by Aja James
One by one, he picked off the assassins, sustaining heavy injuries with each transformation. He might have enough strength left for one more shift, but if he took physical form again after that, there would be no more bullet dodging.
He saw Ryu make his way out of the hangar with Clara and Annie huddled behind him. When they were fifty feet from the facility, Annie fell down with a yelp.
The last remaining foe turned in Ryu’s direction and opened fire.
Everything after that happened as if in slow motion, so clear and focused was Eli on his goal: to protect Clara, Annie and his son at all cost.
As the enemy warrior turned towards Ryu and opened fire, Ryu shoved Clara and Annie to the ground, shouting for them to stay down while stepping directly into the barrage of bullets to shield the two females from the deadly spray. Though the bullets weren’t meant to kill humans, getting hit with dozens of them at once would still incur substantial, potentially mortal, wounds.
Ryu was entirely in his corporeal form, both because he had no more strength to shift to shadow and also because he needed to provide enough of a solid target to draw the gunfire.
Eli took in the distance between where he was standing, Ryu’s location and the enemy warrior. Within the thousandth of a second, he calculated the speed of the bullets from impact and how fast he’d be able to disrupt their course. If he swarmed the shooter, he wouldn’t get there in time to stop the first spray of bullets from leaving the gun. And there was nothing to stop those bullets from reaching their destination.
There was only one solution.
Harnessing the full strength of the wind, Eli surged through the air currents to travel the shortest distance between three points, inserting himself directly in the bullets’ path between the shooter and his son.
He materialized the moment of impact, taking all of the heat-seeking missiles into his own body, where they exploded upon entry just as the hangar behind him detonated in a series of booming roars and flaming clouds.
Chapter Eighteen
One week later.
“Clara. Clara?”
A distant voice seemed to be calling her name, the sound mumbled and distorted on its way from the speaker’s lips to Clara’s ears as if the words were traveling through an underwater tunnel.
The whole world seemed submerged under water fathoms deep, ever since Clara’s entire world blew up—literally—the night she and Annie had been abducted by a beautiful, deadly, capricious creature.
In the aftermath, when the conflagration died to a few low-burning flames and the dust and debris settled around them, Clara had pulled Annie to her feet, both of them blackened with smoke but otherwise unharmed. Their protector, Ryu Takamura, had been lying on his back on the ground, caked in dirt and blood, still oozing from several severe wounds all over his body. But at least he was alive and breathing, and in “physical form.”
Ryu held his wrist close to his mouth and murmured some instructions into it. Clara caught the words, “mission complete,” and “we need an evac.”
Clara had been shell-shocked and shaking, staring unblinkingly at the incinerated hole in the ground where the hangar used to be.
She’d seen it all unfold before her very eyes—
Annie falling to the ground when she stumbled on a jutting rock.
The enemy soldier turning on them and cocking his machine gun.
Ryu shoving them back and pushing them to the ground, shouting for them to stay low.
Ryu charging in front of them, inserting his body in the line of fire.
And then…
Clara blinked in remembrance, as if a part of her wanted desperately to snap out of her trance and skip this part.
And then…
Eli somehow shot directly into the bullets’ path, taking solid form right when the missiles traveled to his location, intercepting their lock on Ryu, Clara and Annie.
His body had jerked as each bullet drilled into his flesh, over and over and over, a dozen bullets, then a dozen more. One by one, like a firecracker exploding on its string, the bullets had erupted inside his flesh, blasting him piece by piece into oblivion.
He’d taken it all. None of those bullets reached anywhere near Ryu, Clara and Annie.
Clara had seen it all. As the male she loved more than life itself was eviscerated into nothingness in seconds.
The hangar blew up behind him, catching the last enemy soldier in its blast.
Ryu had covered Clara and Annie with his own body, shielding them from the ricochet and falling debris.
And in the mushroom cloud of flames that burgeoned in the aftermath, Clara thought she saw Eli’s beautiful green eyes one last time, before they, too, were engulfed in flames.
“Clara, are you okay?”
No, she thought to herself, she was never going to be okay again.
Instead of voicing her misery and heartbreak, she tried her best to refocus on the person speaking to her and curled the corners of her lips into the semblance of a smile.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch what you said.”
Ava Monroe Takamura looked at her silently for long moments, concern and empathy shining in her big brown eyes.
In no time at all after Ryu had communicated to whoever was on the other line through his wrist device, two armored SUVs had arrived at the scene, strangers had jumped out of them, some staying behind for “cleanup,” and others helping Ryu, Clara and Annie into one of the vehicles that took them to a place called the Cove in downtown Manhattan, hidden in the crown of the Chrysler Building.
There, all three of them were taken to a hospital ward of some sort, except a lot more comfortable and private. Ryu was immediately hooked up to IVs and blood bags, and Ava had rushed into the room, hopped in the mechanical bed with him as he latched onto her proffered wrist. Apparently, the blood of a vampire’s Mate healed him faster than anything else.
