Dream Breakers, Oath Takers

by Jacqueline Jayne

  Ever.

  A sure sign Boone doubted they’d succeed.

  He opened his mouth to bust Boone’s chops, but cut himself off. Instead, Zane decided he have enough faith for them both. Boone would become his old self again once the action started.

  As if thinking made it so, the air lit with the hum of a million speeding wings. A heartbeat later, a cloud of flies as dense as smoke from a forest fire whooshed through on a gust of wind.

  Shit.

  Baalberith’s precursors, not Luciana.

  Change of plan. He bounced to his knees. “Down,” he hollered, waving his hands at Vipond, who kneeled in the middle of the road with his arms covering his head.

  “He can’t hear you over the clatter.” Boone dove to the ground on his belly and began a furious military crawl across the cobblestones. Black dots pelted his back like useless bullets. He reached the stunned Vipond in mere seconds, tackling him flat. Together they rolled behind the nearest tree.

  Like winged seeds, the insects scattered at the whim of the current, crashing into the back of the Paris Gate. In minutes, their dead carcasses piled six feet high at the base of the portal and damn near as thick.

  The sky cleared, but Zane’s sense of dread deepened. The mass of insects smelted into a solid mass that gleaned dull as the surface of black steel.

  No doubt, an impenetrable barrier.

  The nearest open portal lay miles in the opposite direction. At least he hoped Philadelphia remained open. He hadn’t planned on a round trip run and couldn’t imagine the treacherous journey to one of the other Gates. Tokyo, Seoul, Mexico City, even Stanford presented a mighty long distance. Zurich remained a reasonable possibility if he had any idea which direction to head.

  The fallen angel didn’t allow for advance planning.

  Baalberith proceeded with his grand entrance and marched down the center of the cobblestone road, stopping thirty feet from the door.

  Zane froze in place and spied from behind his chosen tree trunk. Barely breathing, he assessed the new enemy even as he felt the demon’s energy vibrating the air above him.

  The only other time he’d seen the demon, Baalberith presented as the classic version of a fallen angel—a giant, winged entity swathed in lavish robes. Now he assessed the Ninth Ring ruler as mortal sized, probably not as tall as Zane. A double-breasted suit jacket of shiny silver-gray hugged his wide shoulders and buttoned snugly over a matching shirt and necktie. Long feathers trimmed the lapel and hem of the jacket. Charcoal gray riding breeches disappeared into knee-high boots, and slim cords of silver gleaming from his over-the-shoulder braid of golden hair completed the ensemble.

  The fact he’d traded in tradition for a contemporary costume bothered Zane in a way he couldn’t quite identify.

  Baalberith maintained his posture, square-shouldered with his chin elevated, as if he expected them to jump out of hiding and kneel before him. The very visage of Hell’s royalty.

  Unless he wasn’t and knew it.

  The curvature of the demon’s remaining wing waggled and then arched high above the center of his head like a feathered rudder. Apparently, the scourge didn’t have the guts to amputate the last vestige of his Heavenly persona.

  Or maybe he didn’t have the heart.

  Hard to believe, but Zane had to consider all possibilities. Never underestimate your opponent’s strengths or disregard potential weaknesses.

  “It’s futile to hide, Hell Runner. I know you have the ring, which you stole from my daughter.” The Fallen One’s big voice boomed. “I abhor thieves most of all. Especially of my belongings.”

  Zane glanced over at Boone with only a shift of his eyes.

  His brother’s gaze bore a warning into him from across the road. Don’t move.

  Right back at ya, bro.

  “You won’t beat me a second time, and I won’t be as—” Baalberith halted his speech and inhaled long and deep, wafting the air up his nostrils with his right hand. “More than one. I smell more than one Hell Runner.” His mighty laugh pierced like jagged daggers into Zane’s chest. “My lucky day. Don’t you think so, son?”

  The demon king’s left arm jerked, and a long tether snapped, flinging a bloodied body from behind his back.

  The lump of human flesh clothed in torn jeans and a filthy T-shirt toppled to the stone road in a heap, but Zane recognized the mop of unruly black hair instantly.

