by Austin, RB
Their advance slowed as they neared a corner. The noise of a struggle projected over the ringing in his ears. One quick peek showed two Fallen and a parked car, still running. A female was in the hands of one of the Fallen. Her head wrenched to the side. His mouth was over her neck. The other Follower, also a nheqeba, strained to break free from the second Fallen. Fighting, but losing. The Fallen toyed with his meal. Allowing the Follower to believe she’d escaped, before capturing her again.
With a silent signal, Cade and Sarid strolled around the corner.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with your food? It’s bad for the digestion?” Cade drawled. Both Fallens’ heads jerked up. Cade smiled, showing fang.
The Fallen who’d been playing lost its grip on the struggling Follower. She wrenched free and stumbled toward them.
“Help me,” she sobbed. “Help.” She reached Sarid first, glanced at his face and screamed. Then whirled back to the Fallen, took a few steps like she was going to ask him for help, spied her friend unmoving on the ground, pivoted back, her eyes darting to Cade’s glowing eyes and fangs, and broke into a run away from them all, screaming for help.
Shit. They were going to have to do this fast before the nheqeba woke up everyone and created a neighborhood mess. He’d hoped to drain some tension with a long kill, but he wasn’t going to get what he wanted tonight. Didn’t that make him a whole lot of pissed off.
Cade jumped, spinning in the air. His arm raised above his head. He landed on the balls of his feet in front of the Fallen who’d lost his meal. The Fallen took two steps back, hands clawing at the holster in the middle of his back. Cade swung and his katana swept through tissue, muscle, and bone. The Fallen poofed into dust before his separated head hit the ground.
One quick glance said Sarid was handling the other Fallen. Lucky bastard had the fight Cade had wanted.
Cade jogged down the street, calming his body down in a matter of paces. His fangs receded, but he kept his eyes glowing, using the amplified vision to spot the Follower’s flight path. He found her huddled behind a few garbage cans. Not wasting time, he delved into her head and took hold of her mind.
Under his command, she stood and walked toward him. A distinctive pop reached his ears. Sarid had finished playing. By the time the nheqeba stood in front of him his eyes no longer glowed, although at this moment the female would only be frightened if he allowed it.
Cade wiped her memory of the last ten minutes and walked her back to the car, directing her to get into the passenger’s seat.
Sarid knelt on the ground next to the other Follower, two fingers on her neck. He met Cade’s gaze and shook his head.
Cade clenched his fists, wishing another Fallen was around. “Car accident.”
Sarid nodded, then lifted the dead Follower into his arms like he was holding a precious object. He placed her in the driver’s seat, fastening the belt. Still in the head of the other, Cade ordered the nheqeba to fasten her seatbelt.
Cade pushed the car until it was over the sidewalk and inches from the pole of the stop sign. In two punches, Sarid dented the front bumper and hood, making it appear they’d hit the sign.
When they were out of sight, Cade let go of the Follower’s mind. The nheqeba’s scream as she tried to revive her friend echoed in his ears long after they were miles away and unable to hear.
The loss of a Follower greatly outweighed the success of taking two Fallens’ existences. With a heavy heart he continued to patrol the city.
On the other side of the city, raised voices caught Emma’s attention. Circling to find the source, her foot slipped against the large crack in the sidewalk. She pitched forward, arms flailing. Where was her light post? Umph. There it was. She latched onto it with both hands, but this one wasn’t as helpful as the last. She fell. The concrete grated against her knees. Grimacing, she gripped the post tighter and hoisted herself up, cursing the alcohol that made her and the ground best friends tonight. Emma reached for her purse and cell phone that fell to the ground. Shouts rang out again. This time in front of her.
Throwing her phone into her purse, she edged along the buildings to the alley entrance and peered into the opening. The one working streetlight illuminated four men.
Three men had ganged up on one. All three were relatively the same height, but one was stocky, another with bleach blond hair, and the third wore the hood from his jacket around his face. The fourth, a few inches taller than all three, wore dark clothes, which allowed him to blend into the alley’s shadows.
