Hunted tgl-3

by Ednah Walters

  His words were slow to register. When they did, I smacked his chest. “Did you just use a baseball metaphor? That’s so Sykes.”

  Bran made a disgusted face. “If I can handle your pheromone overload, so can you. Without feeling embarrassed. I’m the one who must fight even harder to resist you.”

  I wasn’t worried about him. He could control himself in any given situation. “Do the others know?”

  “I don’t think so, but they’ll eventually figure it out.”

  I made a face.

  “You know why?”

  “I don’t want to know.” I twisted the cap off the water bottle and took a sip. I didn’t like the look in his eyes as he went back to his sandwich and took a bite. “Okay. Why?”

  “When you’re tense or excited, you release more. When you panic or get pissed, any drastic change in emotions triggers them.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Now you’re just making stuff up.”

  He gave me a wide-eyed innocent look. “Would I lie to you?”

  He would if it meant making me forget my other problems. I wrinkled my nose.

  “I stink, I know.” He pressed a kiss on my nose. “I’m hitting the showers, then heading to Xenith. Don’t mess with some poor guy’s head while I’m gone.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We’re having dinner with your Cardinal buddies, so hurry back. And tell Celeste I said hi.”

  He stopped smiling. “Okay.”

  I called Kylie as soon as he left. When she didn’t pick up her phone, I sent her a text message.

  HQ was so quiet now that the Civilian Guardians were gone. Things changed as I crossed the Academy’s foyer and got closer to the pit. The clang of metal reached me. I shivered, remembering the archangel’s sword. I reached up and touched my neck. What happened to Guardians when they died?

  I tried not to gape when I entered the pit. Master Haziel was sparring with Lucien, their swords colliding, lifting, and thrusting. I had never seen Lucien spar before, and he was pretty good for a SG.

  They stopped when they saw me. Lucien walked to the wall to return the practice weapons. Master Haziel waved me over and headed to his observation booth.

  “What happened?” he asked, pouring water in a glass.

  “The others didn’t tell you?”

  “I am asking you.”

  I could tattle on Solaris, but it wouldn’t earn me any brownie points. “We didn’t exactly accomplish our mission, since Jethro is still missing. He’s probably in the secret hideout of the Summoners being tortured or something.” Master Haziel didn’t even bat an eyelid. “But I guess you already know that. Bran is home and will soon leave for Xenith.”

  “He and I will talk as soon as he gets back. How did thing go between you and the other Cardinals?” he asked, watching me intently.

  I gave him a toothy grin. “We got along splendidly. In fact, we’re having dinner tonight.”

  “Same story as the others…interesting,” Master Haziel said. “Lucien’s version was even briefer.”

  So no one had tattled. There was hope for them yet.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “What do you want to know? What Gavyn said or Archangel Raphael’s mission in life?”

  “I have no time for that young demon’s schemes or a cold-hearted angel’s rants. I am more interested on whether or not he got inside your head. The other Cardinals said they made no attempt to invade their thoughts.”

  Another proof that I was the target, not the others. “He tried, but I resisted him.”

  “Archangels are very good at finding people’s weaknesses and using them. Lucien?” he called out.

  Lucien looked up. “Yes, Grandfather?”

  Grandfather?

  “Go home. We are done here.”

  “But—”

  “Now,” Master Haziel added.

  “He is your grandson?” I asked after Lucien left the pit.

  “Great, great, great grandson.”

  “And you are okay with him being here now? With the Tri-whatever and the archangels and all? Aren’t you scared he might get hurt?”

  His leathery face scrunched. “The boy is eighteen, free to choose what he wants. At the present, he wants to be here. What is this Tri-whatever?”

  “The Nephilimic court that sent Raphael and his archangels to get me. We’re not supposed to say their name or they’ll appear like that.” I snapped my fingers. “So how loud do I have to yell to summon the court? I have a bone or two to pick with it.”

  Master Haziel went still. “Summoning the Tribunal has nothing to do with how loud you yell. It is about your convictions.”

  Cryptic as usual. “Meaning?”