Meanwhile, a female called Jade Cicada—a vampire whose beauty would have stunned Clara into awe had the past few weeks not happened, but instead she feared she was now somewhat inured to beauty, both because she’d seen so much of it at such extremes and also because she’d been numb and dying inside at the time—tended to Clara and Annie. She probed and assessed with gentle hands, pronounced them both in perfect health, dressed Clara’s shoulder wound, and bid them to rest and not to worry about anything.
Strangely, Jade’s touch had soothed both Clara and Annie immediately. Not only that, they both fell into a deep, untroubled sleep, just as the female healer had instructed.
When Clara had woken up, Ava was sitting beside her bed. And in the ensuing days and weeks, Ava had become a relied upon friend and confidante.
Who else would Clara be able to talk to about vampires and shadow assassins? Who else could comprehend, even remotely, the depth of Clara’s heartbreak and anguish?
“How’s Annie doing?” Ava asked finally, reaching out to hold Clara’s hand.
They were sitting on stools over a small art desk downstairs in the studio while Annie remained upstairs in her bed, curtains drawn.
“It’s funny,” Clara said, though her tone conveyed anything but, “Annie can speak now, but aside from the oft-repeated refrain, she doesn’t say anything else, not even ‘good night, Mommy.’”
“What does she say?” Ava asked softly, her heart in her eyes.
“‘When will Eli come home?’ That’s what she says.”
“And what do you tell her?”
Clara should have told her the truth: he was never coming home. But she couldn’t seem to get the words out no matter how she tried.
“I tell her I don’t know and hope she’ll eventually stop asking me.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ava murmured, probably for the thousandth time.
Clara took in a deep breath and sternly told herself to stop with the pity party.
“How’s Ryu doing?”
“Pretty badly,” Ava answered. “He doesn’t show any outward signs of his distress. Afte
r he recovered from his wounds, he goes out and does his duties as a member of the Chosen just as usual. But I know he’s in pain. Despite everything, even with what happened in Japan a year and a half ago, I think he’s always admired the Master, as he used to call Eli. For ten years of his life before the vampire inside of him awakened, Eli was the only father figure he knew. He’d trained Ryu, housed and fed him, along with the other boys, taught him the skills he needed to survive in a turbulent world. And now…He’ll never have the chance to know the real male revealed by your love, Clara. And I think—I’m certain—he wants to desperately.”
By now, Clara and Ava had each shared what they knew of Ryu’s and Eli’s sides of their history together, and Ava had shared it, in turn, with Ryu.
It both helped and made things worse, for now, Ryu would never get to know the male Eli had become. A male worth knowing.
“If there’s anything I can do…anything at all…” Ava offered for the umpteenth time, though she knew her words were little comfort.
Clara spread her lips in the fake smile again.
“We’re going to be just fine, Annie and me. You’re such a good friend. I appreciate everything.”
Later that night, Clara and Annie ate a silent meal of mushy, over-cooked spaghetti and half-burnt meatballs together at the breakfast table. Annie still arranged a third place setting every day, still waiting for Eli to miraculously appear like he did the last time. Clara had tried to draw the little girl into conversation in the first few days after their world flipped upside down, but now she didn’t bother.
She was out of words.
Out of tears.
One day, she knew that she and Annie would embrace joy and laughter again. They had to. But that day was still far, far away.
After Clara read Annie her bedtime stories and kissed her goodnight, Annie asked again as she did every night, “When will Eli come home, Mommy?”
Acid flooded Clara’s nose upon hearing those words every time.
“I don’t know, honey,” she answered solemnly.
This would be when Annie sank deeper into her blankets, clutching her Pooh bear and Ms. Melanie, and closed her eyes, as if she didn’t like the answer and wanted to quickly sleep away the night to go through another day just so she could ask the same question again the next night and get a different answer.
Except this time, Annie said, “I think he’ll be home soon, Mommy. Don’t be sad.”
Clara drew in a sharp breath to stem the sobs that were building frantically in her throat.
“Good night, baby. Sleep tight,” she whispered, and miraculously left Annie’s nook without breaking down in tears.
She took a hasty shower, deluding herself that the liquid coursing down her face was only water from the faucet rather than her own unchecked tears, and quickly huddled into bed, pulling the covers over her head.
As if the god of sleep dared not refuse her desire to enter oblivion so that she could check off the days until the time when she would be able to live again, at least for Annie’s sake, Clara fell into a deep slumber the moment she closed her eyes.
But tonight, her sleep was invaded by haunting, vivid dreams. Tonight, she entered again the lush green paradise full of magical creatures—
And everything her heart desired.
*** *** *** ***
“I have reason to believe that Medusa still has the ‘vampire killer’s specs,” Maximus reported to the rest of the Chosen when they congregated for an impromptu briefing.
“How is that possible?” Ryu ground out through clenched teeth, visibly showing his frustration for the first time, uncharacteristic enough that the rest of the Chosen took note.
Though recently, he’d been more and more on edge, having been unable to come to terms with the loss of a father he never really knew.
“I blew everything to kingdom come. Nothing could have survived that explosion.”
