by Zoe Forward
****
Astrid noiselessly moved through the now dark woods toward the entrance to the magi estate. She’d seen no sign of V in her cautious trek from the house. Cocking her head, she halted and detected footsteps behind her. Someone stalked her…no, three someones. Anger rocked through her. She wasn’t in the mood for clandestine bullshit.
“Bring it on,” she muttered, realizing she itched for a fight with a human. She pressed herself tight against a massive pine tree. The rough bark bit into her shoulders and arms where not protected by her shirt. She gripped her suppressed Glock tight in her right fist.
A small whistle sounded behind her. The footsteps split to either side of her. Smart.
To her left a darkly clad male crept past. After a small pfft sound, he fell with a thud from her single headshot. A small throwing blade ripped into her right upper arm. She dropped her gun. Shit.
She plucked out the knife while simultaneously swiping her gun off the ground. And sprinted. She wondered if the blade had been poisoned like those that had hit her during her rescue of Cy. Her right arm rapidly went limp. That was a yes on poison. She shifted her gun to her left hand, her right arm now uselessly flapping. Yet, agony screeched through the unresponsive limb. Two knives hit—one into the back of each thigh, knocking her to the ground. Now she was pissed at these fuckers.
She plucked out the knives and stood to face whoever approached, unwilling to be in a vulnerable prone position. She stumbled backwards and ducked around a massive tree. Scorching heat blazed down her legs. Her right arm remained useless, and legs likely soon to follow. Shit, shit, and super shit. Her mind wailed for Kane. She needed him at her back. He safeguarded her on risky ops. He was her shadow, her protector. And now she was in deep deep trouble.
“She weakens,” a deep Arabic accented male said softly. “He wants her alive. We hold.”
Astrid leaned around the tree into the direction of the voice, and squeezed off four rounds. A small knife impaled her left arm. Oh, God. She squeezed off four more rounds in the direction she estimated the knife must’ve come. A soft groan sounded. Hooray. One point for her. The agony in her left arm escalated until it was too much to grip the gun.
Her legs trembled from the effort required to remain upright. They caved beneath her. Now she was easy prey.
Wasn’t she supposed to have a super metabolism now that she was a magus, like Christian said? Drugs weren’t supposed to work this well. Maybe she wasn’t like the other guys. She hoped this had nothing to do with her being female. She silently screamed a big fuck you at the gods, if so. The image of Zannis drifted through her mind. Should she open the portal? Let him through? Before she could get the power to open the doorway revving, a darkly dressed Arabic man jabbed a needle straight into her neck. She howled at its burn.
The man ripped off her baseball cap and cursed. “She’s blonde. This isn’t the right girl.”
A second male palmed her amulet. “We take her. She might be one of their women.”
Her mind went woozy. And then everything went black.
****
“Are the magi moving again? Within the U.S. or to a new country?”
From the metal table on which she was restrained, Astrid glared at her Hashishin tormentor, known to her as Zimeri. This was the same guy she’d tried to take out at the Hashishins’ main headquarters in Asheville just days ago when they rescued Cy. But this was a different torture center, at least she guessed based on the architectural differences. She didn’t bother replying to Zimeri. His eerie cataract-white right eye scanned her bloodied, nude form. Dried blood highlighted his right cheek. Her blood—a splatter from when he’d staked her like a vampire an hour ago. Staked her!
She hoped that would’ve ended this. That she’d bleed out and die. Finally. No such luck. She’d passed out. When she came back to awareness this bisht-robed bastard stood over her like a sadistic perv.
“Ready for round three today?” Zimeri asked. He scratched at the dried blood on his cheek and glanced at the debris under his fingernail.
Show no weakness. She maintained her hatred glare. This wasn’t just about appearing strong. She was hardwired to convey invincibility to the enemy. She would die fighting. Well, if death was an option. Even so, terror beat a wicked rhythm in her chest. They already tried foul-tasting potions, injectable drugs, knives, electricity, breaking bones, and now he’d staked her. She dared not dwell on the next level of torture.
