Betrayal's Shadow

by K H Lemoyne

  They had at least responded immediately. As had Xavier, from two different IDs. She still wasn’t sure what to make of that, but the alarms it raised forced her to go to greater lengths to cover herself tonight.

  Her trail from the hotel had been circuitous, overlapping, and delivered with a high degree of difficulty. She’d changed there and discarded the tools she’d used to camouflage herself from detection by the Guardians. She hoped Turen would be proud. They had spent grueling hours on boring details she now depended on to give her an edge.

  Clean of scents and fragrances, she wore thrift-shop clothes to confuse any traces of her skin with that of previous owners.

  The tools for the next phase of the plan remained tucked in a janitorial closet near the back alley exit. Embarrassed, she tried not to linger on the skills she brought to the table. Lock picking, a brief fit of teenage rebellion, had finally proved handy.

  “You know the last time we were here was before you and Alex were married.”

  Mia jerked her attention back to her friend. “It’s been a long time.”

  Becca rolled her eyes and squeezed her arm. “Sorry. I wasn’t very subtle. I didn’t mean to drag you down. Especially since we’re so glad you’ve been able to spend some time with us.”

  Mia slid her arm around Becca’s waist. “It’s okay, I know what you mean. I’m relieved at the chance to get out, too. I’m just a little under the weather today.”

  “Do you want to go sit down early?”

  “Let me finish this soda.” She glanced around one last time, not knowing what to expect. Except that the Guardians would come in numbers. They’d lost Isa. They’d lost Turen. They would make certain they lost no more of their people.

  Her subsequent email interactions promised information if the meet was here, tonight. It inferred a trade of information, and Turen, for a monetary exchange. The transfer of a portion of her request had appeared in the ghost account she used to set up one of her emails. Her stomach pitched at the recollection.

  In person, she could never carry off the extortion; the falsified data and cover tonight camouflaged her reticence. The request for money would confirm a threat and a viable cover. Human deceit the Guardians would buy; human loyalty, not so much.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to check your coat?”

  “You know, I’d be more comfortable having it with me.” Mia folded her coat lapels tighter over her sequined tank top and floor-length black skirt. “Just in case.”

  Becca patted her arm in sympathy as the chimes announced the procession for seating.

  Mia tossed her empty cup in the trash. The crowd worked their way to the main doors and she followed her friends up the grand staircase to their box.

  “Do you mind if I sit back here?” She gave an apologetic glance to the door after she entered the box, and Becca patted her knee in reassurance.

  “Of course, honey. I’m sorry this bug hit you today.”

  Mia nodded, waiting for Becca and her husband to settle. Then she discreetly canvassed the patrons already seated from the backdrop and darkness of the box.

  Surveying each section, she ruled out areas with young children and women seated together. The box seats on her level and the one below were either empty or filled with groups of couples. Becca and her husband knew many of the other box holders. While she wouldn’t put it past Turen’s people to bring human women with them, it seemed unlikely.

  She narrowed her search to a group of several men, two sitting together and two taking seats at the end of aisles. The lights were still up in the theater, but the chimes rang again and the last few people trickled to their seats.

  Text message to Isa’s email sent, she surveyed her targets. A man with a long blond braid down his back reached into his pocket, glanced across the aisle to an Asian man, his black hair tied at his nape, and then back toward a man with shoulder-length brown curls standing at the entrance.

  So the Viking, the Ninja, and the Greek god. All of them had gorgeous hair. They certainly matched Turen in style: tall, broad shoulders, strong jawlines, and perfect posture that mimicked Turen’s grace.

  The men surveyed the boxes. She could feel the intensity of their gazes but avoided looking out at the crowd and instead stared down at the stage.

  As the theater dimmed, she glanced over Becca’s shoulder at the men.

  The Greek entered a box opposite hers, his companions a wide-shouldered bald man with dark skin and an equally formidable man with a broad forehead and strong nose. The tuxedos fit as if custom-made to their tall, muscled frames. Each man radiated the strength and menace of professional bodyguards. The last two fit the team, a Nubian prince and an Indian warrior.