  “You must need to meet with them.”

  “Oh. Like right before Raphael chops off my head with his angelic sword?”

  He chuckled. “I am happy you still have your sense of humor.”

  “Yes, well, if Raphael wants me, he’ll have to catch me first. What else do you know about the Nephilimic court? Can it bring back a demon from Tartarus?”

  He nodded. “It has been known to happen.”

  “How come no one knows about this?”

  “Because Guardians, like humans, tend to refuse to believe parts of history that make them uncomfortable.”

  So Valafar could really be back. Feeling sick, I just wanted to go home. “Okay. Well, that’s my report. I’ll see you later.”

  “Not so fast. Go home and change, then come right back.”

  “Why?”

  “To train, of course. You have nothing to do for several hours. All your friends are gone.” He angled his head, then added, “Your human friend is also out of town, so no teleporting to her house. Oh, you should not tell the rest of your team what happened today until the senior Cardinals talk to them this evening.”

  Why the heck had I come to see him? I could have telepathed my report. I was tempted to use the book on the Goddess as an excuse, but the thought of reading more about her after learning about being her vessel didn’t appeal to me.

  I was in and out of my home in under a minute, though I stopped long enough to check my phone. There was a text from Kylie. She’d be back tomorrow.

  Master Haziel wasn’t alone when I arrived back at the pit. He and Lucien were selecting swords. It must be hard to be the great, great, great grandson of someone like Master Haziel. He’d probably started training Lucien when he was a baby. Like Grampa had with me.

  “Choose a sword,” Master Haziel said.

  With the arrival of the SGs, the swords were all mixed up and no longer grouped by era and civilization. Still, my favorites—the Robin Hood swords with their sloping guards engraved with stags and trumpeter angels—stood out among the sabers, katanas, and claymores.

  I picked one and turned to find Lucien facing me with a katana. “Are you my sparring partner?”

  “We both are.” Master Haziel approached with two claymores.

  Sparring with more than one partner was something he encouraged, but he’d never participated before. He was ancient and emaciated. One hit and he’d surely crumple.

  “You sure about this, Master Haziel? I don’t want to hurt you or anything,” I teased.

  “You think I am too old to fight you?” He cackled, the sound rusty like an engine sputtering to life. I rotated my shoulders then raised my sword, swinging the tip between Lucien and the trainer, my gaze moving in the opposite direction, looking for a sign of imminent attack.

  Master Haziel lunged, and I thrust my sword forward to deflect his, then sidestepped and turned in one smooth motion to block Lucien’s. Feint. Strike. Parry. Counterstrike. Lucien’s footwork and flow was great, but he was timid. I was used to sparring with Bran, who wasn’t afraid to push me. As for Master Haziel, his frail body was a camouflage. He wielded the two swords effortlessly. Like they were sticks.

  I shuffled backward, blocking left and right, teleported and appeared behind them. They turned, but I was ready. A flurry of combination s
trikes….left…right…left…and I knocked the blade from Lucien’s hand with my mind. He returned with two more.

  Strike…block…strike…I saw an opening, dropped and swept my leg under Lucien. Down he went. Sidestepping, I focused on Master Haziel while keeping an eye on Lucien, who didn’t connect with the floor. He teleported out of the way and came at me from behind, his shyness gone.

  I guess he wasn’t Master Haziel’s grandson for nothing.

  My usual strategy wasn’t working. Lucien’s and Master Haziel’s brains were wired the same or something. They pulled a switch on me and controlled the fight, had me on run until inspiration hit—I locked on another Robin Hood sword and telekinetically yanked it to my hand. It didn’t even things out, but it improved my chances.

  “You can do more, Lil,” Haziel said, scarcely breathing hard.

  “Don’t. Try. To. Distract. Me!” I panted between parries.

  “Reduce the odds,” he ordered.

  I needed answers, not his cryptic comments. I locked on the swords in Lucien’s hands and sent them flying. He teleported and caught them before they hit the ground. Then he was back like he had never left. I was tempted to incinerate their swords, but I could seriously hurt them.

