Cheyenne jolted, her eyes narrowed behind the single clear lens of her mask. She pushed off him and stood, then pulled him up beside her.
Bullets sliced through the smoke. A dozen struck at Roan, glancing off the thin layer of energy he'd cast to shield himself. Cheyenne ducked, missing the bullet to her head. The sound of JK00s eating through magazines was loud and close. Most of the shots concentrated on anything that could move. The soldiers not only attacked through the smokescreen, they could see well enough to hit targets with increasing accuracy. Likely getting help from the heli.
Before he could take a breath, one bullet threatened to penetrate Roan's energy shield and drive a hole through his collarbone.
His shield wouldn't hold out the entire fight. It would fail sooner than he'd hoped.
Roan leaned down, pulling Cheyenne back before raising his gun. "Shoot as you move and keep down. Fan it out until you can see them then pick them off. Beware of guts."
"What are you—" she started.
The rest of her words disappeared in the noise of the shots Roan fired into the smoke. More than one agonized scream sounded, cut off suddenly, followed by hollers to find cover. Fleshy debris punctured the smoke. From the sky, blood drops stained his shirt.
Before Cheyenne could say anything more, he hurried in the opposite direction. He didn't have time to explain. They'd expected the military would suspect something, but he also expected Jace to stay near him. The protective field around Jace wouldn't last long if Roan and Jace were too far apart. Roan was already drained, enough to contemplate dropping his shield completely to stabilize Jace's.
"Damn it, Roan. Would you get out of my line?"
Roan spun towards Jace, a blur of black and brown until Jace hauled Roan to his side.
"Now let me—" Jace fired on soldiers rushing through the smoke. Their bullets bounced off the protective field around Jace before dropping to the ground.
Roan shot as he fell back with Jace, aiming for the weak points in the soldiers' gear. More than one man took a bullet to the neck. Three more caught a bullet in the face. A couple more received holes in their joints.
And yet they all blow to bits just the same. Roan glanced at the blood on his hands from the spurts of warm red rain and fell back, trying not to stare at the chunks of muscle and shattered bones littering the ground and their clothes. This wasn't anything to be proud of, no matter why they fought. It would take days before he'd stop feeling the dead on him.
He eyed Jace. If Jace was disgusted, Roan couldn't see any indication. While Roan wanted to believe it was a good thing, he worried what it really meant for Jace's conscience.
"Down!" Dali commanded from behind Roan.
Jace and Roan ducked. A grenade launched over them, sailing through the smokescreen.
The explosion roared. Soldiers yelled. Metal smashed. The grey haze danced and swirled, flashing a vivid purple hue before the counteracting magic devoured the smoke, revealing crisp, clear air.
It was as if the smokescreen had never existed, except for the overturned truck engulfed in flames and fragmented bodies.
Dali and Seth rushed to Jace and Roan's sides, grenade launchers perched on their shoulders.
"Nice grenades, Roan," Seth said, shifting the weight on his shoulder. "Remind me to thank you." He pulled the trigger, launching a grenade towards another truck. Soldiers swerved out of the way. The grenade hit the truck's grill and exploded, launching the truck's frame into a roll and leveling nearby soldiers.
The soldiers in the destroyed field fired, ducking the shots from clan fighters. Around them, another wave of soldiers assembled, fanning out to attack the settlement from other directions. Clan fighters rushed around Roan and Jace, taking on the soldiers and forcing Jace backwards. Just as he turned his head, Roan saw Dixon collapse. Dixon yelled and continued shooting despite bleeding from the knee.
Looking at Gin, Roan saw the way she grit her teeth and favoured her wounded shoulder. Keho… Roan couldn't see him, and Cheyenne was on her knees, still shooting, although she wobbled sideways. Around the camp, other clan fighters lay on the ground, unmoving. Only some of them remained in one piece.
It confirmed his suspicion that the military had enlisted a Ven for the fight. Unfortunately, they're not stupid, and that's what's always made them so dangerous. You don't bring a bullet to a magic fight.
Where was the Ven hiding?
"Everybody, scatter!" Baret bellowed before pulling Jace towards the edge of the settlement.
Roan followed, catching Baret's gesture to the sky.
