Daughters of Eve Collection (Books 1, 2 & 3)

by Bourdon, Danielle

  It just didn't seem to be working no matter how many times she let it roll through her mind. But smaller whispers reminded her of times she had done what she needed to when it counted. Like shooting Rhett when she thought he was deceiving her. Trying to take out the boat on the Mediterranean, fighting back against the bastard in the high rise before the black sun event that threw the world into chaos.

  Those were different situations than facing down a beast of questionable origin with glowing eyes and teeth that were better suited to a barracuda.

  Ahead, silhouettes took shape in the fog. Tall, broad, with a glint of steel along a heavy blade.

  Servants. Servants of the Fallen.

  †

  It was always easy to tell who the Servants and the Fallen were. They were men with exceptional height and a presence that humans felt all the way to the core. Like with Ashrael, the Fallen had that quality in abundance while the Servants' varied. Born to mortal women, the Servants skills, power and talent also varied. It depended on the father, the mother, the upbringing and the natural desire of the Servant in question.

  Most Servants all had at least three times the strength of a normal human man. Sometimes more. Very few times, less. Those alive longer had a distinct advantage over the younger immortals.

  The two that stalked out of the gloom shared a height several inches under seven feet, one blonde, one dark haired, both stern faced and armed to the teeth. The blonde had a belt around his waist with several daggers and other instruments of death Evelyn didn't immediately recognize. His brethren shouldered a bow with arrows affixed to his back. They seemed equally arrogant, the blonde wearing a smirk when he scanned the narrow street and the Templars lurking in it.

  One broke away for Rhett and Dracht, the other for Dragar and Christian.

  Evelyn saw they paid little attention to the women. Minna whispered near her ear.

  “Get all the weapons from them you can when the men take them down.”

  Her sister had expertise in using different kinds, especially the bow and arrows. It didn't surprise Evelyn that Minna thought the Knights would take this particular fight.

  She nodded agreement, removing the blade from her sheath in a preemptive move this time so she wouldn't freeze in case the worst happened and the Templars fell. The contoured hilt felt solid against her palm.

  Rhett pushed away from the wall with Dracht at his flank. The Templars faced off with their adversary, parting to each side of the Servant to force his attention to split between them.

  Evelyn understood what they intended, could see the strategy in their actions. Rhett and Dracht had a lot of training and practice behind them. She reassured herself they knew what they were doing.

  Beside her, Alex glanced back down the street. Minna looked up to the rooftops. Evelyn checked the gloom for more glowing eyes and hurtling bodies. So far, she saw nothing. No more Servants yet, either.

  She wondered how much deeper the Fallen was, where he'd put the disc, and what else stood between them and acquiring it. More hounds? Creatures of a different sort? Ashrael had warned them the Fallen had the power to conjure a multitude of unpleasant things.

  Dragar and Christian took up a similar stance, the Servant between them. Dragar, being close to six-five himself, had the best height advantage of the rest. He wasn't quite eye to eye with the Servant, but he wasn't far off the mark.

  With a sudden, explosive burst, thousands of small black flying things erupted from the mist. Perhaps they were made of the mist, the way they peeled out of the curling, murky wisps like leaves plucked from a tree. The distraction, she saw, was purposeful, though likely not of the Servants making. They didn't have that kind of power.

  Rhett and Christian ducked at the same time; Dracht glanced that way. Dragar, too experienced to allow a diversion to distract him, clashed swords with the Servant when he struck.

  In crouching, Rhett might have saved himself a lethal blow; the Servant's blade whistled a foot above his head, arcing around for Dracht who recovered swiftly from his surprise. He blocked the strike with his own sword, risking harm by coming in closer, tempting the Servant to counter him and strike again.

  The bats flurried around the combatants in disorienting numbers, flap-fluttering wildly at incomprehensible speeds. Evelyn put her arms up to block her face when she saw Rhett forced to take a swing at a few, that they weren't simply flying by but attacking.

