Rogue Spotter Collection

by Kimberly A Rogers

  He didn’t answer. Somehow I knew he wouldn’t, that he hadn’t beaten me here like I would have preferred. Yet, I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it. At least, not until after I moved inside the kitchen, set a kettle to boil, and then walked into the bedroom to find our combined go bag still tucked between the bed and the wall. That shook me hard enough to make me sink onto the edge of the bed and bury my face in my hands as I fought to control my breathing and my emotions.

  The urge to cry was something I couldn’t indulge in . . . not right now anyway. After showering and changing into a clean set of clothes, I made myself a cup of mint tea to keep my hands busy. My mind kept flicking back through the memories of the aftermath of the helicopter escape. I’d broken away from the scientists and elementals in Messina to duck into a norm hospital. I took advantage of the chaos caused by so many tourists evacuating the immediate area around Mount Etna to present my excuse to the doctor that I was concerned about my sister who was pregnant and had been exposed to some of the volcanic ash. They’d offered assurances that the baby was likely well, and I had left when they suggested I bring my sister in for a sonogram to be safe. It would have been beyond foolish to stay too long in the area and I had caught a train back to Palermo, all the while clinging to the hope that Mathias would be waiting for me. I glanced around the small kitchen as the reality of my present situation sank in like a lead stone dropping in the pit of my stomach. Mathias wasn’t here, and I couldn’t shake the horrible twisting feeling that he would not meet me at this safe house.

  After a small meal and a second cup of mint tea all I wanted was to go to sleep. I didn’t have that luxury, though. There would be no rest until I was actually safe, which meant I needed to get moving again. I dug through our go bag to figure out what I would take. Ignoring Mathias’ clothes and the little jade figurines of a doe and fox as well as the wooden carving of a loon that I’d kept from my time in Olympia, Washington, I pulled out several changes of clothing and stuffed them inside my satchel. The rest I left in the go bag along with the box that held the map of the Forge of Hephaestus, which I didn’t need anymore, although I kept Mathias’ book of paranormal species. One never knew when a little more knowledge would come in handy. Then, I added several bottles of water and some dried fruit packages for emergency rations.

  Once I was certain I had everything I could easily manage, I slipped on my jacket. I paused long enough to shove the wrapped sapphire into the pocket of my jeans where it was unlikely to slip out without my noticing. Massaging my aching temples, I walked through the house in a final check that I had what I needed. As tempting as it was, I couldn’t stay in the safe house. Not with Raz Yakov, or whomever he really was, knowing we’d come from Palermo to reach Messina. Even if he didn’t know the exact location of the safe house, it wouldn’t take long for the hunters to swarm to Palermo. Since I couldn’t fight them off, it would only be a matter of time before they pinned me down.

  I pulled a dark head shawl out of my satchel, settled it over my hair, and then tucked the loose ends inside the collar of my jacket. I didn’t have a cap handy or I might have worn it instead. In any case, doing what I could to obscure an easy identification even without my Jinn talent was one of my best defenses. Without Mathias I was left with no choice except to go back to my old habits and tactics, which meant running as far and as fast as I can. The first thing I needed to do was get off this island. Preferably before Weard sent enough hunters to make it impossible for me to slip out unnoticed. I didn’t have much of a plan yet, and my head was still spinning from everything that had happened. It was something I would need to make up along the way. Mathias . . .

  Leaving without him was the hardest part. I could only pray that he would meet me at our emergency fallback. We had made the plan on our way to Sicily, and Mathias had promised he would make it to the emergency safe house. If he didn’t . . . My throat tightened before I forcefully cleared it. If he didn’t meet me there, I would need to make a different plan. That was for the future; however, my only concern for the present was to protect my baby and keep the sapphire out of Weard’s hands.

  I had let down not only Mathias, but also the memory of my parents and the Lore keepers who had been killed in an effort to keep the information from Weard. I had failed to keep the Crown of Nimrod out of Weard’s hands. Worse, I had led the rogue leading the organization into the Forge of Hephaestus and reunited the pieces of the crown to appease him. The fact that I had been tricked didn’t excuse me. If anything, that was worse. Determined not to fail again, I stepped out of the house. The street was still quiet. I knew it was just the calm before the storm. And, I needed to get to higher ground.