The earth shook. A roar deafened him. Roan flew forward, pushed by the explosion in the settlement. Around him, others hit the ground with groans, surrounded by tumbling possessions. Rolling away, Roan stopped and looked back. Dirt pummeled the ground; charred fabric flapped in the breeze. The tents in the area where he and Jace had stood were destroyed. In their stead was a small crater.
Bomb from the heli. Roan scrambled to stand and secured his mask. His face hurt from where he'd landed, jamming the mask into his skin. Really hoping this thing isn't cracked. While he couldn't see any gasses erupting from the crater, he still couldn't take chances. To his relief, Jace's mask appeared intact.
"Take it down. Shoot it with everything you've got!" Baret ordered, jumping up and waving his hand.
Seth and Dali jumped up. Without hesitation, they fired a grenade at the helicopter. Around them, other clan Teach fighters shot with the rifles Roan had modified.
Every bullet ricocheted. The grenades bounced off the helicopter. They fell and exploded on the ground, knocking soldiers and clan fighters aside.
Roan felt the blood drain from his face. A protection spell, it has to be. And we might just be screwed. But wait…
The helicopter was shielded, but the trucks were destructible.
Since when? No Ven shields a goddamn heli and not the freaking trucks. Who do they have working this? Some newb? Or are they purposely baiting us with one so they can waste us from a central point overhead? Distraction? Whose plan is this? What kind of sick coward—
"Hey, baby, give us a look at that gorgeous face," someone shouted from across the field.
Silence fell in a sudden ceasefire.
Roan's skin crawled, the tingling sensation reminding him of beetles scurrying over his muscles and hitching rides in his bloodstream. He knew the smooth, feminine voice marred by the occasional grating tone.
Sheyla.
The throbbing pain in his brain stuttered before delivering a blow that weakened his joints. Roan gripped his head, sucking in a tortured breath.
The energy shield protecting him shattered like invisible glass. The more he grappled to piece it back together, the more it slipped away, jerking on the threads of energy connecting him to Jace.
Any second, Jace's shield would fail.
He was out of time. Whatever happened now was sheer, dumb luck.
Jaws clenched, Roan straightened. He couldn't let anyone know. Aiming his rifle at Sheyla's heart, he walked towards her as she maneuvered through the decimated field. Her dark, curly hair hung loose, hiding the tattoo on her face.
Despite the black uniform that matched what she'd worn the day he abandoned her, she couldn't have been any more different.
The irises and whites of her eyes were solid black, sunken in her ash-coloured skin. Her steps were sure and taut, her gait predatory. As clan fighters shot at her in unison, she raised both hands and deflected their assault. The sneer at her dull pink lips deepened, but she didn't reach for the gun hanging over her shoulder. Beneath the fluid movement of her defense was a silent warning of impending rampage.
She wanted blood.
Roan slowed his steps. He remembered being like her. The drugs the doctors had put him on more than once had turned him into a lunatic, killing anything in sight. Those days, he'd seen the world in shades of red and grey, the rest of the colour spectrum torn from his mind. He'd been a bitch to take down, filled with rage and
recklessly dispensing death. That's when they'd discovered the flaws in Roan's immunity. His "allergies", the doctors had joked. Cryptic alphanumeric codes and lists in bright red, capitalized font had been entered into his medical and military files, explicitly expressing that he could never receive particular cocktails—unless the end game was a complete bloodbath, taking out comrades and enemies alike.
Now, Sheyla was the lunatic on kill mode, lucid and dangerous with aggression in overdrive. Beneath her poised frame, she'd feel as if her muscles twisted and knotted over themselves a hundred times, pulling her organs in multiple directions and stretching every nerve. The electrical signals to her brain would be intense, firing hundreds of chaotic messages, blinding her to reason. Stretching wouldn't solve it. Bandages and warm compresses wouldn't relieve it. There were only two ways out for her: allow the drugs to wear off or kill her.
If she didn't kill everyone first.
"You hollering at me?" Roan met her on the edge of the field, standing in front of her to cut off her ability to see the others in the settlement. She needed to focus on him. The clansmen wouldn't know the first thing about handling her.
