Then suddenly three sharp bursts of pain exploded in his back, and he heard Annette scream.
A brightness flooded his vision, and a power greater than his own began sucking him upward from the mortal realm. Sucking Pathos up too, for Aragon refused to let go of the evil were.
Annette screamed his name over and over again, but a searing wall of fire stood between them. Aragon’s soul cried out to her. I’ll always love you. No matter what. As he looked down at her before the mortal realm disappeared, he saw that she had his amulet clutched in her fist and was shaking it at the heavens, her face torn with pain.
Chapter Twenty-four
A NNETTE COULDN’T BELIEVE what was happening. One moment Aragon was winning the fight against Pathos, the black fur covering his body shimmering, as if the moon itself had found a way through the dark jungle canopy to give Aragon its power. The next moment the light intensified to a blaze around them. Then the rapid fire of a machine gun erupted behind her, spraying both Aragon and Pathos with bullets. Screaming, she ran to Aragon, trying to see if he was hurt even as she was trying to see who in the hell had shot them.
Suddenly a searing force threw her back, and they were sucked upward. She could feel its power pulling on her skin, hair, and clothes, and though it was hotter than anything she could remember, it didn’t burn her. She grabbed Aragon’s amulet in her fist and thrust herself against the force, calling Aragon’s name and demanding that it take her too.
I’ll always love you. No matter what.
She felt his spirit intimately brush over hers, and then he was gone.
Tears and anger spilling from her, she whipped around at the hearty laugh behind her.
“This is fun, is it not, Risa?” said the man, his voice heavily accented. “The gringa silvered the werewolf’s dick. Vasquez thinks it is something he should have thought to do. The silver bullets worked much too fast, no? I shoot, and then poof, they are both gone.” He laughed again and pushed the woman who stood in front of him, hard.
Silver bullets! Annette’s insides wrenched. ARAGON! She wanted to thrust through every dimension that stood between them and cut the bullets out herself.
Dressed in black from head to toe, the woman called Risa barreled forward and fell to her knees with a sharp cry.
“Please,” the woman cried. “I had to leave Stefanie, or he would have shot us both.”
“Stef!” Annette cried, trying to grapple with her grief over Aragon and word of her sister. “Where?” she demanded, stepping toward the woman.
The man pointed the machine gun at Annette. “Not so fast, gringa. Vasquez needs time to think. Who is responsible for destroying Vasquez’s casa?” He flashed dagger-sharp fangs, and his eyes turned red, instantly changing him from a petty despot to a nightmarish beast. “Was it Pathos, or perhaps you?
“I will have answers, now.” He pointed the gun at the woman on her knees. “Have you ever seen someone’s head blown apart, gringa?”
Annette’s stomach heaved.
Sam plowed through another freezer of blood with his machine gun and headed upstairs. What had at first given him immense satisfaction now paled beneath the sick realization that all of this blood had been taken, possibly unwillingly, possibly even at the cost of death, from people, from children. He could take heart that he was striking the vampires at their weakest spot, but unless they could get all of Sno-Med’s records, the vampires would just find more to feed on.
He ran up the stairs, ready to rock on the shit up there, when he heard a door snap shut just ahead of him. Inching his way forward, he plastered himself against the wall and popped the door open.
He smelled it then, the sickly strong cologne with which Vasquez drenched himself.
Inside, he found the room empty, but realized he’d found an office. Vasquez’s office. Where in the freaking hell could the bastard have gone to? It had to have been Vasquez whom he heard. But there was no way out of the room. So where did he go? After searching the room thoroughly, Sam readied all of Vasquez’s computer equipment for the junkyard. As he turned to leave, he spied a piece of paper on the floor, half under the bookcase.
As a prisoner here, he’d heard that if he dug deep enough beneath his cell, he’d connect to escape tunnels that ran under the compound. Moving as far as he could across the room to minimize the heat from the bomb, Sam angled his altered M-16 into place. A little door-busting bomb was exactly what the doctor ordered.
