Glyph (The Shadowmark Series Book 3)

by T. M. Catron

  Indeed, the blood was running down Doyle’s chest at an alarming rate. He grabbed her shirt, pulled her forward until they were nose to nose. His hands tightened her shirt collar until it choked her. Calla struggled to free herself. She landed some solid punches into his ribs, one in his jaw. He didn’t budge but continued to choke her.

  Why?? he yelled into her mind. Why couldn’t you let me be? I have always been merciful to you!

  Mercy is for the weak!

  You are wrong! We are weak because we don’t admit our failings. Only the strong own up to their mistakes and learn from them. YOU have learned nothing, Calla!

  Doyle’s eyes blazed red. Startled, Calla loosened her hold. But Doyle was weakening, and instead of using her mistake to his advantage, she was able to get her hands around his neck, finally.

  Calla smiled triumphantly. I have learned plenty, Doyle. I have learned that I can be my own master. And that I should never give you an opportunity to get the better of me. And never to hesitate in battle. And that finally, the offspring can kill the master. And you have been my master, just like the Glyphs. I killed them, and I will kill you.

  And Calla squeezed. Doyle grabbed her hands, attempting to pry her fingers away from his throat. But with her position atop him, pinning him to the ground, his lifeblood flowing freely, and her fingers around his neck, it was only a matter of seconds before she crushed his windpipe and snapped his neck.

  The aether swirled around Doyle and Calla, so thickly Mina couldn’t tell who was who. She unholstered her gun and held it out in front of her. One good shot. That was all she needed.

  But her narrow beam of light and the aether prevented her from taking aim. She might hit Calla or Doyle. From the look of all the blood on the floor, Mina didn’t even know how he was still alive.

  She desperately hoped some of the blood was Calla’s.

  The other hybrid screamed as Morse did something to him. In the flash of her light, Mina saw a spray of blood.

  The aether thickened. She watched in despair as it seemed to consume all four hybrids like it was gathering to take them somewhere else. Somewhere that wasn’t on Condar.

  Her light glinted off something on the floor, drawing her gaze away from the horrifying scene.

  Doyle’s knife, the one he always carried. It was a Condarri blade and incredibly strong. He never went anywhere without it.

  Without pausing to consider what she would do with it, Mina grabbed it. She held up it up in her light, and it flashed so brightly her eyes were blinded by the burn into her retinas. Then, her vision cleared, and Mina looked at the cloud of aether before her.

  It was only darkness, she told herself. And right now, that darkness matched the pain and grief in her heart. It couldn’t get any worse. Mina took a deep breath, feeling dizzy. She hadn’t noticed that her breathing had become more labored. She must have busted a tiny hole in her mask when Morse knocked her down.

  Do something now, or turn back. No more thinking.

  Doyle needed help.

  With that thought, Mina plunged into the aether, holding the knife firmly in her right hand. She had never done much more with a knife than skin a rabbit. But she knew that if Calla crossed her path, she’d sink it into her as far as she could get before the hybrid turned on her.

  The idea of killing Calla should have scared Mina, but a cold numbness was replacing the anger in her heart. All she could picture were her friends’ bodies, Emily and Solomon, lying on the ground with fatal gunshot wounds.

  At this point, Mina only feared that she would be too late to help Doyle. She stumbled blindly through the aether, desperation spurring her on. The darkness swirled around her but didn’t crush her as it had in the past. Her light dimmed and then went out, but she pressed on.

  Just when she felt doomed to wander inside the aether forever, she saw a body in front of her. A flash of pale skin, nothing else.

  She rushed forward, but the person was gone.

  “Doyle!” she yelled. Like everything else inside the aether, the speakers on her comm sounded muted.

  Panic rose in her throat. She tasted bile. For the first time, she realized others were lurking in the shadow with her. They could be standing next to her and she wouldn’t know until it was too late to prevent an attack. But Mina still couldn’t feel any fear. She kept searching.

  Doyle!

  Mina! What are you doing?

  And then it happened. Mina didn’t see Doyle, but she sensed him as if his adarre were calling to hers. His presence tugged at her heart, burned in her mind. She hurried, wading through the darkness like she was wading through a black sea.