If she could get out of these restraints and reach the knife still around her neck, the one Amun-Ra gifted her that these magical weirdoes didn’t detect, then she’d show Zimeri what it meant to be staked.
A thick snake slithered from Zimeri’s sleeve. It tensed and struck her arm. White-hot pain burned her forearm. She bit her lip to dull her scream to a moan.
Zimeri laughed. “You like my pet? Looks like his nectar works on you. Let’s try again.” He murmured a command in an Arabic dialect she didn’t recognize.
The snake struck her right thigh with a burn that had her bowing against the restraints. Then there was black oblivion.
She clawed through a haze to awareness of agony in too many body parts. Everything was marred, broken, or swollen. She couldn’t fist her right hand due to swelling. How long had she been out this time?
Tears crested, but she glanced up at the camera. These assholes would not see her cry. She pressed her eyelids together, willing the leakage not to happen. Once the tear-burn diminished she glanced around. The world shifted eerily—likely a combo of snake venom and blood loss.
They’d won. If she didn’t find a way to end her existence right now, she feared she might blab everything they wanted to know the next time Zimeri appeared.
She couldn’t imagine hell being much worse than this. Damn that goddess for forcing her into a corner.
Death might claim her only if she called for him. She hated succumbing to a preordained plan by a meddling deity. But she had no other option.
Did she have enough juice to pull off opening the doorway? She screwed her eyes shut and envisioned him.
The crackling of energy tickled her chest, awakening her cells. Pulsating waves of heat spread down her limbs and flowed from her. The energy radiated in waves that burst from her fingertips and toes, then coalesced and shot to the wall to her right. The dazzling energy swirled until the wall lost its form and a black doorway opened. She could no longer hold her neck cranked against the restraints to watch the doorway. She rolled her neck back to neutral position. And stared at the tiled ceiling, unable to find enough breath to speak.
She thought, Zannis. You can cross. Kill me. Please finish it this time.
A rush of air between teeth hissed close by. She sensed his dominating presence. Hope buoyed her with the promise that this agony would end.
Come on. Why delay? Kill me! she screamed at him telepathically.
She popped open her lids, expecting a blade above her neck, but met his wide-eyed stare as he performed a slow southward exam of her bloodied, naked skin.
His dark eyes returned to hers. Black sludge swirled over his blue irises like thunderclouds across a blue sky. He rested his hand on her cheek. Hoarsely he asked, “Who did this to you?”
The skin of her cheek tingled at his warm touch as if awakening from a long snooze. He was still movie star gorgeous with his strong, hard profile and laser blue eyes. How she wanted to touch his golden hair just one last time.
Stop it, she ordered herself. He’s a homicidal maniac. Make that married maniac.
“Please,” she wheezed out. She thought to him, Kill me. I can’t keep secrets any longer. They’re coming back to do more.
“I will not kill you.” Rage morphed his face. The swirling sludge in his irises coalesced to black. “But I will kill every one who hurt you.” He smoothed her hair away from her face. Softly he added, “You should have called for me sooner.”
She hated the tears that wet her cheeks. Hated that he’d make her beg. “Why won’t y
ou kill me? You tried once. Am I no longer worth the effort like this? Too easy?”
“That…before…now is not the time to discuss that. I shall get you out of here, but stay awake. I’ll be sent back to the other world, if you pass out. What the…” He released what she suspected were curses in his native language. His hand passed down her chest to encircle the metal stake. His touch feathered across her grossly swollen arm and leg. He pulled at the restraints, bending the metal to allow her limbs freedom. “Forgive me, rouhi, but I must remove this.” He yanked out the stake.
She screamed. Tears streamed. Please, no more. End this.
Warm moisture gushed over her chest. She touched the area and brought her fingers to her face. Red. “Will I finally bleed out? Is this how I die?” she asked, hopeful.
“You will not die today. Please, don’t cry.” He wiped at her tears with his large fingers. He whispered, “I know you hurt. I would take away your pain, if I could.” He shrugged out of his black shirt, scooped her into his arms and wrapped her in the warm cloth. Its residual heat soothed her.