Suddenly his breath frosted in the air, and he whipped his head around to see three red demons coming up behind him. The creatures cracked open their mouths.
Sam smiled and pulled the trigger. Though he shot in the opposite direction, the resulting flash of light and heat had the red bastards rolling on the ground, screaming in agony. “Glad I could make your day,” he said before ducking into the tunnel he’d blown open.
The smell of soil, stale air, and Vasquez’s cologne washed over him. He drew in a breath and then moved into the darkness. A tingle of anticipation rippled up and down his spine, and the taste of revenge sweetened in his mouth. It had taken years longer than it should, but Vasquez was finally a dead man.
The tunnel went for about a hundred yards before Sam could see the glow of light indicating its end. He began to run, cursing his luck. The bastard had made it to the jungle, where tracking him was going to be hard as hell. Sam didn’t have that much more time before he was to meet up with Aragon and Jared. A cold sweat broke out over his body. The thought of Vasquez getting free sent a burning pain to the base of Sam’s skull.
That pain shot a fiery dart down his left leg just as he was climbing out of the tunnel, and he fell back inside. Cursing, he wrapped a chokehold on some roots hanging down, spitting out the dirt plastering his face. He pulled himself up out of the tunnel and lay gasping at its mouth.
For a moment he lay there, taking stock. Finding Vasquez at night…suddenly gunfire erupted not far away, and adrenaline had Sam’s body fighting to escape the pain. He gained his feet and limped toward the sound.
“Tell me now, gringa. I’ve no more time. Who has attacked Vasquez?”
“Me,” Sam said, stepping up behind Vasquez and putting a knife to the Vladarian’s back. “Drop the gun and don’t move. The blade is silver, and it’s inches from your heart.”
Vasquez’s curse warred between surprise and rage. “Who is me?” he demanded.
“Sheridan. Sam Sheridan.”
“Who?” Vasquez twisted, trying to see him, but Sam jabbed him in the back hard.
The putrid, bitter gall of memory twisted in his gut. “You don’t remember shooting down a reconnaissance copter and taking me and two others captive to torture at whim? You don’t remember planting enough cocaine in the wreckage to bury our reputations for life? Nobody asked too many questions or looked too hard for corrupt men, right? Delta Force or not. I owe you for the deaths of Waters, Angelo, and Sinclair.”
“Sinclair? He’s not—” The woman’s words were cut off as Vasquez kicked her back onto the ground. Then he shifted, grabbing Sam with almost superhuman strength and sinking his fangs into Sam’s neck. Screaming with rage, Sam shoved the knife into Vasquez’s heart, then pushed him away. Vasquez fell to the ground.
The scent was making Sam sick. He felt dizzy. Blood rushed down his chest, and he pressed his hand to his neck, feeling really weird.
“Sam?” he heard Annette call, but he couldn’t think to answer her at that moment.
“Sam?” Annette called again, rushing to his side. She pushed his hands aside and put pressure on his wound.
“He has been bitten,” the woman said. “It is very bad. Very bad.” She sounded as if she wanted to run away.
Annette tried to look at the woman and at Sam at the same time. “Stefanie! Where is she?”
The woman gained her feet. Her lip was bleeding, and the side of her face was already turning purple. She stared at Vasquez’s fallen body, the knife still protruding from his heart. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she
whispered. “I can’t believe it.”
Sam seemed to come out of his stupor. He kicked at Vasquez. “Hell, yeah, he’s dead.”
“Sit still,” Annette told Sam. “You’ve two puncture wounds gouged into your neck, but he missed your jugular. Hold pressure here and let me get some gauze.” She ran for the med kit, slipped out a package of gauze, and handed it to Sam.
“I’ll put a pressure dressing on it when I get back. I have to find Stefanie first.” She turned to the woman. “Please, take me to Stefanie! She’s my sister, please.”
A crash in the underbrush had the woman jerking free, but before Annette could cry out or the woman could run, Jared burst through, grim-faced and cradling a woman in his arms. “By Logos!” he yelled. “We need to hurry.”
