Sean turned and ran, shoes squeaking on the flooring.
Something snapped inside John at the sight. With an inarticulate shout of rage, he gave chase. Sean had a head start, but John was in better shape. He almost closed on his former friend, when the entrance to the building opened up ahead of them.
The door lay to one side, torn clean off its hinges. Alarms screamed, both from the violated door and the courtyard outside. The chemical reek of smoke grenades drifted inside, combined with the revolting tang of burning plastic. Sean vanished through the opening, and John followed him.
It was chaos. Billows of smoke obscured the bright floodlights, making even nearby shapes difficult to make out. Running combatants disappeared and reappeared through the smoke, and the rev and roar of engines cut through the sounds of gunfire and screams.
What the hell? All of this to rescue him?
Guilt snagged at his chest, but he didn’t have time for it. Hell, if anyone should feel bad about this carnage, it was Sean.
Sean had disappeared into the murk, but John wouldn’t give up easily. He’d promised to kill the bastard, and he meant to keep that promise.
He took off in the direction he’d last seen Sean, angling toward what seemed to be the front of the compound. The gunfire was heaviest here, and a burning truck added to the smoke and general chaos. The wind shifted, and he caught a brief glimpse of the mangled ruins of the main gate beneath what remained of the truck’s wheels. Beyond waited another transport, this one still in a single piece. Men and women fired from cover around it.
There—he glimpsed Sean’s familiar tan coat, disappearing behind a smoldering Humvee. Taking cover, or just hiding, John didn’t know and didn’t care.
He ran for the vehicle. Either Sean heard him coming, or just knew he’d catch up eventually, because when John came around the corner, he found a gun pointed shakily at his face.
* * *
Gray bursts into the courtyard a few feet behind John. As John vanishes into the smoke, a group of RD guards spots him and moves to either give chase or gun him down. Neither of which is an acceptable outcome.
Gray is on them before they know he’s there. One goes down instantly, fragile and easily broken, weaker even than a ghoul. It disturbs him, because John is like this: vulnerable and mortal. The others turn, and he prepares to fight them, when a distinct signal sounds over the speakers hanging above the courtyard. The guards react instantly, running from Gray and the chaos of the battle.
“What the hell?”
Perhaps they realize they have lost?
Whatever is happening, the men and women with SPECTR logos on their helmets and bullet-proof vests retreat en masse from the courtyard. At least, those able to do so. A woman lies on her side not far from him, clutching her wounded leg and swearing furiously, frantically. A ring of panicked white circles her irises, but she is not looking at Gray, instead staring in the direction of one of the towers. At her own side.
“Something’s wrong.”
Another alarm sounds, this one different from the others. “More like a tornado warning siren.” Its shriek stabs at Gray’s sensitive ears. Beneath the din, however, he hears something else, like a great door opening.
Then he smells them. Demons.
Many demons.
Something lurches through the smoke, moving uncertainly on two legs, although it seems made for four. The delicious aroma of wet fur and old blood hangs around it, and he sees its elongated head, like the parody of a wolf, the razor nails tipping its fingers.
Around its neck is a heavy collar, with wires protruding here and there, their other ends anchored in flesh. Blinking lights flash, red and green.
Two more lurch up, followed by a third, loping on all fours. They see Gray, freezing into place, their maddened eyes glowing in his sight. They fear him, they wish to flee—
The lights all flash red.
The werewolves jerk in unison. The one in front throws back its head and lets out an ululating howl, before charging at him.
Chapter 11
The hunting howl of a lycanthrope cut unexpectedly across the courtyard, freezing John’s blood. Sean’s eyes went wide, and he glanced past John for just an instant.
It was long enough. John punched him with all the strength he had. Sean staggered back, gun dropping for a second, no longer pointed at John’s face.
