by Aliya DalRae
Sasha picked up another case, unscrewed the top. “I guess I thought you’d been through enough for one day.”
Oz grinned, his eyes sparking with excitement. “Thanks for that,” he said. “But I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Be safe out there,” he added with a wink, and disappeared out the door.
As she finished adding the charms to the last of the lenses, Viper burst into the room in his usual brusque manner. “You about done?” he asked. His normal scowl was on overdrive, and when he went to a locked cabinet, opened it up, and pulled out all manner of weapons, she could only stare.
There were knives that he not only slid into his pockets but strapped to his arms and legs as well. Then there were the guns he holstered at his sides, his ankle and shoulder. He slipped a few round objects into his pockets with the knives, and what looked like an armory’s worth of ammo.
But it was the sword he strapped to his back that made her jaw drop. The scabbard itself was black and worn, and with the hilt of the sword at its end, measured about three feet long. He didn’t draw the sword, but the hilt was as plain as the scabbard. This was a utilitarian weapon, not one simply for show. Sasha didn’t want to know what kind of life this Warrior lead to have a weapon that showed so much use.
He finished things off with an oversized duster, whose pockets he loaded with extra knives and ammo, the hilt of his sword peeking out the neck of the coat. He turned to her, and she shivered at the sight of this battle-ready male. Viper always struck her as unapproachable, sometimes simply mean, but this male before her, this Warrior, was pure poison.
A little thrill tickled her belly, surprising her into a belated answer to Viper’s question. “Sorry, yes. I’m finished.”
The Warrior stared at her for a minute, then went back to his cabinet. “Here,” he said, pulling a small pile of fatigues from a shelf. “Put these on. They should fit.”
He shoved them into her hands and walked to the door. “Knock when you’re decent,” he said, and left her to change.
Surprisingly, the clothes were very nearly perfect. The black t-shirt hugged her like a second skin but was soft and comfortable enough that she didn’t feel constricted. The pants and over shirt were done in shades of black and grey camouflage, and again fit as though they were made for her. As she fastened the final button on the camo shirt, she rapped her knuckles on the door, and walked back to the cabinet where she’d left her shoes. She had one sneaker tied and was working on the other when Viper dropped a pair of combat boots at her feet.
“Seven and a half, right?”
She couldn’t speak, merely nodded. The guy looked like Rambo on steroids but was picking out clothes for her like that guy on The Devil Wears Prada. He still wore that super scowl, though, so she didn’t dare make a comment.
She kicked off her shoes and fumbled with the boot laces. She’d never worn anything like this before, and though it looked as though it should be a simple task, she struggled nonetheless.
Viper growled, tossed a newly lit cigarette into an ashtray on the nearest table, and knelt in front of her. “If you would just go down to Sub-T2 with Jessica and the rest, we wouldn’t have to go through all this.” He said it on a mumble, and she was certain he didn’t expect her to answer, so she remained quiet as he tucked her pantlegs into the tops of the boots.
His nimble fingers threaded the laces through the holes then tightened them snuggly around her ankles. When he double-knotted the bow, she had to swallow an unexpected lump in her throat. It was a silly thing to get emotional about. It was an unexpected kindness, that was all, from a male who had yet to speak a gentle word to her, on a night when expectations for survival were low.
He patted the sides of her boots, brushed imaginary dust from the toes, and laid his palms on his thighs. He looked up at her, then, the normally fierce glare in his eyes having gone soft as he searched her face, her eyes, for what, she didn’t know.
He snapped back to himself then, the gentle male changing back into the fierce Warrior she’d grown used to. “Let’s get these contacts out there and go check the Compound. Make sure those knuckleheads haven’t screwed up our work.”
Unable to speak around the rock still resting in the back of her throat, Sasha nodded and stood, ready to do her part for the people who were kind enough to take her in. She only hoped she survived the night, that things would return to normal so she could get on with her real purpose in being there. Finding her father.
