by Carol Roi
"And I want you to know I love you... and I want you to promise me you'll come back to me." His free hand caressed her face, feeling the warmth of her tears against his skin.
"I promise," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him tenderly. Then she stepped back, drawing her knife from its sheath on her wrist. She paused, the tip of the blade held over her forefinger.
Blair held out his hand to her, knowing she wasn't asking for his participation in the ritual, but needing to give her something of himself to take with her into battle. He could hear the gasps from both Megan and Jim as the knife pricked his finger, blood rising from the small cut. Diandra guided his hand in drawing the ancient symbols, the sign for Athena, the Goddess of Righteous War on her forehead, and Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt on her right cheek. He moved his hand to her left cheek, but she stopped him with a small shake of her head.
"That one's mine, Lobo," she told him, slicing her finger and drawing the symbol for Death. "Now go."
Blair hugged her once more, then walked over to join Jim and Megan, grabbing the bow of the canoe and dragging it into the water. Megan climbed into the center seat and Jim into the rear, Blair turning toward the shore one last time, watching as Dee drew her katana with her right hand, and her wakizashi with her left. Crossing them above her head, an Amazon battle cry poured from her throat, then she headed for the trees.
Blair hopped the front of the canoe, picked up his paddle, and didn't look back.
Part 7
Moving with an easy grace through the underbrush, Diandra paused to get her bearings, and locate the objects of her hunt. There, a hundred yards or so to her left, was the heartbeat and rapid breathing of her quarry. Heading silently in that direction, she circled round, approaching the mercenary from behind. She studied him momentarily, taking in the assault rifle and body armor. The kevlar would deflect her swords if she chose to engage him in a prolonged battle. Better just to strike the killing blow and be done with it.
Stepping out of the trees behind him, she said, "Hey." He whirled on her, his finger squeezing the trigger, the shots firing harmlessly into the air as her kick knocked his arm aside, her backhanded sword stroke sliding smoothly through his neck.
Throwing her head back, she sang her thanks to Artemis, the moon goddess, shining brightly in the velvet sky. Then she melded with the shadows and disappeared into the forest.
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Megan jumped as the sound of gunfire reached her ears, rocking the canoe. "Take it easy, Megan," Blair said quietly. "Dee's fine."
She swallowed past the lump in her throat, and wrapped Dee's coat tighter around herself, shivering as an inhuman howl carried across the water. She saw Blair's back muscles tighten in front of her, and his paddle hesitated for a second before dipping into the water again. Reaching forward, she gave his shoulder a squeeze, then said, "Sandy?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you a question, if it's not too personal?"
He hesitated a moment, then said, "Sure."
"Those marks you and Dee painted on her face... what were they?"
Blair inhaled sharply; and she sensed he hadn't expected her to ask that. "They're kind of a summons, calling on the power of her Goddesses to help her. Athena, Goddess of War, on her forehead, Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt on her right cheek... "
"And on her left?"
Blair's answer was a soft hiss. "Death."
Shutting her eyes, Megan leaned her head in her hands, remembering the images of Diandra battling the slavers from her dream. Those men didn't stand a chance. Tears burned behind her closed eyelids as she fought back a wave of nausea. Sandy had to know what she was doing. How could he stand it, how could he love someone who could kill so easily, so casually?
"Chief?" Jim's tone was hesitant, as if he had no right to ask anything of his guide.
"Yeah, Jim?" Blair replied, a bone-deep weariness underlying those two words.
"What are the Amazon rules of war?"
Megan answered for him, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach increasing. "There are only two. Take no prisoners, and don't be taken prisoner."
"Oh," was all he said.
They were silent for a few minutes then, each of them straining to hear something, anything, that would let them know what was happening on the shore behind them.
The raw cry of rage and triumph came again. "Two down and three to go," Jim said under his breath, but both Megan and Blair heard his quiet words.
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Ah, this was much, much too easy. Diandra crouched on a low tree branch, waiting for her prey to come to her. She shook her head in disgust. They called themselves warriors... crashing through the brush, rushing toward her each time she let out a war cry, their modern weapons making them fearless. Charon would have a full boatload tonight.
The final two gang members passed underneath her hiding place, gagging in horror at the remains of their comrades. She dropped lightly to the ground behind them, making a clicking noise with her tongue to get their attention. Twin blades flashed through the air as they turned toward her, and the last of Cristo's men were vanquished.
She bit back her cry of victory this time, not wanting to spook Cristo into running. Sheathing her swords, she centered herself and listened, discarding the three heartbeats to the east, concentrating on the one closest to her. "Gotcha!" she whispered as she narrowed his position down to about a mile southwest of her. He was probably awaiting the return of his men at Simon's cabin. Her lips drawing back in a snarl, she headed into the woods once more.
