Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin)

by Gena Showalter

  She’d lost the ability to hear, and all of her furniture and the trinkets she’d left behind had been removed, leaving the space barren, devoid of a single weapon. In fact, there was only one weapon nearby and it was clutched in Audra’s hand.

  Audra, who stood by the only exit, guarding it with her life.

  Vika stopped, just stopped, and faced her childhood friend, her tormentor. Actually, that gun wasn’t the only weapon, she realized. She was a weapon. Solo had made sure of it—and she wouldn’t make light of his lessons.

  “Let me out, Audra,” she said. “Otherwise, you won’t like what happens to you.”

  “I won’t like what happens to me if I do. Your father will kill me.”

  “If you stay with him, he’ll kill you anyway.”

  “No.” Green eyes glittered. “He’s not going to hit me anymore. He promised.”

  “He lied.”

  “No, he loves me.”

  “He knows nothing of love! And neither do you, I think. Love protects. Love cherishes. Love lifts you up rather than tears you down. Love makes you fly, and I love Solo.”

  A flicker of sorrow, quickly gone. “Your beast is going to be the first to die, Vika. You can’t save him. No one can.”

  No! She refused to accept such a thing. She could save him. She would.

  “One last chance,” she said, making a proper fist.

  “Shut up, and—”

  Vika slammed that proper fist into Audra’s nose.

  The girl yelped as blood spurted from her, and she dropped the gun to clutch at the injured cartilage. Vika dove for the weapon, and when she straightened, she aimed the barrel at Audra’s chest.

  Wide-eyed, Audra flattened herself against the door.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” Vika said, “but I’ll do worse if necessary. Worse that will happen in three seconds, if you fail to move out of the way.”

  “I don’t care,” Audra replied with a defiant shake of her head.

  “One.”

  “Jecis will do far worse.”

  “Two.”

  The defiance drained, and tears welled in her eyes. Audra stepped out of the way.

  Vika brushed past her and stepped into the sunlight. But before she’d taken three steps, X appeared on her shoulder, wringing his hands together.

  Duck under the trailer, he commanded. Now!

  Heart suddenly slamming against her ribs, she dove for cover. She knew better than to pause and question him. Good thing, too. The moment the ground was pressed against her back, she felt the vibration of footsteps. A few seconds later, she saw her father and Matas’s boots.

  The pair disappeared inside the trailer. Several seconds passed.

  Solo’s in trouble, X said. He and the Targon have worked up a plan. They began shouting for your father and Matas a few minutes ago. But rather than confront them head-on, your father wants to use Solo’s feelings for you against him.

  So low. So like Jecis.

  “What should I do?” she whispered.

  You know what you need to do, Vika.

  She did, didn’t she? And it was brutal. It went against everything she’d ever believed. Or rather, everything she’d ever thought she had believed. Afterward, she would probably cry.

  Probably? No. She would. But this was war. This wasn’t business as usual. Action had to be taken. Things had to be done. The strong could not trample on the weak and continue to reign.

  The trailer shook and she barely silenced her gasp. Jecis had either punched the wall . . . or Audra. Two sets of boots again appeared, this time stomping away. She waited one minute, two, then rolled into the light.

  Can you do what needs doing? X asked.

  “Yes,” she said, and stalked forward.

  Thirty-two

  A large population is a king’s glory, but without subjects a prince is ruined.

  —PROVERBS 14:28

  YOU! WHAT HAVE YOU done with my daughter?” Jecis pounded to Solo’s cage and, with a spat of curses, jabbed at the button to pour sedatives through his system. Dr. E sat on the male’s shoulder, laughing. “I planned to wait, to kill you slowly, but I want her to hear your screams and come running. I want her to see what I do to you—and I want you to see what I do to her.”

  Solo remained silent as he dropped to the ground.

  “Matas,” the Targon snarled.

  “Shut up,” the guard snarled in return.

  “I’ll shut up the day I carve out your black heart and dance in your blood.”