“Why didn’t that kill me? Why can’t I die?” she asked as he rolled her tight against his chest.
“I have thought upon that. And of why you were made a magus, even though that makes no sense to me, but now is not the time to discuss my thoughts on these issues.”
“Am I not good enough to be a magus? Not a job for a girl?”
“So feisty, even as you beg for death.” He chuckled. “I never wished this life for you. We need time to converse. Not now. When you are healed and not out of your mind with pain, we shall speak. Do not succumb to sleep until I get you free of this dwelling.” His body tensed. His demeanor morphed to lethal. “They approach. Say the word, and I shall destroy all humans here.”
She traced the sharp line of his chin and the blue tattoo that trekked down his neck with her eyes. “I don’t know how long I can keep you here. Can you really get me out?”
He granted her a cocky leer that promised blood and terror for her enemies and broadcast absolute confidence.
She enjoyed the security of his arms too much. That seemed wrong. She should fight him. But between blood deprivation and exhaustion, she’d collapse if he put her down. She needed him. Damn it. Somehow, realizing she wasn’t in control helped her relax against his hard chest. “Kill the Hashishins. But please don’t leave me alone in here.”
“I will be pulled back to the other world, eventually. While here…” His grip around her tightened. He ordered, “Come forth, Chanti and Myrum.”
She raised her head when she detected movement. Two black dinosaur-looking creatures enlarged from lizard size to horse sized. Each was covered in a body armor of dark scales. “Are those dragons?”
“Yes.”
She heard but didn’t see the door to her prison cell crash open. Screams echoed in the hallway for a few seconds followed by crashing. Then silence.
Zannis followed the dragons. “They have not been allowed a hunt for a long time. I only hope they can be satisfied by what they find.”
You command dragons? She struggled to see them better but groaned when her chest wound complained at the upright movement. She fell back against him. Her mind wrapped itself around the reality of the winged, tailed mystical creatures.
“We all have our unique talents.” He took the stairs two at a time. No sound of life met them when he cornered into a hallway. Only the noise of distant architecture destruction and the rare scream broke the silence. Then they were outside.
I sense magi await nearby. His voice rumbled in her head.
She wanted to walk on her own, and avoid the embarrassment of other guys viewing her as the weak female. They’d deduce she broke under the torture pressure, and brought into the world the nightmare they all feared. She attempted a head roll outward, away from Zannis. The world spun, nausea crested. Nope, she needed him to carry her, damn it.
He jogged to a forested area, and halted. She lolled her head outward to view the reason for stopping. Ashor and Javen greeted them with silence. But they weren’t looking at Zannis. They gazed beyond him. A vicious howl-roar signaled the dragons approached.
“Come home,” Zannis ordered. She saw nothing, but the dragons’ noise ceased. “There are none alive in the building,” Zannis reported. She knew not if Zannis said that to her or the other guys.
She couldn’t meet the eyes of the other guys, embarrassed at her weak condition. But to be pressed tight against Zannis’s chest was bittersweet—as if her body was happy to quench a thirst of drinking in his masculine scent. Yet her brain swirled with distrust of her emotions and fear that he’d turn homicidal at any moment. Being unable to defend herself infuriated her. Stars sparkled in the periphery of her vision. She whispered, “Going to pass out soon.” Let me go.
Zannis addressed the magi, “She needs the healer.” His voice broke as he choked out hoarsely, “They…did much damage to her.” He paused.
Astrid glanced up when he stopped speaking. His hard gaze rested on the two magi. He asked, “Which one of you has your senariai?”
“I do,” Ashor said.
Zannis said in her mind, I can only relinquish you to another man who cannot be affected by your beauty.
Seriously? Weak as shit, bloody, and half-dead? You’ve got to be joking.
I had forgotten you do not take compliments well. We are warriors who find nothing sexier than a strong woman. You are that type of woman. You will make it to the healer.
