by Sandy James
“Lass,” Artair buzzed in Megan’s ear.
There might be three other “lasses” listening in, but Megan knew Artair was talking to her, and she waited for his signal.
“We’re ready.”
The charade was finally going to end.
Rebecca was supposed to take out Chernabog by crippling him with one of the goddess-blessed arrows.
Gina was ready to free Freya from the cage with the magical key that had been left in Megan’s cabin. She’d assumed Freyjr had provided it, but she’d never know for sure. Beagan and Dolan had recognized its ability to unlock any supernatural enclosure, so Gina had brought it on the rescue just in case.
Sarita’s job was to keep the revenants behind those fences so they wouldn’t complicate things by spilling into the crowd.
Natasha and Sergei would fall to Johann and Artair’s swords, then the Sentinels would help dispatch revenants and guard the Amazons’ backs while they captured Chernabog.
Megan was about to ask who was targeting Helen when Rebecca’s chilling voice filled her ear. “Helen’s mine.”
Megan’s target was supposed to be Maksim Popov. Facing him had been her choice. She’d promised Nita Douglass that Ashley’s murder would be avenged, and she had every intention of burying the dagger she’d hidden in the folds of her skirt in Max’s black heart.
Johann had argued for a good long while. Megan refused to budge, stubbornly insisting she needed to do this herself. The kill would be like any other—just another demon to slay.
At least she’d felt that way until she was standing in front of that stage, staring up into his hypnotic eyes. She’d also sadly underestimated how draining it would be to “be” Rhiannon for so long.
And none of them had ever expected the wild card of Helen.
The Amazons and Sentinels were in place.
Showtime.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Judging from the horrified looks on the faces of everyone on stage, the attack took them by surprise too. It certainly shocked the hell out of Megan.
She’d expected to see Rebecca’s arrow flying at Chernabog not Natasha plunging a knife into his back.
Chernabog’s enraged bellow echoed through the field as he twisted around, flapping his wings and trying to pull the dagger out. Unable to reach it, he thrashed around like a cat chasing its tail, cursing anyone and everyone, before he fell to his knees.
Helen backed away from him, an unsettling smile spreading over her face.
“You? She did this for you?” the god demanded, staring up at Helen with wide eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I no longer need you,” she replied. She swept her arm out, indicating the teenagers. “They’re mine. My army, not yours. They’ll help me in my crusade. You think I wanted to consort with a buffoon like you? I needed to stay hidden while you gathered my forces for me.” Helen nodded at Max. “Once we met and he realized my power, Maksim was easily swayed to my side. He called them for me. And he will sit at my right hand as we create a new world—a better world.”
Chernabog groaned and dropped forward to rest on all fours. His wings spread then collapsed against his back, dragging the stage. “A woman. Betrayed by a woman.” He turned his head to glare up at Max. “You are my Brutus, Maksim Rasputin. I damn you for that. I will have my revenge.”
“Nyet. Your time is over. When you introduced me to your queen, I knew she was stronger than you. You cannot fault me for choosing to serve the wiser Ancient.” He looked out over the crowd. “The rope! Bring me the Gleipnir rope!”
Despite Chernabog’s enraged shouts as he threatened dire consequences to anyone who helped Helen and Max, the crowd obeyed. The red-and-black rope was passed person to person until it reached the stage.
Max grabbed it from an outstretched hand then gave it to Natasha, who’d hurried to stand at his side.
Chernabog panted and growled, appearing ready to collapse. She dropped the rope next to the wounded god before she jerked the dagger out of his back. He replied with a strangled cry of pain before he fell prostrate on the stage. Natasha cleaned his black blood from the blade by wiping it against the god’s shoulder before she calmly tucked it back in her skirts.
Megan had to suppress a smile when she saw Gina taking advantage of the confusion on the stage by easing closer to Freya’s cage. Trying to draw the enemies’ attention, Megan folded her arms over her breasts and acted the way she believed Rhiannon would. Bored.