  She found Calla and Doyle in the same position as she had seen them last—with Calla on top, ready to break his neck. Calla was so engrossed in her almost-victory that she didn’t see Mina.

  As Mina ran forward with the knife, she suppressed the urge to yell. Just before she reached Calla, Mina pulled her arm back, ready to strike the half-human creature who threatened the man she loved. She aimed for the spot between Calla’s shoulder blades.

  Then, Mina’s light flickered back on. With the flash, Calla saw Mina just before she struck. Surprised, Calla let go of Doyle and turned, her eyes sparking with hatred.

  As she moved, Mina’s blow went wrong, and the knife’s edge slid down Calla’s back and hit her shoulder blade.

  Calla hissed in pain and grabbed Mina. In one swift movement, she tackled Mina to the floor and ripped off her mask.

  With her oxygen gone, Mina now breathed in the methane gas mixture aboard the spaceship. She tried to hold her breath, but her heart was pounding so hard that she quickly began seeing stars from the lack of oxygen.

  She gasped, bringing in a lungful of the poisonous gas. Strangely, she didn’t smell or taste anything different. Should she have?

  And then Calla’s hand was at Mina’s throat. With a grin that sent a cold shiver down Mina’s spine, the hybrid began to squeeze.

  The stars returned, and pain shot up through Mina’s windpipe.

  She didn’t have time to be scared. All she registered was all the blood on Calla’s face and body. Her hands stank of it. Doyle’s blood.

  Doyle. He was still there.

  Doyle, she thought.

  Doyle.

  She didn’t care if Calla heard her use the adarre. All she cared about was Doyle.

  A look of surprise shot across Calla’s face. And then someone else was there, yanking Calla away.

  Mina thought Calla would tear out her throat as she was pulled away, but whoever had grabbed Calla had also loosened her hold.

  Dazed and taking great lungfuls of gas, Mina struggled to stand, and couldn’t. Remaining conscious was taking all her strength. Whoever was fighting Calla would come get her. Soon. She hoped it was Doyle but knew it was probably Morse.

  Then, a pair of boots and a pair of bare feet appeared in front of her. Both were covered in blood. The aether gathered around, and she lost sight of them again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lincoln crept through the dark halls. Turned around and hopelessly lost, he had given up on finding the hospital wing hours ago. With the alien symbols etched into the walls, each corridor was unique from the last. And yet each was the same. It was the same as being lost in a forest at night—every tree looked the same when it was blocking the light of the moon.

  Despite his certainty that he would die, Lincoln didn’t want to. He wanted to live. He wanted to plant his feet on Earth again, feel the wind on his face. There wasn’t even any air moving on this accursed ship.

  So, he kept walking. He had to end up somewhere. Eventually.

  The numbing agent used on his leg began to wear off, sending stabbing, tingling pain in his muscles. The nerve endings felt like they were on fire, but if he stopped walking, the pain grew worse.

  With each step, Lincoln grew wearier. But, with each step, his resolve hardened. Fear drove him forward. Finding his friends was paramount to any pain he felt. If he did
n’t stop looking, he would never forgive himself, no matter how short or long his life was. The air stirred a bit, and Lincoln halted, afraid. Was it the Glyph hunting him? Or only that he’d passed beneath a ventilation shaft? The Factory had air. Even though the mechanism wasn’t visible, oxygen circulated through something. It didn’t just appear. Just like anything else, the life-giving gas was governed by physics, not magic. Nothing about this ship was magical, despite some of the things Lincoln had seen.

  “Hello?” he asked the darkness. Nothing.

  He had just moved forward again when a long scraping sound echoed across the stone behind him. He paused again, listening. Sweat trickled down his back, soaking his shirt. Intense fear washed over him, freezing him in his tracks. Lincoln wanted to turn around but couldn’t. His leg throbbed painfully. He held his breath, waiting to feel hot breath on his neck. The stirring caused goosebumps to prickle his skin.

  “Hello?” he choked out. Lincoln pressed his back to the wall, confident that if he swung the light around, the Glyph would be standing there.