  Matas snorted, not the least bit intimidated. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

  Jecis was too lost to his rage to notice the two men were arguing. And he was too lost to his rage to notice Solo wasn’t actually asleep. Because of that, he made the mistake of opening the door to the cage.

  “Now,” Solo shouted, his jaw heavy but still workable.

  In the process of stepping deeper into the enclosure, Jecis froze, the Targon taking control of his body. Every ounce of Solo’s strength was needed to pull himself into a sitting position, but he did it. His gaze met his enemy’s, and he smiled slowly, with relish.

  Dr. E stopped laughing. “What’s going on? How are you doing this?”

  Ignoring him, Solo said to Jecis, “Just so you know, the only one who will suffer today is you.”

  Fear joined the rage in Jecis’s eyes. Solo could see the skull writhing beneath his skin, attempting to jerk out of the Targon’s control. Gritting his teeth, Solo kicked out his leg, nailing Jecis in the stomach and sending him propelling to the ground.

  Dr. E vanished.

  Solo was quick to follow his opponent, jumping out of the cage. Every action loosened his muscles and lifted some of the weight of the drugs. Now it was time for a little dirty pool. He threw his leg into another kick—nailing Jecis between the legs.

  Air burst from the man’s mouth, but that was it, his only reaction.

  “You’re free!” Kitten said, fist pumping the air. “I told you this would happen. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Let me out!” Criss shouted.

  “Me too! Come on, man. Over here!”

  The Bree Lian jumped up and down. “Beast Man! Over here!”

  “Can’t . . . hold them much longer,” the Targon called. “Their magic . . . fighting me.”

  Solo bent down and grabbed Jecis by the wrist. He dragged the man past an equally frozen Matas, and to the Targon’s cage, where he pressed Jecis’s thumb into the lock. A flash of white light, and the tumbler gave way.

  The Targon burst from the cage and launched himself at Matas. That’s when he lost his hold on the bodies, both Matas and Jecis erupting into action.

  Jecis jerked from Solo’s hold and rolled to his feet. There was no exchange of words. They simply dove toward each other, fists flying. Solo landed several punches, but he took one, too. The ensuing sting enraged him. What had Vika endured at this man’s hands over the years?

  Rage . . . cold, harsh.

  Drugs . . . drip, drip, dripping, trying to weaken.

  Calm, he told himself. Remain calm. He couldn’t allow himself to morph, not in any way. And for once, it wasn’t an impossible task. Vika had taught him a better way to live.

  He blocked a punch, ducked, and threw one, smashing into Jecis’s kidney. He heard a hiss, though he knew the man wasn’t out for the count. Far from it. The violence must have engaged his dark side, because the skull shot out, little gold flames appearing in the darkness as it tried to chomp on Solo. Just before contact, a giant version of X swooped in, catching the skull like a basketball and falling to the ground with it clutched to his chest.

  Jecis unleashed a pained wail, as if the evil were attached to him, and he could feel its defeat. Solo struck, nailing him in the temple once, twice, three times. The man’s head rattled from side to side, but on Solo’s fourth swing, he managed to get his hands up and block.

  Solo aimed lower. Contact. Again, air burst from Jecis’s mouth.

  From the corne
r of his eye, he saw that the Targon had Matas pinned to the ground. The shadows that had always hovered over Matas’s shoulder had stretched out and were biting and biting at the otherworlder, but the male paid them no heed. He continued to rain fists of fury into his opponent’s face. Again and again. Until it wasn’t just blood flinging in every direction. Until the shadows slowed . . . stilled . . . flopped to the ground and vanished.

  Jecis used his distraction against him and landed another punch to his jaw. His head whipped to the side, and he went with the motion, dropping to his side and kicking up his legs. His boots knocked Jecis’s teeth together, sending him stumbling backward.

  Solo straightened and followed him, grabbing him by the collar. Swollen, bloodshot eyes peered up at him.

  “Kill me, and she’ll never forgive you,” Jecis spat.

  No. He wouldn’t believe that.

  Boom!