Natasha picked up the rope. In short order, she’d bound Chernabog’s wrists, tied his ankles and had him trussed up the same way Megan and her partner had disabled a few uncooperative and combative drunks when she’d been a cop. He looked like a calf tied by a cowboy in a rodeo.
Natasha grinned at Helen’s surprised expression. “You would be amazed at the things I’ve learned from Freyjr.”
Helen didn’t respond to the saucy remark, and Natasha backed away to take a seat again.
Pointing at Chernabog, Helen said, “Sergei, put him in the cage with—” Her words stopped when she glanced over at the cage and gaped in shock.
“Shit. She sees you, Gina,” Rebecca warned. “Get Freya out and get the hell outta there.”
“Stop them!” Helen ordered as Max waved at the followers like a conductor directing an orchestra, sending some of the crowd scrambling to try and stop the escape. “Belial!”
“Damn it!” Sarita shouted. “Heads up, everyone. We’ve got revenants on the move. Belial’s turning them loose.” Her warning was quickly followed by the sound of a sword slicing through the air. “I—I can’t stop them. They’re pushing through the gate. Johann, I need you!”
“Hang on, Sarita,” he replied. “I’m coming.”
Gina crouched low then leaped, landing on top of the cage with a loud rattle. Pulling a gold key from where it hung around her neck, she jerked the string over her head and clenched the key in her fist. She dropped in front of the cage’s tall door as easily as other people walked down a single step. As she fumbled to fit the key in the lock, Sergei jumped on her back.
Before Megan could move to help, Artair’s battle cry sounded above the din. Grabbing fistfuls of Sergei’s shirt, Artair yanked him off Gina and tossed him at Natasha who was standing by the pile of chairs Megan had earlier moved telekinetically. Sergei landed on his sister, knocking them both to the stage in a tangle of arms, legs and chairs. Gina fumbled for the key that had clattered to the floor when Sergei attacked her.
“Damn it.” Gina’s voice rang in Megan’s ear. “The key fell through a break in the floor. It’s under the stage.”
Megan needed to buy Gina more time so she could free Freya. It was time for her to do her job and take out Maksim Popov. She whirled around, ready to jump up on the stage, but Max had come to stand on the edge, peering down at her with those dark, piercing eyes.
His hand was held out to the crowd. “Hold.”
They stopped moving and stared at Max like a bunch of bewildered children.
Then his voice echoed in her mind, dragging Megan to a halt.
“I know who you are, dorogoy. You hide behind a mask of Rhiannon, but you are my Fire.”
“No,” Megan whispered.
“Come to me.”
“No!” Megan had to fight the urge to put her hands over her ears.
Her energy was waning, and it was wasted trying to hold Rhiannon’s shape when he clearly knew who she was. She closed her eyes and felt the change come over her, wondering if she’d ever get entirely used to the odd feeling of shape-shifting.
When she was back to herself—and back in her own clothes—she felt as limp as a wrung out washrag. Shit, she needed to find some power, especially if she had to keep Max out of her head. She held her palms out, trying to t
hrow fire at him. Nothing but wisps of smoke rose from her hands.
Max had the nerve to grin at her. “I was correct. You were not what you seemed. Yet I knew it was you.” He reached down, holding out a hand to her.
She grabbed the dagger sheathed against her thigh. Brandishing her weapon, ready to take him on, she showed him a calm face. “You can’t control me now.”
His smile could freeze a blast furnace. “You are wrong, dorogoy. I control you.”
“You are mine.”
All she could do was stare up at him, feeling her own thoughts scattering like dead leaves in an autumn breeze. She was only vaguely aware of her arms dropping to her sides. The dagger slipped through her fingers and fell to the grass.
“Reach for me,” he commanded.
She stretched her hands up to clasp his as she willed herself to turn and run. It was no use—she was too weak, and his power over her was too strong.
