Warrior

by Angela Knight

  “Good.” He frowned. “After what happened the last time we went up against those Xeran bastards, I’m not inclined to take them on alone. We’re going to have to talk to Dyami.”

  “It’s the middle of the night,” Jess pointed out.

  Galar shrugged. “He’s a cop. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to wake him up.”

  “But given that we’re talking time travel, does it matter when we go?”

  “It’s time travel as long as those bastards keep their captives in the past. The minute they take them back to our time, all bets are off. I don’t want to leave those women languishing in the hands of torturers any longer than we have to.”

  She frowned, confused. “But couldn’t we arrive in your future at the same time they do, before they have a chance to hurt the Sela or Charlotte?”

  “If we knew when that was, yes. But if we got there too late . . .” He shrugged. “You can’t change history. If they kill your alien friends before we get to them, they’re dead. If the Xerans do something horrific to them, it’s done. Do you really want to take the chance?”

  Jess shuddered. “Let’s go wake up Dyami.”

  Jess sat tensely next to Galar in the office in Dyami’s quarters, side by side in a pair of curving chairs upholstered in dark blue. She found herself wishing the chief would put on a shirt. Dressed only in a pair of black snugs, he paced the room, muscles flexing and working along the length of his big body.

  Jess might be in love, but she wasn’t blind. And Dyami looked far too sexy, with his long black hair flowing around his shoulders and the colorful tattoo painting one side of his face. She dragged her eyes away and focused on Galar’s long, strong fingers, twined around hers. His grip tightened in a squeeze. She looked up to see his lips quirk into a half smile. He leaned in and purred in a low voice, “I don’t do threesomes.”

  She felt herself go scarlet and choked out, “Neither do I!”

  “And I certainly don’t,” Dyami said drily.

  “Warlord hearing,” Galar said, by way of explanation.

  Jess buried her face in her hand. “Just kill me now.”

  “That, as it happens, is what I’m trying to avoid,” Dyami said. “I agree that we can’t risk leaving those women—or whatever they really are—in the hands of the Xerans. It’s possible you were only dreaming, but given your demonstrated abilities, I don’t want to take the chance. Can you give us a day and time of this attack? Even a location?”

  She frowned in anxiety. “No, but I know where it is. I can Jump there. I . . . feel it. I think I can take a few of you with me.”

  Biceps gave a distracting bunch as Dyami ran both big hands through his hair. “With all due respect, I do not want to trust my agents’ lives to psychic abilities I don’t even understand. I want us to Jump using our own technology.”

  “Well, can you just follow me, then?” Jess asked. “Trace my Jump energies?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem, particularly since you’re not trying to lose us.” He frowned heavily. “However, there’s another very large problem with that plan. You’re a civilian, and I’m less than thrilled about the idea of taking a civilian into a possible firefight with Xeran fanatics who’ve already killed two of my people.”

  “She can always Jump clear again once she’s led us there,” Galar pointed out.

  “But if we’re following her, there’s likely to be a few seconds when she’s alone with the Xerans,” Dyami told him. “I don’t want to give them another hostage.”

  “I don’t have a problem with letting her use her abilities to transport me.”

  His commander searched his face. “Are you sure about that?”

  Galar’s golden gaze hardened. “I’m not leaving her alone with those bastards, Chief. Not even for a few seconds.”

  Dyami scrubbed his hands over his face as if to force blood back into his tired skull. “I really don’t like this.” He dropped his hands. “But all right. I’ll gather a team. Galar, get her a T-suit. Even if she doesn’t use it, there’s no reason for her to endure Jump sickness.”

  “Armored?” Galar asked, rising to his feet.

  “Definitely.” The chief’s expression turned grim.

  Less than an hour later, Jess waited for the rest of the team with Galar and Dyami, running nervous fingers over the scales of her new suit. It was a soft civilian dove gray, unlike the blue and silver uniform armor of the Temporal agents. Galar had even given her a shard pistol and drilled her in its use until he was sure she could hit what she fired at. Thanks to the combat EDI he’d had Chogan give her, she was a pretty good shot.