  But instead of a stone giant ready to tear him to pieces, Carter stumbled out of another corridor to the left. Blood dripped from the old wound in his stomach. And it covered his face, his hands.

  “Carter!” Horrified, Lincoln reached out to help him.

  Carter’s gaze fell on Lincoln as if he’d only just recognized him. He gasped, his chest rattling like rocks had been placed inside it. “Lincoln,” he rasped.

  He grabbed the front of Lincoln’s shirt and fell against him. Lincoln tried to hang onto him, to keep him on his feet, but Carter was too heavy. The older man sank to the floor. Lincoln shone the light over his body. His clothing was torn, and great gashes had been opened in his chest and stomach, exposing his muscle. A wound on his head was the most troubling, though. It was the worst head injury Lincoln had ever seen. And Carter seemed dazed.

  “Carter,” Lincoln said, and then called “Help!”

  Carter’s eyes went wild. “No,” he whispered. “Hush, it will find us. It got… Grace.”

  “The Glyph?”

  Carter nodded and closed his eyes.

  “No. Don’t do that. Hang on.”

  “I’m okay,” Carter said. “It doesn’t even hurt. I feel like I’m… floating.”

  “You can’t go to sleep, Carter. I’ll get you help.”

  “Where’s the help going to come from?” Always practical. Always steady.

  Lincoln didn’t know where help would come from. And he couldn’t bring himself to lie to his friend. Or to himself. Help wasn’t coming.

  Doyle wasn’t coming.

  Mina wasn’t coming.

  Lincoln bit back an anguished sob. He couldn’t break down here in the middle of the corridor. He had to help Carter. He was the man’s only chance. But in the terrible gravity and with his leg, Lincoln was weak. Useless. Carter would have to try to stand before Lincoln could help him. “Carter, I—”

  Carter went limp in Lincoln’s arms.

  “Carter?” he whispered. “Carter!”

  But Carter didn’t stir. The last whisper left his lips, the last of the air leaving his body.

  Robert Carter was dead.

  Between Doyle, Morse, and the aether, the three of them managed to make it to the Nomad. Doyle shouldn’t have been alive, let alone standing and walking. But he was so pale that Mina was afraid he was a ghost walking. If she hadn’t felt his arm around her, she might have thought she was hallucinating him.

  Although he was covered in blood, Morse seemed unscathed from his fight with the other hybrid. In fact, he looked more invigorated than Mina had yet seen him. She didn’t know what had happened to Calla.

  Mina didn’t get a chance to gawk any further. Morse practically pushed her up the ladder. She had never been so glad to see the blue light of the Nomad’s hold. Once aboard, she took a huge gasp of oxygenated air, imagining it flowing down through her lungs and into her poisoned bloodstream.

  She immediately got sick. Alice came over and held Mina’s hair away from her face while she puked.

  Morse appeared then, hauling Doyle up with him. He’d just laid Doyle on the floor when he froze.

  Mina wiped her mouth with her sleeve and looked over, confused as to why he wasn’t taking Doyle up to the med bay.

  “They’re here,” Morse said, his face contorting in rage and fear.

  Then, Mina saw it.

  A dark, viscous tendril of aether had appeared inside the hold, shooting up into the ship like a rope.

  It was going for Doyle.

  Mina’s heart almost stopped with fear. She yelled and launched herself at the aether. At the same time, Morse grabbed her.

  “NO!” she screamed. “They’re not taking him!”

  But the aether left Doyle and wrapped itself around Mina’s wrist instead. It gripped her arm like a cold, heavy vice. She cried out in pain.

  And then it started to pull.

  Mina threw herself back, trying to get leverage to pull away. Pain shot through her arm, and she lost what little purchase she had. The aether pulled her forward. Mina slid along the floor, grasping for something, anything, to halt her attacker.

  Morse threw himself on top of her once again, this time trying to disengage the aether by grabbing at it. But it only slipped through his fingers like he was grabbing smoke. Mina felt Alice tug on her ankles, but the young woman was only pulled along with them.

  Morse yelled in anguish.