  * * *

  Mathias

  The sense of rising and falling came to me first. Then, the damp seeping into my jeans and the straining ache in my arms and shoulders. I couldn’t see anything, just feel and hear. When I tried to move and ease the ache in my arms, I heard the distinct rattle of chains. I was sitting upright, arms pulled behind me, and I felt bindings constricting my chest as well as pinning my biceps close to my torso.

  I could feel cool metal beneath my fingers, and then I brushed against the ring fastening my chains to the floor. Two links separated my wrists from the ring, allowing for absolutely no leverage and no chance of weakening the chain to its breaking point. I cocked my head as I caught the hollow echo of boots against metal. The sense of being lifted came once more, then falling combined with the smell of saltwater. We were on a ship of some type.

  The footsteps came closer and fabric rustled, then I blinked in the light of a torch shining in my face. I grumbled, “Shine it elsewhere unless you intend to blind me.”

  “A tempting proposition given it seems your sight led you straight into weakness,” came a cool voice I only just recognized. Raz Yakov’s changed voice was more cultured than it had sounded before and, when my vision cleared enough for me to get a good look at him, it seemed he had changed as well. Gone was the stooped crazed looking man in his forties or fifties. Instead, he stood tall with carefully groomed curly brown hair touched with wings of grey. His chin was cleanshaven and his light brown eyes steady as he observed me with an air of disappointment. “I knew you would be one to watch, Mathias. I changed your handler to one of my own men, and you still failed to fulfill your mission without ever returning to our headquarters. Why? Because you saw a woman, a Spotter, and decided you wanted her?”

  “I saw what you were doing to Weard, Yakov, and I didn’t care for it. So, I left.” I paused and offered a mocking smile of my own. “That you took the escape of one little Spotter so personally tells me you are either a very poor sport or you thought she had far more value than you deigned to reveal.”

  Yakov smirked, then he raised his hand and twitched a finger. The punch came out of nowhere, knocking me around and causing the chains around my chest to tighten painfully. I could taste iron on my tongue from where the blow had drawn blood. Straightening, I rolled my head back to see Khalid looming to my left. “Wonderful, you survived. Here I was thinking you’d been roasted by a volcano. More’s the pity.”

  Yakov chuckled. “Enough, Khalid. I wish to hear what our Myrmidon friend has to say.”

  I turned my attention from the dragon to the man in front of me. “I’m afraid I’ll be a disappointment to you once more because I have nothing to say. Can’t trust a man you don’t know, remember? That is what they used to say in the old days before you put yourself in a position of power. How did you do it, by the way, remove the leadership of Weard Enterprises, the largest paranormal security agency in the world, without being caught?”

  A smile appeared, bright against his dark olive skin. “A simple answer really. I merely . . . removed those who knew the leaders and anyone who protested a little too loudly for my liking. Weard Enterprises has always toed the line between security and mercenary enforcement. I simply turned the balance to the true nature of the company, a mercenary guild by another name is still efficie
nt.” The smile vanished as he paused, contemplating me. “Paranormals are so blind today. The Therians do not officially join with anyone outside of Auberon’s High Elves because they think that will protect them from purges. The dragon princes formed a council with the Fae to conduct sanctioned purges against any paranormal species they feared. The dragon kings of the east trust no one and retain old quarrels against outsider species. Yet they all pretend to be allies, very nervous and highly segregated toward each other, with their embassies in strategic places and keeping a tight rope around the necks of those species that are not ambassadorial material. Those who would remind the norms in painful detail that our world goes beyond mere humans and the pretty Fae whose faces are not too terrifying for their small minds to comprehend.”

  I yawned. “You sound like a rogue dragon. They give the exact same spiel almost verbatim every time they rebel against the treaty agreements and laws governing the dragons. It is our right to be feared. I’ve heard it before, and I didn’t care for it then either.”

