“‘Sir’ is right,” the man said. “I’ll teach you some manners yet.”
Though tempted to comment on the man’s own lack of education, Mikelos didn’t go there. “Fine, lesson learned,” he said instead. “Now let’s both go home and say that you’ve made your point.”
“I don’t think so, you freak.” He stepped forward once more, his invasion of Mikelos’ personal space complete.
He couldn’t even think of more than one derogatory name? This wasn’t going to end well. “No, I don’t—”
The bouncer reached out, and instead of grabbing Mikelos, snatched the violin away. He smashed it with full force onto the edge of the steps behind him without missing a beat. The fragile antique wood shattered on contact with the concrete.
Mikelos’ heart broke. It wasn’t his first instrument, but it was his oldest. Connor had given him that violin. Mikelos dropped the bow and lunged for the other man with a wordless scream.
The man met his attack with a ready fist, bashing his knuckles into Mikelos’ jaw. Mikelos’ forward momentum carried him into the bouncer’s chest, and they both tumbled down onto the stairs.
Mikelos rolled off the man and reached his feet first, spreading his weight across two steps. He licked his lips and tasted blood. He’d done his best to avoid a physical fight with this guy, but now all bets were off. His daywalker bond with Victory meant he was stronger and faster. This man had destroyed one of the things most precious to him. He could kill the guy, if he wanted.
He wanted.
The other man also got to his feet, rubbing the back of his head where it had bounced against the edge of the stone steps. His eyes met Mikelos’ eyes, and he growled.
Oh, Mikelos wanted. But it would destroy what little ground the nonhumans of Limani had against this new crusade. Mikelos would be banished for murder.
Dammit, he would have to pull his punches.
Mikelos shot out with his own fist, catching the bouncer in the solar plexus. At full strength, he would have cracked the man’s sternum. Instead, the man yelped in pain and fell backward.
After landing on the stairs, the bouncer kicked out a leg, catching Mikelos’ knee and pulling him off balance.
Mikelos’ knee bounced off the edge of a step with a sickening crack. Now his leg wouldn’t hold him when he tried to rise, and Mikelos staggered. But the last step wasn’t where it should have been, and he crashed to the sidewalk.
He landed with all his weight on his arm and hip, his knee screaming in pain. Before he could compensate with the opposite leg, a shoe met his forehead, snapping his body back to the ground.
A kick connected with Mikelos’ chest. This time the pop came from a rib, and the next shot landed at his stomach.
He shouldn’t have pulled his first punch. He couldn’t get to his feet while the blows kept coming. Mikelos covered his head with his arms and curled around his torso, pulling his legs up to his chest.
Putting what lung strength he could past a broken rib, Mikelos let out a scream. “Victory!”
Mikelos braced his uninjured hand on the ground, but that was a mistake. The man’s boot heel smashed down again, followed by the sickening sound of bones in his fingers breaking. He had been through worse in three hundred years. This human, this single human, couldn’t kill him.
He hoped.
The council chamber erupted into chaos.
Councilmembers began demanding explanations or protesting, per their nature. Gloating, Fabbri sat back in her chair. Victory ignored the exclamation Lena made to her, instead meeting eyes with Max down the length of the table.
Max shrugged. “Hey!” he said, raising his voice over the others.
Next to him, Lorus quieted, but the others paid no attention. Then, Daliana snapped her fingers once. A brilliant white light flashed in the room, startling everyone into silence. She gestured toward Max, giving him control of the room once again.
“Thank you, Dal,” Max said, staring at Fabbri. “Now what the hell are you talking about, woman? My source said it was only a few troop movements.”
“I do hope you were planning on sharing this with us, Max.” Sethri’s dry voice held a hint of rebuke.
The mercenary mimed shock. “Of course!”
Victory came to his rescue. “Max consulted with me before the meeting. We already have someone checking the situation out.” Her ears picked up the strains of violin music. She relaxed knowing Mikelos was near, even if outside the building.