  Stop, you need rest, I projected in Lucien’s head.

  He didn’t stop.

  Ignore me. Fight each other.

  They still came at me. Either Master Haziel was shielding them against my power of persuasion, or I was too tired to focus my psi energy. Coming up with a new move wasn’t easy when you were evading being hit. Sweat rolled down my face and into my eyes, causing me to blink several times.

  “You cannot control our thoughts because we expected you to do exactly that. Once opponents know your attack operations, they will anticipate them next time you fight. That means you must always improvise, come up with something new. Archangels are smart and alert and impossible to surprise.”

  “Bran surprised one.”

  “You are not Bran. You do not have wings, but you are faster. You have the powers of the Kris within you. You can beat them. How?”

  “By making sure they don’t sneak inside my head,” I said between pants. “By being faster, teleporting and attacking them from different angles and…and by having more of us than them.”

  “What if you are down to the last few Cardinals and you are outnumbered?” Master Haziel asked, his footwork and swordplay effortless. “What if it is only you against four or five of them? What if your arms are injured and you cannot hold the sword anymore and they are closing in on you? What if you cannot teleport home because the Guardians are gone or the Cardinals have been rendered useless? It is you against them. One person. Alone.”

  He painted a gruesome image, which on a good day would have scared me or pissed me off. Not today. Not after meeting Raphael and his friends. It was a possible scenario and he was just preparing me.

  “Got it,” I yelled, reaching the only conclusion.

  “Got what?” Lucien asked.

  I’d completely forgotten his presence. “If I told you, you’d anticipate it and I wouldn’t defeat you.”

  Master Haziel chuckled.

  I locked on two swords on the western wall and sent hurtling them toward Lucien. Surprised, he lost his footing and nearly ended up on the floor. Master Haziel expected it and adjusted his moves, using one sword to fend me off and the second to block the one I telekinetically controlled behind him.

  Lucky for him, this kind of multi-tasking wasn’t easy. Throwing knives and shurikens during a battle was a piece of cake. I’d done it with real demons, but swords were a different ballgame. I tried to keep them in the air while striking repeatedly and taking knocks.

  The possibilities in the maneuver were endless, but the swords kept bobbing and my hold wasn’t firm. More determined than ever to master the move, I pushed myself. I attacked from different angles, forcing Lucien and Master Haziel to focus less on me.

  My hold grew firmer, until I could add two more. Lucien, not used to blocking so many swords at once, struggled and then teleported to the other end of the room.

  “I guess it’s just you and me, Master Haziel,” I mocked.

  “Smugness can get you killed,” he warned sharply.

  “Not when I can do this.” I jerked my head and the swords I’d used on Lucien shot up in the air. My six against Master Haziel’s two. Even though my hold wasn’t strong and the swords were at weird angles, I had him surrounded. He lowered his swords, the tips touching the floor.

  I let go of the swords and they dropped to the cement floor, the clang sounds mixing with the applause from behind me. I turned to find Sykes by the door, a smirk on his handsome face.

  “Ganging up on the old man while we’re gone?” he asked. “Shame on you.”

  Something was off about his smile. I studied his face as I closed the gap between us. His hazel eyes were shadowed, his blond hair mussed as though he’d run his fingers through it. “How did it go?”

  His usually cocky smile cracked. “Not good. Mom took all this Tribe mess and sealed portal thing pretty hard. Dad was stoic. For once, I wished I had a sister or brother for them to focus on now that I’m out here.”

  That was big coming from him. He loved being the center of his parents’ attention.

  “Can I have a hug?” he added.

  On a different day, I’d have known he was just flirting. Today, he was hurting. I tugged at my tank top. “I’m sweaty.”

  He took a step closer. “I don’t care. I need your warmth right now.”

  Put that way. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders while his went around my mid-section, then crossed my upper back. His pain was real and deep. It wasn’t easy being an only child. I didn’t speak, aloud or telepathically. I just held him. He dropped his face on my shoulder, arms tightening around me, breath brushing against my neck.

