WarriorsandLovers

by Alysha Ellis

  “Thank you for that overwhelming statement of trust. I won’t be long.” He strode toward his target.

  True to his word, he was back in the car in less than ten minutes. He carried no bags and made no explanation to the others. He drove off again. In a few minutes he pulled to a stop in a quieter street. “We leave the car here and go the rest of the way on foot.”

  Nieko and Eora took up positions on either side of him. Eora patted the pockets of her pants. “We’re ready.”

  “What about you?” Nieko asked. “You don’t use fireballs. How do you intend to protect yourself?”

  Elijah reached down and pulled a knife from a scabbard strapped to his leg. He’d chosen it at a sporting goods shop. The blade was serrated steel, solid and lethal-looking. The handle was covered in a black rubberized material, providing a good grip even if it got wet with sweat or blood.

  Nieko and Eora looked at it without making any attempt to touch it.

  “Such a weapon would only work in close combat,” Nieko said. “It won’t be needed. Eora and I will take out the enemy with the fireballs. Keep it, though, if it makes you feel safe.”

  “Yeah, I’ve yet to see one of these fireballs in action,” Elijah retorted. “I’d have preferred a gun but there’s no way I could get one here, so this will have to do.”

  They walk toward Hopewood’s headquarters. Elijah constantly scanned the surroundings for signs that Hopewood had posted sentries or that Nieko and Eora’s appearance was attracting attention. Every time a car went past or a dog barked, the Dvalinn tensed, but their discipline held. Only someone as close to them as Elijah would have been aware of the momentary hesitation or the rapid flick of their eyes from side to side.

  They were about ten meters from the worn bricks of Hopewood’s warehouse when Eora and Nieko froze. Elijah gritted his teeth. “Come on,” he said. “It’s a bloody building. What is there to scare you this time?”

  “Not scared,” Eora gasped. “Pain.”

  Her face was pale. She bit her lip and pushed forward, but winced then fell back.

  Nieko pushed on, his fists clenched, his muscles standing out as he forced himself to take one step after another.

  “Stop!” Elijah yelled. “What’s happening?”

  “There’s an electrical field,” Nieko said. “Set as a deterrent. I have to fight against it.” He took another step. Blood trickled down his chin from where he bit his lip.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Elijah argued, torn between admiration for Nieko’s determination and horror at the pain he was prepared to put himself through. He pulled Nieko back out of range. “Hopewood never expected a Dvalinn to have a human accomplice. I can walk through the field and cut off the electricity. There has to be access for the meter to be read.”

  Clutching his knife beside his pants leg, Elijah called back over his shoulder. “Go back a few paces and wait.” He looked up and down the street. “Once I get the power cut, I’ll signal you to come in. We won’t have much time. They’ll be suspicious the moment the electricity goes off.”

  He moved to the side of the building, walking confidently. If anyone saw him, he hoped they would assume he was the meter reader.

  The power box stood along one wall, right where he’d thought it might be.

  He tugged on the lid of the galvanized metal box, breathing a sigh of relief when it lifted easily. Hopewood could have had it locked, leaving a key with the electrical authority, but he hadn’t deemed it necessary. There was nothing in the appearance of the ancient warehouse to attract the attention of criminals. No Dvalinn would be able to broach the electric field for long enough to get to the box.

  Elijah was the only human who might have reason to search out Hopewood in his own place. But he’d left Elijah to die buried in the rock passages of the Dvalinn underworld.

  One quick swipe and Elijah held the main power fuse in his hand. He stepped back and threw it into the middle of the road, then gestured to Eora and Nieko. They raced over to him.

  “Okay. That went how you planned it,” Nieko conceded. “Are you sure you can pick the lock?”

  “I’m sure,” Elijah said. The warehouse was old. The door furniture was newer but still dated from the 1940s. When he’d bought the knife, Elijah had also picked up a thin-bladed screwdriver. When he was a child, his mother had developed the habit of locking him in his room. She would go out, but she wanted Elijah and his differences shut in. Those very differences had enabled him to break out of his imprisonment. He could tell by feel when a screwdriver inserted in the right spot caused the tumblers to fall. He’d become adept at opening any lock and escaping to roam the streets. He’d become even more adept at heeding the disturbance in his mind that warned him his mother was returning. In all the years she had left him alone, she had never suspected that on most occasions he beat her back into the house by only minutes.