  Jecis’s body jerked, his eyes going wide. He fell to the side, but Solo maintained his grip, keeping him upright. He recognized gunfire when he heard it and held on to the man to use him as a shield if necessary. He tracked the noise with his gaze. Vika stood a few yards away, holding a smoking gun, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Solo loosened his fingers, intending to drop the man to the ground and race to her side, to gather her in his arms, to offer comfort, or whatever else she might need. What she’d done . . . all to protect him . . .

  “My own daughter,” Jecis gasped out. “How could you?”

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  The shots came from a different direction, from behind Jecis, but still the man jumped each time. And as three sharp stings registered in Solo’s chest—all straight in the heart—he looked to find Audra with a smoking gun. Dr. E sat on her shoulder, and he was laughing all over again.

  “If I can’t have you,” the little man called, “no one can.”

  The girl had shot Jecis, but the bullets had gone straight through him and into Solo. He finally dropped the man, but not to get to Vika. He no longer had the strength. The man responsible for his torment all these weeks flopped lifelessly to the ground, and Solo fell to his knees beside him.

  “Solo!” Vika cried out, rushing to his side. Her hands patted at him, trying to stop the flow of blood. “You’ll heal, yes? You did before. Many times. I’ve watched you. You have to heal from this, too. Right?”

  He heard a cry, watched as X collided with Dr. E, knocking Audra to the ground. As X and Dr. E fell, Dr. E’s body elongated, growing to the same size as X’s. Maybe he was seeing things.

  Dizziness consumed him. Black dots wove through his vision. With every pump of his damaged heart, his life slipped away a little more. “Vika,” he managed to choke out as blood bubbled up in his throat.

  “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,” she rushed out. “Just tell me!”

  “Nothing to be . . . done.” His injuries were too severe. He’d caused this kind of damage in others. He’d seen the results too many times. He knew.

  “There is!”

  “Can’t lie . . . Vika . . . This is . . . it.” He struggled to keep his gaze on her as his fingers and toes grew cold.

  X moved in, kneeling at his side. Still giant, as big as Solo. “Tell him good-bye, Vika.”

  “What? No! Never.”

  Solo pitched forward, no longer able to hold his own weight. Somehow, Vika managed to catch him, balancing him against the softness of her trembling body.

  “Tell her good-bye, Solo,” X commanded.

  “No!” Vika shouted again. “Not good-bye. Just good night. You’ll go to sleep, Solo, and we’ll patch you up. You’ll revive in the morning. You will. You’ll see. You vowed to give me anything I wanted and this is what I want.”

  “Love . . .” He had to tell her how much he loved her. He had to explain everything she’d come to mean to him. Until her, he’d never really lived. But the black dots still winking through his vision expanded, thickened, and the blood bubbling in his throat cut off his airway. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

  “He will die at home,” X said. “And don’t you dare protest, Vika. It must be this way.”

  “No! He’s not leaving me. He promised to take me to his farm, too, and he always keeps his promises.” To Solo, she said, “You’re going to get better, I know it. I feel it. I have a knowing. Just . . . get better. Please, Solo. Please. Please.”

  Strong arms banded around his waist, pulling him backward, tugging him away from Vika.

  “No,” she said, and now she was sobbing. “X, don’t—”

  They were the last words Solo heard.

  Thirty-three

  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

  —LUKE 12:34

  VIKA WASN’T SURE HOW long she knelt in place, staring at the pool of crimson Solo had left behind. X had put his arms around him, and the pair had vanished. All she knew was that, when she finally looked up, the circus was engulfed in flames.

  She laughed without humor. Her father’s pride and joy was being destroyed bit by bit, all of his work soon to be ruined. Justice had at last arrived. But then, it always did, didn’t it? Somehow. Someway.

  The otherworlders were still in their cages, screaming to be released. Performers were shouting and running in every direction. Her father’s body was motionless beside her. Matas was splayed a few feet away from her. Or rather, what was left of him. The crimson-soaked Targon stood over his body, arms lifted as he danced in the man’s blood. Audra stood in the same spot she’d occupied before, still holding the gun. She was pale and shaking—and she was no longer tattooed. The spiders were gone.

