car, supposedly still in the same universe.
Who are you, and what did you do with Kian the grouch?
The man sitting next to her had more mood swings than a hormonal teenager. She needed to tell him to cut it out, but it felt so good to be held like that. Syssi kept still, allowing herself a few moments of bliss to enjoy this surreal break in reality. Maybe she was still dreaming? And in her dream this gorgeous man was caring, kind, and warm, and called her beautiful.
She didn’t want to wake up.
Just a few moments longer.
Then Amanda had to ruin it by sounding the wake-up call. “Syssi, if you’re still sleepy, you can lie down on Kian’s couch. I’m done sitting in the car. Let’s go!” She opened the door and got out.
Nope, no dream.
Kian extracted his arm from around her shoulders and opened the other door. Unfolding his tall body, he stepped out of the SUV.
As soon as he left her side she missed him; his warmth, his closeness, his scent. Standing by the door, he offered her his hand—being gentlemanly, or perhaps thinking she needed help getting out.
As a matter of fact, she did.
Still woozy, she felt weak as if she’d been awakened too early from a very deep sleep, or perhaps had t
oo much to drink. But neither of those applied.
What was happening to her?
She wasn’t sick, wasn’t hungry...
So why was she feeling like this?
Trying to make sense of why she felt so off-kilter, Syssi concluded it must’ve been the aftermath of all that adrenaline leaving her system.
Taking Kian’s offered palm, she stepped out of the car and let him walk her to the elevator.
Once they reached the penthouse level, the three of them and Kian’s driver stepped out into a beautiful vestibule. A round granite table stood in the center of a mosaic-inlaid marble floor, holding a huge vase of fresh flowers. Across from each other, two sets of double doors led to what she assumed were two separate penthouse apartments.
Kian’s driver opened the one to their left, ushering them inside with the flair of a seasoned butler.
The place was beautiful.
If Syssi were to design her own dream home, she would make it look just like that.
The first thing that caught her attention was the wall of glass opposite the entry door, overlooking the magnificent, unobstructed cityscape. To its right, another glass wall opened to an expansive rooftop terrace, complete with a lush garden, a long narrow lap pool, and an elegant assortment of lounge furniture.
The living room decor was magazine-perfect.
Over the dark hardwood floor, a bright area rug delineated the sitting area. Three espresso-colored leather sofas surrounded a stone coffee table that must’ve been at least eight feet wide on each side. Vibrant, large-scale art covered three of the cream-colored walls, while a big screen topping a contemporary-style fireplace occupied the fourth.
To complete the perfectly put together room, vases filled with fresh flowers were strategically scattered throughout.
Syssi could think of nothing she would’ve changed. She loved the way Kian had managed to make the space warm and inviting despite its size and opulence.
Come to think of it, it made more sense that someone else had done the decorating...
A woman...
Of course Kian would have someone in his life, maybe even living with him, she had no reason to assume he was single.
Syssi rubbed a hand over her sternum, calling herself all kinds of stupid as she tried to soothe the sudden ache in the center of her chest.
Walking toward the glass wall overlooking the city, she decided to discreetly fish for information. “Wow, this is beautiful. You have an amazing taste, Kian,” she complimented.
Kian took the bait. “Can’t take credit for it. This is all the work of our interior decorator, Ingrid. My only input was no clutter and no museum pieces, just a comfortable, livable space. Ingrid came up with all the rest on her own, and I basically approved most of her suggestions.” He shrugged and walked over to the bar. Pouring himself a Scotch, he asked, “What can I offer you, ladies?”
“I’ll have gin and tonic,” Syssi called from her spot next to the glass wall, where she was pretending to look out at the view.
The relief she’d felt upon hearing his answer was just plain stupid. Even if there was no woman sharing his home, it didn’t mean he didn’t have one. And besides, he wasn’t hers, and never would be. She had no business feeling jealous or possessive over him.
But oh, God, how she wished she did.
Kian unsettled her on so many levels, Syssi doubted she could have an intelligent conversation with the guy. Hiding her powerful attraction to him was taxing. Her acting skills weren’t that good. The sooner she said goodbye the better, before she slipped and made a fool of herself by letting her insane desire for him show.
“Same for me.” Amanda joined her at the view wall, slanting her a knowing glance.
“House! Open terrace doors,” Kian commanded the smart-home system, sending the mechanized glass-panels sliding almost soundlessly into the wall.
Outside, Syssi chose one of the loungers next to the pool and sat down. This high up, the sound of the bustling city was nothing more than a distant hum, the drone disturbed only by the occasional car horn.
Tilting her head back, she gazed at the darkening sky, its wispy clouds illuminated by the orange and red hues of the setting sun.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Amanda plopped next to her. Lying back with her palms tucked under her head, she joined Syssi in gazing at the color display in the sky.
“Yes, it is,” Syssi agreed.
A glass in each hand, Kian stepped out and sat sideways on the lounger facing Amanda and her.