  His skill didn’t fail him now. Deftly, he tripped the mechanism and pushed open the door. They crept forward into the empty space of the foyer. The door had barely swung shut behind Nieko when David rushed at them, a gun in his hand. As soon as he saw Elijah, he fired.

  The bullet went wide and Elijah ducked, pulled out his knife and came up ready to fight. Something hot sizzled past his ear and slammed into David’s chest. He exploded into white-hot flames. The ferocity of the blast should have scorched everyone standing in the space, but the heat seemed contained to the burning figure of the man. After a fraction of a second, the light vanished. All that remained was a tiny pile of dry ash.

  “Fuck,” Lije gasped. “What is in those things? How do they burn like that?”

  Eora shrugged, dusting her hands together to dislodge a few grains of powder. “I use ’em. I don’t make ‘em.” She turned to look at Nieko. “Do you know?”

  “No, and I don’t care. How many of these bastards do you think we’re likely to run into?”

  “I only ever saw Hopewood.” He swallowed the rush of bile as he nodded toward the ashes. “And David.”

  A uniformed security guard rounded the corner behind Eora, knocking her down with one hard punch, stamping hard on her throat while reaching for the gun holstered at his side.

  Elijah took a flying dive forward, striking the man mid-chest. The thick-bladed knife slid in. The guard crumpled, landing partially sprawled across Eora. He was dead before he hit the floor.

  Eora scrambled out from beneath him, her hand to her throat, coughing a little. She spared one glance for the man and turned away. For someone who had been afraid of an elevator less than twenty-four hours before, she took a dead man bleeding all over her with cool control.

  She had only taken a step forward when two more men came running into the foyer from opposite directions. Nieko launched himself into the air, his hand moving in a blur as he first hurled one fireball then spun one hundred and eighty degrees and threw another. Both struck their targets. Again the space blazed with white magnesium glare.

  Nieko stood with his hands on his hips, legs spread at shoulder width. “I can’t hear any more coming.”

  Elijah said, “Doesn’t mean there aren’t any.” He wiped the bloody knife on the leg of his pants. “Keep an eye out. We’ll go straight to Hopewood’s apartment.”

  “What kind of reception should we expect?” The flat quality of Eora’s tone revealed no fear, just a need for information.

  Whoever trained these Dvalinn had done the job well. Their efficiency left him awestruck.

  “He’ll probably have weapons with him. We need to be careful. But he’s old and infirm,” Elijah replied.

  “Don’t waste your pity on him,” Eora said. “I don’t care how old and frail he is, he’s a monster. He deserves to die.”

  “And you’re the executioner,” Elijah said. He’d known it, of course. It was what they were there for after all, but he hadn’t considered the implications of killing someone in cold blood. Stabbing the security guard had left him feeling sick. Watching the others burn…he couldn’
t describe the horror.

  His reaction must have shown on his face because Nieko snapped, “He used you to try to wipe out an entire race of people. By himself he killed thousands of our people. Mothers. Fathers. Children. Hopewood set himself up as judge and executioner. He won’t stop while he lives.”

  Elijah took a deep breath and acknowledged the truth of what Nieko said. Hopewood was evil and this was justice. “Let’s do it,” he said.

  He led them up the stairs, senses alert, ready to defend himself against anyone who might be waiting, but they reached the door of Hopewood’s apartment without incident.

  Once again, Elijah did his trick with the lock and eased the door open.

  He hadn’t been in Hopewood’s personal area when he’d been there training, but at first glance the layout of the room looked simple enough.

  Hopewood had Spartan tastes. The room they were in combined a living area with a basic kitchen—nothing more than a cooker, a sink and a couple of cupboards.