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Blair lifted the paddle out of the water, moved it forward, dipped it in again, and pulled it back. He put every ounce of concentration into it, mind, body, soul, everything, so he wouldn't think about what had happened, what was happening.
He vaguely heard Jim say that Cristo was the only one left. He abruptly found it hard to breathe, but kept up the rhythm. Lift, move, dip, pull. This was his fault, all of it. His arms and shoulders ached from the unaccustomed exertion, but all he could feel was the pain in his heart. He'd told her he loved her, hadn't he? He switched the paddle to the other side of the canoe, and peered into the darkness. It hadn't taken this long to get from the island to the lake's western shore; were they going in the right direction?
What if she didn't come back? He knew she'd promised, but... by the time she was finished, five people would be dead. He would understand it if she ran. He would still love her, though. He didn't think that would ever change, kind of like his relationship with Jim. Oops, shouldn't have gone there, shouldn't have gone there...
Blair had felt the tension between the Sentinel and the Champion escalating. Jim had drawn his weapon, was pointing it at Dee, her hand was on the hilt of her sword. He'd stepped between them, confident he could keep them apart. After all, Dee loved him, she would never hurt him, and he was Jim's friend, his partner, his guide, his soulmate. Jim could never shoot him.
Or so he'd thought. He'd felt the slight movement of air as the bullet rushed past his left ear, heard the shot echo over and over in the sudden silence. In that split second, everything had changed.
He had seen the frustration, the anger on Jim's face before, and always he'd attributed it to the fact that Jim just didn't like Diandra. Oh, he was more tolerant of her than he had been, but his original feelings were still there, he had just grown more proficient at camouflage. Blair had never dreamed that Jim's anger had extended to him. It had been in Jim's eyes for just a fraction of a second, before the realization of what he'd almost done had hit him.
Blair didn't want to think about that look. Jim was fine, Megan was fine, Dee was fine, and Blair would... Blair would find someplace nice and quiet to go to pieces. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall, and moved his paddle th
rough the water.
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Diandra approached the cabin slowly, keeping her hearing trained on Cristo. She had picked up the sound of hammering a half a mile away, and she wondered what in the hell he was building. He seemed pretty happy about it, laughing and chuckling to himself about the irony of what he had in store for Megan and Jim.
The sensation hit her about 50 yards from the cabin, the headache and nausea coming as a complete shock. There was no need to hide herself now, so she walked calmly into the clearing, drawing her sword. What she saw sickened her. Cristo had nailed 6-foot long pieces of wood perpendicularly to two tall pines, about ten feet up the tree trunk, making two crude, but effective crosses. Now she knew what he had meant by ironic: Jesus Cristo crucifying his enemies.
Strangely though, the drug dealer seemed unaware of her presence. He faced the make-shift crucifixes, doubled over in pain. "Cristo!" she yelled. "I challenge you!"
He turned toward her, his face registering his surprise at her appearance. Diandra realized he had no idea what he was, no notion he was immortal. For the slightest of moments she hesitated. As an Immortal, she was bound by the unwritten code to explain to him what he was, and send him to a teacher, if not to teach him herself. A brief glance with her 'other' sight told her all she needed to know, that nothing would lessen his evil.
Bringing her katana up to shoulder height, she said, "Say your prayers, because your reign of terror is over."
He laughed at her, his goateed face breaking into a broad grin. "I don't think so, bitch, or whoever the hell you are. If you kill me, like my namesake, I will be resurrected."
Diandra gave him a feral smile as her blade whistled through the air. "Not this time, asshole."
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Mentally grabbing hold of the pain dial, Jim gave it another twist, and the throbbing in his arm lessened. Too bad there wasn't a dial for emotional agony. He shook his head, trying to get the image of his guide's shocked expression as he realized Jim had actually pulled the trigger out of his mind. Thank god for Megan's quick reflexes. She had grabbed for the gun just as his finger had squeezed the trigger, shifting his aim the fraction of an inch it took to turn a fatal shot into a miss. The betrayal he had seen in Blair's eyes had made him want to turn the gun on himself.
Part of him wanted to believe it had been an accident narrowly averted, but another side was labeling it a wake-up call. How had everything gotten so out of hand, so out of his control? When Diandra moved in next door, the voice inside him answered. That's when everything changed, that's when Blair had quit depending on him, had quit listening to him. Hadn't he told Blair right from the start that she was trouble? But did he listen? No, and it had almost gotten him killed on more than one occasion.
A second voice entered the argument in his head. That wasn't entirely true, she'd saved his guide's life in more than one instance. She had been able to protect Blair when Jim hadn't. Hell, she was more of a "Blessed Protector" than he was. He wouldn't be surprised if after tonight, Blair chose to be with her. She was out there right now, killing to protect him.
That was what he didn't understand. How could Blair, who would cross the street to avoid stepping on an insect, love someone with her capacity for violence? He looked back toward the western shore of the lake. There was no need for what she was doing; they would have gotten away, or could have worked together to capture their attackers. There was no reason except her own need for vengeance, for blood.
