by Jade Kerrion
“Looks like I’m going nowhere.” He dragged his misshapen left hand through his hair. His future was tied to the assault group. He had thrown his lot in with traitors. Returning to the protection of the council was no longer an option; the general had made certain of it. “I need to get some rest.”
“Danyael.”
He shook his head. He desperately needed to be alone. “Not right now, Reyes. Please.”
The window behind him exploded, shattering into fragments. The shockwave knocked him to the ground. Danyael rolled over on his back, his head still ringing from sound of the blast. “What—”
The general was the first to recover, Amanda right behind him. They scrambled to their feet and raced to the broken window. Flames billowed from one of the buildings in the compound. “Barracks B is on fire.” The general’s horrified gaze flashed toward a blur of motion, a missile streaking through the night sky. Another building burst into flames. The general ducked beneath the spray of broken glass and flying debris, pulling Amanda down beside him. “We’re under attack!”
Danyael pushed to his knees. “Who would—”
The general’s face was pale, ghostly in the orange light of the blaze. “Sakti.”
Klaxons rang through the compound. Soldiers, rudely awakened, scrambled out of their barracks and raced toward the burning structures to save their friends and comrades-in-arms. Danyael braced against the panic washing through him, slamming against his psychic shields. He had to get to Zara.
Graceless in his haste, he stumbled out of the general’s office and through the dimly lit corridors, pushing past soldiers who were racing for the exit. His crutch slipped on the slick tiles. He would have fallen, if Reyes had not reached out to steady him. Danyael breathed his thanks and raced on. The detention level was unmanned; the soldiers on duty had abandoned their posts to save their friends. He paused by the lockers behind the guard desk to retrieve Zara’s and Galahad’s weapons before continuing on to Zara’s cell.
Zara was pacing the length of her cell with the restlessness of a bored and hungry tiger. She glanced up, easily catching the Glock and the pair of sheathed daggers that Danyael tossed to her. “What happened?”
“Two of the barracks are on fire. We think it’s Sakti.” Danyael turned, limping quickly down the hallway to free Galahad too. The cell door slid open. Galahad stood at the threshold, his dark eyes calm. Danyael shoved Galahad’s weapons against his chest and looked into the face that was identical to his own. “I want you to get her out of here. Keep her safe. Take Reyes with you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I need to get to the barracks. I can help Carson with the injured.”
Galahad shook his head. “If Sakti’s here, it’s because of you. Thomas’s going to try to kill you. You’ll be safer with us.”
“I can’t protect you, and if you’re with me, I can’t protect myself. Zara’s scarcely shielded.”
Zara’s voice spiked with annoyance. “Are you both through talking about me as if I’m not here? I have no intention of leaving Danyael behind. Get moving, all of you. We’re not accomplishing anything by standing around here.”
“Wait,” Danyael said. Miriya.
What is it? I’m a little busy here.
I’m with Zara and Galahad. Can you shield them?
Can you find someone else to help? We have a bit of a crisis here. Someone’s attacking our national monuments.
What?
All hell broke loose about five minutes ago. Most of the Mall is on fire. The president’s scrambling what troops he can. The council’s helping out.
The assault group headquarters was attacked. We think it’s Sakti.
Miriya was briefly silent. That makes sense. We’ll be on the watch out for mutants as opposed to run-of-the-mill hooligans.
I still need you to shield Zara. I need you to link us so that I can heal them through your telepathic link.
Telepathic healing without me there to keep an eye on you and regulate your intake of their injuries? I don’t think so. Just tell them not to get hurt.
Miriya—
I intend to keep you alive in spite of your best efforts to get yourself killed. I’m breaking the mental blocks in Lucien’s head tonight. After all that work, I’d like him to have a best friend to return to. Now shut up. I have stuff to do.
“Danyael! Damn it!” Zara gripped his wrist, breaking his telepathic conversation with Miriya. “We have to get out of here.”
He blinked hard, refocusing on her face. “Sakti’s attacking the National Mall.”
