Cipher sa-4

by Moira Rogers

  Kat concentrated on the people around them. Pain flickered from the dead and dying, but none of the gravely injured were their own. The interlopers were mostly fear and nerves now, with one pulsing light of rage barreling toward them from the direction of the road.

  “One coming in behind you,” she told Andrew, surprised at how steady her voice sounded. How cold.

  “And he’s mad.”

  “Good,” he growled. “So am I.”

  The man broke free of the trees, and Kat got the second shock of the evening. If she hadn’t seen Gilbert, the features would have been naggingly familiar, the sort of echo that might keep her up at night wondering where she’d met him before. But there was no mistaking him here, now, as the anger inside him twisted up his face when he caught sight of her.

  He’d attacked her before, smashed her head into a car before she’d rammed her stun gun into his side and left him unconscious on the side of the road with a self-reliance that had given her back a bit of her own pride.

  Clearly he hadn’t forgotten. Neither had Andrew, who scooped up the shovel and launched himself past the fray with a roar.

  The man dodged his first swing and grabbed the shovel, snapping off the business end with a vicious jerk. Undaunted, Andrew swung the handle up and slammed the shifter across the side of the head.

  A soft pop and a laugh had Kat spinning again, her gun swinging up. Gilbert grinned at her. “Try to pull the trigger before I disappear again. How many shots will you get out here before someone calls the cops?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Patrick spin and lift his arm. His weapons were silent, but the movement of her eyes must have been enough warning. Gilbert disappeared again, and the bullet dug into a tree a few feet past where he’d been standing.

  Another growl jerked her attention back to Andrew, who dropped his opponent with one last blow. The remains of the shovel handle disintegrated in his grip, and he tossed the shards aside and bent low. “Get up. No cage to save your ass now, so you get up and fight me.”

  A snarl. The shifter twisted his head, gaze sliding over the small clearing. All of his allies were down.

  Anna, Miguel and Julio stood as wolves, tensed and ready. Patrick had his feet braced on either side of the unearthed box and both guns up.

  No rescue, not unless Gilbert popped in and out again. Sudden desperation spiked through Kat hard enough to force a gasp from her lips, leaving her breathless. “Andrew, look—” The shifter lunged upwards. Not at Andrew.

  At her.

  He didn’t make it off the grass. Andrew hit him, over and over, until Julio—who had regained his human form and gotten half-dressed at some point—stilled his arm.

  Before Kat could draw another breath, magic popped and an arm materialized around her throat.

  Everyone froze.

  Gilbert’s hoarse command stirred her hair. Stirred her rage. “Nice and easy, guys. Hand it over, no tricks, or I’ll disappear with her.”

  He’d disappear with her either way. She’d seen her own face in those files, had read every nauseating word over Patrick’s protests. They’d slap the collar around her throat and aim her at the nearest opposition. She could start riots, burn out minds, force pain and rage and fear on anyone they needed subdued.

  She could kill, which was what Gilbert never should have forgotten. Everyone else was dead, everyone who wasn’t one of hers. And she knew what she was doing this time, thanks to Carmen’s careful explanation. She brought them all into her shields effortlessly, too easily, so easily it was dangerous, and she didn’t care. She gathered them to her like picking up stones from the beach, even Miguel, who could have fought but didn’t.

  She clutched them to her. Anna, who was so tough but so brittle, like she might shatter if you hit her in the wrong spot. Patrick, whose confidence defied arrogance—he had nothing to prove, except he wanted to prove everything when he looked at Anna. Julio and his sturdy strength, like a deeply rooted tree, unshakable, and Miguel who trembled with the need to fight-kill-rip-tear.

  Andrew. She pulled him the closest, cradled him against her and ached at his weariness, at his fear, and yet even tired and scared, Andrew was the one who burned the brightest, with a rage that could break open and devour the man who held her.

  They were all imperfect, and beautiful and, for one shining moment, Kat loved them all.

  Then she let go, crashing into Gilbert’s mind with all the rage inside her, fed by the helpless fury of the minds wrapped safely within her own.