  Wilder Swift.

  Alive, if only barely.

  For as long as he’d hoped to find his lost friend, he couldn’t drum up a modicum of relief. With their escape route blocked, they’d have to outrun a demon more potent than the combined power of all other demons he’d encountered before.

  “I’ll make a deal with you, Hell Runners. I’ll forgive your thievery if you hand over the ring. Right now. As a bonus, I’ll release Mr. Swift. I’ll snap my fingers, and all of you will be on the other side of the Gate. Never to return. Simple. Fair. And free.”

  Zane’s heart lurched with such strength, he thought he lifted off the ground.

  Not a fair deal.

  Not without Delphine. Every second without her in his arms, every second Luciana stole from him, tortured his very soul. He’d never be the same without Cutoffs, and Baalberith wouldn’t release her.

  Not while his daughter used her body as a suit of armor.

  So long as Vipond possessed the ring, they could bargain for a better deal. Bring everyone home, Delphine and Swift included. All they had to do was hold out for Luciana to arrive.

  Dry leaves crackled like a stirred campfire.

  Vipond leaped to his feet.

  Fuck.

  Fist extended over his head, he marched to the center of the road. The gleam of the ring, shoved to the hilt on his thumb, unmistakable.

  What the hell was Vipond trying to prove? That he could get all of them killed? Boone should have pinned him down.

  “What value is this ring, Monsieur Baalberith, when you can no longer wield its power?”

  Cursed to forever tell the truth, the former Lord of the Covenant seethed, his face turning crimson. “It will heed me as it once did. I know it.”

  “But it stopped some time ago, didn’t it? Before Luciana stole it?”

  A good guess? Not a chance. Vipond had withheld information, and Zane could feel the heat of his own temper rising.

  “What’s in the box you need so desperately, Monsieur Baalberith?”

  Zane’s body itched to move. Instead he concentrated on the forest floor and pressed down like he could grow roots.

  “Nothing of use to you. Or my daughter.” Baalberith extended his free hand. “Hand over my property.”

  Zane prepared to spring from his spot, bullets blazing, if Vipond even touched the ring.

  He waited. Surely, the chancellor thought this play through, yet when he didn’t move, didn’t speak, Zane doubted a solid plan. The hammering in his chest pulsated into the spongy marrow of his bones.

  Suddenly, Swift turned his head to the side, his left cheek resting on the smooth stones. His gaze, strong and clear, searched Zane’s side of the road. In seconds, they connected eye-to-eye as if he’d not been hidden.

  Swift winked and the corner of his mouth arched into a cocky grin.

  After all this time, the rebel Soul Saver hung tough.

  “Could be of use to your son.” Swift held up his manacled hands to the chancellor. “We’ll consider it my inheritance, Pop.”

  In response, Baalberith whipped the tether and then yanked his arm back. The leather strap arced in a wave that ended at a collar around his son’s neck. The leash pulled tight, and his old buddy arched up, forced to kneel—his mangled face exposed.

  Blood caked around a nose surely broken at the base where cheeks and tear ducts intersected. Twin bruises spread purple-black stains on either side of the collar. Bottom lip swollen to double in size, Swift managed to grin in defiance.

  Sure, Zane had seen both his brother and Swift beat up in bar fights
, neither one with the good sense to walk away from a man twice their size. More often than not, he didn’t feel sorry for either one of them.

  But this ass-kicking enraged Zane.

  Demon or not, the son of a bitch had no excuse for cruelty against his own children.

  Fury overload ate through his resistance. He motioned for Boone to stay put and jetted to his feet, catapulting toward the center of the road with his weapon drawn.

  “Finally,” Baalberith expelled on a breath. “One of you grew a pair.”

  Zane aimed his revolver at the stretched tether and pulled the trigger.

  The bullet burst on the inch-wide strap, spraying holy water on the evil creation. The restraint disintegrated.

  “Hands up,” he ordered, and his old buddy thrust out his wrists. He shot again, obliterating the manacles.

  Though he’d played his hand, Zane felt a hell of a lot better in the role of savior. He whistled for Boone and reached to help Swift.