The blond guy, and possible leader of the gang, pushed Fourth in the chest. Fourth sailed into the air and crashed against the metal garbage dumpster. He bounced off the ground, landing on his feet.
Her eyes widened. What drugs were these guys on? If someone threw her like that she’d be dead, unconscious, or screaming from broken bones.
Fourth lunged at his attacker. Hood and Stocky joined in. Emma took a step into the alley then paused. What the hell was she going to do? She wasn’t going to jump in the ring with her fists raised. Totally not that drunk.
She fumbled in her purse for her phone, but stopped when sounds of flesh hitting flesh filled the night. Fourth threw moves like he was in a Bruce Lee movie. He’d be able to show Bruce a thing or two.
Fourth kicked Blond Guy in the stomach, punched him in the jaw. Blond Guy’s head cracked back and he fell to the ground. Without even glancing behind him, Fourth back-kicked Hood and sent him into the wall. Stocky lunged while Fourth was distracted by Hood’s fall.
“Look out,” Emma cried.
Crap. That was stupid.
All eyes swiveled to her. Fourth stepped to the side, not moving his eyes from her. Stocky flew past Fourth and into Hood who had just begun to stand. Blond Guy clipped Fourth in the jaw, following it with a kick to the groin. Fourth went down to his knees. Now eye level with Blond Guy’s crotch, Fourth reared his fist back and let it fly. Blond Guy gave a strangled cry and fell to the ground, for sure not getting up any time soon. Fourth leapt to his feet, spinning to face Hood and Stocky.
Emma’s spell of regarding the fight like it was on TV broke and she searched for her phone again. Come on. The stupid thing always fell to the bottom.
Her purse was yanked from her hands. The force knocked her a few steps back. Startled, she raised her head to meet Blond Guy’s gaze.
She opened her mouth and screamed.
He jerked his hand up to cover her mouth, effectively stopping her yell. Pulling her deep into the alley, he whipped her around until her back was against his chest. His breath was hot on her neck. Fear paralyzed her limbs. Emma didn’t resist when he yanked her head to the side. Air stormed in and out of her nostrils. Her gaze spied the small knife in the palm of his hand a second before its sharp edge cut through the flesh in her neck. She was unable to process the pain before his mouth latched onto her throat. The noises he made at her neck reached her ears. Intense pain hit a second later and jerked her back to reality.
She struggled, twisting her body and arms. Adrenaline streamed through her veins. His grip tightened and his mouth never left her throat. The self-defense class she and Jenny took flooded her mind. The instructor had them practice the same move over and over until they could do it without thinking.
Lifting her leg, she slammed it down onto the attacker’s instep, followed by a sharp elbow to his stomach. Blond Guy grunted and fell away from her neck. Emma lurched forward, falling to the ground. Not wasting time to stand, she began to crawl. Distance. She needed distance, then she’d run.
She scrambled across the pavement. Something wet hit the back of her hand. Another drop plopped down. Probing her aching neck, she lowered her hand. Blood. Her fingers were covered in blood.
A hand latched into her hair and yanked her onto her butt. Just as suddenly the hand was ripped away,
taking a wad of hair with it. She yelped, holding her injured scalp.
Fourth had pulled Blond Guy off her. Hood and Stocky had disappeared. Emma stood on shaky legs and inched to the alley wall. From the shadows she watched Fourth straddle Blond Guy. He punched him once, twice in the face. Blond Guy didn’t move. Was he unconscious? Or dead?
Fourth reached to the holster on his belt she’d failed to notice earlier, and withdrew a large, curved knife. She stumbled back. Fourth plunged the knife into Blond Guy’s chest.
Fourth jumped to his feet in the same instant Blond Guy’s body disintegrated into ash. Emma couldn’t contain her scream. At her noise, Fourth pivoted, the knife dangling from his hand.