  Granted, it was blatant stereotyping, but she needed some way to keep them straight in her mind, and she only had their looks to distinguish them. Details of black tuxedos didn’t do much for differentiation.

  Mia gripped her coat tighter as a sick shiver of unease raced through her. What were her odds of taking on a professional team of seasoned warriors? Her stomach flipped again. No doubt, they possessed Turen’s defensive skills. Since she had no choice, she tried to focus on the end game.

  The lights dimmed as the orchestra finished tuning up and the curtain rose. She monitored the men’s movement so she could leave Becca and her husband before any confrontation. The last thing she wanted was to risk two people who cared about her.

  Fifteen minutes into the performance, Mia leaned forward and made a quick excuse of illness to Becca.

  Leaving the box, she noted the Nubian and Indian warrior stand as well. The Grecian with long curls remained seated, his gaze fixed on her. They had picked her out, too. She’d expected no less.

  Every second counted now.

  They would be stronger and faster. She needed to be smarter and carry the element of surprise. They didn’t know her destination. It would be a delicate dance of being far enough ahead, yet not so far they wouldn’t catch up.

  She closed the box door, pulled the pins from her French twist, and slid on a pair of light tinted sunglasses. Feeling absurdly snobbish, she headed to the main level via the back stairs.

  From the janitor’s closet, she extracted her backpack and headed toward the main lobby. A quick glance around the corner confirmed all five men had congregated, actively canvassing the exits.

  The Greek noticed her first but made no move. The Viking, however, tapped the Ninja on the shoulder. They displayed speed in closing the distance to her, yet they were coming just the same.

  She made it back down the hallway and turned the corner seconds before they appeared. Sliding into the empty concierge room, she pulled the discreetly hidden door closed and extracted a small vial of herbal fragrance she’d purchased in midtown that morning.

  Watching them pass by through the peephole in the door, she noted as they circled back toward the front entrance. She slid off her heels and tucked them in her coat pockets. Snapping the fragrance vial, she doused her coat and left it on the floor of the concierge room.

  They would recognize the coat and track the fragrance. When she concluded tonight, she would clean her skin with lemon juice. With one tiny dab of fragrance to dot her wrist, she slid from her hiding place, left the door ajar, and exited out to the theater’s side alleyway, backpack over her shoulder.

  In the darkness outside, she headed down the alley and waited, peering toward the front of the theater. Two of the men were checking the street in both directions but headed back inside. She slid the backpack over her shoulders, slipped sneakers on her feet, and charged into the slow stream of cars.

  ***

  Without a backward glance, Mia made a beeline to the Central Park entrance. She ran against the signal across the five lanes of traffic. Car horns honked at her in annoyance. The flow wasn’t fast enough to threaten her with a fatal collision.

  She increased her speed and headed for the darker pathways, ignoring the concerned looks of people on their evening walks in the safe
r, well-lit portions of the park. Branching off the trails, she dodged limbs until she reached her ultimate location.

  This section wasn’t safe, but it would be relatively free of random pedestrians, aside from the few people out to commit violent crimes. Rapist and muggers were the least of her problems tonight. Frankly, they’d be wise to stay out of her way.

  She had stripped off her long skirt in the alley. The black leggings she had worn underneath provided ease and camouflage. A lightweight black, water-resistant jacket from her backpack covered her sequined black tank top.

  Within the reach of a stream of moonlight, she pulled out her cell phone again and sent her last two messages.

  Close enough to her goal, she could now afford to have them all on her heels. In fact, she needed the Guardians on her heels, because these messages were for Xavier. If Turen’s team didn’t arrive in time, she would be dead and he’d be forfeit. She stowed her pack behind a tree and headed forward.

  Several steps from the clearing, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the trees. Had she not been semi-prepared she would have screamed at the outline of the bulbous, multi-legged creature with rotating teeth.