  Though mutilated, he sprang to his feet.

  “Come on,” Zane said. “We’ll cut through the woods and try to lose him.”

  “Not the plan.” Swift turned and snatched the ring right off Vipond’s thumb.

  “You little son of a bitch.” Baalberith cursed the air blue and stomped toward them. The road shook with the force of an earthquake.

  “Compliments won’t get you anywhere near this ring.” His hand jutted out and grabbed Zane by the wrist that held the revolver.

  “Nifty gun. Mind if I try?”

  Before he could pull back, Swift jabbed the muzzle into his side below the ribcage and shoved his thumb against Zane’s trigger finger.

  “Sorry mate,” Swift said. “But it takes a pure heart’s blood to reset the power. And you’re the only one here even close.” He exerted pressure and the revolver blasted.

  Pain erupted in a wave of radiating heat as the rubber casing ripped through Zane’s skin and lodged in his oblique muscle.

  A soft groan puffed from between his lips, and he quivered like an arrow released from a tight bow. He fought back a yell, refusing to display any weakness in front of the demon. Though not lethal by any means, the wound burned as if a branding iron had been shoved inside him.

  “Good man.” Swift swabbed his hands in Zane’s wound. “I counted on your tough cowboy fortitude. You’re going be fine. We all are, thanks to you.”

  “Boy!” Baalberith hollered, so close Zane could feel the demon’s hot breath prickle the hairs on the back of his neck. “That doesn’t belong to you.”

  “Run,” Niall whispered at Zane’s ear, but he replied with a curt shake of his head.

  “It belongs to whoever is deemed Lord of the Covenant. You were demoted long ago.” Swift slipped it onto the middle finger of his right hand and held it up.

  “This is bad,” Niall said. “Run.”

  Zane couldn’t. Not without waiting for Delphine.

  “Your time is up, Pops.” Swift curled his fingers into a knot and then grasped Zane by the duffel with his other hand, hauling him toward the Gate. Vipond and Boone dogged their every step.

  Like true Soul Savers, they ran with incredible speed. Too incredible to be approaching the barrier.

  “We can’t penetrate that,” Zane warned.

  “Ye of little faith.” Swift shot out his right arm and rammed it ring first into the center of the smelted fly carcasses.

  The wall shattered, reconstituting the flies that buzzed off like clearing smoke.

  “Nice trick, Ace.” Boone said, turning to look back. “But your old man’s on the move.”

  “Think fast. I can’t detain him for long.” Niall whisked toward the demon, his spirit visage becoming more substantial.

  “You guys go.” Zane sloughed off the duffel. “I’m waiting for Delphine.”

  “As am I,” Vipond said, averting his gaze from the demon pummeling Niall into a tree in order to shake him free of his arm.

  “None of us are leaving without her.” Swift tapped his head with one finger and counted aloud. “Four. Three. Two.”

  He extended his index finger toward the curve in the road.

  “One.”

  Chapter Forty

  A lifetime of driving in New York City taught Delphine the importance of quick reflexes and changing lanes at a moment’s notice. But crowded city streets meant never experiencing open road or holding a steering wheel steady at 200 miles per hour.

  With a gun jammed in her ribs, no less.

  But her only chance at ditching Savard and sparing Zane’s life meant taking a risk she’d only seen performed in movies.

  She might die in the process, but at least Zane would live and Luciana would be released back into Hell to tough it out against her father.

  Left foot on the clutch, she flipped the switch on the dash to race setting. She extended her right leg until her foot flattened the pedal to the floor. The car zoomed forward like a rocket bouncing through an asteroid field. Every bump in the stone road rattled the hot rod. Her bones ached from the jarring. But her blood rushed as fast as the pistons pumped.

  Savard spoke in a long, tiresome wind, but she couldn’t make it out over the noise. She didn’t ask him to repeat it either. Whatever he had to say didn’t matter.

  Two minutes at maximum speed and she could see the top of the giant bronze doors.

  Zane must be close by, but she’d not heard a word from Swift since entering the car. Everything in her peripheral vision blurred, including Savard.