  Leading off this room was a single closed door. Beyond it had to be Hopewood’s sleeping quarters. The layout of the warehouse meant there couldn’t be more than this main room, a bedroom and, Elijah supposed, a miniscule bathroom.

  He signaled to the other two. They moved silently across the floor and took up positions beside the door. Elijah considered kicking it in with the dramatic flourish seen on television cop shows, but that would only serve to warn Hopewood, and stupidity would be rewarded with death.

  Instead he turned the door handle and pushed gently, hoping there’d be no betraying squeal of hinges. The door opened as silently as the grave. A small shudder raced down Elijah’s spine. Not the image he should be having at this moment.

  He walked in, Nieko and Eora close behind him. When he got to the bed he stepped aside. This was for the Dvalinn to do. It was their people Hopewood had murdered. Vengeance belonged to them by moral right.

  He waited. No one spoke.

  Then Nieko bent down and shook Hopewood awake.

  “What are you doing?” Elijah gasped.

  Hopewood opened his eyes and looked blearily up at them. He didn’t start up or seem surprised. “Mr. Denton, your unwelcome presence suggests you failed the simple task I set,” he said. “Not only are you alive, but the presence of these two vermin indicates the Dvalinn, too, still live. How disappointing.”

  “We are here to carry out justice,” Eora said.

  “Justice for what? There has been no crime,” Hopewood said. “The Dvalinn are a pestilence. I do humanity a service”

  “You’re wrong,” Elijah shouted. “You lied to me! The Dvalinn are good people. Honorable. Better than you.”

  “You would say that, wouldn’t you?’ Hopewood replied. “After all, you’re half-Dvalinn yourself.”

  “You knew?” The words escaped Elijah in a soft whisper.

  “Of course I knew. That’s why I targeted you. Only someone of Dvalinn descent would be able to teleport. I’ve been searching for years. Ever since the last incompetents sent to destroy me failed.” He pushed himself up against the headboard of the bed. “My search engines picked up the news stories about you. Once I researched your background and accessed your birth records, I knew I’d found what I’d been looking for. I suspected your nameless father was a rogue Dvalinn, spending time on the surface, violating our women. Your mother must have discovered she had been seduced and impregnated by a nonhuman. How else can you explain the revulsion she so clearly felt for you?”

  “And yet you promised to make me rich. Trained me to achieve your goal.”

  “Oh, Mr. Denton. You can’t be that naive. Surely you realize by now that I never had any intention of letting you live to collect that money. You must admit I would have fulfilled my other promise. Had you died as you were supposed to, you would no longer have had the powers you found so troublesome.”

  “Why didn’t you kill this shit while he slept?” Elijah snarled. “Do it now.”

  “He has a right to hear the sentence pronounced against him,” Nieko said. He turned to Hopewood. “In the name of the men and women and children you murdered, with the authority of the Dvalinn council, I condemn you to death.” He took a step forward.

  “If I’m going to die, I want do it on my feet,” Hopewood said. “Not cowering in my bed.”

  “You didn’t accord our people the same privilege,” Nieko replied. “But the Dvalinn are more compassionate than you have ever been. Get up.”

  Hopewood pushed himself out of bed. He stood there unsteadily, his skinny legs and knobby knees looking pathetic. He was a murderer, Elijah reminded himself. No matter how weak he looked now, he had committed vile acts and had intended to use Elijah to commit more.

  Hopewood suddenly swayed and collapsed to the floor. Before any of the onlookers had time to catch him, he rolled. Elijah felt a sharp sting in his chest. He looked down to where a patch of red flowered on his shirt. A wave of pain hit him and the world went black.

  Nieko felt Elijah’s pain with the force of a rockfall, then nothing. Hopewood had shot him! They should have burned the monster from existence while he slept.

  With a roar, Nieko reached for the fireball in his pocket. His fingers closed around it and he began to squeeze. But for the first time the powder did not yield to the pressure. He fought desperately to initiate the chemical reaction but his hands refused to obey. They formed hollow claws, fingertip to fingertip. The fireball, safe and inert, dropped and rolled away.

