by Joey W. Hill
The vehicle jerked into motion, the exhaust choking her before the door was slammed.
“Soon as we’re outside the Circus boundaries, those eyes go live, boys,” a dispassionate voice said. It was harsh, like a crow’s call. “About fifteen seconds from now. Take care of it.”
“Hope T’s right, that they regenerate.” This voice was thin and sharp, like nettles that passed over the skin in a seemingly harmless way but left fiery pain in their wake.
“You ever know him to be wrong about anything? Shut up and do it.”
Before she could feel more than a blink of abject panic—she wasn’t sure if that was good or bad—pain exploded in her eye sockets. Through the agony, the gag the only thing that kept her from biting through her tongue, she smelled the sickening odor of her burning flesh.
She was too strong, too not-mortal. She didn’t pass out from the unbelievable extremes of pain. Instead, every layer of her being reacted in rage, in fear, in denial that this was happening. Something was once again being forced upon her that she didn’t want. She screamed like a feral animal from the pain and fear.
They’d used some type of hot iron to put out her eyes through the fabric of the hood. As she gasped for air, the taut cord bit into her neck. The burlap smelled like rotten fruit.
John, help. Help. She wished fervently they could share thoughts as Yvette and Charlie did. But John would sense her distress. She believed that. And Yvette had taken her blood. There had to be something to that. She pushed down the terror that she was being taken somewhere she didn’t know, and she wouldn’t know how to get back to the Circus even if she escaped. Help. Oh Goddess, help…
Whether it was an answer or not, the inability to control her emotions didn’t put the snakes in a mindless panic as it had in the past. Instead, as she fought for calm, she felt something remarkable. They were consciously sharing her pain, trying to pull it away from her as much as they could. They were helping her clear her mind, a recognition that she was their best chance for escape.
She tried to calm her breath, the crazed galloping of her heart. Oh Goddess, her eyes hurt. She wanted to put her hands up to them as if it would help, as if it would remove this horrible burning sensation.
Focus, Medusa. Focus.
“Wish we could just chop off these damn snakes,” one of them said. She could hear the typical human fear of serpents in his voice, no matter that they’d contained her snakes. She logged that as a possible advantage, one man’s fear. She telegraphed the test to Ratqueen and the brave albino responded, striking against the burlap near the source of that voice. She heard him jump back and curse.
“Fuck, her fangs came through. Did you see that? Can we double bag her?”
“She’ll suffocate,” Crow’s Voice said. “Stop being such a pussy.”
“Then let’s kill the damn things.”
Up until John, she’d only had herself to depend upon on the island. She couldn’t let pain dull her wits. She might have powerful allies now, but those allies would have to find her first. She had to take care of herself until then. She was no longer the fearful maiden she’d once been. But them not realizing that might be another advantage.
Weeping piteously wouldn’t be difficult, considering she was in agony. The irony was that she resisted the idea because it twisted her pride to make them think she was weak and afraid, even if she was faking it. Well, the weak part. She was afraid, but she was also angry, and she wanted to lead with the anger. But that might not serve her well here.
Men were men, and they often erred on the side of thinking a woman was weak, especially if her behavior supported it. Sharp Man’s words stabbed her with a deeper fear, adding to her genuine tears of anxiety. Please not my snakes. Leave them alone.
Her expected weakness got some results, at least on that. “She’s done fighting for now. Leave her be,” the gruff voice said curtly. “And we don’t know how the snakes are connected to her other abilities. Except for neutralizing the eyes, we’re supposed to bring her to the containment chamber as is.”
Bide our time, she thought silently to her five serpents. Do not attack. Play asleep. We wait for our advantage. Or help to come. Or both.
She could feel Ratqueen’s seething anger, and loved the female for it. It would settle the others, keep them from being fear-aggressive. They were far more effective when they were battle-aggressive. More patient and calculating, just like her.
When the time came, these men would regret laying hands on her. If she could not overwhelm them, she would die trying. She’d die with the vicious pleasure of knowing when John, Marcellus and Lady Yvette caught up with them, they would wish they’d met death at her hands, rather than theirs.
Brave thoughts. She held onto them, refusing to let panic rise, refusing to let the girl Ukrit had raped resurrect herself and make her catatonic with fear. But her body was shaking, and the mantra she’d used when men came to her island to attack her was going at top speed through her mind.
Never again. Never again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
John was supervising the exit of cars from the parking lot, but when he came to a dead stop and Yvette appeared at his side a moment later, he knew she’d been hit by the same abrupt wrongness that had speared his gut.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“They have taken her, John. I’ve summoned Maddock. His intel was obviously incorrect. Someone tipped them off that she was with the Circus, and somehow they tracked us here far more swiftly than we’d anticipated.” Her tight voice held her fury about that and he wouldn’t envy whoever had provided that tip. Though he would be happy to stand on the sidelines and cheer on whatever horrible torture she had planned for them.
Anger worked better for him than the cold ball of fear in his gut. “How long ago?” he said in a flat voice, falling into step beside her as she led him out of the parking lot and toward the tents. He glanced up at a rush of wings and saw Marcellus and Merc had joined them. As the incubus met his gaze, the rage exploded.