  Focused forward, she prayed with all her heart she pulled off this stunt without slamming into Zane or Swift or any of the million trees lining the road.

  The pressure at her side changed and the gun swung forward, aimed at the windshield.

  She rocked the steering wheel so that Savard slammed into the passenger door, corrupting his shot.

  “Bitch!” The curse spewed clearly, and she noticed the muzzle end of the big, black Glock swing in her direction.

  No hesitation.

  She twisted the wheel again, tugging the car to her left.

  Savard rolled toward the console between them, the top of his head banging against her shoulder.

  Perfect.

  White knuckling the wheel with both hands, she slapped the brake with her right foot and rammed it home, all the way to the floorboard. The stench of overheated metal filled the car as the brake pads wore away.

  Both the car and Savard screamed in protest.

  Too bad.

  Delphine twisted the wheel all the way to the left and braced for a very short future.

  »»•««

  The roar of a turbocharged engine raged unseen, pulsating the tissue inside Zane’s ear. He watched the horizon as a dot drew closer with unimaginable speed. His gut tensed, anticipating the next phase of their escape and without a clue how they’d accomplish it.

  His wound throbbed with the pounding of his pulse. He pressed his hand against the tear, not surprised to find it oozing. Blood seeped between his fingers, slow, sticky, and warm.

  As relieved as he was fearful, Zane cried out as the red sports car burst into his view. Acutely aware of the inevitable outcome, he waved his bloodied hands frantically. “No! Stop!”

  “Wait for it.” Swift pulled him off the road.

  “Wait for what? Delphine to die? At that speed, she’ll either crash into the Gate or through it, and I’m guessing, crash.”

  “No, she won’t.” He tapped his head again. “Oracle to oracle, I know she’s got a plan.”

  The car swerved from side to side and then the screech of metal on metal as he imagined her standing on the brakes while at top speed. Smoke spewed from under the wheels, the cloud stinking of burning oil and disintegrating rubber. The car tossed to the side, and for a minute he feared it would slide off the road and crash into the trees.

  Certain death for all inside.

  Instead the high-tech auto fishtailed and then spun donuts, whirling so fast it looked like a blood-red tor
nado.

  Baalberith bounded to the center of the road, tossing the weakened shade aside. Niall flopped to the ground like an old sweater.

  Much as Zane wanted to go to Niall, he didn’t dare move, didn’t dare take his eyes off the demon or the car.

  “Luciana! I command your presence. This instant.” With his demand, the demon thrust out his palm. A lightning bolt spewed, fanning wide as a searchlight.

  A dome of opaque white encircled the hot rod while veins of electric volts stabbed into the chassis.

  The car halted, nose facing the Gate, without rocking even once from the stolen momentum.

  The dome evaporated.

  The engine idled rough.

  “I said, come to me.” Baalberith spread his feet wide and crossed his arms over his puffed out chest. His single wing rose high from the center of his back. “Do not defy your father again.” The tone of his voice sounded more imposing than his ominous figure.

  But neither door opened. Twenty tense seconds ticked by while his mind raced on what to do next.

  If Swift couldn’t perform some sort of quick magic with his new toy, they’d have to give up the ring. He couldn’t see another way around it. Baalberith and all his power blocked his access to Delphine, and he’d not sacrifice her. He glanced back at Swift.

  Gone. Without a casual good luck or goodbye. Typical.

  Zane snapped his head back to the idling car. No movement from within. His heart filled his throat as he feared the worst.

  The demon’s bolt had killed Delphine.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Logically, Delphine realized they’d stopped spinning, but the sensation of perpetual movement kept her plastered to the car seat.

  Unlike Savard, she’d been smart enough to buckle up. Throughout the many revolutions, he’d hollered like a little girl and tried fighting centrifugal force. Once the car stopped, his body flung against the dashboard and then the seat, to the window, and finally to the floor.

  Other than the shaky sensation in her limbs and seeing spots from the fluorescent light that engulfed the car, she felt okay. Maybe a little unnerved and bruised with sore fingers from clutching the steering wheel, but okay.