  Frieka and Riane were the next to walk into the gym. The Warfem looked alert and bright-eyed in full armor, almost bouncing in her eagerness. The wolf, on the other hand, flopped down on the floor and shot Jess a look that was almost human in its grumpy sleepiness. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?” He yawned hugely. “I’d bite you if it wasn’t four in the morning.”

  Wulf came in next, accompanied by the towering cyborg Enforcer Tonn “Bear” Eso, and Peter Brannon, the grim-faced, dark-skinned agent who’d also been in on the last fight with the Xerans.

  Dona Astryr entered last, her eyes circled with sleeplessness and grim resolve.

  Jess left Galar’s side to talk to her. “How’s it going?”

  She shrugged. “We’re still trying to track down Ivar and whoever sent in the battleborg team to break him out of the brig. TE Headquarters has sent an internal security team to investigate. I spent the morning getting run through the wringer by a couple of hard-asses who thought every word out of my mouth was a lie.”

  Jess winced. “I’m so sorry, Dona.”

  Dona spread her slender hands. “It’s not your fault, kiddo. I’m the one who was too dumb to realize I was fucking a spy and a liar. I’m lucky Dyami’s letting me come along on this mission at all.” She laughed, a short, ugly bark. “I guess he figured he’d better give me a chance to kick some Xeran butt before I punched one of those IST pricks in the teeth.”

  Before Jess could think of anything comforting to say, Dyami lifted his voice. “All right, folks, line up. I’ve had the tech boys working overtime on some new equipment. Looks like they’ve got it ready.”

  Sure enough, a yawning man in civilian clothes entered, pulling an antigrav pallet behind him piled high with gear. Visibly intrigued, the agents lined up as he started passing it out.

  “Shields and axes?” Wulf asked, accepting one of each. “I thought we were heading for the twenty-first century, not the eleventh.”

  “We did an analysis of the sensor data the first team collected when they fought the Xerans,” the tech explained, holding up one of the circular shields. “The swords they used generated quantum fields. The physics would be a bitch to explain, but the long and short of it is that these units generate a blocking field. You click the thumb switch here as you block.” He demonstrated with a clumsy swing. “It’ll keep the swords from cutting through.”

  “That’ll come in handy,” Dona observed, picking one of the shields off the pallet and examining it.

  “The axes have been in development at headquarters for some time,” the tech continued, lifting one of the massive weapons with difficulty. “Again, they generate a field designed to break the molecular bonds of body armor. Takes more strength than most humans have, but that’s not a problem for you guys.”

  “Nice.” Wulf gave his axe a testing swing, then rotated his wrist to give the weapon a blurring silver twirl. “Good balance.”

  The agents collected their new weapons and spent several chaotic minutes practicing, getting used to them. Axes and shields met with a strange, musical chiming sound Jess found rather chilling. So was the cheerful bloodlust in the Enforcers’ battle cries.

  What the hell am I doing here? She watched Galar and Dyami circling, whaling away at each other. I’m just an artist. I don’t know a damn thing about combat. Her stomach coiled itself into an uneasy knot. An even grimmer
thought made her go cold to the marrow. What if I get these people killed?

  Dyami and Galar separated at last, and the chief lifted his voice in a shout. “Enough fooling around, boys and girls. Let’s get this done. Gather around and listen up.”

  Jess obediently moved closer with the others and listened as Dyami ran over the combat instructions. “If Jess is right, they’ve got at least three hostages, all of whom will appear to be human. She thinks at least two are actually aliens called the Sela.”

  Brannon spoke up. “How do we know she wasn’t just having some kind of nightmare?”

  “We don’t,” Dyami said promptly. “But since she just blew the hell out a battleborg with her mind alone, and had a vision about that Xeran disaster that might have saved lives if we’d only listened to her . . . Well, let’s just say I’m inclined to take her seriously. Other questions?”

  There were a couple, crisp and professional, asked in technical jargon that flew over Jess’s head. After answering them, Dyami turned and gave her and Galar a nod. “Make your Jump. We’ll be right on your heels.”

  Galar lifted his axe and shield. “Ready,” he told Jess crisply.

  At those words, her anxiety coiled even tighter. She fisted her hands to hide their shaking.