John knocked the weapon from Sean’s hand. “John, wait—”
“I’ve already heard what you’ve got to say,” John snarled savagely. He hit Sean again, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Rage poured through John, white-hot and brutal. Sean had welcomed him to SPECTR—or at least, to the state-run school for paranormals—from the very first day. Had pretended to be his friend, smiling and laughing, making John feel at home. Setting him up with dates when they were in the Academy, or listening to his tales of woe when yet another guy turned out not to be Mr. Right—or even Mr. Right Now.
Years of in-jokes and watching each other’s backs, and for what? It had all been a lie.
He straddled Sean’s body and hit him, again and again, blind with fury. Sean cried out, tried to fight back, but John didn’t cease the rain of blows. “You lied!” he screamed.
“I didn’t! John—listen—please!”
But he didn’t want to listen. Didn’t want to hear any more lies.
He stopped hitting Sean and staggered to his feet. Sean lay with a bloody bruised face, his breath wheezing through his broken nose. “John…”
“Shut up,” John said. He pulled the Glock from his waistband and aimed it at Sean’s head.
* * *
Gray braces himself as the werewolves charge. The wounded soldier screams and fires at them, until she has no more bullets. Two of the pack fall on her, snarling and ripping, and her screams turn into a horrible gurgle, quickly ended.
“Christ, they left her to die! Her own side turned those things loose knowing any of their people still out here would get killed!”
The lead werewolf slams into him, a thing of madness and hate, its claws scoring long gouges in his leather coat. Gray grapples with it, grabbing its muzzle, claws sinking deep to force its head back. The collar is in the way for a throat bite, but there are other veins and arteries, if not as conveniently located. He manages to capture one lashing arm, jerking it up and sinking teeth deep into the meaty part near the shoulder, ripping aside flesh to get to the pulsing artery beneath.
Warmth and ecstasy flood him, wounds healing as the demon’s blood-borne energy pours into him. He tosses aside the empty husk, decaying already in his hands, and looks for more.
“The collars. Forsyth has to be using them for control. Try pulling one off.”
Two more werewolves run at him. He ignores one, letting its teeth latch onto his shoulder from behind, the heavy coat foiling most of the bite. The second he makes a grab for, claws catching under the heavy collar. He gives a hard pull—
And its head comes off, the force needed to break the collar too great for its body to withstand.
“Oh. Oops.”
Gray drops the head in favor of catching some of the fountaining blood from the neck stump in his mouth. No sense in letting it go to waste. Then he deals with the werewolf still trying to chew through his coat.
They come and they come, demons loosed from their underground prison: werewolves and succubi and ghouls. Caleb uses his TK to clear a space to fight, hurling demons back to give Gray a moment to feed.
And feed he does. Again and again and again.
It is a glut, a feast, a banquet, far beyond anything he has ever experienced. Pleasure sings along every nerve, exquisite and intense, building on itself in a manner almost sexual. As every demon falls, he grows faster, stronger, the surfeit of energy so great now his wounds heal instantly.
They cannot stop him.
A storm of bullets comes from somewhere above, automatic fire tearing through him. It catches the demons as well, Forsyth clearly not caring i
f his slaves are cut down if it means stopping Gray. Fury rolls through Gray, fueled by Caleb’s sense of the injustice of it all. With a thunderous roar, Gray turns to face the guards shooting at him.
And unleashes lightning upon them.
* * *
John stared down at Sean’s bloody face, his finger on the trigger of the Glock. It would just take one little squeeze, and…
“Starkweather!”
Tiffany?
But yes, it was Tiffany yelling at him through the blowing smoke. Tiffany with the symbol of a moth on her helmet and vest. The world threatened to slip sideways beneath his feet. Did he ever really know any of the people he’d worked with, day in and day out? Or had his entire life consisted of nothing but a series of lies and illusions?
“Come on!” she shouted. “They’ve released the demons! Get your ass in the truck! We have to fall back!”
Sean’s face froze in a mask of fear. “John, please,” he whispered. “Don’t do this.”
“Damn it, shoot him and come on! I’m not getting my people slaughtered by NHEs!”