He pulled her up to the stage and turned her to face the crowd.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pressed his body behind hers. “Look at the sheep—all the children in their silly red robes. They are all for me, dorogoy. For us. Now, I shall make you mine for eternity. My lover—my mate.”
An angry screech sounded behind them. Megan glanced over her shoulder, but that was the only movement she could manage. Her body was her enemy. Everything around her became shrouded in a haze, appearing to be nothing more than a dream. Her arms and legs were too heavy to move, as if the limbs were weighted with lead.
Natasha had crawled out from under the pile of chairs, and her brother helped her to her feet. Sergei turned to hurry back toward Freya’s cage, but Natasha glared at Max, fisting her hands at her sides.
“Careful, Gina. Sergei’s loose,” Artair warned. “’Ware, lass. I’m coming.”
Megan attention was drawn to her Aunt Tasha’s shout. “No!”
Natasha’s face had twisted in a rage as she stumbled toward Max. Her hair had gone entirely gray and her face seemed to be aging right before Megan’s eyes.
“You may not have her!” Natasha screeched. “This was supposed to be for us! She is a vessel to restore your life so you can restore mine. We are to be together now. Forever. You told me forever, Maksim! I love you!” She laid a wrinkled hand on his arm.
Max shoved her away.
She stumbled, bumping into the prostate Chernabog before getting her balance back.
“Nyet,” Max said. “Your purpose is at an end, old woman. I have Megan now. She is all I need.”
Tears streamed down Natasha’s sunken cheeks. “No,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “For us, Maksim—it was all for us. You love me. Can you show me no kindness?”
“There is no ‘us’ any longer,” he sneered as he put a hand on Megan’s shoulder.
She wanted to grab that hand and bend it backward until his wrist snapped, but her body wouldn’t obey her commands. This was her nightmare where she was so frightened she couldn’t move—like the dreams where Sparks burned her until she turned into a charred carcass. Maksim Popov had made all her nightmares come to life, and Johann wasn’t there to save her this time.
“I have my mate,” he added. “And you, my dear Natasha, are not her. I thank you for helping see to her creation and her rearing. She will restore me to glory and make me very happy.”
With a strangled cry, Natasha lunged, nails ready to rake across his face. Max grabbed her wrists, holding off her attack. She fought his grip, but her energy swiftly waned and she collapsed to her knees.
He tossed the material of her skirt around for a moment before he plucked out her dagger. Then he knelt at her side. Holding Natasha up by wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he sneered down at her aging face. “Your usefulness is over.”
Max plunged the knife into Natasha’s chest. Natasha didn’t scream, just drew a few shallow breaths before she closed her eyes. Max laid her on the ground and returned to Megan. Within moments, Natasha’s body deteriorated until her remains were aged and mummified.
Bile bubbled in the back of Megan’s throat. Seeing those four girls had been horrifying. Now, not only did she have to see her Aunt Tasha in that state, she’d watched it happen.
Is that how I’ll look once Max is done with me?
The whistling slash of swords sent a shiver of panic over Megan. She could see everyone expect Sarita and Johann, so they had to be fighting revenants.
“Oh my God, Johann!” Sarita screamed. “Are you all right?”
Megan desperately willed herself to do something—to go to help Johann. To turn around and burn Maksim Popov. To help her sisters.
It did no good. She could hear Sarita’s rapid breaths and Johann groaning. They needed her, but she couldn’t move.
A tear slid down her cheek.
Max put his hands on her shoulders. “We shall watch the Amazons die. Then we shall begin our dynasty. You are mine, dorogoy. Tonight you will give me back all that was stolen from me. My life. My empire. And I shall make you my mate. I shall tame Fire.”
“Jam my sword in the gate!” Johann shouted. “Here, Sarita! Over here!”
The sound of metal scraping metal mixed with the sickening moans of revenants that raised gooseflesh over Megan’s skin.
“What’s happening?” Rebecca asked.
“Some of them got out,” Sarita replied, “but we’ve got the gate jammed shut now. Blocked it with Johann’s sword. Belial took one look at us, got wise and popped right out of here. The revenants have no one controlling them now. Johann got bitten. A couple of times. He’s bleeding.”