At this point, he couldn't handle her, either. The list of his alternatives waned. Thirty seconds in a fight with her would end him. The one thing working for him was remembering what it was like being in her position.
"No, sexy beast," Sheyla cooed, licking her upper teeth. "Talking to your man over there. The one you're trying so hard to protect. As if I couldn't tell. Been feelin' it like a firecracker."
She pushed past Roan and rushed towards Jace.
No, don't you dare. I have to—
"Sheyla!" Roan ripped off his mask. "Get your ass back here. I'm not done with you."
Sheyla spun around, flicking her middle fingers at him.
When she whirled back towards Jace, Roan threw down his rifle and mask. Saying nothing, he charged at her.
He tackled her from behind, driving her to the ground with all his weight. Sheyla groaned and cursed, clawing at the blood-dampened ground. Grinding one knee into her lower spine, he slammed his palm against her neck. Sheyla yelped and writhed, trying to hit him off her. Roan rammed her wrists to the ground, his grasp tight enough to snap bones.
"You're after me," he said hoarsely, "so come and get me."
Roan scrambled to stand. "Unless you're chicken." He beckoned with both hands, taking large strides backwards towards the other end of the camp where several tents remained standing. If he could lead her to them, she'd be away from the majority of the clansmen. They could fight without interruption. She'd get just him, and he'd hurt only her. No one would get in the crossfire.
And Jace wouldn't see her kill him.
"Come on, let's have some fun. Or are you not Ven enough?" Roan sneered, laughing at her flared nostrils and clenched hands. "Maybe you're just a freaky little sock puppet they're hanging out to dry before they toast your ass. Considering the last time you were crying like a freaking baby. Maybe that's all you're good for, rolling around in the dirt like a stupid little slu—"
Sheyla launched at him, her stained fingers reaching for his throat, a faint amber glow emanating from her palms.
He ran before she touched him. Shots rang out behind them as Sheyla followed him towards the tents. What the clan and military did now wasn't his business. This was a one-way trip to whatever afterlife wanted his pathetic existence. At least he wouldn't go alone, assuming he could tap into the last shred of magic he had, buried deep within. Except it required absolute focus—a luxury Sheyla wouldn't offer.
The air smelt of fire and rotten eggs. The thick odour of carbon and sulphur laced with the rancid stench of chemicals burnt Roan's throat and nose. They weaved around the fire pits and haphazardly scattered possessions, kicking over poles and buckets as he led her behind the tents. Sheyla's heaving breaths filled his ears, drowning the screams of wounded men. She was almost on top of him.
The second he faced her, Sheyla struck his knees with her weapon.
Roan hit the ground. Rolling onto his back, he aimed his pistol at her neck, bracing his body for another hit. "Think carefully."
The amber glow enveloping Sheyla's hand brightened as she stopped at his feet. Threads of yellow and orange light tangled around her fingers. The longer she stared at him, silent and stoic, the thicker and more chaotic the threads became. Rage didn't show on her paled face, but she trembled, her control wavering. She sipped breaths between clenched teeth and growled. Her stark black eyes lacked everything he recognized as human.
"Cute," she murmured, aiming her gun at him. The sleek grenade launcher glimmered in the sunlight, its grey barrel pierced with shining amber, yellow, and orange flecks fueled by her magic. "Recognize this?"
Roan clutched the pistol grip tighter. So this is how I'm going out. God, this is gonna hurt. I helped design that motherfucker. He'd believed the scientists when they'd told him they'd discontinued the program to make the launcher. The military wanted weapons designed specifically for the Vens. Guns, launchers, bombs—anything a Ven could key to their individual magic and become the sole user of. Such weapons were useless to anyone else. They were also more effective than other guns by at least ten fold.
But failed tests had soiled the launcher project, making the scientists' efforts questionable, forcing them to shut the program down… or so the project manager had calmly explained before locking Roan out of the laboratories.
And I conveniently neglected to mention I'd sabotaged the tests with the other three suckers they roped in. Looks like the last laugh's on me. They kindly forgot to mention they never cut the program. Just straight-up lied and kicked my ass out. Screw you, karma.