She backed toward the alley’s entrance. Fourth came toward her, his gait steady, smooth, and sure. He put his knife back in its holster as he walked.
No point in running. There’d be no escaping this man. Her self-preservation demanded she still try. Fourth raised his hands as if to say, “I’m harmless.” Yeah, right. Emma saw his ninja moves and big knife. No way was she—crying out, she stumbled—again? Come on!—over an unseen object. Fourth, who’d been at least four yards in front of her was at her side, holding her waist to prevent her from falling.
Stiffening, sure her death was next, she didn’t move a muscle. He dropped his hands and stepped back.
She looked into his ice blue eyes. Fourth appeared concerned? That had to be . . .
Her surroundings began to disappear. Her gaze refused to move from his hypnotic stare. Even the rationalization she was in danger and needed to escape faded before it could render her body into action. Her heartbeat slowed. Anxiety and stress left her body, making her pliant.
A soft buzzing filled her ears. Annoying. Shaking her head, she tried to clear it. Fourth’s mouth moved. She couldn’t hear anything. It was like a thousand bees had swarmed her. Emma covered her ears with her hands.
Fourth cocked his head and pointed to her neck. She patted where it still hurt. It was wet and sticky.
She inhaled.
Her lungs stopped working. She couldn’t catch her breath.
Blood.
Gasp. Gasp.
Blond Guy’s mouth on her throat.
Her knees buckled and she crumpled to the ground.
Chapter 2
When the sun began its ascent Sarid and Cade made their way back to the HQ. They had found no other Fallen. Cade’s tension had grown empty street by empty street. He placed his weapons in Jeeves’ care, then rode out again in his Koenigsegg CCX.
Twenty minutes later he opened a large, heavy wooden door. Cade dipped his fingertips into the ceramic bowl that hung from the wall then touched his forehead, chest, and shoulders, blessing himself with the holy water. He unlatched the chain strung across the stairwell entrance and reconnected it behind him. One flight up, he genuflected and slipped into one of the empty pews, melting into the shadows.
Pulling down the kneeler, he knelt and bowed his head over his clasped palms. Prayer was the same as mediation and he slipped into the tranquil state with ease. He prayed especially for the Follower he’d been unable to save tonight and for the one who’d live with her friend’s death. Lucky to be alive, but probably wishing she hadn’t survived. Those were feelings he knew all too well.
Cade lifted his head. He’d detected the priest’s approach from the first creak on the bottom step. “Good morning, Father.”
The choghen moved forward. “I don’t want to disturb you in your prayers.”
Father Gregory was a man who’d devoted his life to the Creator. Kind eyes were set warmly against the wrinkles of his skin. His expression instilled trust and confidence. He tried to save all who crossed his path whether it was an injured bird or a wayward soul. “You’re never a bother, Father. Mass will start soon, though. Shouldn’t you prepare?” Cade studied the choghen’s expression. His eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“I wanted to ask you a favor, and when mass is over you’ll disappear as silently as you appeared.” He smiled wryly. “A window in the sacristy is broken. Would you be able to secure it with the plywood I’ve brought? Father Thomas is still away on retreat and the window company won’t be able to fix it until tomorrow.”
“How did it break?”
Father waved his hand. “Some kids playing.”
Cade drew his eyebrows together. “Did they get inside?”
He hesitated then nodded. “Probably trying to escape the cold.”
“Did they steal anything?”
A soft smile settled over his lips. “You have better villains to worry about than a few reckless boys. The police are looking into the matter.”
“What was taken?”
“So I can’t dissuade you to let this go?” The choghen’s eyes were wide, hopeful.
Cade remained silent.
Father’s sigh was deep. “Sunday’s collection was locked in the sacristy.”
“How much?”
“I can’t say, but the Creator will provide for His Followers.”
Cade frowned. “I’ll fix the window for you.”
“Thank you. I’ll pay you with breakfast. With Father Thomas gone meals are lonely.”
“Nice try. I know you eat with your cook when he’s away.”