  Galar dipped his head and whispered, “You can do it, Jess.” His gaze met hers, so warm with trust and confidence her eyes stung in pure gratitude. She ached to taste that handsome mouth again, but it wasn’t the time or the . . .

  “Oh, what the hell,” Galar said, and ducked in for a kiss that managed to curl her toes, interested audience or no.

  “Get a room!” Frieka hooted, triggering a wave of laughter and good-natured catcalls. Galar lifted one hand in an obscene gesture and went right on kissing her.

  By the time he stepped back, her heart was thumping in pleasure instead of terror. She managed a cocky smile. “Let’s go kick some ass.”

  He flashed her an approving grin. “That’s my girl.”

  Jess drew in a deep breath, laid one hand on his brawny shoulder, and reached for the cool point of alien energy deep within her chest. Concentrating, she called up the memory of the dream—Charlotte, the Sela, all those Xerans.

  The power detonated in a rainbow of light and the thundering force of a tsunami, almost ripping Galar from her grip. Frantically, Jess grabbed for him, and the power obediently caught the Warlord up and swept him along in her wake.

  They spun helplessly together like autumn leaves in a tornado, a terrifying whirl of light and force and sound. Jess couldn’t even draw breath to scream.

  Suddenly there was floor under her feet again, and she staggered. Her ears rang with the boom of displacing air as nausea twisted her stomach mercilessly. Blinking, half-blinded, she braced herself against something straight and strong and warm. Galar, no stranger to time travel, stood behind her like an oak.

  A furious male voice roared, “Warlord!” Something rushed toward them, half-seen in the blizzard of purple sparks that filled her vision from the Jump. Jess recognized the deadly musical chime of a quantum sword. . . .

  Galar thrust her behind him and threw up his shield. The sword’s chime buzzed into a discordant rasp as the weapon bounced against the blocking field. The Xeran swordsman cursed.

  Desperate blinks cleared the spots from her vision, and Jess could see again.

  Galar and the warrior circled, weapons at the ready, stalking each other like something out of Gladiator. Instead of the Roman Colosseum, though, they were surrounded by the tables and chairs of a surprisingly large coffee shop.

  A long red marble counter ran across the rear of the shop, two towering coffee machines on either end. Beneath the counter stood a glass bakery case piled with muffins, cookies, and fresh-baked pies. They gave the air a sweet and homey smell that was somehow chilling, given the three terrorized women who cowered against the case like hurricane survivors clinging to a rooftop.

  Charlotte Holt knelt with her arms protectively curled around two older ladies in white dresses and red aprons. One was plump and matronly, the other thin and wiry. Jess’s special senses told her neither was human.

  The Sela.

  A knot of Xerans surrounded them, swords in hand, fanatical hate twisting their hard faces as they glared from their captives to Jess and Galar. Obviously not just ready to kill, but eager for blood.

  Six more Xerans prowled across the room toward Jess, Galar, and the man he was fighting. All the warriors wore the same black-scaled armor Marcin had. And all of them carried quantum swords.

  “Dammit, Jess, why are you still here?” Galar roared at her, blocking a sword swing aimed at his head. “Jump your pretty little ass back to the Outpost!”

  Before she could object, the room rocked as the rest of the Temporal Enforcers arrived. The thunder of the mass Jump was deafening. Jess ducked, squeezing her eyes shut against the glare.

  Damn good thing those T-suits dampen sonic booms, she thought, blinking the spots out of her eyes, or every cop and firefighter in Charleston would be running this way to find out what exploded.

  The Enforcers didn’t waste any time. With roared battle cries, they charged the Xerans, who howled and ran to meet them. Swords and axes rang a peal of violence as the two forces collided.

  I should do something, Jess thought, staring in dazed fascination. I shouldn’t just be standing around here with my thumb up my ass.

  Despite what Galar thought, she did know how to fight. She’d waded into more than one brawl over the years, defending her mother from some pissed-off boyfriend, or her sister from drunken rednecks, jealous girlfriends, or debt-collecting drug dealers. She might not be a Warfem, but she could grab the nearest beer bottle and swing it at a deserving head.