Chapter Fifty-One
T akeshi found the abandoned property with ease, the GPS in the vehicle he’d rented earlier in the week leading him directly to the spot. He pulled into the driveway and followed it to the back of the burned-out husk of a house, where he parked beyond the view of passing vehicles.
For the moment, he left the case containing his most precious cargo in the vehicle, stepped out and froze at the sight awaiting him. Yuuma greeted him with a low bow followed by a hearty handshake, but that wasn’t what stopped him in his tracks.
Beyond Yuuma, Takeshi saw a full block of Kurai Senshi, thirty-five Warriors standing five across by seven rows, all there to support him in defense of the old ways. They were all dressed in black, blending in with the night even before calling the Shade to their side.
Based on Yuuma’s reports, the Legion Compound looked capable of housing upward of five-hundred Soldiers and perhaps another dozen Warriors. Even if they were at full capacity, they would not withstand the power they faced in the team Yuuma assembled. Ten Kurai Senshi would have been sufficient for their purposes. With thirty-five, it would be a slaughter.
He stepped around Yuuma and looked the front row in the eye, one by one. Then he bowed to them, fist to palm and low at the waist. As a unit, the entire block bowed to him in return. Thirty-five Warriors to keep the Legion Soldiers busy while he found and eliminated the fugitive, Katsuro.
Yuuma joined him before the ranks, placed a hand upon his shoulder and smiled. “Ten more wait for us on the Compound. They have taken position around the Soldier barracks to watch for any signs of trouble. Stephen said the place is a hive of activity, the Soldiers running around with more purpose than one would expect on a regular day. It appears they anticipate our arrival. Assuming your Katsuro has warned them that we’re coming, I imagine they are doing everything they can to counter our attack.” The male chuckled. “He said they were changing out the bulbs on all the exterior lamps. Guess they’re hoping LED will cut through the Shade better than incandescent.”
Takeshi joined Yuuma in his mirth, but something about the situation struck him wrong. There were no lights in existence, created by man or by nature, that could withstand the pull of the Shade. Perhaps they were giving their Soldiers something to lay their hopes on so they wouldn’t despair knowing this was their last night on earth.
He couldn’t worry about that, though. Yuuma was to oversee the attack on the Legion, and he would handle their pitiful attempts at survival. Takeshi had one purpose and only one: to find Katsuro and bring him to justice.
He took one last look at the block of Warriors, then turned to Yuuma. “Help me with my armor.”
The male bowed to him, his dark eyes glimmering with something akin to reminiscence. “It would be an honor.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
W ith Merlin’s guidance, Martin helped his Dark Warrior don the armor he’d earned as a young male. The original leggings and shirt had indeed suffered the effects of time, so Merlin pulled on a long-sleeved tee and a pair of black workout pants to replace the ruined garments. The armor itself was in amazingly good shape, though. Even the silk ties and leather bindings were pliable and strong.
In what Merlin said was the traditional manner, they started from the bottom and worked their way up, left plates first, then right, starting with the greaves. Martin placed the black and red guard against Merlin’s lower leg, wrapped the laces around the top several times and tied them, again with Merlin’s instruction, in a decorative knot. He repeated the process wit
h the bottom laces, then moved on to the right leg.
With the greaves secure, he slid his hands up Merlin’s long, muscular legs and stood to retrieve the thigh guards. These consisted of two large squares of scale mail, joined at the top with a strong, silk belt. He aligned the center with Merlin’s navel, then slid his hands around his lover’s waist to pass the ends of the belt at his back and pull them around opposite sides where he could secure them in the front.
Gloves next, to protect the hands he would never tire of feeling on his body, then armored sleeves, to shield the powerful arms he would lie in for the rest of his life.
The do, or cuirass, was next, the heart of the armor that would protect Merlin’s vital organs, a back and chest plate if you will, to deflect his enemies’ blades and keep his own heart beating. Then he wrapped the obi, the long belt, around Merlin’s waist, once, twice, thrice, and tied a secure knot in the front, creating a line of separation between the cuirass above and the flare of scale-armored skirting below.