  He didn’t make a sound. He didn’t release her either, not quite, just shook, a fine tremor that bloomed into violent trembling as he dragged in one shaky breath after another. His pain echoed through her, terror so blinding she felt like the cruelest kind of sadist when satisfaction twisted in her gut.

  Not enough to make her stop. Not until Gilbert fell, his body jerking in fits and starts, his eyes wide open and unseeing. Only then did she ease back, letting the power drift away like smoke after snuffing a candle.

  Kat couldn’t look at Andrew. She didn’t want to look at anyone. Gilbert twitched helplessly on the ground, a husk of a body with a mind that would never be whole again. Dead, except for the technicalities.

  “Patrick, could I use your gun? Mine’s too loud.”

  Silence, until Andrew rasped, “Give her the gun or do it yourself, McNamara.”

  Patrick moved toward her. Wary, slow, his eyes filled with worry and, almost worse, a quiet assessment. Alec had done that endlessly in the first days after she’d shredded through Andrew’s attackers. Watched her the same way he’d watched Julio upon his arrival, studying him for strengths and weaknesses, quantifying his usefulness—and his danger.

  Living through it once had been enough. Kat quietly slipped the others free of her shields and retreated into herself until she’d have time to rebuild them properly. Then she held out a hand.

  “Kat…” Patrick almost sounded pained. “You don’t have to—”

  “I already did.” She kept her hand out until Patrick reluctantly handed over one of his guns. Letting him finish what she’d started wouldn’t wash the blood from her hands. Nothing would.

  No, this she deserved to feel. Every gut-wrenching moment of it, a suitable punishment—and a necessary reminder.

  So she took careful aim and ended Gilbert’s suffering with a bullet between the eyes.

  The gun didn’t make a sound. Neither did Gilbert’s head, really, or if it did, she couldn’t hear it over the pounding in her ears. It seemed wrong, somehow, like a human life shouldn’t be that easily extinguished. It should be louder. More horrifying.

  God, it was quiet. So quiet that Kat wanted to hug Anna when she spoke, if only for breaking the silence. “I know a guy, a cleaner. I can call him.”

  “The party might not be over,” Miguel interjected. “There was someone else in the woods. A lookout, I guess. Definitely not really there.”

  Andrew sighed wearily. “Astral projection?”

  “That’d be my guess.”

  “Then we need to get gone.” He rose to his full height. “Kat and I will take the collar and head back.

  Can the rest of you stay until Anna’s guy shows up to take care of the mess?”

  No one protested. Patrick took his gun back with a shallow smile and tucked it into its holster, then turned to say something to Anna, as if the matter was already settled. Maybe they all had faith that she and Andrew could handle any threat.

  Maybe none of them wanted to climb into a car with her.

  Kat pushed the thought away and moved to retrieve the box. With the metal lid torn, it was easy to open, to lift the collar and charm and clutch them in her numb fingers. Adrenaline had faded, leaving the night chilly for a shapeshifter and damn near freezing for her. “I’m ready to go,” she told Andrew, unwilling to lift her gaze higher than his chin.

  He didn’t speak. Instead, he picked her up and walked toward the SUV.

  It was stupid, and weak, and
she let him do it. She let him do it because it gave her the chance to close her eyes and rebuild her mental protections. Andrew was there, his faint relief drowned in worry, but she resisted the urge to build her shields around him. To cling to him as a distraction from her own thoughts.

  She wrapped herself in layer after layer of icy steel, until her fortifications were solid. Until her mind was her own.

  Not a pretty place to be. Gilbert’s last seconds replayed over and over again, the terror in his animal noises, the utter vacancy of his eyes. She knew suffering. She’d felt it a hundred times, a thousand times, all the ways humans could hurt themselves and each other. With all the pain in the world, the last thing she should do was add to it.

  But she’d made her choice. Not the first time, either. The last time had been to protect Andrew, and the aftermath felt burned into the back of her eyes in jolting, overlapping memories. Nick driving her away from the city. Jackson trying to talk her down. Andrew’s blood had been everywhere, on her dress, in her hair.