“We found a secret underground tunnel beneath the hangar,” Anastasia explained. “There was no trace of anyone or anything inside when we scouted the area with a fine-tooth comb in the aftermath, but recently Grace intercepted some cyber chatter about reassembling the vampire killers.”
“Our nemesis appears to have the designs but none of the prototypes. Redesigning the bullets and associated weapons from scratch will take time, so at least there’s that,” Maximus added.
“We need to alert the Pure Ones that four of their own had been turned,” Ryu said. “I don’t know their names, but I recall their faces. I should be able to ID them.”
“If they are still talking to us,” Ana grumbled.
Jade Cicada, the New England vampire Queen, chose that moment to enter the conference room.
“The Pure Ones no longer suspect we had anything to do with the Paladin’s disappearance,” she announced in her soft, husky voice, languidly folding herself into a deep seated leather armchair slightly apart from the conference table that the Chosen sat around.
“Did their own research confirm what we told them?” Anastasia asked.
Jade shrugged delicately.
“I wouldn’t know. But…the Consul and I had words.”
Her personal guards waited for her to elaborate, but no further words were forthcoming from that quarter.
Maximus moved on.
“Devlin, what is the status of the fight clubs?”
“All’s quiet in our territories in the past couple of weeks,” the Hunter reported. “But Grace picked up more incidences elsewhere in the world. We don’t have the manpower to go after those ourselves, nor are they even tangentially in our jurisdiction.”
“I will confer with the personal guards of the corresponding Queens,” Ramses volunteered. “At least warn them of these outbreaks.”
“Send Helen and Titi my love,” Jade interjected with a smile, though no one could tell whether she meant it or whether she was simply being ironic.
Ramses inclined his head, sharing a meaningful, silent look with the Dark Queen.
“What about the human agencies and their special investigations?” Ana asked.
“Still working on it,” Maximus growled, as if he was having particular difficulty with this assignment.
“Just think, Commander,” Jade said with mocking bemusement, “you might not have long to deal with all of these headaches. If and when I am dethroned, all of you can live more simply, away from all this chaos and royal intrigue, for the new Queen would of course want to choose her own personal guards.”
None of the Chosen thought her off-handed comment funny. They regarded her with similar looks of frustration and concern. Frustration because their Queen—a very capable and worthy Queen—didn’t seem concerned about losing the throne. And concern because Jade had not been herself for a very long time.
Ever since the Pure Ones’ Consul, Seth Tremaine, had left the Cove.
“We can subdue the dissenting voices within our noble houses,” Anastasia said firmly.
“We must,” Ramses reinforced. “No one can strike the balance amongst the races as you have. I fear for outright war with the Pure Ones and humans if anyone else should ascend the throne.”
Jade rose to depart the chamber.
“Your confidence in me is overstated,” she murmured on her way out.
“I would plan for changing tides if I were you.”
*** *** *** ***
Clara inhaled deeply the moment she entered the soothing paradise of her dreams.
Everything was fresh and new here, bold and vibrant.
So unlike the desert wasteland of her spirit, the fissured planes of her heart.
Small forest creatures both real and imagined bounded playfully up and down the lush, green trees, laden with fruit and flowers. Butterflies, dragonflies, humming birds and songbirds flitted to and fro, busily and cheerfully going about their night. A full, bright moon sat low in the sky surrounded by a gazillion twinkling stars.
Though it was nighttime in her dream world, everything was cas
t in a pale blue glow, illuminated beautifully under heaven’s dazzling train.
Two red salamanders, her longtime pets, crawled up her arms as she sat on the mossy grass. One nuzzled her neck, and the other licked her cheek, giving her companionship, comfort and affection.
“I miss him so much,” she said out loud, both to her little friends and to herself.
“When will it stop hurting?”
No answer was forthcoming from the universe at large.
She clasped her arms over her knees and laid her head down, huddling around herself and taking deep, shuddering breaths in an effort not to cry.
A breeze stirred through the forest, playfully sifting through the waves of her hair.
It felt good, this warm, comforting breeze, like invisible arms that drew around her.
Clara.
The wind seemed to whisper her name, making her raise her head to look around her.
All the creatures had fallen silent. Even her salamanders had disappeared into their hiding places amongst the trees.
“Who’s there?” she asked, standing up and slowly spinning in a circle, trying to find the source that called her name.
The wind kicked up more strongly, lifting her copper tresses around her like a halo of flames.
Clara.
“Where are you?” she called out, her heart pounding loudly within her chest. Not from fright or apprehension but a desperate, frantic need.
Even if this was just a dream, even if it was all her imagination, she had to see him again. She couldn’t bear it if he didn’t appear. If she didn’t even have the hope of seeing him in her dreams.
She squeezed her eyes shut and wished with all her might, calling forth every memory she had of him, every drawing she made of him, all the minute details of his body, his voice, his scent, his essence that were forever etched into her psyche—she wished and hoped and prayed and dreamed them into existence now, fisting her hands at her sides and tensing every muscle in her body.