  Tiny bodies pelted her from the right, little claws trying to gain purchase on the shirt. They slipped off, chittering and squealing, only to bombard her from another angle. The miniature scales prevented her from scratches and injury, but her hands, exposed from the wrist down, suffered several. She heard clanging swords beyond the fray, caught glimpses of Rhett and the Servant locked in a fierce head to head battle while Dracht picked himself up off the ground.

  He'd been hit but she couldn't tell how hard or where. Nor how bad it was. Blood wasn't seeping or dripping. That was a good sign.

  Minna and Alex flailed on both sides of her, grunting and gasping with the effort to fight through the mass of bodies. Evelyn pitched away from them so she wouldn't accidentally cut one of them with her dagger when she swatted at the tiny, infuriating biting beasts.

  Dragar and Christian were in heavy combat, striking alternately from two angles, and the Servant seemed to be keeping up with ease. It was almost frightening how smooth he moved, cutting the blade one way and another, wickedly fast, forcing Dragar and Christian to take evasive action several times.

  The fog moved closer, coming within feet of the fighters. Evelyn caught the advance in glimpses. In a moment it would curl around them, making it difficult to see.

  Dracht swung for the back of the Servant's knees, a brutal angle, his face a mask of concentration. There was a break in the armor there, a place to make contact with flesh. The bats made it harder, Evelyn knew, but Dracht stayed on course.

  With some sort of eerie sixth sense, the Servant twisted with his elbow leading, taking Dracht in the temple. Dracht went to a knee and Rhett chose that moment to strike. His sword arced up and around, then cut straight down.

  The Servant must have known he would strike, would take advantage of the distraction. He arched his head out of the way and cocked his arms back, ready to thrust his sword through the vulnerable separation of Rhett's armor at his waist.

  Evelyn used the momentum of fighting off the bats to thwip the dagger at the Servant. It was just what she needed to do, deciding the gleam of light off her blade would distract the Servant for the split second Rhett needed to either dodge or counter.

  She just wanted to buy him another heartbeat of time to react. When push came to shove, she could do it. Even if it drew the ire and attention of the Servant onto herself.

  The Servant and Rhett saw the weapon pitching their way and both anticipated the other; however, Rhett anticipated better. When the Servant twisted to slap his blade against the smaller one, Rhett was already moving. He didn't wait for the action, didn't wait to hear the clang of steel.

  He lunged forward, driving the tip of his sword through the Servant's throat, finding the open spot at the top of the armor.

  Dracht, recovering from the stunning blow to his head, crouched to miss any accidental swipe of the Servan't sword and pierced its side where the armor separated to show a glimpse of flesh.

  The Servant's sword clattered to the stone covered ground, body arched in a death throe, face contorted in pain.

  At the same time she saw Minna dash forward in periphery, a dark little blur that slipped between Dragar and Christian's arching blades, around the slice of the Servant's sword, to attach herself to its back. Quick herself, she snared the Servant under the chin with her palm and wrenched its head around, leaping to the ground when the body crumpled after the snap. Her martial art expertise shined in that moment.

  She claimed its sword and stepped away so that Christian could make doubly sure the Servant wouldn't rise when their backs were turned. Suff
ering a bloody nose, Christian brought his blade down to separate the head from the body.

  It will take all of you to defeat them, Ashrael had said.

  The bats swerved out of the street almost as one entity, flapping up and away. Fog shrouded the two downed bodies, curling through the air and over the ground like a live thing.

  Evelyn ran forward to pick her dagger up off the ground. She confiscated another dagger, three throwing knives and what looked like a skinny whistle. In the aftermath, breathing hard, she realized her hands were shaking. Regardless, she felt accomplished, good about taking action when it mattered.

  Dracht handed the other Servant's sword to Alexandra. She was the likely one to carry it even before Minna. Evelyn had little to no experience with them. Not that she had any with the throwing knives, either.

  As one, like they were all connected by hive mind, the seven advanced into the fog, prepared to face off against the Fallen.

