Frost and Flame

by Showalter, Gena

  Rap, rap, rap. “My gift has a time limit,” Zion called. “Trust me when I say you don’t want to miss it.” A harder rap. A crack appeared in the door, the wood no match for his metal glove. “I don’t hear you scrambling in there. Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. Time. Limit.”

  Very well. Bane’s personal desires could wait. “We’ll talk later, yes?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, a little choked up.

  After shutting off the water, he toweled her off, then dried himself—without kissing all his favorite parts. A true travesty.

  Bane donned a black T-shirt and camouflage pants with pockets, watching as Nola hooked a lacy bra in place and shimmied into a pair of matching panties.

  Later, I’ll rip those panties off with my teeth.

  She covered the undergarments with jeans and a pink T-shirt that read Pre-millionaire. The grace of her movements turned the simple act of dressing into a dance of seduction, and he remained rapt.

  Nola plopped onto the toilet lid to tie her tennis shoes. Again and again she opened her mouth as if she had something to say, only to change her mind.

  “Things will be better now,” he told her gently. “Whatever happens, we will get through it.” He crouched in front of her to finish tying, his shoulders keeping her knees apart. “Together.”

  She nodded, but kept her gaze downcast, inciting a sense of urgency in him.

  “Nola? What’s wrong?”

  “I just... I feel like a yo-yo. Up and down. Happy one second, certain something terrible is about to happen the next.”

  Clench. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

  “I don’t mean me,” she croaked.

  “Me?” Bane thumped his chest, just to be sure. At her nod, the clenching worsened. “I have something to live for. I’ll let no one get the better of me.” He brought her wrist to his mouth, kissed her hammering pulse, then stood, drawing her to her feet.

  With a final kiss to her brow, he ushered his beautiful female into the bedroom. A brief glance, and he memorized his surroundings, a habit every combatant developed to aid their survival. A large bed topped by a fluffy comforter. Two nightstands, a desk, a television and three lamps, everything black, white or silver and shiny.

  Dagger in hand, Bane entered the hallway, where Zion waited. He didn’t glance at Nola, proving he understood Bane’s cooperation was conditional. Leer at the girl, and their alliance ended. “Let’s see this gift.” A trick?

  “This way.” Zion wore lightweight cotton pajama pants and a grin. Though he displayed no visible injuries, splatters of blood wet his skin and clothing.

  Bane and Nola followed, cutting through the living room. Once again, he memorized his surroundings with only a glance. Two couches, two chairs. A piano in a windowed corner, adjacent to a wet bar.

  Next came the kitchen. Large table, seven chairs. Bane pursed his lips. Had Zion taken the eighth?

  They entered a different bedroom, half the size of the other and similarly furnished. Except for a small detail—Zion had taken the chair, placed a plastic tarp underneath it...and chained a human to it. Interesting development.

  One of the victim’s eyes was swollen shut, the other rimmed red from tears and glazed with fear. Blood caked his mouth and chin, choking noises leaving him.

  Zion had removed his tongue.

  Nola burrowed into Bane’s side, her body racked by tremors. “Who is this? Why have you done this, Zion?”

  The human spotted her and silently pleaded for help.

  A growl rumbled from Bane, drawing the male’s gaze back to him, and the fear magnified. “Do not look at her. Do not ever look at her.”

  “The next assembly is less than two weeks from now,” Zion said, patting the human’s head. “This male leads a human army employed by Erik. He and his men plan to attend the meeting from afar and pick us off from the mountaintops. They must be neutralized.”

  “So why haven’t you killed him?” Nola asked, shedding some of her unease.

  Bane ran a hand up and down her side, accidentally brushing the underside of her breast. Shit! Touching her had been a mistake, but letting her go had become an impossibility. “I can guess. The wand,” he said. “Only Zion can wield it.”

  She frowned. “The magic wand? You weren’t joking about that?”

  “No joke.” Zion tapped the diamonds embedded in his skin, in a specific order, then held out his hand. A thin wooden stick appeared in the center.