  “You’re a Myrmidon, a descendent of the greatest hunters of paranormals of all time. Of Achilles and Nimrod himself.” Yakov paused and the slight heat vanished from his voice as he smoothed a hand over the front of his button-down. “You do not even know what you have been tricked into giving up.”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t say that,” I murmured. “Let’s see by not attempting to present myself as a Myrmidon and a paranormal who should be feared, I give up being hunted myself. I give up being forced into constant running and hiding. I give up being hated and feared by everyone purely for my heritage. I give up witnessing families, my family, being torn apart because other more numerous paranormals want me to fight on their side be it right or wrong. I give up being on the brink of destroying innocents because I lose control over the rage that drives my kind to seek out the coldest form of justice possible. You see, I know exactly what I give up by staying in the shadows and out of the spotlight shone down on the ambassadorial species.”

  “You’re weak, Mathias. The cold rage you fear would turn you into the second most powerful man in the world, feared yes, but rightly so.” Yakov hitched his trousers up slightly as he dropped into a crouch in front of me. He slipped his fingers into the front pocket of his shirt and withdrew a piece of paper, no, a photograph. I felt myself stiffening as he turned it around to show off the sonogram. They must have found it in my pocket while searching me for additional weapons. He tapped his finger against it. “It’s a pity, you know. The first new Myrmidon conceived in decades, and you will never meet.”

  Coldness seeped through me as I met Yakov’s mocking gaze. I managed to keep from sounding as ragged as I felt, as I demanded, “Where is she? She’s on this ship, isn’t she? Show her to me, and I’ll consider your offer.”

  He raised an eyebrow at that and the corner of his mouth twitched as he lowered the sonogram slightly. “I haven’t made an offer.”

  “It’s only a matter of time,” I countered coolly. “Men like you always come with an offer. Show her to me, and I’ll give it far more consideration than I intended.”

  Yakov smirked and let the sonogram fall from his fingers. My gaze followed its fluttering descent to the steel floor just in front of me before I forced myself to meet Yakov’s eyes once more. He plucked at his sleeves as he mused, “Such a pity. Had I known you would be more pliable I would have instructed my men to take her alive.”

  No.

  Yakov was still talking, his tone as causal and light as if he were discussing his choice of tea. “You see when your little Spotter decided to run, my hunters chased her through a secondary tunnel. But Spotters while cowardly in nature are not the swiftest of paranormals, which made it easy for my hunters to catch up with her. She resisted, tried to run again, and that foolish attempt was punished. With a broken neck. Unfortunately, the shifter who caught her forgot that Spotters do not share their advanced healing and durability.”

  “I will cut your heart from your chest while you watch.”

  Ice coated my voice even as my mind trembled with denial. She couldn’t be dead. Yakov smirked as Khalid struck me in the jaw. The chains dug into my chest tighter as I rolled with the punch but I barely felt them. When I straightened, Yakov was speaking again. “As entertaining as it would be to see how long you would last against me, I am afraid I do not have time to indulge in such a distraction now. Perhaps another time.”

  “Yakov . . .”

  He raised a hand, cutting me off, as he added with a cruel smile, “No, not Yakov. That was the name I used to trick your little Spotter into finding my inheritance for me. You, on the other hand, I want to know whom you are truly dealing with and I am most certainly not a rogue dragon. I am far more powerful than one of those simple minded reptiles could ever hope to be. I am Soslan the Nephilim.”

  “I don’t care if you are Achilles himself, I will kill you for taking them from me.”

  Yakov, no, Soslan smiled. “I will give you time to consider your options, Mathias. We reach New York in the morning despite the storms.”

  They left the lights on overhead, the bulbs bouncing with the ship’s movements, and left me unhooded. I watched them vanish around a stack of boxes before my gaze dropped back to the sonogram. Gone . . . Lauren and the baby. I had promised her . . .

  I had told her everything would be fine. I had promised to keep her and the baby safe from Knossos to Mount Etna and then . . . to our little island escape. I had promised . . . She trusted me. Lauren had trusted me to keep my word, to keep her safe and the baby.