“No!” The shout Megan had intended came out a strangled whimper. “Please, no.”
She glanced at her mother—the one being here who could possibly stop this—but Freya was still locked in her cage, as helpless as a mere human.
“You are mine, dorogoy,” Max said. “They are your past. I am your future.” His tongue circled the shell of her ear, making her skin crawl. “Watch them die.”
He spun Megan so she could see Gina fighting three revenants who had her trapped with her back to Freya’s cage. The only sounds coming from Gina were grunts and a few expletives as she struggled to get enough room to draw her sword.
Before Megan could react, he turned her again to see Artair and Sergei crossing swords. No, not swords. Daggers. Artair had sheathed his sword and drawn his dirk. So like the stubborn man to make it a fight fair. The Sentinel was clearly stronger, and Megan tried not to worry about him.
But she did worry about Johann. He’d been injured and had fallen disturbingly silent. She reminded herself a Sentinel couldn’t die from revenant bites. She still wanted to get to him—to help him. Struggling against her mental bonds, her hope rose when a few sparks shot from her fingers. That hope quickly faded when she couldn’t manage to draw on any of her other powers or break Max’s hold.
Max chuckled. Megan assumed it was over her pathetic attempt to throw fire until her gaze followed his. Helen was slowly working her way toward Artair, dagger raised high.
“Artair! Behind you!” The shouts came from Rebecca, loud enough Megan winced from the volume echoing in her earpiece, but she couldn’t move enough to see her sister. At least Artair had received the warning he so desperately needed, but he faced Helen and Sergei now—both advancing on him with bloodlust in their eyes.
While Megan tried in vain to fight Max’s paralyzing control so she could holler warnings to her friends, he twisted her one more time until she faced the light structure Rebecca had climbed.
Four revenants positioned themselves under the pole, moaning and running into each other, nothing more than mindless killing creatures waiting for their prey. Rebecca had put her bow over her shoulder and was sliding down ever so slowly—like some reluctant firefighter responding to an alarm. Her eyes
were closed, as they always were when heights were involved.
“Rebs, look down,” Megan whispered, trying to build to a sound loud enough for the microphone to pick up. She had to warn Rebecca. She had to warn them all. “Please, Rebs… Look down.”
Helpless to stop what was happening, more tears gathered in Megan’s eyes before they spilled over and slipped down her cheeks.
Don’t, Rebs. They’re waiting. Please hear me…
“Look at our followers.” Max’s lips were close enough to brush against her ear as he spoke. “They will be the first, and they will help us as we take control. You will be my empress. You will sit at my side and—What’s this?”
Had he noticed her tears?
He grabbed her chin and turned her head. Then he plucked her receiver from her ear and clucked his tongue as though he was scolding some naughty child.
“My dorogoy. It is time to leave your past behind.” Dropping her link to the other Amazons on the floor, he shattered it with one stomp. “Da, it is time to forget the past and embrace the future.”
Max scooped her into his arms and carried her from the stage.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Johann beheaded the last revenant coming at him and then hurried to join the battle. The rest of the zombies were lumbering toward the crowd, and he and Sarita chased after them.
The battle raged through the field. His gaze found Rebecca first. She was halfway down a pole, staring at four revenants crowding against each other right below her.
“Damn it,” Rebecca said. “I need these revenants cleared out. Who’s close?”
“I’m coming,” Sarita called.
Johann took out two more revenants and followed Sarita, but she was closer. Her angry shout rent the air as she charged the revenants, sword raised high. For such a short woman, Sarita was a ferocious warrior. He was damned proud of her.
Two zombies fell as the stupid creatures tried to untangle themselves. Sarita beheaded the third before using a front sweep to trip the tallest. When that revenant fell, Water growled and swung her sword down in one angry motion, taking off the zombie’s head like she was splitting a block of wood with an ax.