He glanced up to find Merlin watching him, the Warrior’s jaw set, his eyes steeled as the heft of the armor settled upon him and the weight of the situation fell upon them both. He didn’t speak beyond the instructions he gave, but when their eyes met, he nodded, and Martin continued.
Sode, shoulder guards, gave already broad shoulders the appearance of great breadth, while offering another layer of protection to Merlin’s upper body.
“Swords next,” Merlin whispered, and Martin looked into the depths of the alcove to where an ornate stand, similar to the one that supported Kioshi’s dagger in the meditation room, displayed a set of long swords. “Wakizashi first, then katana.”
Martin handed him the smaller sword, which Merlin inserted, scabbard and all, through a small gap in his obi. The katana he put through the second gap, both on his left side to be easily drawn by his dominant right hand.
Merlin handed him the gorget, and Martin tied the fan-shaped piece of mail around his lover’s neck. The only things left were the mask and helmet.
Merlin turned to the stand where both pieces hung, the remaining items looking like a bodiless entity waiting to be reclaimed. He ran his hands along the foot-long horns that adorned both sides of the black and red lacquered helmet. “Master Masaru told me he chose the bull because I was stubborn, refused to give up even when the Clan all but forced me to surrender. I’ve never been a quitter. The harder they pushed, the harder I pushed back. Running from the Kurai Senshi was the toughest thing I’ve ever done. Until I met you.”
Merlin turned from the mask and helmet, his shoulders squared as he met Martin’s eyes. “Running from them was difficult. Running from you, as it turns out, was impossible.” He stepped forward, rested a gauntlet-covered hand on the back of Martin’s head, and drew him into a kiss. It had none of the passion they shared over the past twenty-four hours, nor the wonder of that first kiss Martin stole what seemed a lifetime ago. This kiss, so soft, so haunting, felt more like a kiss goodbye, and it nearly brought Martin to his knees.
Too soon, Merlin stepped away and reached for the mask. It reminded Martin of one of the masks he often saw in the symbolic pair depicting theater. It didn’t surprise him that Merlin’s mask would most resemble tragedy. He swallowed away the lump of grief that had risen in his throat and reached for the helmet that sat alone on the armor stand.
Merlin donned the horned monstrosity himself, though Martin helped with the hooks and loops that secured the mask in place. One last check of the bindings and Merlin stepped back.
What Martin saw sent chills down his spine.
Gone was the slender e-geek he’d met in Mason’s office, the distracted male with the gentle air having transformed into something so much more. And it wasn’t just the armor. With the stark blood-red and black lacquer, and the grotesque helmet with its tragic mask, one would naturally think that would be the cause of the dramatic change, but no. This male before him stood taller than his six-foot frame, stood stronger than the power his Vampire blood afforded.
Martin used to wonder how such a mild-mannered male, a pacifist by first appearance, could have become a Legion Warrior. The idea of Merlin fighting in any manner seemed laughable back then, but this male before him was another creature altogether. The hardness in his eyes told the story no words ever could. In this moment Martin understood, at least for tonight, Merlin was no more. Katsuro Senshi stood before him, and he was glorious.
The Dark Warrior ushered Martin into the other room, and without a word they headed for the door. Martin had his hand on the door knob when Merlin said, “A moment.”
He went into the meditation room and stood in full armor before the shrine he’d erected to his first love. Merlin picked up the tantou from its resting place, laid it in his palms. Extending it before him, he offered a slow bow to the shrine. He then slid the dagger through his obi opposite the two swords, blew out the candles, and walked out the door.
Dressed in fatigues and combat boots, Martin followed his magnificent Dark Warrior, thinking for all the world that he was horribly underdressed.
Chapter Fifty-Three
W alking through the manse’s corridors in full Kurai Senshi armor felt a bit like twisting time. To Merlin’s mind, it was a combination of the male he was and the one he’d come to be. With Martin by his side, there was no doubt that it reflected the best parts of him from both worlds, and that thought made him stand taller, prouder than he had in centuries.