“Who?” Soren asked.
“My sire Asaron graciously volunteered to be Limani’s eyes,” Victory said.
Fabbri snorted. “Because he can be trusted.”
“He is also being accompanied by the warrior-mages Toria Connor and Kane Nalamas.” Max paused. “Not that you probably think that’s much better. But at least you can’t claim they’re not full Limani citizens.”
Despite her shock at Max’s addendum, Victory kept her mouth shut. It seemed he and Asaron had laid plans in addition to those they’d let her in on. But now was not the time to act like a worried mother. Right now, solidarity was key. “Both Toria and Kane are journeymen of Limani’s Mercenary Guild. They are obligated to return with a proper report.”
This time Fabbri rolled her eyes, but even she couldn’t argue. The devotion of Limani’s native-born mercs to their home was legendary. It wasn’t just because they were on the payroll as a reserve battalion—one of the first lessons new trainees learned was the history of the Wasteland and the importance of Limani’s location between the Roman and British colonies.
Victory also trusted Asaron. He had been a mercenary or soldier for most of the two millennia of his life, and while she had kept to mercenary work for private citizens rather than armies, he had forgotten more about the military than she ever knew. Including tactics and camp life, two things that would tell him exactly what the Romans were up to, depending on how large the group was, how they were provisioned, and which direction they were headed. A few small parties meant they had set out to kill Wasteland beasties plaguing a western town. A company or two could indeed be the field maneuvers Max suspected.
A large force marching straight toward Limani could mean just one thing. Victory didn’t need her own years of mercenary work to tell her it wasn’t the Emperor coming for a visit.
“My mercenaries are on a covert mission to check things out,” Max said. “All I know right now is that there is a force of soldiers. I don’t know how many or why. That’s what the mission is for. They’re not planning on contacting the Romans or even letting their presence be discovered at all. They’ll be back in no more than a handful of days. We can even have another emergency council session to hear their—”
The door at the end of the council chamber slammed open, and a city clerk rushed into the room. Victory’s heart beat once in surprise, and her hand jerked toward the sword she did not wear at her side.
“Mr. Sethri!” The clerk who stayed late for council meetings halted when he realized he had the entire room’s attention. Then he scurried to Sethri to whisper in his ear.
A scream came from outside. Her name. Victory leapt to her feet, her hands gripping the table. No time to make excuses. She dashed for the door as Sethri spoke to the rest of the room. “A man just attacked Mikelos Connor outside our doors.”
Victory burst from the council building—Tristan, Max, and Lorus right behind her—to see a strange man kicking a prone figure at the bottom of the steps. She all but flew down the steps and tackled the man to the ground. The force of her blow knocked them clear into the street. The man’s body went limp when the back of his head connected with the pavement.
Victory untangled herself and shot to her feet. Lorus and Tristan headed toward her, ready to restrain the attacker. Max knelt by Mikelos, and Victory dropped to cradle Mikelos’ hea
d in her lap. Her daywalker was unconscious. Blood smeared his face, his left hand was a mess, and his right leg bent at an unnatural angle.
Daliana knelt next to Victory and placed her hands on Mikelos’ chest. Her gentle touch shimmered with golden light. “He’s weak, but he’ll live. Some broken ribs, but no serious internal injuries.” She gave Victory an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, physical healing isn’t my strong suit. I can feed him power, but not much more.”
“Lena’s calling the ambulance,” Max said. He laid a hand on Victory’s shoulder. “We shouldn’t move him.”
“I know.” She bit her bottom lip, tasting blood when a fang pierced skin. Wounds were nothing new to her.
Max squeezed her shoulder. “He’ll be fine.”
“Yes.” She smoothed Mikelos’ lank hair and felt a patch sticky with blood. Of course he would be. He was her daywalker; he could survive anything. They would get him to the hospital, the doctors would do what they could, and she would get some of her own blood into him to strengthen their bond and speed his healing. Things would work out. But right now, she was numb. She stared at Daliana’s hands, wishing she could will her own strength into them.