  Bane’s mind buzzed. Could the weapon heal his shoulder or not?

  “You might want to turn away for this,” Zion told Nola.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but she inched closer to Bane, seeking comfort.

  His chest puffed with pride. She’s falling for me. “Do it,” he said to the other male. “Nola can handle anything.”

  Now her chest puffed with pride, and he almost smiled.

  Zion moved behind the shaking captive, placed the wand’s tip against a groove between skull and spine—and shoved. The wood plunged through the man’s brain.

  Nola squeezed her eyes shut as the victim grunted, jerked and sagged, his head lolling forward. His eyes remained open, a bright light shining from them. Brighter. Images formed.

  “We’re watching a movie—through a dead man’s eyes?” Nola gasped out.

  “Everything is energy,” Zion said, “even our thoughts. The wand can extract and project them, allowing us to view whatever part of his life we choose.”

  In the light, a movie version of Erik paced in a warehouse filled with hundreds of soldiers who were riveted by his every move. A warehouse Bane and Zion could now portal into, but shouldn’t. Considering they were dealing with the viking, there had to be countless traps. Poisonous sprays and gases, most likely, with an electrified floor. That was Bane’s preferred set of traps, anyway. No doubt there were specific traps for specific warriors. Like brighter lights for Bane, perhaps?

  “Your job is simple,” Erik said. “A week before the meeting, one hundred of our best snipers will travel to the arctic. I have a cabin there, with an underground bunker beneath. The shooters will remain hidden until the assembly kicks off. Then, they’ll hunker in the mountaintops and shoot anyone who challenges me. Bullets won’t kill them, but that’s all right. Blind them, slow them, whatever you can, and my allies will take care of the rest.”

  “That is what I wanted you to see.” Zion yanked out the wand, blood dripping on the floor. “Thoughts? Questions?”

  “I never knew about the bunker,” Nola muttered. “Would have come in handy!”

  “If we portal nearby and sneak into the warehouse,” Bane suggested, “you can freeze everyone in place, and I can kill them, ensuring they never make it to the assembly.”

  New tremors rocked her, but still his woman offered support. “We should raid the warehouse tonight. It’s Halloween, so we can cart around every weapon in our arsenal without causing panic. Onlookers won’t give us a second glance. And, because I wanted to see you and Zion dressed up as Dothraki warriors, I picked up your costumes when I went shopping with Zion, so you’re both ready to roll.”

  “Dothraki?” Zion said, crouching to clean the weapon on the tarp.

  “Only the fiercest warriors ever.” She placed her hand on Bane’s pectoral, her skin white-hot, and the muscle jumped. “You’ll be Khal Drogo, the Dothraki leader.”

  Drogo, the name she’d given his beast. “Agreed,” he said. For her? Anything.

  “I will also be this Khal Drogo,” Zion announced. “We are coleaders.”

  “Sure.” Nola glanced between the two. “But let’s maybe dispose of the body before we go?”

  His pride gained new ground. How quickly she adapted to problems. “Allow me.” Bane opened a portal to his favorite shark-infested waters and dumped the body.

  “Before anyone tells the li
ttle woman to stay behind,” Nola said, “I should probably inform you both that I’m going, and that’s final. My mission? Ensuring the other Drogo doesn’t burn down the entire world. Like you guys, I’ll be wearing a costume.” Not giving him a chance to protest, she raced from the room.

  Willingly put her precious life in jeopardy? Never. But he couldn’t leave her here and not sink into madness. Worry for her would distract him.

  “Can you use the wand to heal my shoulder?” he asked Zion.

  “Of course.” Zion didn’t hesitate to jam the stick into Bane’s shoulder.

  He hissed, pained, but remained in place. Head back, hands fisted, enduring. Hoping. Any blood left by the human would not affect him.

  When Zion jerked the weapon free, Bane looked down...

  Nothing had changed. He spewed a stream of curses.

  Zion glanced at the wood, then the wound, and frowned. “That should have worked.”