"Face it, babe, you're toast." Sheyla's fingers teased the trigger. "You're weak, running on fumes, and you're slipping. You ran instead of taking me down, just like one of them. Not long now before you're useless to everyone. Look at you. You've got a gun to my head when your hands should be choking me out. With one finger, I can waste you, no gun needed."
"Just do it!" Roan dug inside for the energy to strike her. One solid jab of magic between her eyes could disorient her then he'd shoot her frontal lobe. If he aimed for the launcher, the weapon could backfire and scramble her mental state enough to short-circuit her nervous system. He had to have enough energy for one blast, even if it meant frying brain cells to squeeze out one last ounce of magic… "Go on. Don't waste time like some common fucktard."
"Why, when I can do what I actually came for?"
In one graceful move, Sheyla pointed the launcher upwards and fired. The brilliantly lit grenade soared high into the bright blue sky.
The helicopter exploded on impact, disappearing in a dense red cloud. Shards of flaming metal and partially incinerated people plummeted. On the other side of the tents, men yelled orders to take cover.
Roan froze, his muscles locked. All he could do was gape while his mind reeled to make sense of the wreckage.
Sheyla smiled, resting the launcher against her shoulder. "Well damn, that's a whole new barbeque. This baby's way better than they said it'd be."
"What kind of sick game are you running?" Roan demanded, applying a small amount of pressure to his gun's trigger. He could shoot her now. One squeeze, magic or no, and she wouldn't be a problem any longer.
Why couldn't he will himself to put the bullet in her face?
"Relax." Sheyla sighed, eyeing his pistol. "And put that thing away before you hurt someone." She pointed at the charcoal-grey smoke and red cloud swirling where the helicopter had been. "Who do you think put the protection spell on the heli? I'm the only one who could breach it." Her hand shook as she reached down. "Get your ass up. We've got work to do."
Roan shimmied away from her. "Don't try that crap on me."
"Roan," Sheyla warned, "don't go trippin' on me. I've got things to do, and I need the assist. You don't got much, but I could use the united front."
"For what? You're a governtary whore. What makes you t
hink I'd—"
"Because I'm on your side." Sheyla yanked him up by the forearm. Gripping his collar in one hand, she pulled him close. "Because I want to get away. Teach didn't turn your ass in. They're fighting for it, instead. I'm just hoping maybe they'll spare me a little bit of that compassion. I'll kill for it if I have to. I'll level every single one of these military turds just to earn a piece of Teach's empathy. Or pity. Or I'll be their slave. I'm not picky—I'm desperate."
Sheyla shoved him back. "I need saving, and this is my only chance. I'm losing my freaking mind. If your clan won't give me refuge or amnesty, they can kill me for all I care. Dying at Teach's hands is better than going back to Mires." She spat on the ground. "I don't have family. No one to go back to or save; no one to miss me. So if I die, that's it. But I'd rather be a clan's burning witch than the governtary's pet. They're killing my soul. And I've already started losing memories. I can't even remember my mother's freaking maiden name, or if I celebrated my eighth birthday with corpses."
Memories. He'd lost enough of those, himself. Her current state would destroy more. After the rage dissipated, not only would her brain feel too big for her skull, she'd remember less. But she'd always recall what she did during the rage.
It would never be a fair trade.
Still…
Roan jabbed the muzzle of his pistol against her sternum. "Why are you here, then? You could've killed them already."
"Yeah, and make myself suffer for the trouble? Don't think I didn't consider it." Sheyla snorted. "I wanted to be in more neutral territory. If I'd done it in the army facilities, they'd torture me forever and I'd never leave Mires again. No, Teach is my one chance out. They've got you. I'm gambling on that."
"What makes you think I've got any means to help you?"
Sheyla withdrew a red vial from beneath her shirt and slipped it into the inside pocket of his vest. "Consider it a down payment on freedom. The stupid twits forgot I was a decent thief before they hauled me in. Also forgot I have ears. Imagine that, one of their precious antidotes taking a walk." She patted his chest. "Your man needs it, though he's looking pretty good for someone who's supposed to be dying. I'd ask what you did, but it'll take too long. And my headache is about to eat my skull. So what do you think? Time to take out the trash and call it a day?"
For the Clan Page 18