Please God, let this be Stefanie, Annette’s heart cried as it pounded harder. The woman had her face turned away and was shrouded in black from head to toe. She seemed unnaturally still, given all that was happening. Annette was too scared to move.
Jared came to an abrupt halt when he saw Vasquez on the ground. “Vasquez’s men are looking for him in the direction of the Mayan ruins. Erin and Nick are sitting ducks.”
“Stefanie?” Annette whispered.
The woman stirred, turning her way, and Annette gazed into her sister’s blue eyes, eyes that she’d never thought to see again. Everything froze, as if life hinged on that moment; even her heart seemed to pause as she waited for her sister’s answer.
“Nette? I knew you would find me,” Stefanie whispered.
“Yes. I found you,” Annette cried over the raw lump of emotion choking her. Her sister was emaciated, like a concentration camp victim, as if the tenuous thread of life holding her to this world was about to snap. She cried out, hugging her sister, desperate to say everything in her heart that needed to be said. But she had to wait. Stefanie seemed to understand. Within that embrace, their hearts connected as never before, and Annette vowed never to let go again. No matter what. She took Stefanie’s pulse and found it stronger than she expected.
“What about Abe Bennett, Stefanie?” Annette asked. Stefanie shook her head. “He…didn’t…make it.” Her voice was so raw, so tortured, that Annette didn’t ask anything else for right now.
“We must go,” Jared said softly. “Where’s Aragon?”
“Gone,” Annette whispered, her vision blurring even more. “When Vasquez shot them with silver bullets, he and Pathos were sucked up until they disappeared in bright, fiery force.”
“The hand of Logos!” Jared whispered reverently, looking grim.
“What does that mean?” Annette pulled back, blinking at her tears, trying to read Jared’s face for answers.
“Logos has the final word for all fates. He sought Aragon and Pathos with his own hand, which means the matter was grave enough that he will see to their judgments. I’m sorry.” The sorrow in Jared’s gaze said it all. “We must get to the helicopter quickly.”
Annette nodded, shoving her heart aside as the doctor in her took over, the part that flawlessly performed no matter what turmoil she faced. She pressed her palm to Stefanie’s pale cheek. “Jared is going to take you to the helicopter fast. A nurse named Erin is going to get an IV going and give you some electrolytes. I have to put a pressure bandage on Sam’s neck, and we’ll be right behind you, okay?”
Stefanie smiled and nodded.
Jared sent Sam a questioning glance.
“Go,” Sam said. “She’s right on. We’ll be right behind you.”
Annette told Jared what fluids and medication to give Stefanie. He nodded and left.
She applied cauterizing paste and a pressure bandage to Sam’s neck. He seemed a bit different, as if he were weakened somehow. But in the short time since Vasquez’s attack, he couldn’t have lost that much blood. Maybe he was just stunned.
“All that crap about vampires turning people into vampires is bullshit, right?” Sam asked. “Jared said that vampires were fallen Pyrathians from the spirit world. So they weren’t once human, right?”
Annette met his gaze and shook her head, her hand automatically falling to Aragon’s amulet and her heart squeezing with pain. “I don’t know anything anymore, Sam.”
“No,” the woman said, looking at Sam fearfully. “It’s true. My uncle went from a respected man much loved by many to a beast. It does not happen overnight, but it will happen.” She set her gaze upon Vasquez’s body. “A knife to the heart is not good enough. You must cut his heart out,” she whispered. “You must be sure.”
“We’ll burn him,” said Sam. “I don’t want to dirty my hands anymore. See if you have anything flammable in that medical bag,” he said. “Meanwhile, I’ll gather anything that will burn.”
The woman snatched off the black cloth covering her head and stripped off the dress as well. She wore white undergarments that were like a gauzy T-shirt and shorts. “These will burn. And I never want to see them again.”
A few minutes later, they left. A fire, encircled by stones, burned bright behind them.