“How do you know that?”
“Miriya.” Danyael glanced at Reyes. “How many people does Sakti have?”
“Thousands,” Reyes said. “Most of them are derivatives. Only twenty or twenty-five percent are mutants, mostly telekinetics.”
“Be specific,” Zara said. “Twenty-five percent of one thousand and twenty-five percent of nine thousand are very different numbers. How many people can Sakti summon to D.C. on short notice?”
“Less than five hundred, but most of them will be mutants.”
“Great,” Zara muttered. “And with most of the assault group out for the count, the council is going to take the brunt of the fighting.”
Danyael’s mind raced, scrambling for a solution. “It’s two in the morning. If the council can contain the fighting to areas around the Mall, they can minimize civilian casualties. At least until the city wakes up.”
“The council doesn’t have more than a hundred or so mutants in D.C. It doesn’t matter how good they are. They’re going to get crushed by sheer weight of numbers.”
Danyael ground his teeth as he worked through his limited options. “We need the super soldiers.”
“What?” Zara shook her head sharply. “No, you’re not serious.”
“You know about them?”
“Of course. That’s why Howard wants you. He’s been after you for years, trying to drive you past your breaking point. He took Lucien.”
“He what?”
“Howard sent mercenaries to kidnap Lucien and put the psychic blocks in his mind.”
“No, that’s—” Impossible?
Danyael sagged against the wall. The general had put his own men in danger. He would not have hesitated if he thought that Lucien stood in his way. No, not now. He reinforced his psychic shields to contain the emotional anguish. He had to keep moving; he had to stay a step ahead of the crippling heartache. “I have to get to the barracks.”
“Danyael?” Zara touched him gently. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I…can’t change the past, and we have other things we have to do now.”
Her violet eyes searched his face. She nodded. “Fine, but this conversation isn’t over.”
As far as he was concerned, it was. He glanced down a side corridor. “This way.”
Zara stepped in front of him. “I’ve got point. Galahad, cover our rear.”
Danyael shook his head. “Zara, you’re not shielded. I can’t use my empathic powers without affecting you too.”
Zara ignored him. “If I do my job right, you won’t need to use your empathic powers.” With the Glock in her right hand and a dagger in her left, she set off at a brisk pace down the corridor.
Danyael gave her terse directions, glancing back over his shoulder frequently to confirm that Reyes kept up. The older man, his face drawn with anxiety, said nothing, but the pained and distant look in his eyes implied that he paid little attention to his surroundings. Danyael reached back and grasped his hand gently, channeling peace through their physical contact. “It’s all right, Reyes.”
Cautious hope flared in Reyes’s eyes. “You’re not angry? You don’t hate me?”
“No, of course not.”
“I am sorry. I wish we’d met under different circumstances.”
The echo of Reyes’s heartache resonated through Danyael. Underlying the guilt and regret was a solid core of respect and affection. In another
time and place, it might have formed the foundation for a true and lasting friendship.
An image of Lucien flashed through Danyael’s mind. The familiar surge of regret was tempered with the wisdom of hindsight. If it ends today, I don’t want Reyes’s last memory to be of me turning away.
He wove his empathic powers through Reyes’s spirit, offering forgiveness. Danyael smiled down at the old man. “I’m glad we met, regardless.”
Reyes’s smile was wan, his eyes watery. He squeezed Danyael’s hand lightly and then nodded, indicating that he was all right.
Galahad’s emotions, muted beneath psychic shields, flared.
Danyael’s eyes narrowed as he tried to tease apart the subtle nuances between resentment and bitterness. Their gazes locked, black on black, identical yet different. “Galahad—”
In front of him, Zara’s emotions flashed and then cooled.
Danyael hurried after Zara, rounding a corner to see four men grappling in a battle that was as much physical as it was telekinetic. Mutants.
Zara did not hesitate. She killed three of the four with perfectly placed shots through the backs of their heads.