“John.” Yvette’s protest fell on deaf ears as he seized the incubus by the throat and slammed him against a trailer so hard the metal dented. Merc used the propulsion of his wings to shove away from it and toss John, landing him on his ass in the dirt. Fuck, the asshole was strong. He didn’t give a shit. He was up and ready to attack again, but Marcellus stepped in front of him, stopping his forward charge. Merc stood behind him, quivering, killing energy sparking off him, his eyes gone a weird and chilling silver color.
“It was not him, John Pierce,” Marcellus said quietly. “You may trust me on this. He might kill Medusa with his hunger, but he would never betray her to MyTech.”
“He’s right,” Yvette said, coming to John’s side and dusting the dirt off his backside and shoulders matter-of-factly. She shot him a reprimanding look. “I need the covert ops agent right now, not the man in love and losing his fucking mind over what’s happening to his woman. If you can’t provide that—”
“You got it,” John snapped. “And you didn’t answer my question. How long?”
“A matter of minutes. It is likely they know nothing about the blood I took from her. I can track her whereabouts.”
As long as they didn’t pass into an interdimensional place because they’d finally learned what Maddock knew. He pushed away that sick possibility.
“Once we determine where she is, we can plan an extraction,” Merc added. John gave him a hard look.
“Did you think my name stood for Mercury?” the half-breed sneered. Marcellus lifted a hand.
“Lose the attitude, Merc. JP, he is a good ally for this kind of work.”
“Good enough,” John said, but he shifted toe-to-toe with the incubus, staring into the unblinking eyes that were back to their usual color. “I know you’re a messed up motherfucker, but that woman is my heart and soul. Got it? None of your bullshit.”
“Got it,” Merc said succinctly. He flashed fangs, his eyes glinting with a sudden cold
ness. “Marcellus is correct, John Pierce. I may not be good at many things, but I am very good at this.”
John nodded. When Maddock had come to visit him the second time, he’d brought John back some of the weapons he normally had at hand in the “real world.” As they headed for Yvette’s tent to plan strategy, he peeled off from the group long enough to pull the guns from his trailer.
The world never stayed peaceful, did it? He refused to let himself linger, to inhale Medusa’s scent or touch the small collection of clothes she’d gathered since she’d been here. He would have her back soon. He could smell the real thing.
However, seeing the set of ribbons he’d first given her on the dresser clamped a vise around his chest. Balling them up, he tucked them in his jeans pocket. Every knight had to have his lady’s favor, right? Maddock would appreciate that, with his Arthurian obsessions.
As he came out of the tent, Charlie and Clara were there. Clara hugged him and, though he wasn’t much for touchy-feely stuff when in mission mode, the wave of good feeling that always emanated off her like a perfume did help steady him, and he took it as the asset it was.
“I can’t see her future, but that’s not a bad thing, JP. That means nothing is yet set such that it can’t be changed. And Marcellus…if you have him by your side, everything will be all right. I’ve never known that not to be true. He doesn’t usually get involved in human matters—angel codes and all that—but this is different. She was taken on his watch.”
He understood that. Giving Clara a look, and touching a silent Charlie on the shoulder, he strode away. The two women watched him until he was out of earshot, then Charlie spoke.
“You didn’t tell him the whole truth. You didn’t tell him how you felt her pain. She’s been badly wounded.”
“Wounds can be healed.”
“Some wounds can be healed.” But Charlie took her hand. “I’m going to go to my tent and rest up. When they bring her back, she’ll need all the energy I have.”
When. Clara thanked the healer mentally for her optimism and prayed she’d be right. Not just for Medusa. A death was never a loss of one. For how short a time they’d actually known one another, JP’s bond to his “snake-girl” was extraordinarily strong. It would be a blow that could topple the powerful male.
Speaking of powerful male… Marcellus landed next to her without a word. Clara had not expected to see him before he left. Yet when she opened her mouth to ask him what she could do to help, what he needed, the words died in her throat, because he stepped close to her and cupped her face in his large hand. His eyes were dark as night from corner to corner, which often made them hard to read, but she saw things in them right now that made her heart stop.
He curved a hand around her nape and drew her to him, bending his head to put his mouth on hers. Oh…Goddess. She gripped his considerable biceps tightly, making a small noise in his mouth as he penetrated deeply with tongue, teeth and the demanding pressure of his lips. She swayed and folded into his body, melding every curve to his.
He’d worn the jeans and placket shirt of the security team earlier tonight, covering his wings with illusion, but now he was back in his typical Legion garb. A sword strapped to his back, the short red belted half-tunic, and nothing else. Praises to the Goddess gleamed in iridescent bronze lettering against his tanned skin. His dark green wings reflected the glow of the energy coming from them, since they tended to charge with magic before he went into battle.
“Try to stay out of trouble while I’m away,” he said against her lips. “Gundar and Cai will be in charge but they will have their hands full. No one will be watching after you.”
“Who’ll watch after you?” she asked.
“You do. No matter where I am. Your prayers are as inscribed on my heart as these praises are on my skin. You are my guardian angel.”