  My traitorous body reacted to his maleness, his scent and warmth. Not the way it did with Bran. With Bran, it was an explosion of sensations whenever we touched. This was purely physical. I reached up and stroked the hair on the back of his head. A tremor shot through him. Was he crying?

  “You okay?”

  He stepped back and gave me a sheepish smile. His eyes were shiny. “Yeah. Thank you.”

  “Sykes,” Master Haziel called out. “Stay behind. Do not leave the valley, Lil. Cardinals’ orders.”

  There goes the meeting with Keiran. Maybe we could sneak out. I touched Sykes’ arm. “We have a dinner date, so tell Remy.”

  “Dinner? With whom?”

  “The Cardinals from the other sectors.”

  He nodded, then walked backward and pretended an invisible noose was dragging him toward Master Haziel, one hand extended toward me. “Save me,” he mouthed.

  What a goofball. I wiggled my fingers in goodbye and took off toward the foyer. Poor Sykes. I imagined being in his shoes, saying goodbye to Grampa, never knowing whether I’d see him again. It would kill me.

  Once I cleared the academy, I teleported home.

  Hey, Sunshine? You ready to go?

  For a moment, I was disoriented. Then I realized Bran was back and…

  Oh crap, the dinner. My gaze flew to the clock. Six-thirty. Yeah. I need to find out when we’re supposed to he there and let the others know.

  Seven o’clock. I just talked to Solaris. Are we still going out tonight to meet Keiran ‘s people?

  I don’t know. Master Haziel said we were on lockdown. He wants to see you, too.

  Okay. See you in a hit.

  I pinged and spoke with Kim and Izzy, then Esras. Lifting my gypsy skirt, I added two straps around my thighs and slipped throwing knives in the sheaths. By the time Bran appeared in my bedroom, I was putting on my sandals. He looked gorgeous in a hunter-green silk shirt and black dress-pants under his trench coat.

  Heat simmered in his green eyes. “You look beautiful.”

  I blushed. “You, too. How did it go with Celeste?”

  He made
a face. “She didn’t want to stay, but I convinced her.”

  “Did you tell her about Gavyn?”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t. Knowing we were cut off from Xenith and about to face the archangels was bad enough. She begged me to protect him.” He laughed, though there was no humor in his eyes. “Come on, let’s go.”

  There was anger and pain in his voice, but I was used to getting those emotions from him whenever he talked about his brother. I slipped my hand through his and let my energy caress his. “What are we going to do about Keiran?”

  He squeezed my hand. “Let’s discuss it with the others after dinner.”

  - 17 -

  A TOTAL FLOP

  Cardinal Hsia’s living room no longer had sofas, or coffee and side tables. Instead, long dining tables were lined up at right angles to form a rectangle, leaving space in the center. On one side of the rectangle were piles of pizza and breadstick boxes from a local pizza shop; the rest of the tables had place settings for about sixty people.

  There were lots of psi energies downstairs and a classical piano tune drifted upstairs. It was verbally quiet, but telepathically loud.

  “That’s a lot of Cardinals,” I mumbled.

  “Other sectors have two or three Cardinals with the same power,” Bran explained.

  “How come we’re shortchanged?”

  “That’s an insult. You have the senior Cardinals and me.” He wiggled his brow.

  “Show-off.”

  “Guess how many Water Cardinals there are in total?” he asked.

  Water powers were rare. “One? You?”

  “Three including me.”

  We headed downstairs, where the Cardinals were having pre-dinner drinks and mingling. Not your normal party by the looks of things. But then again, “normal” and “Guardians” didn’t exactly go together.

  The dress code was typical Guardian dark hunting clothes—pants and shirts, trench coats and boots, which meant weapons were hidden in sheaths and inner pockets in case of an attack. Our team dressed the way they normally did when we had a formal dinner—Remy in his signature preppy polo shirt and dressy pants, and Sykes in frayed jeans and a t-shirt with Size Matters written under an energy ball, while Kim and Izzy wore fashionable dresses with knee-length boots, their makeup flawless. No coats, but they were packing. They always did, no matter what they wore.