The sole survivor looked up at her, shock reflecting on his face, as his opponents crumpled to the ground. Peter Dieter scrambled to his feet, breathing hard. “Thanks, but how did you know—”
“Who to kill?” Zara smiled. “Haircuts.” She glanced down at the unkempt mops of hair on the three men she had slain. “Non-military issue.”
“You killed them because of their hairstyle?”
“I’m open to suggestions if you can think of a better way to tell friend from foe, short of using telepathic powers, which I don’t have.”
Peter’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t even stop to think.”
Zara patted Peter’s cheek and unleashed a smile with devastating effect. “I’m an assassin. I wouldn’t be any good at my job if I hesitated. Just think of killer instincts as a mutant power, if it makes you feel better.”
Danyael stepped forward. “Peter, where are the others?”
“Dead,” Peter said, teeth gritted. “The attack on the two barracks killed most of them. Those who tried to save them were killed when Sakti broke through the electric fence. The survivors, including the general, are holed up in the command center.”
“Is Major Chandler with the general?”
The expression in Peter’s eyes was distant as he reached out through telepathic channels. “Yes.”
Danyael nodded. “Good. Come with us.”
“Where are you going?” Peter asked, falling in beside Danyael
“To get the super soldiers. What are we up against?”
“I don’t know. No one can get a good count. More than us, that’s for certain. Our emergency calls aren’t getting through.”
“That’s because the rest of D.C. is under attack. Do you know if Sakti broke into the super soldier barracks?”
Peter shrugged. “No idea. They don’t know about the super soldiers, though. They wouldn’t have had any reason to attack the research annex.”
“All right. I need you to shield Zara and stay close to Reyes. Keep him safe.”
The group made their way to the research annex without incident, their quick pace limited only by Danyael’s limping stride. The illusion of normality was deceptive, the silence eerie. Danyael paused outside the steel door to the super soldier barracks. His heartache was buried, the pain locked away. The peace he needed he found deep within, an acceptance of himself and of his deadly empathic powers.
He held his key card up against the security panel. The door slid open. “Come with me,” Danyael said quietly into the semi-bestial face of a super soldier glowering at him. “I need your help.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
While Scar and a small group of super soldiers stayed beside Danyael, the others roamed ahead like rambunctious toddlers on a field trip. He had no illusions as to his ability to control them over large distances, but he had not accounted for the control that Scar and the other leaders had over the larger team. When one strayed too far ahead or lingered too far behind, he was recalled with a grumpy hiss from one of the leaders.
The group ran into the first Sakti terrorist, and the soldiers looked back at Danyael for confirmation. He nodded. The fractional incline of his head was a death sentence. With absent-minded efficiency, the soldiers tore the startled human apart like children fighting over a rag doll. Danyael looked away as blood spilled on the white tiles, grateful that the man’s screams ended quickly.
“We have to hurry,” Peter called out. He led the way, while Galahad, Zara, and Reyes brought up the rear. “Sakti has almost broken through to the command center. The team’s out of ammo. They’ll be throwing chairs next. I can move faster; I’m going on ahead.” He pushed past the super soldiers and disappeared around the corner.
Danyael gritted his teeth against the pain that ripped along the length of his leg and lower back. He quickened his pace but stumbled against a wall when his leg collapsed beneath him.
“I’ve got you,” Zara’s voice breathed into his ear. Her arm snaked around his waist and she tugged him upright. She had caught him, supported him, more times than he could recall, sometimes with loathing, frequently with scorn. She met his gaze, her violet eyes gleaming with amusement. “It’s just like old times.”
Scraped male pride had him responding bitterly, “If you’re lucky, there won’t be a next time.” He pulled away from her, steadied the crutch beneath his arm, and struggled past her.
Zara caught his arm and swung him around. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help. If you’re trying to appease your guilty conscience, go in peace, as they say. I’m fine. I don’t need to be saved.”
“You’re throwing your lot in with the man who destroyed your friendship with Lucien?”