  Would he be forced to deal with the gash forevermore? With the danger to Nola heating up, weakness of any kind could no longer be tolerated. “Forget the shoulder. Once we’ve raided the warehouse and dispatched the army, I’ll turn my sights to Gunnar of Trodaire.”

  “Gunnar is dead.” Once again, Zion crouched to clean the wand. “Killed by Knox.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll pick another weapon, then.” But which one? Emberelle’s time-traveling wrist cuffs still topped the list. But, like Nola, he now feared mucking around in the past.

  A strange noise caught his attention, his ears twitching. Was Nola...singing? Bane had never before heard her sing, but he remembered she’d claimed Vale liked to refer to her voice as Cats Being Murdered. An accurate description.

  Bane pressed a hand over his mouth to silence a laugh. Warmth spread through his chest. This must be joy.

  Fingers snapped in front of his face, and he blinked. Zion stood before him.

  He scowled. He’d gotten lost in his musings in the presence of a combatant. Yes, he trusted Zion—to an extent—but they were two men with the same goal. Survival. As things currently stood, only one of them could win.

  “When you scanned his brain before, did you see outside the warehouse?” Bane asked.

  “I did. For a split second.”

  “A split second is long enough.” He scoured a hand over his weary features. “We will portal nearby, then.”

  Zion nodded in agreement.

  “Be ready. We’ll leave in one hour.” With that, Bane stalked off to join Nola. He meant to chat with her, but when he walked into the bedroom and saw she’d stripped down to those lacy undergarments, those plans changed.

  He shut the door and turned the lock with an ominous click. Zion could wait.

  “Don’t you dare try to talk me out of accompanying my guys,” she said. Her back was to him, her ass on magnificent display.

  “Guy. Singular,” he all but snapped.

  She pivoted, facing him, spied his straining erection and fanned her cheeks. “Well, well. My golden god isn’t here to argue. He’s here to seduce me into staying put.”

  “No. He’s here to seduce you, period,” he said. And then he did.

  * * *

  NOLA COULD NOT get over how sexy Bane looked in his Game of Thrones costume. He’d let her braid several locks of hair, and smear black streaks on his face and shoulders. He’d donned arm and wrist bands, draped a thick leather belt around his middle, and pulled a loin cloth over his leathers. Finally, he topped off the outfit with tall brown boots. The sword rested against his back, and daggers hung at his sides.

  As she’d suspected, no one glanced twice at his weapons. They did, however, give his body multiple once-overs and wipe away drool.

  She wished she’d chosen the Mother of Dragons costume for herself. Alas. As an inside joke, she’d gone with a sexy alien, coloring her skin green and shimmying into an ultratiny silver dress. On her head was a band with two bulb antenna rising from the sides.

  Zion looked good, too, of course, but he couldn’t compare to Bane.

  Now, they walked the streets of New Orleans, on their way to the warehouse. Night had fallen, crowds illuminated by an array of streetlamps as people celebrated the holiday. So far, she’d spotted a handmaid, Black Panther, Deadpool, Thor and several versions of Aquaman. There were also nurses, sexy cats, cavewomen, cops, Playboy Bunnies, unicorns and a seductive skeleton. No one seemed to mind the freezing temperature. Colored lights flashed here and there. Laughter rang out, booze passed around. In the air, different perfumes clashed with the smell of fried foods and car exhaust.

  “I know we’re out here to do murder and all,” she said to Bane, “but I’ve set my phaser to fun.”

  A drunken man in a wedding dress stumbled past them. Bane pulled her closer to his side. Anyone who’d looked twice at her soon came face-to-face with a hulking golden god ready to spew fire.

  “When we retire for the evening,” he said, “my phaser will show you all the fun you desire. I’ve always wanted to bed a green other-worlder.”

  She chuckled, the most decadent shivers traipsing down her spine. He’d been saying the sweetest, most romantic things to her. And, after they’d done another mattress mambo in the hotel, he’d cuddled her, as promised.

  A sense of contentment kept trying to sweep her away, but she continued to resist, afraid she’d only set herself up for heartbreak. Before she could even think about a forever with Bane, she had to tell him about Dark Nola. How would he react? Would he grow to hate her again, as she feared?