  Chapter Four

  The fog grew thicker, darker, clinging to the ground, the walls and the stone archways spaced out above them. Silence descended again, the kind of quiet that allowed a person to hear every creak of leather armor and every soft breath the warriors took. No matter how subdued their creeping was, the noises seemed to bounce off the walls and echo ahead into misty oblivion, enhanced and exaggerated beyond their true level.

  It was the Fallen at work, Rhett decided, giving himself an extra advantage.

  A smart adversary would be able to distinguish each of their sounds, giving him an accurate headcount. It was why he pressed forward quicker than he might have otherwise, wanting to cut the time down the Fallen had to prepare. His chest hurt from a blow during the fight but it wasn't anything he couldn't shove down and aside, relegating it to a distant ache while he focused his attention on the aggravating fog.

  A square doorway loomed to the right, on his father and Christian's side of the pathway. He could just make out Dragar's expression and nodded. Twisting, he whispered around Dracht to the line of girls behind him.

  “Stay out here and guard the doorway. We don't need anyone trapping us in there.” Rhett made eye contact with each woman to drive his point home.

  Evelyn was the only one who seemed doubtful of the plan, her eyes giving away her concern, her want to stay close. He understood her mind on the matter but shook his head; he needed her and her sisters to stay out here.

  A brief flicker of rebellion in her gaze worried him. He needed to know she would stay where he asked, so that later, if he encountered her inside in the dark, he wouldn't mistake her for the enemy and kill her.

  Rhett wouldn't be able to live with himself.

  Finally, she nodded. Agreement.

  He let her see his relief and gratitude. Then he peeled away from the wall with Dracht at his flank, the shield slung around to lay against his back. He wanted both hands for the sword.

  Crossing the stone path, he filed through the dark doorway first, letting the others fall in behind. The fog didn't penetrate the skinny corridor and good thing. They would have been completely blind. As it was, he could barely see two feet ahead.

  The walls pressed close, giving him little room to move. Battling in here was impossible. Maybe that's the way the Fallen wanted it. He had a fleeting moment to wonder if they were being led into a trap, but this was the way the strange tug led him. It compelled him in ways he'd never been compelled before to go forward, follow the invisible line toward the Seal. Drawn to it on subconscious and physical levels.

  Sometimes he didn't have to stop and think where to go, he just knew.

  Urged forward, holding the sword out in front of him, he followed his instinct deeper into the dank tunnel. It smelled ancient here, a stale mix of old earth and older stone. Creeping along, he followed twists and turns that he was sure would lead him into a larger cavern or room. The passage remained narrow however, snaking deeper underground. Instinct told him that, too, as well as the subtle downward slope that put more strain on his thighs.

  Long ago he'd learned to listen to the workings of his body to help him figure out clues when nothing else presented itself. The air seemed thinner, more oppressive.

  Like being buried.

  Ten minutes passed, bootfalls as quiet as he could make them on the ground. It was then he realized he didn't hear his brothers and father behind him. Rhett paused to listen. Not just for their boots but the creak of their armor, the shallow respiration of their breathing.

  He heard nothing.

  Rhett glanced forward again to make sure no one had closed in while his attention shifted. There was nothing but the shadowy tunnel. Visibility had reduced to less than a foot, so he couldn't be positive something wasn't lurking straight ahead, waiting for him to walk right into it. Whispering might give his exact position away but he wasn't going a step further until he at least tried to make contact with his brothers.

  “Dracht?” The hush of his voice sounded as loud as a shout to his ears and he grimaced. Damnit.

  He got no reply. His senses told him Dracht, Christian and his father were not immediately nearby. Where else could they have gone? He couldn't remember there being any other tunnels or forks in the corridor—but then he'd been hyper focused on his path and that thing that compelled him inside.

  Shit.

  “Dragar? Christian?” He tried one more time, checking both ways with quick glances.

  Still nothing.

  Instead of going back—because that wouldn't solve anyone's problem—he went forward. One step after the other, grip so tight on the hilt of the gleaming sword his knuckles ached.