He firmed his grip on the Glock. He had to do this. Had to shoot Sean and leave, just like Sean shot Caleb and left his body behind.
Had to.
“Fuck,” he said, and lowered the gun.
Lightning exploded through the courtyard, a blinding flash followed by a titanic roar of thunder.
The blast knocked John off his feet. For a moment, he didn’t understand what had happened. Most of the lights went out, plunging the courtyard into shadow. The sky overhead, what little he could make out through the smoke, seemed clear. And indeed, the smoke rolled away as well, driven by a wind scented with incense and rain.
Rolling onto his side, he saw a smoldering lump of metal which might have once been a gun emplacement. Electricity arced throughout the compound, and balls of Saint Elmo’s fire glowed bright blue on vehicle antennas and the points of shrapnel. Wind tore through the compound, flinging grit into the air.
At the center of it all stood Gray. His hair and coat streamed in the wind, tiny jags of lightning sparking all around him. Blood coated almost every visible inch, and he held a demon by the throat.
He looked…incredible. Beautiful and terrible, like something out of myth.
“Lightning?” Tiffany asked, and her voice shook. “No. Oh shit. Storm. He’s the storm. Fucking hell, she’s going to kill me.”
Demons fled from Gray, scrambling up the walls, into the buildings, anywhere to get away. Collars around their necks smoked and popped, and the stench of burning electronics gusted intermittently on the wind.
Then John realized some of the NHEs fled in his direction.
“Retreat!” Tiffany yelled, firing off a shot at the oncoming demons, even as she fell back toward the transport blocking the compound entrance. “Retreat!”
Sean stumbled to his feet, grabbing John by the arm. “Damn it, where’s my gun?”
And for a fraction of a second, John almost forgot what Sean had done, and it was the two of them again, watching each other’s backs just like always.
Gray roared.
Sean backed up rapidly, eyes wide with terror. “John, run, it’s—”
Gray was on them before Sean could finish his sentence. Arms clad in leather snatched John up, and he found himself tossed across a shoulder. Static discharged around him, crackling in writhing hair.
Gray ran, outdistancing the oncoming NHEs, as if John weighed no more than a leaf. John got a confused glimpse of demons, of Sean running for his life, of smoking electronics. Screams echoed from the walls, as stray demons struggled with RD troops, but most of them seemed to be making for the open gate and freedom.
Except the transport blocked the gate.
The rumble of an engine cut through the night, and Gray poured on even more speed. For a second they were weightless as he jumped—
They slammed into the back of the moving transport, Gray curled around John, shielding him from impact. Someone shouted, and a lot of people cursed as they fetched up against the bodies already packed inside.
“Go!” Tiffany yelled, and someone banged on the metal wall separating them from the cab. The truck engine roared, and they barreled away. A handful of demons streamed out the ruined gate behind them, soon lost in the night.
* * *
After a couple of hours driving along narrow back roads full of potholes and overhung with the interlaced branches of old trees, the truck pulled off into a clearing, where two smaller vehicles waited. Caleb wondered if they were splitting up to confuse any potential pursuers. Tiffany confirmed the supposition when she climbed out past him. “Jansen, Starkweather, Chief Kaniyar, you’ll be riding in the white van with Luna Team. If anyone needs to piss, the woods are right there. We move out in five.”
Caleb climbed out after her and stood to one side, while the rest of the Vigilant rushed to transfer equipment and people. Wherever they were headed, he hoped it included a shower, because right now he reeked like a butcher’s dumpster. He felt sorry for everyone stuck riding in the van with him.
John exited the transport, his movements stiff. Spotting Caleb, he walked over, hands tucked into his jeans pockets. Caleb didn’t expect him to cuddle in front of Kaniyar and the rest, but still, after everything they’d been through, the distance seemed odd.
“You okay?” John asked, his voice pitched too low for anyone else to hear over all the noise.
Caleb sighed. “Well, one of us is having the best damned day of his life.” And why not? Gray got to eat a bunch of demons and find out John loved him? Break out the party hats. “Me, not so much, but I’m coping.”