The other councilmembers gathered on the steps. Victory wanted to demand information from Fabbri, but she couldn’t jump to conclusions yet. Maybe Mikelos had just been mugged. Right, that was likely.
A groan of pain caught her attention when Lorus and Tristan hauled the stranger to his feet. “Let go of me, freaks!” He struggled in their grasp. “Did I kill the bastard?”
No, not a random act of violence. Victory almost jumped at him again, but Max snatched her wrist and held her firm. His low voice spoke into her ear. “He’s not worth your time or effort.”
She sank back to her knees. Attacking this man would invalidate everything she said in council.
The man laughed when she backed down. “Yeah, that’s right. Too afraid to take me on without your little bitch?” He tried to shake off his captors, but the werewolf and weresnake kept their hands wrapped around his upper arms.
“Shut up or I’ll hit you myself.” The feral growl accompanying Tristan’s threat made the man’s struggles cease.
Lena pushed her way through the crowd of councilmembers. “The ambulance is on its way, Victory. They’ll be here soon.” She spared a nasty look for Mikelos’ assailant. “I gave the police a ring, too, and they should be right behind. How is he?”
“He’s banged up pretty bad,” Max said, “but he’ll live. Daliana’s doing what she can, but we’ll need the hospital.”
Lena’s furious eyes flashed in the light from the council building. “This can’t be a coincidence. Has he said anything incriminating?”
Almost on cue, the attacker started pulling against his captors’ grips again. “He threatened to bite me! The freak can’t do that! Help!”
Max smirked. “Oh, yeah.”
“Um, Victory?”
Genevieve stood near them at the bottom of the steps. In the werepanther’s hands lay splintered pieces of wood, strings curling out like cat whiskers. “I couldn’t find the bow.” She looked stricken.
“It’s here,” Sethri said from farther within the crowd. He picked up the unharmed bow from the steps and brought it to Victory. She gathered the fractured pieces under one arm and collected the bow. The weight in her arms tugged at her heart. This needless destruction would hurt Mikelos more than his own injuries.
“Ow! Stop that!” Lorus smacked his prisoner on the back of the head. “Tristan, put your claws away and stop being a jerk. Maybe he’ll stand still. What should we do with him, Alex?”
Victory wondered the same thing. Under her breath, she said, “I know what my vote is.” Max shot her a grin.
Sethri studied the man in silence, then said, “Fabbri!”
The crowd of human councilmembers shifted to reveal the woman in question. Fabbri remained where she was, arms crossed and hip tilted. She exuded overeager innocence. “What? You think I had something to do with this?”
Victory perked up. She heard sirens in the distance.
“Do you know this man?” Sethri’s tone was level.
Impressive. Victory would not have been so polite.
“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” Fabbri said.
“You told me not to let that freak or his daughter into the club!” the man said from the street. “I got rid of some wolves and an elf slut, too.”
The glow from Daliana’s hands stuttered as she let out a hiss.
“I didn’t tell you to beat him bloody, you idiot.” So Fabbri damned herself. Victory would have laughed had she not been so furious.
“This doesn’t look good, Emily,” Sethri said. Victory could tell he was beginning to lose the calm that had amazed her. “I should—”
The loud siren from the ambulance turning the corner drowned out his words. Max jumped up and waved the vehicle in. Like Lena promised, a police town-car followed close behind. The paramedics hopped out of the ambulance right after it screeched to a halt. Two women shooed Victory, Max, and Lena out of the way, but didn’t interfere with Daliana’s flow of healing power. Victory let go of Mikelos’ hand with reluctance and stood, but continued to hover over the medics. They checked his vital signs and splinted his hand and leg, preparing to move him onto a gurney. The medics knew their job and would take care of Mikelos well. She knew Limani Central hired the best. She was the hospital’s best benefactor, because they kept her in fresh bottled blood. Her reassuring thoughts rang hollow when Mikelos groaned, even in unconsciousness, at the movement of his injured leg.