  “Always...meaning the past two hours?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

  “No laughing, dove.” The grip on her hip became bruising, and she loved it, loved when his intensity came out to play. “You know it annihilates my control.”

  Oh, yes. She knew. “Maybe I like what happens when you lack control.”

  He paused to lower his head, about to kiss her...

  “You have a choice, Bane,” Zion said from her other side. “Continue to let yourself be distracted, endangering you and your woman in public, while I invade the warehouse alone or help me as planned. You can’t do both.”

  Feeling feisty, Nola flipped him off. “You two go in together and guard each other’s back. And you had better return to me or there will be dire consequences. Understood?”

  She loved that the two warriors were kinda sorta friends now. She had a sinking suspicion neither man had enjoyed many friendships in his long, long life, never knowing who to trust. But. Unless they found a way to stop the war or Zion took the Mark of Disgrace, their friendship wouldn’t, couldn’t last.

  Ignore the sense of foreboding. It hadn’t fled, had only grown stronger. Ignore your churning stomach.

  Zion cast Bane a quick glance. Voice laced with amusement, he said, “Shouldn’t you get your woman in line?”

  “Hardly,” Bane quipped. “The man who gets his woman in line is the man who sleeps alone.”

  Nola rewarded him with a spontaneous kiss on his neck, where his pulse raced. “I’m so proud of you. You’ve learned so fast.”

  His fingers clenched on her hip bone as he gave her a strange look—a soft look, setting her aflutter.

  When an obviously drunk man plowed into her, she gasped, startled. If not for Bane’s stalwart hold, she would have pinwheeled to her butt.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Good.” The next thing she knew, he was barreling after the drunk man.

  To issue an order, or not issue an order? “No, Bane. No. Please come back,” she called, opting to go with not. Would he heed her request or plow ahead anyway?

  Plow ahead. He grabbed the offender by the scruff and hauled him to the other side of the street, away from her. Thank goodness! Killing Micah had been self-defense and revenge. Killing Erik, who ke
pt endangering Vale, Bane and Zion, would be straight up self-defense. This would have been cold-blooded murder.

  Zion used the opportunity to quietly say, “You are so at ease with Bane, and yet my prophetic dream has not changed. One day, you will kill him.”

  “No way.” Shaking her head with enough force to rattle her brain, she replied, “I won’t. Your dream must be symbolic of something else.”

  A frown. A cant of his head. “How can you be so sure of this?”

  “I just am.” Her feelings for Bane ran too deep.

  He returned to her side, his eyes narrowing as he glanced between her and Zion. Sensed the new tension, did he? Either way, he made no comment. He couldn’t. They’d reached their destination. A seemingly abandoned warehouse.

  The lights were off, and no one loitered about. Bars covered the windows, broken glass scattered over the ground.

  They moved into the shadows, next to a Dumpster. Zion pointed to the warehouse, saying, “Cameras are there, there and there. Doors are there and there. Windows there, there, there and there.”

  Bane leveled a hard stare at Nola and fisted two hanks of her hair. A possessive hold. “You will stay here? You swear it?”

  “I will. I swear.” If she insisted on going in, he wouldn’t be able to stop her. But he would be distracted, worried about keeping her safe, and her gruff warrior would be in more danger. “You swear you’ll come back to me?”

  “I will. I swear,” he said, echoing her. “You have your gun?”

  “I do.” The “phaser” anchored to her belt was actually a semiautomatic spray-painted silver.

  He kissed her, another brief press of his lips against hers, then turned on his heel. “Let’s do this, Zion.”

  “I’ll come back, too. Not that you cared enough to make me swear it,” Zion said with a roll of his eyes.

  “Great,” she replied. “Maybe bring me a souvenir.”

  Bane snorted, a silly sound yet it made her heart soar.

  As the two stalked toward the building, cloaked in the shadows and barely discernible, she lost her “everything’s gonna be all right” vibe. Fear choked her.