  Last time, he’d damn near died under her hands. This time he was whole. Strong and unshaken. So she found it painfully amusing that her body reacted in the same way. When Andrew set her down, she barely had time to shove the collar into his hands before she staggered two steps away and threw up everything she’d eaten that day.

  At least she hadn’t puked on Anna’s pretty silver sports car.

  Chapter Twelve

  He’d almost gotten her killed.

  No, that wasn’t fair or quite right. It wasn’t strictly his fault she’d almost been kidnapped, stolen away to serve whatever heinous uses this goddamned cult had dreamed up. Not his fault, but he was responsible.

  It probably wasn’t what Alec had in mind when he’d told him to step up to the plate.

  Andrew kept his attention strictly on the road. He had to make sure they weren’t followed, that they had a fighting chance of making it to Michelle before the cult caught up with them. But driving in silence afforded him the advantage of hiding—his fear, worry and, most of all, his self-recrimination. Kat wouldn’t have it. She’d chalk it up to guilt and tell him to knock it off.

  Maybe someday he would.

  The drive back to New Orleans was desolate, a never-ending exchange of one two-lane road after another, followed by interminable stretches of interstate. Through it all, he pushed down worry in favor of focus. There’d never been anything he couldn’t do if he tried hard enough, and this was one more thing on the list: keep Kat safe and destroy the collar. He could do it because he had to, because the alternatives were unthinkable.

  He headed home, toward the building he shared with Julio, the official base of their council operations now. Home was also work, though it still seemed odd to think of it that way.

  No wonder he’d let the alpha-bastard shit take over his life.

  He drove slowly down the street toward the building, hesitating when he saw a familiar truck. “Are Jackson and Mac back in town?”

  “No, they’re still in Colo—shit.” She sat up straighter and smoothed a nervous hand over her hair.

  “Alec called Jackson. He must have.”

  “The question is when.” Not that it mattered, and this was a million times better anyway. “You think Jackson can get rid of this thing for us?”

  “Maybe.” Her smile looked tired and feeble. “After he’s done yelling at me for not calling him.”

  “Yelling at us, you mean.”

  “He might take pity on you, mostly because Mackenzie won’t.” Kat shot Andrew a look that was almost sympathetic as she reached for the door handle. “Manly shapeshifters who don’t ask for help make her cranky.”

  As it turned out, they both looked cranky. When Andrew and Kat walked in, Jackson met them near the door with his arms crossed over his chest. “You two having a nice night?”

  Kat’s spine stiffened as a shred of life returned to her otherwise exhausted face. “Swell. I thought you were still out west.”

  “We were, until we got wind of a crazy party no one bothered to invite us to.”

  “There wasn’t time.” Though the truth of the words was undeniable, Andrew couldn’t keep the apology from his voice. “God knows, we could have used you out there.”

  Some of Jackson’s anger faded into obvious concern. “What’s going on? You may as well tell me.”

  So Kat did, laying it out without embellishment or emotion, though she seemed willing enough to gloss over the fact that she’d been shot. Throughout the explanation, Mackenzie’s gaze kept flicking to Andrew, her face growing increasingly worried with every word.

  When Kat finished, Jackson ground his teeth and shook his head. “I don’t even have time to yell at you.

  We need to destroy that stuff now.”

  “Here?” Mackenzie asked. “Or do you need supplies? Or backup?”

  “Have to poke at it to be sure.” He took the collar and charm from Kat and turned them over in his hands. “If it has protections, I might need Mariko’s help. Together, we could short those out. The likelier scenario is that no one ever bothered with that because they didn’t anticipate anyone wanting to destroy it.” He huffed out a sigh. “We wizards are a damn self-important lot.”

  “I’ll get anyone you need,” Andrew whispered. Just so long as it got done.

  Mackenzie touched her husband’s shoulder. “So go poke at it. We’ll be right here, and we’ll track down whatever or whoever you need.”

  He headed off toward the converted—and warded—supply closet in the corner of the warehouse, and Andrew faced Mackenzie with his best grim look. “Hit me with it, Brooks. I can take it.”