Nick had the helicopter ready, and Erin had Stefanie situated securely in the helicopter, IV going. They were in the air without incident within minutes of returning to the field. The seven-hour trip back to Twilight, and the ordeal of getting Stefanie and Risa to a nearby hospital was a nightmarish blur. Since they had no passports, Sam circumvented the public airport by calling in huge favors from some private and some military contacts. With Erin’s help, Annette kept a watchful vigil over her sister, her heart rejoicing that she had her sister back and grieving that she’d lost the man she loved. She didn’t know what was happening in the spirit realm, but she did know Aragon. No matter what, he’d return to the Guardian Council and face his execution.
“You two are still here? Have you not heard of the command for all available forces to go immediately to the Guardian’s Arena?”
Sven looked up from where he and York watched over Navarre’s lifeless body to see the concerned face of Flynn—the youngest warrior yet to pass the grueling training to become a member of the Guardian Forces and an elite Blood Hunter.
“Thank you, Flynn. We will hurry.”
Flynn glanced at Navarre. “Any change?”
“No, but there is hope. Sometimes that is all that is needed.”
Flynn nodded and left.
Sven had heard the stir of activity about the Blood Hunters’ camp, but had chosen to ignore it so far. Navarre’s need was greater than any excitement among the forces. But a command to the arena sent fear darting through his spirit. Only matters of great internal import were addressed within the arena. And the greatest matter facing the Guardian Forces now was that of Aragon. He stood.
York rose as well. Sven could tell by the pain on York’s face that he too feared that this gathering would be the fulfillment of Aragon’s punishment. Aragon must have returned. “York, one must stay with Navarre. As your leader, I ask that you remain.”
“We both know that a Guardian Aide can be called to watch over Navarre. We will go to the arena together.”
“You’re sure?”
“I am a warrior. There is no question. I will bear all that must be.”
Sven nodded. With an aide at Navarre’s side, Sven and York joined the many others going to the arena. Everything within him fought against Aragon’s punishment. The guilt belonged to Sven, and every step he made sent torturous spurs of regret burning through his spirit. He’d worried about York acting rashly, but in truth it was his own control that was on the verge of rebellion. How could he watch Aragon fall? He couldn’t. He had to act.
“I must see the council first. I will come to the arena and find you.”
York paused, then placed his hand on Sven’s shoulder. “Must you? Will you leave me to walk alone, wise leader?”
From the shadows darkening York’s spirit, Sven knew that York was speaking about more than walking to the arena. Nor had York called him a wise leader before. York knew Sven felt he had to do something to stop
this judgment, and was gently reminding him of the responsibility of his position.
The gentle nudge touched Sven’s heart and sent his conviction wavering. Wherein was the truth? What should he as leader do? Go with the council’s decree and live forever with his failure burning inside? Or force a way to exchange his life for Aragon’s?
Just as he was about to leave York, Draysius the Pyrathian joined them. He looked grim and not in the least triumphant that Aragon would face punishment. “I need to speak with you,” he said to Sven.
Sven nodded. He was running out of time to help Aragon. “Speak then.”
“It is Sirius,” Draysius whispered. “I cannot find him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I left him in his inner circle to heal from the return of the fire, and when I returned, he was gone. I haven’t said anything to the other Pyrathians yet. He was delirious and kept saying he had to right the wrong to the Blood Hunters. I thought perhaps he’d come to you?”
“No,” Sven said. “But York and I will help look for him.”
A disturbing roar of surprise exploded from the direction of the arena, filling Sven with dread. “But first we must hurry to the arena.”
Chapter Twenty-five
P ATHOS BURNED. Fire ate at him, curling around every part of his body, inside and out. Excruciating pain agonized his every second. He was locked not only within Aragon’s stranglehold but within Logos’s pure beam, yet he hadn’t instantly disintegrated. Did that mean a greater punishment lay ahead? Were all of his plans upon the mortal ground to be lost? He focused his entire power on reaching Cinatas. My son! Listen. You must go to Zion and take Nyros. He will show you all that I have ready. You must make it happen. And you must find a way to save me!
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