  His muscles contracted. He swayed, unable to balance, his whole body racked with searing agony. He tried to take a step and his legs collapsed beneath him. He fell and lay contorted and motionless.

  The pain felt as if he were being ripped apart, fiber by fiber. From the corner of his eye he saw Eora on her back on the floor, her hips arched up in a grotesque parody of sexual pleasure, her mouth twisted, her eyes wide.

  “Denton is dead—now it’s your turn.” Hopewood’s dry, rasping voice seemed to come from miles away. “Did you imagine I would let myself be beaten by such disgusting creatures?”

  Hopewood’s bare feet shuffled into view. The man stood over him and lifted his hands to show Nieko the two objects he held. “I always have a gun and a portable radiation generator clipped to the side of the bed. You creatures are so unintelligent. You didn’t even attempt to search for weapons. It will be a pleasure to rid the world of you.”

  He bent down and emptied Nieko’s pockets of the last of the fireballs, tossing them aside. “You won’t be able to use these, but unlike you foul creatures, I don’t take foolish risks.”

  A feral grimace stretched across his lined face. He turned a knob on the little black box in his hand. “I’m backing off the power a little. Not enough to present any risk to me, but I want to hear your screams. I do hope you enjoy your pain as much as I will.”

  The clamp gripping Nieko’s muscles eased. He found he could flex his jaw, move his lips and tongue. Pain ripped at him but he refused to make a sound. No matter what happened he would not give this bastard the satisfaction.

  Eora whimpered. Hopewood moved nearer to her. “Did you say something, my dear? If they were last words, you really should have tried for something more articulate and more profound. No one is going to want to record a mere whimper for posterity.” He laughed, a cruel huff of a sound. “Silly me. There isn’t going to be a Dvalinn left to record anything.”

  Eora pursed her lips and spat. The wet droplets landed in an ineffectual blob on his bare toes.

  “You filthy cow!” Hopewood screamed. He lashed out, kicking Eora in the temple, snapping her neck sideways. Her eyes closed and she lay motionless.

  “Bitch. That hurt.” Hopewood wiped his foot on her shirt. “I hope you’re not dead. I want you to feel much more pain. Wake up!” He straightened and looked at Nieko. “While I’m waiting, I can have fun with this one.” He moved from one foot to the other. “After I’ve been to the bathroom.” His lip curled. “It’s not that I object to pissing on
you, scum, but I wouldn’t want to run the risk of damaging my valuable electrical equipment. I’d happily shit on your grave if you had one.”

  He disappeared into the next room.

  Across the room, Nieko heard Eora moan. Her eyes stayed closed and she didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Hopewood’s sadistic machine held his beautiful, feisty Eora locked in place, suffering unimaginable torture with no way of escape except into the oblivion of death.

  Nieko’s hands clawed and curled. Hatred rose like an acid fountain, so strong for a moment that he failed to understand what was happening. He could move. The field Hopewood had generated with the battery-powered device wasn’t strong enough to hold him. If he could move his hands, he could stand. If he could stand, he could kill Hopewood. He flexed his biceps. The movement felt like shards of glass slicing him but he ignored the pain.

  He didn’t know how long he had. If he could reach Eora he might be able to use her fireballs, but she was across the room in the opposite direction to Hopewood’s bathroom. By the time Nieko got to her, found the chemicals, worked out whether he had sufficient power in his hands to compress them and enough control of his muscles to aim the projectiles accurately, it would be too late.

  He slumped back, then lifted his head to look around. There had to be something he could do. He refused to die without a fight.

  Metal glittered on the floor next to Elijah. The knife! Human weapons weakened the Dvalinn to the point of death but the knife still clutched in Elijah’s hand was the one hope he had left. He was going to die anyway. He would take Hopewood with him and save Eora.

  He tried to push up to his feet but he didn’t have the strength, so he crawled the short distance to where Elijah’s body lay sprawled facedown in a pool of blood.

  Tears and sweat ran down his face but he ignored them. If there was an afterlife he would meet Elijah there. But not until he had avenged his death. Not until he had saved Eora.