John winced and looked away, his hands still firmly buried in his pockets. “What happened back there? With the lightning and such?”
Was this why John kept his distance? Had they scared him? “Honestly? I don’t really know.” Caleb shook his head, ignoring the crackle of dried blood. “I asked Gray, but he just said ‘We are the storm,’ like I’m a dumb ass for not understanding. He said something similar once before, when we chased the incubus down at the old lighthouse.”
“Tiffany said something about a storm,” John mused.
“Then ask her.” Caleb shrugged uncomfortably. “I think it had something to do with how many demons we—Gray—fed on in such a short time.” A shiver went though him, because it had felt damned good. He’d never felt so powerful, so…whole. “Gorging on so much etheric energy so fast unleashed something inside us. Something which is always there, maybe, but we couldn’t reach before? I’m not sure I can explain it, especially when I don’t really understand it myself.”
“Huh.” John’s brows furrowed in distracted thought.
“Besides, it worked out, didn’t it?” Caleb asked hopefully. “Gray didn’t mean to fry half the electronics in the compound, but it kept RD from chasing after us, right?”
Which hadn’t kept the Vigilant from giving him scared looks, but whatever. Hell, soaked in blood as he was, he’d probably scare himself if he caught a glimpse in the mirror.
“True enough,” John said, and the furrow disappeared. “Caleb…are we okay?”
Caleb frowned, taken aback. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
John peered at him closely, as if trying to decide if Caleb was sincere or being a smart ass. “With Gray. And…everything.”
Oh. “Is this about you being in love with him?”
John sighed. “Damn it. This is all screwed up.”
“So yes?”
“I didn’t…” John bit his lip and stared down at his feet. “I never meant for it to happen. And I couldn’t say anything, because I didn’t know how you’d feel. Either of you, I guess, but you especially, because I didn’t ever want you to think I didn’t love you as much. And I knew you held Gray responsible for ruining your life. It felt like I betrayed you by caring about him.”
“Foolishness.”
You know all the mortal nonsense you like to dismiss? Well pay attention, becau
se you’ve just resigned yourself to dealing with it for the rest of our life.
“Perhaps I did not think through the ramifications as thoroughly as I should have.”
Wait a minute. Was that…a joke? You really need to work at the whole humor thing.
“You didn’t mention the fact you wanted to let Gray go free because you worried what I’d think?” Caleb asked, wanting to be sure he got this straight.
John looked utterly miserable. “Yes and no. No, because if I got caught and brought up on charges, I wanted you to be able to pass an empath’s test. And yes, because…because everything I know about NHEs, about exorcisms, about my duty, said it was wrong. At worst, I was falling into a trap set by an NHE a hell of a lot smarter than me. At best, I was out of control.”
“Don’t worry—Gray definitely isn’t smarter than you,” Caleb reassured him. “Seriously, his idea of a subtle plan is to beat something into submission and then eat it.”
“You mortals simply make things needlessly complicated.”
John let out a short laugh. “Yeah, well. It’s part of his charm.”
“Oh God, don’t,” Caleb said. “He’ll preen and be all smug for the rest of the night, and I’ll be the one who has to listen to it.”
John’s grin turned uncertain. “It sounds like you’re okay? With this?”
“Yeah.” Caleb held his hand out, palm-up. A moment later, John took it, their fingers lacing together. “I know what I said, about Gray fucking up my life. And he did, but not on purpose. We reached an understanding a while back. I wanted him out, sure, but I didn’t want him to die. I figured it would never fly with you, so when the Vigilant offered to exorcise me, I decided I’d take the offer. Even though you might hate me for releasing Gray.”
“Caleb—”
“Let me finish.” Caleb hesitated, trying to find the right words, because he had to make John understand. “When Sean shot me, Gray could have just let go and abandoned this body. Jumped to the next corpse. But he poured everything into saving me. Me, not just a body he liked being in.”
Destroyer of Worlds Page 9