The choghen smiled and for a moment he was no longer an aged priest, but the little boy Cade had rescued. “It was worth a shot. Catholic guilt has been known to work marvels.”
After mass, Cade boarded the window securely. Before he left, he removed enough bills from his wallet to pay for the cost of the window repair and to cover two Sunday collections. Placing the money underneath the hammer and extra nails, he locked the sacristy door behind him and slipped into the morning light before Father even finished saying goodbye to his parishioners.
Back at the HQ, Cade parked his Koenigsegg in the garage. He tunneled it to the house and entered through the basement. A quick zap down his spine told him Sarid was near. The whirl of a machine and a steady thump, thump, thump further informed that his brother was beating feet on one of the treadmills in the workout area. On the main level, he walked across the marble floor and through the seldom used sitting room.
Cade took the staircase to the second level. He hung a left, passing the conference room and spare bedrooms. In his own room he gathered the weapons Jeeves had placed on his bed. Moving to the keypad on the wall next to a set of double doors, he punched in eight digits. The doors unlocked with a soft click. The large walk in closet spanned the whole length of the wall and was double in width. It contained cases, padded shelves, gun racks, and drawers.
Cade unsheathed his katana from the back scabbard. The sword had been a gift from Samurai Yamaoka Tesshu in 1886. He set the katana in the padded box that stood in the middle of the room. Placed his upper thigh strap and ankle strap, along with the daggers they sheathed, on separate shelves. Next came the three trinity-throwing stars from the pouch attached to his waist, the brass knuckles he’d housed in his jacket pocket, and the Berretta with its shoulder holster. The gun wasn’t lethal to Fallen, but useful to slow them down.
He untied the leather rope that held his shoulder length hair away from his face when fighting. Then hung his black leather jacket in the second closet on the other side of the bed. Back in the weapons closet he opened the wooden box and arranged a sheet of rice paper, the blade oil, cloth, and a small ball filled with powder on the small table next to the wooden chair. Taking the sword, he sat down, rice paper in hands, and began using slow methodic circles to clean the blade.
He’d received more than a sword from the Samurai. Tesshu had given him peace. As much as Cade was capable of feeling. The guilt over Sarah had crippled him. He’d tried to live with it for a hundred and forty years after his turning. Then one day, he’d found himself unable to hunt Fa
llen. Every enemy’s face morphed into his dead wife’s or his children’s. Elias had introduced him to Tesshu. The Samurai taught him to discipline his mind. To focus. To look past the memory of Sarah’s fear-filled eyes, struggling limbs, and limp body. To aim for unification of his mind, spirit, and sword. Tesshu’s rigid training and intense meditation had left him physically and mentally exhausted every night he was there. After fifteen years, he gave a final bow to Tesshu. Cade conquered only three of the four kendo states of mind. To not allow the enemy to surprise him. To have no doubt of the ability to kill. To allow no disruptions from outside sources to break his concentration. For years, he tried to overcome the last state. Fear of failure. He’d already failed those he’d known. Both during his human life and so far as the Behn leader of this Sept. It was inevitable. Failure would occur again.
Twenty minutes later, the katana safe in her padded box, the cleaning tools properly stowed, and the weapons closet locked, he headed to the conference room. He’d taken longer than anticipated and assumed everyone would have beaten him there.
“Where’s Gabriel?”
Sarid stood near the door, his scarred face holding no emotion. Lucas sat at the table. His fingers were a blur as he moved them over the keyboard, his gaze never leaving the screen. “We were separated.” The tats on his arms had lightened. The black coloring now gray. Lucas was worried.
“Separated? I told you guys to stay together.”
“We came across a group of five. Gabe and I engaged, and when three pansied out he ran after them. After I killed the remaining two I couldn’t locate him.” Lucas hit a few keys, then pointed at the screen. “There.” The relief was evident in his voice. The thick marks winding up his arm returned to its normal state. “He’s coming up the drive.”