She bit her lip against an insane need to beg he not release her, and admit she wanted to stay in his arms. Shit, where had that come from? This psycho tried to kill her. He was unpredictable and vicious. Let me go.
Zannis rolled her into Ashor’s arms whose touch was an uncomfortable ache on skin that screamed for the one that rescued her. She turned in time to see twin dragon tattoos squirm on Zannis’s left wrist.
“Do you need your shirt back?” she asked.
He worked his jaw back and forth. His cheeks heated. “I…these are my only clothes where I go. I have no opportunity for more. I prefer you remain clothed in the presence of other men.”
Javen unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to Zannis with a silent nod.
“Thank you.” He quickly donned the shirt.
She asked, Why didn’t you kill me? I don’t want to do this life anymore.
Killing you was never my intent. My concern is your safety. He paused before he added softly in her mind, And your happiness.
Zannis pinned Javen with a pain-promise glower. “Although I appreciate the clothing, keep out of my head.” He stepped into Javen’s personal space. Javen backed up a step.
Zannis said, “If I ever catch you taking her into battle against a daemon so unprepared again, I will gut you and allow my pets to feed on your entrails while you scream to your death.”
Weakly Astrid said, “Back off. Can’t hold out much longer.” Let me send you back. I wish you’d killed me so we didn’t have to do any of this.
Neither of us gets an easy way out of this life.
She closed her eyes to block him out, fighting the pain of seeing him, wanting him, and remembering the past. Sadly she thought to him, I can’t believe you never told me you were married. That hurts almost as much as you trying to murder me. She opened the portal, sensing the moment he stepped across. Gone. She caved to the darkness pressing at her brain.
Chapter Eight
Terek tapped his upper lip with an index finger while circling Zimeri outside of the destroyed remains of the interrogation center. “Explain to me why you disobeyed my order to wait for my arrival before commencing interrogation?”
Zimeri shifted on his feet, an unusual sign of unease. “I apologize. You seemed…busy.”
“I was delayed in DC, but this fiasco could have been avoided had you waited twenty-four hours. Do you even know what destroyed this building?”
Zimeri shook his head and swept his gaze over the skeletal remains of the interroga
tion center, the above ground part of which had served as a homeless shelter during the day. The police and fire crew had come and gone long ago. A solo Hashishin survivor who’d fled to the woods stood twenty feet away.
“Dragons,” Terek said.
“There’s no such thing.”
“There is one magus who has been gone a long time whose power is to command dragons. Apparently, he has returned. That female magus you captured was the key to his destruction.” He backhanded Zimeri, which did little to dissipate his anger. He stomped to the Hashishin survivor and swiped his ceremonial blade across his neck. With a small slice on his inner wrist, Djoser flicked his blood onto the Hashishin as he crumpled to the ground. He whispered the sacred words of summoning. For endless moments he stood above the freshly dead human, the high of the kill igniting his daemonic nature. He shuddered in ecstasy before he removed an emergency preloaded syringe of pentobarbital from his jacket and jabbed it deep into his thigh. What he wouldn’t give to have the freedom to the kill until drunk from its high. To feel that bliss run through his veins. But he knew too well that insanity equaled a guaranteed visit by his favorite meddling pseudo-immortals. The enemy. Scimitar Magi.
The killing craze dulled as his mind went into slo-mo from the drug. With deliberate movements he faced the daemon he’d summoned. “Imotep. Welcome.”
The daemon silently evaluated Djoser with shimmering copper eyes, waiting.
“Good. I see that your intellect remains in this form.” He jumped forward and jabbed Imotep with a syringe filled with pentobarbital.
Imotep growled and swiped at him, but missed. Then he stumbled as the drug took effect.
“Be calm. The drug will help suppress the daemon rage. I need your brain functional, not trapped by the daemon psychosis.”
Imotep righted himself and glanced around, disoriented. In daemon language, Imotep rasped with prominent s’s, “Djoser. You have been absent from the Middle Realm for some time. I had assumed my summoning would occur long ago.”
“These things require the right moment.” He waved at Zimeri. “I offer you a worthy vessel for incarnation.”