  Rhett realized belatedly that the blade was what provided the minimal light to see by. Somehow it cast the faintest glow, such a small amount as to barely be recognizable. He had the feeling that his adversary wouldn't be able to see it coming from the opposite direction, that the subdued cast worked only for him.

  Beads of sweat trickled down his temple and through his whiskers, dropping onto the leather armor from his jaw. It wasn't heat but concentration and the close confines coupled with little air flow that did it.

  Strangely, he didn't feel nervous or apprehensive.

  Maybe he should have.

  Beyond the low gleam of the sword, a new light flickered to life. From around a corner, casting a yellowish glow rather than the faint, ethereal one that lit his way. He pressed his back against the far wall instead of the closer one, inching his way to the turn. The wall came to an abrupt end, allowing him to see straight ahead, into the candlelight.

  The narrow passageway opened up into a room twenty-odd feet ahead. He could discern the wider, dome shape even from here. Rhett glanced behind him.

  “Dracht?” he whispered. No answer.

  The Seal was close. Inside, his pulse ticked madly, that invisible thing drawing him forward. He didn't want to face the Fallen alone and it had nothing to do with being afraid. Rhett simply understood his chances of defeating it without help were next to impossible. Not willing to stand there and let more time pass by—lethal as anything else—he crept along the corridor toward the room. Three quick steps took him from obscurity into light, the sword brandished, ready to strike—and he stopped dead in his tracks.

  To the left, tied to a post, stood Evelyn. Mouth stuffed with a gag, hands tied behind her to the wooden pole, she stared at him with frightened, wide eyes. A quick sweep told him her clothing was intact, that she didn't seem to be wounded or beaten.

  He couldn't fathom how she'd gotten here ahead of him. Where were her sisters? Dead? For that matter, where the hell were his brothers and father?

  Behind the pole, in a segment cut out of the rugged stone wall, sat a fat candle and what looked like a page from a very old book. Nestled into the surface was an even older looking disc.

  The Seal.

  Evelyn whimpered, imploring him with soft sounds and a desperate expression.

  Rhett took a step forward—and stopped. The Seal called, luring, coaxing him forward to cla
im it.

  At the same time, warning bells clanged sharp in his head, adding fuel to the certainty that something was desperately wrong here. The whole set up just hit him odd. He wanted to get Evelyn down from there, untie her hands and grab the Seal and leave.

  It wouldn't be that easy. This was a trap but one he didn't quite have a full grasp on yet. The rest of the room looked empty; he could see to the corners thanks to the candlelight glow. Glancing behind him, back down the gloomy corridor, he saw nothing.

  No stalking Fallen, no Servants. No white eyed mongrels bent on destruction.

  Yet he felt as if his life was in immediate and desperate peril.

  Torn between the decision to move to Evelyn and assess the situation, he scanned the subterranean room one more time. There was something he was missing here. But what?

  Another drop of sweat slithered down his cheek. Think think. Rugged walls, the Seal in the niche, Evelyn tied to the post.

  No. Not any of those things.

  And then it hit him; there was no other way into this cave than from the tunnel he just took. No doors led away into secret passages, no crevices in the walls afforded an entrance or exit. So how did Evelyn get in here?

  Was there a short cut off the tunnels he'd walked? A corridor he'd missed that intersected with his?

  Evelyn whimpered against the rag. The need to protect her surged as strong as a sudden, uncomfortable desire to destroy her.

  It rocked him, the war that waged inside. He licked his lips, tasting sweaty salt on his tongue.

  Kill her, before she kills you, an inner voice whispered. It was the voice of hardened battle experience, of intuition. Of self preservation.

  Evelyn would never hurt him. He glanced behind him at the tunnel and back, feeling exposed and in a spotlight he couldn't see.

  Tested, coerced, lured.

  He couldn't kill her. She pleaded with him to save her, arching toward him with her body as far as the ropes would allow. What he needed to do was sever the ropes and get her the hell out of there after he grabbed the Seal.

  It was right there, almost within reach. Close. So close.