Cash glanced at the ceiling and cocked his head, focusing and frowning. A moment later his eyes widened. “It’s the Opera House above us.”
Another thunderous boom. More shaking. More plaster dust.
“They’re bringing it down,” Marc said, aghast.
“They wouldn’t do that with their new creations in here.” I indicated with my head to the people transforming around us. “Would they?”
The dark mist had faded and most had stopped struggling. Confused expressions washed over their faces, their dark eyes narrowed on themselves. Then, as though a whistle had been blown, some of them got up and headed to exit without a backward glance.
“They’re leaving!” Jacine exclaimed, pointing.
They took no notice of us under the dome and moved as though being called by the Pied Piper.
Victoria gripped my arm, sheer panic enlarging her pupils. “He’s coming.”
“Who?” Cash asked, although, I knew who she meant. My stomach cramped at the thought.
“Urser. He’s coming.”
“We have to go.” Cash gripped my arm. “Now.”
“But where?” I asked.
“There,” Victoria pointed. “The back entrance. He’s coming from the front.”
The mist had dispersed. The air was clean.
“Hold your breath and run for the exit,” I yelled and dropped the shield.
With so many of us bolting for that exit, it was almost a stampede. At least thirty of us were under the dome. Thirty people, maybe more, maybe less. That was all that was left of the Australian Ludus.
CHAPTER FORTY
FOUR WEEKS LATER
“Yes, bring him to the med-bay,” I called down to Cash at the bottom of the majestic stone steps beneath me. He had a refugee with him.
I stood at the top of the front of a castle (seriously, a castle) Jacine had offered as refuge for Nephilim and Seraphim. The cold Hungarian wind whipped hair around my face and I pulled my jacket around me.
From my vantage point on top of the steps, the refugee seemed safe enough. He looked rather like a lumberjack with a beard and flannelette shirt. Probably no signs of infection. But then again, we’d recently had a Player walk in without a trace of ink in his eyes only to have the darkness present later at a routine physical from Lena. Something about the light shining in his eyes triggered the metamorphosis. He attacked one of our medical volunteers who narrowly escaped with his life. If I hadn’t been close by, ready to purge the darkness from his blood, they’d have been toast for sure. The darkness was contagious through blood, saliva and sweat. Just like a virus, but I knew how to get rid of it.
Jesop had given the infected the term darklings due to the dark residue in their eyes, similar to that of witches. But they weren’t witches. Sure, they had the same dark roots, but they were mindless, with their stunted souls fused to their bodies. They only responded to their programed mission—to kill as many of us as they could.
I shivered again. First, my father had attacked the Sydney Ludus. Then, he’d destroyed the landmark that resided on top of it. After we’d escaped, we received word that the African, Asian and the South American Ludus’s had fallen, as had the historical landmarks covering them. The human world was in chaos. They thought the destruction was a concerted and well timed terrorist attack, but when no terrorist group came forward to claim the responsibility, they naturally accused witches. Of course the public face of witches everywhere, Eve and her cronies, vehemently denied it. It may have been true, perhaps she hadn’t been working with Bruce, but Marc had his doubts. His time with her in London recently hadn’t convinced him she was sincere. Seeing as Petra had invested in Bruce’s cause, we agreed.
During those dark moments, Marc had whizzed me around to the American and European Luduses in an attempt to extricate survivors and block anyone from being infected by the serum mist. Cash had been furious when I left without him, but in the end, he saw the sanity of it. I had the skills to block—even purge—the darkness, and travel through the in-between with Marc. He hated being helpless to assist.
Marc and I saved who we could and then joined Jacine and the rest of the Australian survivors here at her medieval castle. It had mildew in some walls, but it housed many of us. And refugees kept flooding in.
“Roo!” Cash called, snapping me out of my thoughts. He bounded up the steps to stand next to me, a pink flush on his nose and ears. “He’s probably fine.”
“Who?”
“The refugee.” He waved down the steps at the bearded man. “I picked him up in town picking a fight with a bartender old enough to be my grandfather.” He narrowed his eyes on me. “You look tired. Maybe you should see him tomorrow.”
“No, we had an incident the other day. I think I should check for traces of the serum, just to be sure.”
“An incident?” The concern lacing his eyes morphed into protective instinct. A shift happened before my eyes and the light mood he wore disappeared. He flexed his fists. “What happened?”
Since he’d become Seraphim, he slipped into that dark place more frequently than ever before. Something primal looked out from his eyes, ready to unleash.
I shrugged. “We handled it, but it made us realize we need to check everyone who enters the refuge, every time. Aura and blood scans. That includes you and Jed.”
He raised an indignant eyebrow until I explained what had happened. Then that fury came back. His gaze darted between my eyes as he struggled with a thought, then the fury left. He drew me in close with a smirk. “You can examine me any time, you know that, right? You don’t need to invent a reason.”
I snorted. “If only.”
His humor dropped. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. It happened. Ask Lena.”
He dipped his head to my shoulder. “When is going to end?”
“We could run away, escape to some isolated island in the Pacific. Wait this all out.”
“When do we ever run from your father? Besides”—he flicked my nose with his finger—“I still want you to convert to Seraphim.”
I pursed my lips. “Yeah, about that. I just don’t think spending the time on my… how can I say this… elective surgery? Yeah, that’s what it is. It’s not appropriate considering Lena has her hands full with people who are suffering. It’s not only the infected, but the wounded. A man came in missing an arm the other day. His advanced healing twisted things inside and it was horrible.”
“Fine. Examine me.”
I patted his arm. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”
He grinned at me from the side. “I hope not.”
There went my heart, leaping into my throat, trying to kick-start my stalled brain. That smile. Every damned time.
He growled and nuzzled into my neck. “I love it when you smell like that.”
Aroused, he meant. I took a moment to calm the heat in my cheeks.
“To be continued,” he said with a smirk as we noticed Jed waving up at us, teeth chattering from the cold.
I supposed they were ready to get into the warmth and eat after traveling from town. It was cold out here, frosty to be precise. The air hung heavy with the promise of snow.
“Coming.” I waved down and then linked my arm through Cash’s. “And to your other question, this won’t end until we end my father.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
About the Author
Lana is a freckle-faced writer from Perth, Western Australia. She’s also a marketer, graphic designer and mum to two balls of energy in the guise of little boys. She’s a fan of 'pro-caffeinating' and writes in many genres, including romance, comedy and speculative fiction. Basically if it’s funny, has a love story and a kick-ass heroine, you know she’ll write it because she loves reading it.
When she’s not writing the next great romantic novel, or wrangling the rug rats, or rescuing GI Joe from the jaws of her Kelpie, she fights evil by moonlight, wins love by daylight and never runs from a real fight.
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Playing God (Game of Gods Book 3) Page 27