The sound of an explosion jolted Jim from his morbid thoughts. "Oh my god!" Megan cried, twisting to look back the way they'd come. Lightening could be seen illuminating the area near Simon's cabin, and the wishful thought that crossed Jim's mind was maybe all his problems had been solved.
A loud gasp from his guide brought him back to the situation at hand. "Chief, you okay?" he asked.
Megan laid a hand on Blair's back. "Sandy, what is it, what's wrong?"
His answer was a low groan, and he doubled over, his arms wrapped around his chest. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," he chanted through clenched teeth.
A final bolt of energy shot into the air, followed by another explosion, then there was silence, save for Blair's loud gasps for air. "Oh, man," he finally managed between pants, "that was not pleasant."
"Are you all right, Sandy? Are you hurt?"
"No, no. It's not me... it's Dee... our connection... " He realized he wasn't making any sense.
"Should we go back?" Megan asked worriedly. "Is something wrong with Dee?"
Blair shook his head. "No, no, she'll be... she's fine, she's okay. Damn... that wasn't something I expected to feel again." He shivered.
"We're almost to the island, Chief," Jim said, unable to discuss what had just happened in front of Megan. "Just take it easy until we get there."
"Okay," Blair agreed weakly, and handed his paddle to Megan, who joined Jim in stroking toward the shore.
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The final explosion nearly deafened her. Diandra sank to her knees in the cold snow, hands pressed over her ears. Her eyes and skin burned with residual Quickening energy, and she shook herself, as if that could get rid of the feeling she'd been dipped in raw sewage.
She heard Lobo's reassuring voice in her head, reminding her to turn down the dials. Twisting them as far to the left as she could, she let out a sigh of relief. Goddess, who would have thought a new Immortal would have such a strong Quickening? If he'd had a few years and a few heads behind him, Cristo would have been formidable. Now, though, he was just dead, and a weight she hadn't realized she'd been carrying had been lifted from her shoulders.
Getting to her feet, Dee surveyed the area. Captain Banks wasn't going to be too happy about his cabin. Flames from the propane tanks' explosion still burned amid the wreckage. She hoped his insurance covered acts of God.
With a sigh, she gathered up Cristo's remains and headed to the secluded clearing where the rest of his men lay. The night wasn't over yet.
Several hours later, Dee was satisfied she'd destroyed all evidence of what had transpired. The bodies had been burned and the ashes and any items not consumed by the fire had been deposited in the lake. She'd torn down the makeshift crosses and used the wood as fuel for the funeral pyre. Finding their SUV a ways down the road from Simon's cabin, she'd driven it to the top of a cliff overlooking the lake.
Dee had hidden her swords, unable to thoroughly clean them, and not wanting to expose the ancient blades to more water than was necessary. She would retrieve them in a few days. Stripping out of her clothes, she tied them in a bundle and dropped them over the edge of the mountain into the lake. Climbing into the SUV, she started the engine, gunned it, and drove off the cliff, leaping out the open door just before the truck hit the surface of the water.
The shock of entering the cold liquid forced the air from her lungs, and she found herself struggling not to drown as she kicked her way to the surface. Her head emerged, and she gasped for breath, treading water until her racing heart had calmed, and her lungs no longer ached. Once she had her bearings, she began to swim eastward, toward MacLeod's island, pushing the thought that the freezing water and her own exhaustion might do her in before she reached it to the back of her mind.
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Blair tossed another log on the fire, and pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders, reflecting on that night's events. He glanced briefly back over his shoulder at MacLeod's cabin, imagining Megan and Jim discussing his descent into insanity. Shivering, he scooted closer to the flames. Okay, so maybe waiting on the beach in 20-degree weather for Dee to show up wasn't the brightest idea in the world, but he'd needed to get out of the cabin, and away from the looks they had been giving him.
He knew they didn't und
erstand how he could still care for her, still love her knowing she had killed five men in cold blood. He ran his hands through his tangled hair in frustration. He knew how they felt. If tonight's events had happened twenty-four hours ago, he'd have thought the same thing, would have tried to talk her out of it, would have let Jim shoot her, if that had meant saving her from herself.
But last night had changed everything. The sharing of Hale's Quickening had opened his eyes, had let him see what she saw, feel what she felt. And contrary to what Jim and Megan thought, she was no cold-hearted warrior. She was a tigress guarding her cubs, a Champion defending her tribe, a woman protecting the people she called family. He couldn't judge her for actions based on 3,000 years of experience. Hell, even if she hadn't been consciously aware of the reasons behind her rage at Cristo, she had been right. Somehow, on a subconscious level, she'd known he was a danger only she could deal with, an Immortal. And he could talk until he was blue in the face, and still not make Jim and Megan understand.