  Mackenzie didn’t look away from him. “Kat? You want to go help Jackson?”

  She looked like she wanted to flee, but she held her ground. “Andrew?”

  There were so many things he needed to say and ask, and no fucking time. “It’s okay, sweetheart.

  Mackenzie likes me. She’ll probably only mostly kill me.”

  It made her laugh, even if it was choked and died after a startled moment of sound. “Well, as long as you’re only mostly dead… I’ll be with Jackson.”

  When she was gone, Mackenzie raised both eyebrows. “If I were you, I’d have her in the supernatural version of witness protection by now, and I’m not even suffering from testosterone poisoning. Whatever this thing is—” She waved her hand, taking him in from head to foot. “I’m not buying it. What gives?”

  “I can’t shuffle her off like that without me,” he answered as he made his way over to the refrigerator in the corner. “After I get this taken care of, sure. Until then…”

  “Wolves.” She shook her head. “You never just grab your people and run. You’ve got to save the world on your way.”

  “Comes with the territory.” He cracked open a soda and snorted. “Literally.”

  “Jackson’s my territory. That’s the long and short of it. And Kat…” She trailed off. “Shit, Andrew, there’s nothing I can say there that’s a damn bit of my business. But Jackson loves her like she’s his baby sister, and I’ve seen how wrecked she’s been. Just tell me you know what you’re up against.”

  He’d thought he had a handle on it for the first time since waking up at Alec’s, shivering and overloaded on scents and sounds he didn’t understand. He and Kat were finally communicating, getting close to figuring out what the hell they were going to do to move beyond it, and now…

  Now they could be starting all over again, square one, because Kat had had to do it again—use the empathy she thought of as nothing more than a burden as a lethal weapon.

  So he told Mackenzie the truth. “I don’t know. I thought so, but I don’t know.”

  Sympathy filled her eyes. “Honestly? She’s surrounded by overprotective badasses. I think maybe she’s trying to prove she’s an adult by turning herself into one, even if it breaks her.”

  If it were as simple as that, it’d be easy to deal with. “It’s not about proving it to other p
eople, Mac.

  It’s about her.”

  “And what about you?” Mackenzie hopped up onto the counter and crossed her legs, the pose deceptively casual when her energy pulsed with what she was—a cat deciding if she wanted to pounce.

  “You were an architect when I met you. Now you make Rambo look like a weenie.”

  “For your information, I was a badass architect. Not that much has changed.” A lie, but just a tiny one.

  “Guns and fighting, that’s all. I probably needed to learn it anyway.”

  “Uh-huh. And I saw what you did with it.” She gestured, taking in the building around them. “You’re doing good, you know. When I found out what I was, Jackson had to explain the shapeshifter world to me.

  And it scared me worse than knowing there was a crazy Seer out to get me, because it was pretty damn hopeless. You’re changing that. Maybe not for cougars and lions and coyotes…but it’s a start.”

  She was saying the sorts of things that always made him uncomfortable, and Andrew fought not to fidget. “I’m doing what Alec asked me to do. It’s not exactly heroic.”

  “Tell that to the people who have new clinics in their cities. Alec can only get his work done because no one dares screw with him while you’re watching his back.”

  “Maybe, but all that makes me is good backup.” Which was just fine with him.

  “Tell me again why Kat’s not in a bomb shelter somewhere?”

  “Because I’m not letting her out of my sight. Try to keep up, Mac.”

  She flipped him her middle finger with a cheerful grin. “Why aren’t both of you in a bomb shelter somewhere, smartass?”

  No matter what, it kept circling around to that question, and you either got the answer or you didn’t.

  Until the night he’d almost died, he hadn’t. Now, he couldn’t imagine blowing off the responsibility, even if it meant sacrificing his own wants. He wasn’t the first, and he hoped he wouldn’t be the last.

  The crowd at Mahalia’s was typical for a Wednesday night. Led Zeppelin spilled out of the jukebox, almost drowning out the drone of chatter and the clack of pool balls. Andrew scanned the room and spotted Julio and Anna by one of the pool tables. “Over there,” he said, low in Kat’s ear.