  “My master wants his information,” the creature hissed, the words slurred in a contortion of computerized speech.

  Xavier had brought the big dogs and they could speak. “He can have what he wants when I have my payment.”

  “My master wants his information.”

  The creatures definitely weren’t big on interactive communication.

  The legs slithered the head closer as a second hybrid left the shadows. Their barbed tails dragged along the ground, leaving gouges of soil and grass in their wake.

  Shit. This wasn’t part of the plan.

  Then it went downhill. Literally. The ground beneath her rumbled, and four more creatures shimmered into view. The last creature accompanied a sight she’d hoped never to see again—Rasheer.

  Had she gone to all this trouble not to even reach Xavier? Over a dozen human guards with weapons added to the mix at Rasheer’s back. He smirked at her in recognition. She so wanted to smack the confident expression from his face.

  “I see you’ve brought entertainment,” he said.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The Guardians circled behind her, swords drawn, no longer the civilized men their white tuxedo shirts indicated. Jackets discarded, the men moved with blinding speed to engage the hybrids.

  Mia backed away from the fight as a series of small devices surged to life, distributing arcs of white current that cut the warriors off from her and Rasheer. The voltage lingered between each device like a rope, wrapping the Guardians in a fence of electronic snap, crackle, and pop.

  The human guards stood watch by each device while the Guardians drew together inside the grid in a tight circle. Only the Greek had avoided the perimeter and now seemed to warrant his own personal electrical leash and guards as well.

  Damn it all.

  She had worried the Guardians would catch her. Now she worried they wouldn’t get free to perform their purpose

  “I demand to see Xavier.”

  One side of Rasheer’s mouth kicked up in a snarl. “You are in a position to demand nothing, chica. Perhaps if you were to beg…” The last came across in a whisper.

  “I have his proof. I know better than to trust it to you.”

  “He has no interest in your offer or he wouldn’t have sent us.”

  Somehow, she doubted Rasheer had quite that kind of pull back at the old stronghold. “I want to hear it from him. I think you’d say anything not to lose the sadistic pleasure of a prisoner.”

  He moved around her, and she turned to keep facing him. “Offer yourself to me and we can discuss your options.”

  She shivered at the hiss in his voice and, fighting back the bile his threat stirred, forced herself not to maintain his stare. “Take one of them for your new playthings instead.” She nodded back to the captured Guardians. “I have other business.”

  His hand shot toward her and hesitated in a gripped fist as the air rippled and cracked with energy.

  One minute, the night was clear—the next, wind and chill whipped at Mia’s face. Then silence.

  Anger slid across Rasheer’s face, hidden so quickly she thought she was mistaken. Almost.

  “You should have chosen me, bitch,” he spit out in a low voice.

  The man behind Rasheer didn’t move. He was taller, well over six feet seven, and more muscled than the other Guardians. The city’s night sky did him no favors. A scar followed the contour of his face where dozens of long dark braids allowed any view. Encased in black leather pants and vest, Xavier reflected the moonlight.

  Where there should have been smooth skin, the flesh of his right arm rippled with sigils that moved and caressed his muscles like living beings.

  He may have once been a leader of a people intended to save humanity, but his current appearance gave Mia no indication of benevolence or compassion. His eyes glowed white, not with purity but with iced flame. His gaze flickered over her and then briefly to the Guardians behind her. For a second, she was relieved to have the focus removed from her.

  “What do you have for me, woman?” The deep growl rumbled. Shivers responded along her skin.

  “My email was clear. I’ll exchange information for the man.”

  “I don’t have patience for this. What information do you deal?”

  “I will trade only for him.”

  “And what is he to you?” He spat the words, and his eyes widened as if he contemplated a pounce.

  She frowned, annoyed. Mustering pissed-off anger in the face of fear and rudeness might not be so hard after all. “My vengeance against him is my business.”