  “Let go!” Mina said. “Both of you!”

  They let go, their absence making her lighter.

  Mina slid through sticky blood at the hatch, and then she was out of the ship, flying down the ladder, and landing heavily on the stone floor below.

  Terrified that the others would be grabbed too, she twisted to look up into the ship.

  Morse and Alice weren’t there.

  Doyle was. He stood outlined against the blue doorway. Even with his grave injuries, he looked taller and more menacing than ever before.

  The Condarri’s aether disappeared.

  He leaned on the door, his hand clutching his chest. Then, his eyes flashed from black to orange fire. He jumped out of the ship, landing in a crouch on the ground beside Mina and wrapping an arm around her. She could have sworn she heard him snarl.

  Doyle had completely changed. His face, his eyes, even his skin, seemed to exude power and strength and danger. Mina recoiled in awe at the sight of the changed man before her.

  For one heartbeat, Doyle turned his glowing eyes on Mina.

  “Do you trust me?” he whispered.

  His voice, the low, confident voice she’d grown to love, was still the same.

  She put a hand on his chest, over one of his that was still staunching his wound. “Yes,” she said.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you,” she whispered back.

  Doyle. The force of the Condarri’s speech almost caused Mina to pass out.

  “They’re here,” she said, closing her eyes as if that would keep the monsters at bay.

  “I know,” Doyle said. “Will you help me stand?”

  Mina gasped and looked up at him.

  “I can’t do it on my own,” he whispered. His voice was filled with determination.

  Mina nodded and rose. Every part of her body now screamed in pain. Her injured wrist throbbed as she put it under Doyle’s shoulders. He was heavy, but Mina was strong. She heaved up, and he rose with her. Together, they stood, leaning on each other. Doyle’s breath came in ragged gasps. With each breath, his chest rattled.

  Fear like Mina had never known overwhelmed all of her senses. For a terrifying moment, she forgot the Condarri were approaching and gripped his hand.

  Doyle was dying.

  She swallowed her fear, trying to be brave for him, hoping Morse would come down the ladder, pull them back in, and take off. But he wasn’t there.

  Then, a golden gleam caught Mina’s eye. She followed it, up and up, u
ntil she saw the square shoulders and blockish jaws of the Condarri.

  Another glimmer behind it, and then two more stepped up. The Glyphs were bigger than any Mina had ever seen, each one twice the size of the one Doyle had killed in the forest. They stared at Doyle, whose heart was beating so fast that Mina was afraid it would give out.

  Traitor, the Condarri said together.

  Doyle moaned in pain but didn’t take his eyes off the Condarri. Mina’s knees buckled, and she felt Doyle’s weight sink further onto her shoulders. If she didn’t stay on her feet, he would fall. Deep in her bones, she knew that if Doyle fell, they would all die.

  “I’ve got you,” she whispered.

  Aether swirled between and around the Condarri. Their cold eyes glowed orange to match Doyle’s. He stiffened and looked at each one of them in turn.

  How dare you look upon us? they said as one.

  “You have no power over me!” he yelled. He coughed. Blood trickled out the corner of his mouth.

  No? Watch.

  The cold manner in which they spoke left no doubt that they knew Doyle was cornered. Then, Mina reminded herself that they were still hanging back. They had not attacked, neither with their bodies nor with the aether.

  Something was holding them back.

  Doyle was holding them back. They were afraid of Doyle.

  Everyone paused, waiting for the other side to make the first move.

  The Condarri grew tired first.

  The aether that shot out from behind them was blacker than any Mina had ever seen. It was blacker than the dark hangar, blacker than being in the mine with the lights out.

  In fact, it was as if a hole had been torn in the fabric of space, and behind it was nothing.

  Unable to look away but terrified of what she was seeing, Mina stared as it twisted toward them. She was sucked in. As the aether swirled and moved closer, it reminded her of that dream she’d had months ago, the one with the man burning over her. In her dream, he had stopped the stars.

  It had been Doyle. Somehow, she’d always known it was him but never let herself admit it. Now, she couldn’t believe she had thought it was anybody else.