  But this was different. These people moved as if gravity were less a law of physics than a suggestion. Spinning, leaping, their bodies moving with impossible speed and agility as they dodged blows or launched attacks. Those twenty-pound axes might just as well be made of balsa wood, the way the Enforcers tossed them from hand to hand or sent them flying through the air. And the Xerans were just as powerful, just as insanely skilled with their chiming quantum swords.

  Jess wasn’t a coward, but she wasn’t crazy either. This wasn’t a fight a mere human had any business trying to join.

  After that, her perceptions seemed to dissolve into chaotic flashes of terror and stark desperation.

  A chair went flying from somebody’s kick, slamming into Dyami’s shoulder. He batted it aside like a fly and went on hacking at his opponent.

  A spray of blood arched in a crimson parabola. For an instant, it seemed to hang in the air as if frozen. Then it hit the ground and splashed, leaving a Jackson Pollock splatter on the black and white tiles.

  Wulf leaped at one of the Xerans with a joyous berserker bellow, smashing the man into the table behind him. It snapped under the impact, dumping them both on the floor. Undeterred, the two men went on flailing at each other with fists, feet, and blades, a blur of deadly motion.

  Riane and her furry partner harried a Xeran. Frieka had apparently taught the Warfem to fight like a wolf, because she danced in and out like one, her axe describing deadly silver arcs.

  The Xeran roared in frustration. Every time he tried to close with her, Frieka charged in to bite and snap. Finally the distracted man’s foot slipped in a puddle of blood, and he fell to one knee. The two Enforcers pounced. Jess looked away, wincing.

  But it was Galar who kept drawing her eye in the chaos, magnet to her steel.

  She’d seen him as tender lover, patient teacher, cool-eyed leader. But Galar in battle was another man entirely, his face set, almost expressionless, in stark contrast to the red riaat blaze of his eyes that gave him a faintly demonic air. His big body didn’t so much move as flow through the patterns of attack and defense, seemingly without any effort at all.

  Her artist’s eye was fascinated by the bunch and play of muscle under his skintight armor as he and the Xeran fought. Ther
e was something almost erotic about the battle, about the two men so utterly focused on each other, about the ring of steel and the grunts of effort.

  One of them was going to die today. And unless Galar was lucky as well as good, it might just be the man she loved. A chill spun over her, and she looked away.

  Right into Charlotte Holt’s desperate, pleading gaze. Help us! The woman’s mental voice rang in her mind, borne on a wave of power from the T’lir.

  Jess snapped to attention as she took in the situation. Frieka and Riane, having dispatched their first opponent, were trying to rescue the three women. Only two men guarded the captives now; the other Xerans had joined the battle with the Enforcers.

  Now the wolf was attempting to draw the pair away so Riane could shepherd the women to safety.

  Jess’s eyes narrowed. Maybe there was something she could do after all. . . .

  Riaat burned in Galar’s veins, a hot, furious storm of power and rage. He ached for revenge—for Jiri, for Ando, and most of all, for Jess.

  The Xeran spun, swinging the quantum sword right at Galar’s face with vicious speed. Galar thrust his shield into the path of the blade, deflecting it, as he came around with his own axe. The Xeran leapt back, a snarl flashing dimly through the visor of his black faceplate. “This time you die, Warlord dog!” he spat.

  Galar ignored the insult as he scanned for an opening, in no mood to bandy words with the bastard. He suspected this was the same man who’d taken the quantum sword from him before, the one who seemed to be the leader of this crowd.

  Which made the Xeran a very choice target, indeed.

  Narrow-eyed, Galar circled with the warrior, testing him in the course of attack and counterattack, in the deadly, circling dance of axe, sword, and shield. The bastard was good, Galar had to give him that. He might be shorter, less powerfully built, but he was fast and agile, as well as astonishingly skilled.

  Maybe even better with a blade than Galar himself.

  The Warlord’s senses sharpened as time seemed to slow to a honeyed crawl. He was aware in a distant way of the other Enforcers battling the Xerans: the chiming ring of quantum blades, the heavier clunk of axes, the gasps and grunts of effort and pain.