  Audra noticed her gaze and shuddered. “I didn’t mean to kill your beast,” she said. “I just wanted to hurt Jecis the way he’d hurt me.”

  “Solo wasn’t a beast! He was the best man I knew.” Horrified by her words, Vika hurried to correct herself. “He is the best man I know.” He was still alive. She wouldn’t believe otherwise. He was too strong, too vital, and he’d promised. He never broke his promises.

  Audra nodded, as though ashamed, and dropped the gun on the ground. Sirens blared in the background. Sirens Vika heard. Not as clearly as before, in the cabin, but enough. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  “What should I do?” Audra asked.

  She could hear the girl’s voice, as well. “Start a new life,” Vika told her.

  Where was Solo? Where had X taken him? Home, the creature had said. Did that mean the farm? Or perhaps X’s home, in that other realm?

  A tap on her shoulder caused her to look up.

  The Targon peered down at her, and he was smiling. Splattered as he was with blood, it was a chilling smile. “You might want to close your eyes for this next part,” he said.

  He didn’t wait for her response, but turned to her father and unsheathed a blade. Vika watched. With one sharp motion, he cut off Jecis’s thumb. The brutality of the action barely registered. She knew what he planned to do with the appendage, knew it was necessary.

  He picked up the detached piece and rolled it along his palm. “Mara was my wife. Matas killed her.”

  Mara. Vika’s Mara. “Killed her? No. I freed her.”

  “You did. Your father found her and gave her to Matas. I was bonded to her, and I witnessed the entire thing through her eyes.”

  Mara was dead. Mara hadn’t abandoned her. Hadn’t forgotten her. She’d been caught, killed. “I’m so sorry. I—There are no words. I loved her.”

  “I know you did. That’s why you’re still alive.” He moved to the cage nearest him and began freeing the otherworlders.

  Most sprang from behind the bars and ran, never looking back. Tawny fur grew from Kitten’s pores, covering her entire body as she disappeared around the corner, but she quickly returned with an unconscious, bleeding circus performer. She dumped the body on top of Jecis, kicked it—the performer was still alive, judging from that gust of pained breath Vika heard—and disappeared again . . . only to return w
ith another body. This time, she was a little bloody herself and missing several patches of fur.

  The Bree Lian raced toward Vika, his claws bared.

  The Targon grabbed him by the back of the hair and jerked him to the ground. He loomed over the otherworlder and scowled.

  “You don’t touch the girl. Ever. She took care of you and was your only means of protection.”

  A trembling “All right.”

  The Targon freed him, and he lumbered to his feet. He didn’t bother glancing or glaring in Vika’s direction, but sprinted away.

  Criss strolled out, stopped and checked her cuticles.

  “Run,” the Targon said. He’d finished releasing the otherworlders and dropped her father’s thumb on the ground. “I don’t owe you any protection, Cortaz, and I won’t offer it. You’ve got an attitude that needs adjusting.”

  “I think I’ll stay,” the girl said with a confident smile. “When Jecis died, my brothers were finally able to get a lock on me. They showed up a few seconds later.”

  The Targon spread his arms. “And where are they? Because they can feel free to bring it.”

  A brighter smile. “You see the fires?” Looking beyond the otherworlder, she called, “The circus is charbroiled now, guys, so stop showing off. I’m ready to go home.”

  A second later, five glittering lights surrounded her, blocking her from sight. Those lights were shaped like men, and when they faded, Criss was gone, her footprints nothing more than charred grass.

  Kitten dropped another body in the ever-growing pile and turned to grab another victim. But cops suddenly swarmed the area, their guns raised, stilling her. She held her hands up and said, “Don’t shoot. I’m with AIR, and the Targon and the blonde are with me.”

  “Kitten?” a male voice growled.

  “Dallas?”

  A handsome dark-haired man with otherworldly blue eyes that reminded Vika of Solo—a sharp pang in her chest—shoved his way forward. Kitten caught sight of him, squealed, and threw herself in his arms.