Even seated, he looked so big and so damn beautiful that he took her breath away. And what’s more, with his jacket off and his white dress shirt’s top buttons open, she glimpsed the outline of all those hard muscles she’d felt when he’d held her close in the car.
Syssi stared, not quite gaping, but still her lips were slightly parted, and she felt her face reddening. With an effort, she shifted her eyes away from him and glanced up at the sky, discreetly observing Kian from the corner of her eye.
After handing Amanda and her the chilled beverages, Kian pulled a gold lighter and a pack of Davidoffs from his trouser pocket. Taking a cigarette out, he held it between his thumb and forefinger, lit it, and inhaled deeply.
His lids dropped over his eyes as he took several long drags, and the tension that was etched on his handsome face seemed to ease. With his craving assuaged, he lifted his eyelids a little, peering at Syssi from behind a column of smoke.
“Pew! Kian, you said you’d quit!” Amanda crinkled her nose in distaste, waving a hand in front of her nose.
Ignoring Amanda, Kian’s eyes stayed trained on Syssi. “It doesn’t seem to bother you, Syssi, does it?” he asked on a stream of smoke.
“No, I like the smell of cigarettes, even cigars. I find it relaxing.” Taking little sips from her drink, Syssi inhaled, enjoying the smell of tobacco mixed with Kian’s cologne.
It reminded her of her grandpa. When she was little, she used to sit cuddled on his lap while he’d read to her. His clothes had always smelled of cigars and cologne. No wonder she associated the mix of these scents with safety and love.
After a long moment of staring into her glass and swishing the ice cubes around, she squared her shoulders and turned to Amanda. “Would anyone care to explain what’s going on?”
Amanda pushed up from the lounger and walked a few steps away, distancing herself from the offending smell. “There are those who believe that what we do in the lab is evil or unnatural, the work of the devil or some other nonsense like that. A certain religious sect declared war on our work, sending us nasty messages and threats. Luckily, Kian took it seriously and decided to post guards around the lab, believing the nuts may become violently incensed and actually carry out what they’ve been promising to do. As much as it pains me to say, it seems Kian was proven right. The guards called him to let him know they spotted suspicious characters in the hallway, and Kian decided not to take any chances with an unnecessary confrontation. The guards called again to say they were able to scare the thugs off, so hopefully this is the end of it.”
Turning to Kian, Amanda smirked. “Anyhow, I’m going to leave you two lovebirds alone and head across the hallway to my place. I need to call Onidu and have him bring over my stuff. I have nothing here.” Blowing a kiss at Kian, she winked at Syssi and walked away.
Syssi blushed down to the roots of her hair.
Did she really say it? Lovebirds?
She swore she was never going to forgive Amanda for embarrassing her so.
“I probably should be going too; it’s getting late. I should call a taxi. I usually walk home from the lab, it’s only about twenty minutes away on foot, so I leave my car at home to save on the parking fees. Sometimes Amanda insists on picking me up in the morning and then driving me home after work.” Syssi was blabbering but couldn’t stop herself.
So embarrassing. Now he’d think she was an idiot.
Not to mention that he might get the impression that she was stingy, or
poor. She was neither. Syssi was frugal, preferring a hefty bank account to frivolous spending. Her girlfriends from the lucrative private high school she’d attended used to roll their eyes at what she considered fiscal responsibility, and some even had gone as far as calling her a tightwad. While they had been flaunting their parents’ money, competing for who had the latest and most expensive things, she’d never developed a taste for it.
Syssi had no idea where this propensity had sprouted from. Growing up as she had in an affluent home, she knew her parents could afford all those things that had been so important to her friends, and they had never refused any of her requests. Syssi had never lacked for anything. But even as a kid she’d preferred getting money rather than toys or other trinkets as birthday presents, and had been thrilled to watch her bank account grow with every new deposit. Maybe it had been her mother’s dislike for shopping that had influenced her. Anita simply hadn’t had the time or the inclination for it. She’d ordered what she needed from catalogs. After all, her mother had spent most of her days wearing a lab coat and had deemed what was under it inconsequential.
That being said, Syssi didn’t think it had been intellectual snobbism that had her sneer at unnecessary spending. Syssi valued independence almost above all else, and a big part of being independent was having her own money—and plenty of it—with the caveat that it had to be earned.
Her parents had covered tuition as well as room and board throughout undergrad and architecture school. But she’d refused to accept anything else. Syssi worked for her spending money as an SAT tutor. She was quite proud of the fact that her services had been in such high demand, she’d even managed to put away a good chunk of what she’d been making into her saving account.
Listening to her make a fool of herself, Kian smiled, but it wasn’t the comforting kind, more the amused expression of a predator ready to pounce on his cornered prey.
And what do you know... that blast of desire hit her again even harder than before.
Come kiss me, she beckoned him mentally. Touch me. Do something. Can’t you see I’m burning? Quickly averting her eyes, Syssi prayed Kian couldn’t read her expression.