  “Vengeance.” Xavier narrowed his eyes. A scowl blackened his features more than she would have thought possible. He glanced to the Guardians again and then back. The white in his eyes flickered and swirled with a brighter color. While she couldn’t quite discern the emotion, the result was disturbing to watch. “Vengeance on the man, or collusion with them?”

  “The man is the reason my lover is gone. That witch Isabella got Marco killed to please Turen. I want him to pay.”

  Xavier’s face broke in a wide, frightening smile. “Really.”

  He waved his hand, and the earth trembled again. The wind whipped so hard Mia had to squint to focus. Lights on the pathway several yards away flickered and then exploded. Steam sizzled from cracks in the earth, dissipating in fine droplets of water as Xavier appeared there and then not and then back again. Between his legs, Turen knelt, head hung, wrists manacled to chains strung out from his body and held by two guards at his side.

  Xavier grabbed Turen by the hair, forcing his face up for Mia’s view, and held a three-foot blade at his neck. “I could serve you your vengeance now, efficiently.”

  “I have proof your wife was murdered.” Mia curled her palms around the handles of the knives in their sheaths at her thighs. She avoided direct contact with Turen’s gaze. His disapproval would only shake her resolve. “My vengeance requires my own application.” She shot a quick glance at Rasheer.

  “Such a cold-blooded bitch.” Xavier smiled again. “Prove it.”

  For a second, she thought she’d heard him wrong. He wanted her to kill Turen now?

  “I don’t believe you capable of bloodlust. Kill that one.” He pointed behind her to the Greek restrained outside the perimeter by two other guards.

  Oh God, I am so screwed.

  Xavier crossed his arms, daring her. “One good strike through the chest, front to back.”

  Turen winced at Mia’s rapid blink, as she seemed to hesitate on her options. He could feel the cold slice of panic and terror seizing her body, even at this distance. She had managed to get Xavier to bring him out of the compound and somehow orchestrated his brethren to come to this location, albeit under the threat of Xavier’s creations. Quite the feat for one human female, but his brave warrior froze with th
e command to kill, her expression immobile, and her tenderness dooming her.

  He had no idea how she remained so calm when he knew she wasn’t. She refused to look at him, her gaze going to the ground and back to Xavier and then to the small blade in her hand. “Okay.”

  Oh, beautiful, he’s not going to let you get away so easy. Turen heard Ansgar swear and Kaax growl as they struggled against the shields that contained them. Their attempt for freedom obvious as they tried to stop what they considered impending death for Grimm.

  “With this.” Xavier pitched his sword to plunge tip first with a quiver into the ground at Mia’s feet.

  Shit. Turen dropped his head lower, but he could still see her hands from beneath the cover of his hair. She shook so badly she barely slid her blades in their sheaths, yet she grabbed the hilt of the huge weapon.

  He was going to fucking kill Xavier, debt or no. Mia didn’t have the strength or the skill to keep from killing Grimm with that weapon.

  Turen took a deep breath. No, he shouldn’t underestimate her. If she stuck with her training, she had a chance. He glanced at Grimm. The blank look on his face was unsettling. Of all the Guardians, Grimm was the only one who wouldn’t struggle against Mia. Maybe it would save them both. If Mia could handle the weapon, then she and Grimm might survive.

  Turen watched her move toward Grimm, her stride short, delaying the inevitable. He would forgive her anything, but he didn’t think she could live with the guilt of this action.

  She glanced to him, but he dropped his gaze. He refused to add to her burden or uncertainty here. Any encouragement on his part would give him away to his brethren, only adding to Mia’s suffering. Perhaps Xavier’s ultimate aim.

  He looked up again and she had turned back to her task. She lifted the sword, measuring the weight.

  Good.

  Then she gripped it in both hands.

  He tuned out the snarls coming from Ansgar and Kaax. Tsu and Kamau remained tense in their prison, but at least they held their tongues. He credited that more with their choice not to aggravate or startle her into injuring Grimm outright. It worked in Mia’s favor.