Rachel’s door opened as he and Martin marched past. He didn’t look but heard a collection of gasps as his neighbors joined the little procession to the elevator. He felt a hand on his arm and looked down to see Nox’s mate beaming at him.
“You look magnificent,” she whispered. “I’ve no doubt when this is over, you’ll be coming home to us a free male.”
Merlin laid his opposite hand atop hers and squeezed. “I appreciate you saying that, but the battle has yet to be fought.”
“You’re totally gonna kick ass,” Talon called from behind them as they reached the lift.
“Talon,” Phire hissed, but Merlin smiled. He felt like he could kick ass, for sure. He rubbed the hilt of the dagger in his belt, confident that one way or another, this ended tonight.
Martin pushed the call button and the elevator doors opened without hesitation. The five of them crowded in, Phire pressed the lobby button, and they rode together in silence, all of them lost in their own thoughts.
When the doors opened again, Rachel and the twins headed for the lift across the lobby. “You’re going to Sub-T2?” Merlin asked.
Rachel nodded. “Yes. We figured if it was secure enough to keep Raven’s beast confined, we should be fairly safe. As safe as we can be, anyway.”
“The others are joining you? Jessica? Your sister?”
Merlin tried to discern the odd look on Rachel’s face. When she responded, he understood. “Yes, and yes, though I wish Kythryn would change her mind about joining us. Then again, if it weren’t for the children I’d almost rather stand outside and watch her liger. Better than being stuffed in a small room with my sister; however, we do what we must. Stay safe out there, boys.”
Rachel gave Merlin and Martin each a fierce hug, then joined the twins on the Sub-T elevator that would take them to safety.
Merlin turned to the heavy entryway doors where Martin stood waiting for him. He looked dangerous in his own right, his blond hair slicked back, and his pockets bulging with weapons of all manner. The addition of a sword on his hip reflected the extra training Tas had added to the Soldiers’ routine. Not that swordplay was new. Legion Soldiers were proficient in all forms of weapons. However, times being what they were, it proved better to focus on guns and knives, since carrying a sword on patrol would tend to call unwanted attention to the Soldiers.
However, the sword was the Kurai Senshi’s preferred weapon. Plus, it was shear madness to try and shoot a hand gun when you couldn’t see the target. That’s why all the Soldiers would be fighting
with blades tonight. Unless Viper’s little surprise worked. Then the .44 on Martin’s hip could very well come into play.
“Shall we?” Martin opened the door and gestured for Merlin to go ahead of him. He smiled, and exited the manse, hoping like hell it wasn’t the last time he walked through that door.
Mason stood in the courtyard with Raven by his side. The Warlord looked absolutely lethal with a pair of swords crossed Deadpool-style on his back, his duster pockets heavy with an assortment of other weapons. Merlin and Martin joined them, and Raven let out a low whistle.
“If I’d known it was a formal affair, I’d have worn a tie.”
Used to the male’s sarcasm, Merlin was prepared to let it go. However, Martin stepped in front of him and stood toe to toe with the Race’s most fearsome Warrior. “Respect,” he said.
Merlin couldn’t see his lover’s face, but when Raven’s eyes widened and he offered a mumbled, “Sorry,” he felt his chest swell with pride.
He put his hand on Martin’s shoulder, and the male took the step back required to stand at his side.
“It’s all good,” Merlin said, held his hand out for Raven to shake, then Mason.
A fierce roar exploded to his right, filling the clearing with an air of foreboding. Merlin snapped his head up, only to see Harrier playing—yes, playing—with a thousand-pound liger. The creature was huge and had placed its paws on the shoulders of the Legion’s largest Warrior, making the male look small by comparison. Harrier laughed when the giant cat nuzzled him, then swore when she licked his face, leaving a thick stream of liger-drool dripping from his chin.
“I’ll get you back for that,” he said, and the cat bounced off him, rolled on her back and chuffed. Harrier knelt beside her and rubbed her belly. “Yeah, you’re cute, but you’re still gonna pay.”