Fresh agony seared against Danyael’s psychic shields. “That’s between the general and me.”
He brushed past her. The super soldiers flowed around Zara, who took her place beside Danyael. He had to focus. Between the pain and his exhaustion, he had precious little energy to spare. He could not afford to waste it on Zara Itani.
“Incoming!” Peter scrambled around a corner and raced toward Danyael. Bullets and other makeshift missiles bounced off his telekinetic shield, ricocheting in different directions.
Danyael ducked as a heavy piece of wood, spinning like the blades of a helicopter, swept through the air toward him. It took him only a split second to realize that he could not move fast enough and impact was inevitable.
With a snarl, Scar swept the piece of wood from the air before it hit Danyael. It smashed into the wall, fracturing into a spray of splinters. Next to Scar, one of the super soldiers howled, a cry that the others picked up. They galloped past Peter and threw themselves at the startled Sakti team, scattering them. The super soldiers had the advantage of surprise; they needed it. They killed the first three terrorists before the others rallied, and the battle turned. An alpha telepath from Sakti cut a swath through the ranks of super soldiers, driving them back with a single psychic blast through their unshielded minds.
Danyael lurched forward. He had to get closer. He had to make physical contact to stop the telepath.
Zara grabbed his arm, holding him back. “You stay out of it.” She raced past him to join Galahad who was already cutting his way through Sakti’s ranks with matching daggers in his hands.
Breathing hard, Peter sagged against the wall next to Danyael. “I thought I’d thin out their ranks. Thanks for the save.” He shook his head. “They don’t take much encouraging, do they?”
Two super soldiers teamed up to take down a man. One slashed across the man’s stomach, tearing gashes that gushed with blood. The other pulled the man’s head back and ripped out his throat.
Danyael’s soft sigh mixed guilt with the burden of necessity. “No, they don’t.”
“I actually meant those two.”
Dany
ael followed Peter’s gaze. In spite of himself, he smiled. He appreciated beauty in many forms, and there were few things more beautiful than Zara Itani doing what she did best—killing.
With a gun in one hand and a blood-streaked dagger in the other, Zara dropped to one knee and swept her other leg out in a wide circle. A woman went down with a shriek, her machine gun clattering uselessly to the floor, out of her grasp. Zara plunged the blade into the woman’s chest; the woman’s cry collapsed into a bloody gurgle.
Graceful as a dancer, Zara yanked the dagger out of the woman and twisted around sharply to fire a bullet into the leg of the man coming up behind her. The man screamed, coiling over his injury as if to protect himself. Her eyes cool, her face expressionless, Zara fired again. The second bullet found its mark in the back of the man’s skull.
Next to Zara, Galahad, his arms crossed at the wrists, ducked effortlessly underneath a man’s fist. The man’s attack had missed by a fraction of an inch; Galahad’s perfect kinesthetic senses allowed him to escape injury by a hairsbreadth. The three-inch blades that Galahad held between the middle and ring fingers of both hands seemed small in comparison to Zara’s six-inch dagger, but they were deadly extensions of his body. He slashed outward across the man’s upper thighs with surgical precision, severing femoral arteries. The man’s pants turned crimson in a heartbeat. The man staggered back, his face ashen, but Galahad—the angel of death—had moved on, seeking his next victim.
Separately, Zara and Galahad were beautiful; together, they were stunning—Zara’s dark hair and exotic beauty a stark contrast to Galahad’s pale, sculptured good looks. They had more in common than an excessive claim on physical beauty. If Zara was like fire—dazzling, brilliant, living flame—then Galahad was like the night wind—invisible, unstoppable, everywhere in general and nowhere in particular, with a chill bite that could cut through skin and bone. They were perfectly matched, a natural disaster seeking a place to happen.
Danyael gritted his teeth. I have no right to be jealous. Jealousy was for people who had some basis for believing that they presented a viable alternative. He didn’t. Galahad’s accusations notwithstanding, nothing about the many reasons why he and Zara were incompatible had changed since they had last met.