He gave her the rarest and most wondrous gift he’d ever given her. A smile. Then he was gone.
She knew angels were supposedly invincible, but he was with her because he wasn’t, because he bore scars that prevented him from fighting with the Prime Legion, the warrior arm of the angelic host. So though she thought MyTech didn’t have a chance against her people, she knew nothing was certain when it came to armed conflict. She didn’t want him to lose any more battles, of any kind.
No matter how unrealistic that was, it was the way love worked. A person just wanted those she loved to be bathed in rainbows and sunshine every day, never knowing fear or cares. Even if, ironically, the trials were what made them into what you loved.
She started adding to those prayers written on his heart and headed toward Charlie’s tent. While there was plenty left to be done to batten down the Big Top for the night, tonight there were bigger priorities. She would curl around the young woman and add whatever energy she could to her rest. Just in case Charlie needed more than her usual reservoir.
Thinking about that, Clara increased her pace. There also might be other ways the two of them could combine their gifts to reach out and help Medusa. Whatever would help Medusa would also help Marcellus, John, Yvette and Merc. And Clara knew, even if Marcellus had been teasing her about being his guardian angel, one thing about that was true.
She would protect him however she could.
The homeless man shuffled in their direction, pausing to check out a box left next to a trash can, emptying it out and muttering to himself. John tried not to grind his teeth in impatience as the grungy individual moved into the paid parking lot and wove between cars, disappearing behind a brace of SUVs.
Maddock materialized inside the black van with tinted windows. His pungent disguise melted away, leaving him sitting in the second seat in his jeans and T-shirt, his eyes sharp and hard.
“They’re there. I overheard a couple of them talking. T got there about thirty minutes ago.” Maddock spat out the name. “Otherwise known as Dr. Tyrone Oswald. MyTech’s personal Dr. Frankenstein.”
They were parked in a spot across from a collection of warehouses, part of the industrial district of the larger city which was about twenty miles from the small town where the Circus had performed. Through the corridor provided by the warehouses, John could see a small vertical strip of the one where Yvette sensed Medusa was being held. Maddock had counseled parking this far away so they wouldn’t trip off any magical or human sentries they had while he confirmed her mental GPS.
“Once we head in that direction, that will happen soon enough. But the shields they have in place are breakable. They obviously still don’t have anyone on staff with a better grasp of magical workings than me.” He said it without ego, underlined by his next words. “Goddess help us if they ever do. Anyway, once we get close enough, I should be able to split those protections open and give you a window to get inside and retrieve her.”
John checked that the safety on his nine mil was off before he holstered it under his arm. He checked his combat knives and verified the scabbards were oiled well enough to release the knives quickly. He knew they were, but neither agent nor soldier questioned his prep rituals. More often than not, they could save his life or others. He had an assault rifle propped between his knees.
He told himself to focus on this the way he did any op, because getting his mind fogged up by who was in danger, who they were going in there to get, wouldn’t help her. But underneath the ritual and cold calculation, he was a fucking lava pit of rage, just waiting for the chance to erupt. He thought of her on her island, a million different images. The first time he’d heard her laugh, watched her swim, or felt her curled up against him on top of the highest peak. Her wariness, her longing to trust, to simply be, had been so obvious to him from the beginning. He was all kinds of pissed off that anyone thought they had the right to take that from her, especially after everything else she’d endured. This shit had to stop.
He understood her conflict between losing her snakes, who’d become so bonded to her, and desiring a life that wasn’t all about defending herself against those too fascinated
with who and what she was.
“JP.” Yvette drew him out of his head. “You are clear on our objective?”
“Get her out with minimal damage and loss of life, get her home.”
“Firestorms cause questions. I have a whole Circus to protect.” She met his gaze. “That said, I trust your training to tell you when lethal force cannot be avoided. I want to bring all of us home.”
A moment of silence ensued, disrupted by an obtrusive crackle of paper. Glancing toward the rear seat, he saw Merc was eating a package of Lance Nekot cookies. Marcellus, sitting next to him, was staring at the half-breed angel with the impassive look that could mean he was meditating. Or thinking about driving one of his wickedly sharp and exceedingly long daggers through Merc’s ear.
“Well, most of you,” Yvette said under her breath.
Looking up, Merc noticed their regard, and extended the package with a bland look. “Anyone want one? I brought several packs.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, John felt a loosening in his gut, his lips tipping up. Even Yvette’s dark expression transformed to exasperated amusement.
“Idiot,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Full darkness had fallen, so John and Maddock left the vehicle, slipping through the cover the other cars provided. Yvette used her vampire speed to get to the first rendezvous point ahead of them. The winged pair disappeared aloft, the plan being for them to provide air support and whatever intel their vantage point could provide as the extraction progressed.
John was the forward point of the spear that would be thrown once Maddock dismantled the protections. Maddock was armed only with his magic, but John suspected it was as effective as any hardware he was carrying. He hadn’t seen him use it in a combat situation, however.
“So have you ever been part of an op like this?” John asked the wizard.
“No, but I’ve seen a lot of action films.” Maddock crouched behind a Dumpster with him. Yvette appeared at John’s elbow.