  I shook my head, not wanting to believe what I had been told. Lauren could have used her glamour to escape . . . Lauren was . . . dead. There had been too much certainty in Soslan’s demeanor and even his callous demeanor to believe he was lying. I lurched against my chains as I screamed.

  Ice bit into my heart, my veins, tearing into everything with the knowledge that I had failed. I had broken my promise to keep them safe. If Lauren had been captured, I could have found a way to reach her but this . . . I couldn’t turn back death for her or for the baby. Tears blurred the picture of the fuzzy little shape on the sonogram as I screamed again. The chains bit painfully into my chests and against my wrists and arms, just punishment for my failure.

  Lauren, forgive me . . . I failed.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Lauren

  I ducked my head at the glimpse of two blazing 8s emerging from the crowd and their blurred numbers. Every instinct screamed for me to run, setting my teeth on edge, as I forced myself to maintain a steady pace. The surest way to draw unwanted attention to myself would be breaking into a run in the middle of Milan’s shopping district. I was in the middle of a group of shoppers and there was no reason for the 8s to know it was me.

  The group moved out of the protection of the galleria we’d been in, and I blew out a breath as the cold wind smacked me in the face. It might not have felt much like December in Sicily, but it most certainly felt colder in Milan. It was still early in the morning and the sun was hidden behind the clouds, keeping the temperature lower especially when combined with the wind.

  The 8s had vanished into the crowd once more; however, I couldn’t quite bring myself to relax. After escaping Palermo, I had hopped across the strait to Italy proper. It had taken two days for me to make it this far, after I skirted around Rome, taking a more circuitous route to avoid Naples. Unfortunately, that meant I arrived in Milan via one of the smaller stations instead of the one I truly needed. I needed to make my way to Milano Centrale in order to grab the train that would eventually take me out of Italy and on to Lisbon via Turin.

  That was the plan. Mathias had promised that he would meet me in Lisbon if he couldn’t make it back to Palermo. There was a glamoured safe house around Cabo da Raco where we would meet. I kept silently repeating the plan to myself as I caught a tram back to Milano Centrale. It was one of the few things I clung to these last few days. I had to have the hope that I would find
Mathias in Lisbon, otherwise, I might have been tempted to stop and it was still too risky.

  I kept a wary eye on the numbers around me, fighting not to tense up or breathe too fast when several 7s boarded the tram. They weren’t searching the faces of the other passengers. They probably weren’t looking for me. Still, I kept my head down allowing the loose folds of my shawl to further obscure my face. There were only paranormals on this particular tram and the couple closest to me both sported a 6 above their heads as they talked. There were storms colliding on the Atlantic with rumors that the eastern water dragons were responsible after the death of one of their princesses nearly three months ago. Others were arguing that it was elementals stretching their powers and attempting to revive Poseidon, never mind that he along with other ancient gods were long gone.

  The couple lowered their voices as they whispered to each other about a fear that the dragons had truly broken the treaties in place with the Fae in the wake of more attacks on Fae-run corporations. I snuck a glance at them. One of them, the woman, had the slightly pointed ears of a High Elf while her companion looked different . . . I caught a glimpse of silver eyes. A demi. No wonder he had muttered a rude comment about the intelligence of anyone attempting to reawaken the old gods.

  The tram slowed, and I caught a glimpse of the ornate grey stone façade that lent the train station its uniquely memorable appearance. The arches and twin columns among other features pulled to mind a mishmash of art deco with classic roman design along with several other eras, leaving one only with the certain impression of grandeur. I tucked my satchel closer to my side as I made my way off the tram.

  I spotted more 7s in the crowd milling toward the station. Walking into the station did nothing to ease the growing sense that I was being hunted. I heard the announcements over the speakers, saw the numbers blurring together as so many people pressed together on their way to appropriate tracks or attempting to exit the station. As I moved closer to the ticket counter, however, I spied three, no, four 8s emerging from the crowd.