The shouts of the attacker distracted her. Tristan and Lorus handed him over to the two police officers, who exchanged the werecreatures’ vice grips for steel handcuffs.
“You can’t let them do this, Fabbri!” His head hit the edge of the town-car roof with a muffled thump. The cops weren’t being too careful with this one. Good. He shouldn’t get consideration. “Those freaks deserve—!” The door slammed shut on his further complaints.
“Quite the imagination for insults, that one,” Max said. “Practically a sailor. He almost made me blush.”
His sarcasm did little to cheer her, but she appreciated the effort. The medics now loaded the gurney into the back of the ambulance, Daliana climbing in beside one of the medics while the second headed for the driver’s door.
Victory was torn. The council was still there, and the meeting would continue, now that they knew Fabbri had more influence than just the sign on her restaurant’s door. “Lena?”
She smiled at Victory. “Go. Take care of Mikelos.”
“We can deal with Fabbri,” Max said. “I’ll let you know what happens as soon as the meeting’s over.”
“Thank you.” These were true friends. Lena hugged her, and she clasped Max’s hand. The ambulance’s lights began to flash, and she dashed to the passenger side. Right now her place was with Mikelos.
A heavy object bludgeoned Toria’s skull. Again. Again. And again. It didn’t stop when she brought her hands over her head, and she realized the pain came from within, the fiercest headache she’d ever had. Her eyeballs were on fire, and her brain throbbed.
She risked cracking open her eyes. Darkness met them, and she fought down momentary panic. It’s nighttime, girl. Chill out. There was dirt under her cheek, and a rock dug into her side.
Kane! She had to help Kane. Toria scrambled to her feet when memory rushed back. Her head screeched in pain at the hasty action, and she listed to one side, struggling for balance. If the Romans were still nearby, they were done for. She fell to a knee, then pushed herself up again, trying not to retch from the roiling in her stomach. She peered across the river, but couldn’t see through the haze of pain. Her hand sought the rapier at her side, but met empty air.
She f
ell to her knees again, clutching her stomach in her arms and shutting her eyes. That was it. She made a prime target and couldn’t do a thing about it.
But no attack came. Her stomach calmed, now that she wasn’t thrashing about, but the headache did not ease.
“Ugh.” The inside of her mouth felt like cotton, and there was grit plastered to her cheek. But she didn’t feel on the verge of passing out, so she raised her head and opened her eyes again.
The river spread before her, the woods to her back. There was the road. If not for the landmarks, and the strange footprints in the mud on her side of the river, she wouldn’t have been able to tell that a battle had raged here.
No Romans. No horses. Nothing.
Of course, any Romans still around would have shot her when she began flailing around like a maniac.
“Kane!” Her voice echoed across the water. “Asaron!”
A testy owl hooted from the trees behind her, and the river continued to flow. Other than that, no response.
She pushed herself to her feet and turned in a slow circle, squinting into the darkness. The moon had set, so she had been unconscious for at least a few hours. Now, faint starlight lit the night. She dug a small glass bauble from one of her belt pouches and held it in her palm.
Focusing her intentions on the bauble, she nudged it with her mind. Pain lanced between her temples. Toria doubled over, but managed to remain on her feet.
The spell infused in the glass activated. Amethyst light sputtered out, dimmed almost to nonexistence, and then steadied to its set brightness. A cool amethyst glow bathed the area around her.
Concentrating on the comforting familiar light persuaded the pain behind her eyes to fade to a manageable pulse. Now Toria took more rational stock of her situation. Her light revealed no bodies across the river—Kane and Asaron must have been taken. Reaching deep within herself, she still felt the bond in her soul connecting her to her partner. She would be able to tell if he died. The bond was faint with distance, but still had Kane’s unmistakable trace. And if Kane lived, that boded well for Asaron’s survival, too.
Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1) Page 9
