Chago, the Scion’s warfare specialist, had fought back and won. Ruman was dead. So now Wyck’s only leads were the Nephilim.
Below, the woman neared the approaching stranger. Wyck’s hand went to the hilt of the blade at his waist beneath his black leather jacket. He might prefer scholarly pursuits over violence, but he could still fight and kill with the best of them.
Her scream caught his attention. The woman was under attack. Wyck dived toward her then halted mid-air as she drew her own blade from beneath her white lab coat fought back.
Divinity help him, she was breathtaking.
Wyck stared as she battled the Nephilim, his white skin pale as bone in the moonlight. The woman’s movements were fluid, made only more graceful by her tall slender form. She swung her leg around, kicking the half-breed soundly in the head. Wyck winced. That had to hurt, considering the heels she wore. The woman was good, catching Nephilim unawares and unguarded.
She kept her opponent off balance with lunges and swipes of her knife. The blade gleamed, flashes of white and silver defining its deadly path.
Wyck traveled in lower, mesmerized by the woman’s abilities. She was his Seal’s host, his to protect, but he knew her history, all the self-defense and martial arts training courses she’d taken to fend off the bullies who’d used to torture her in school. Pride sparked within his chest. She handled her weapon with ease, her skills nearly to match his own. Confidence and strength radiated off her slim form. She could take care of herself and despite his Scion duties, he couldn’t bring himself to intervene. Not yet. He was enjoying watching her too much.
The Nephilim snarled, his flat gray eyes glowing in the darkness. The woman didn’t hesitate at her opponent’s unearthly appearance. If anything, she put more effort into the fight now that the half-breed had revealed himself.
Which meant she wasn’t a stranger to these creatures.
The Nephilim launched himself at her, looking more corpse-like by the second. The woman blocked his blows with her knife, but the half-breed had forced her backward, putting her off balance. She rallied, kicking him in the shin then going for his chest. The Nephilim caught her ankle and turned, hurling her along the pavement. She tumbled, losing her blade, and stopped a few feet away, er long red hair obscuring her face as she struggled to stand.
Cold fury curled through Wyck’s veins. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his dagger and gripped it tightly.
He’d seen enough.
The Nephilim ran at the woman and Wyck swept down, weapon drawn as he blocked the half-breed’s attack. The man hissed, and leapt backward, putting distance between them. Wyck straightened to his full six-and-a-half-foot height to shield the woman, using his Scion senses to check on her. She wasn’t badly injured, though the coppery tang of her blood filled the air, along with her string of dark curses. He would tend to her once he had dealt with the Nephilim.
“Get out of my way, you idiot,” she said just as the Nephilim charged them.
Wyck turned, confused, only to find her reaching beneath her lab coat to pull out another blade. Next thing he knew, she raced past him.
Resilient, resourceful, but foolish.
Unless she wanted to get herself killed.
The Nephilim lashed out, slamming the back of his right hand into the side of her head. She went flying, skidding across the dewy grass to land in a heap. She didn’t move.
Dagger drawn, Wyck shot toward the half-breed, his blade plunging through the Nephilim’s gut before the man could move away. Wyck twisted the weapon, his gaze locked with his opponent’s. “Tell me where the others are hiding,”
Fear and defiance flickered in the half-breed’s eyes. They were immortal, same as the Scion. He would heal soon enough, unless Wyck took extra precautions. “Tell me, and you live. Don’t, and I’ll banish you to Hell instead.”
The Nephilim’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak. A strange cold rushed up from below Wyck’s feet. Soon, a column of darkness swirled around them—similar to the vortexes the Scion used for travel, but more sinister. The ground glowed from the intense heat and Wyck found himself flung backward as the column expanded. He tumbled through the air, barely managing to stop himself. He raced back toward the half-breed but it was too late. Bright light flashed, and the Nephilim vanished, leaving nothing but a charred circle of scorched earth behind and the sickening stench of brimstone on the night air.
Wyck cursed under his breath and thunder rolled through the black sky.
He sheathed his dagger and walked to the burnt patch of ground. Crouching, he touched the warm dirt and sighed. Someone must have done this to keep the Nephilim from talking. Not Lucifer. He could care less if Wyck banished a Nephilim to Hell to face the consequences. If anything, the infernal one would probably congratulate the half-breed for doing something to annoy the Scion.
A groan in the darkness snapped him from his thoughts.
The woman.
She tried to push herself up off the grass but had difficulty. Her hair hung in messy strands and she was mumbling to herself, the coppery smell of her blood stronger now. She touched her arm, flinched, then collapsed again. Wyck rushed to her side and knelt, brushing the hair from her face, the moonlight turning her pale skin milky. Bruises formed near her jaw and dirt streaked her torn lab coat. Three long gashes sliced through the material covering her right arm where the Nephilim had cut her.
Wyck slid his arm under her back and carefully lifted her off the wet grass. She moaned then stilled against him. He stared down at her, captivated as much by her pale beauty as he’d been by her fighting skills.
He was her sworn Scion protector, created for the sole purpose of guarding the third Seal of the Apocalypse and its mortal host. Pestilence was woven into her very DNA. If she died, a plague of famine would be unleashed on the world unlike anything humanity had ever seen. Yet, he didn’t even know her name. A new mortal host emerged each generation and after an eternity of observing them from his heavenly quarters, it was easier to keep distance between himself and those he guarded, both physically and emotionally. Knowing her name would make this all too personal.
She moaned and twisted, knocking him off balance and sending them both tumbling to the ground. He winced, his arm caught beneath him as she sprawled atop him, her bodyweight pressing down on his stomach, groin and chest.
“Who the hell are you?” Her green eyes narrowed, fearless and full of anger. She licked her pink lips and frowned, slipping sideways. Instinctively, he caught her. She wavered a moment, jaw clenched, and eyes closed.
“You’ve lost quite a bit of blood from those slashes on your arm,” Wyck said in a quiet voice, not wanting to startle her. He relaxed on the damp grass, hoping to appear less threatening. “I can heal those for you.”
She glanced down at her right arm then pressed her blade to his throat. Her hands shook, the cool metal grazing his Adam’s apple. She blinked hard several times, as if trying to clear her head. She’d pass out soon if he didn’t staunch the bleeding.
“I don’t need your help.” She pushed off him and stumbled across the grass to the pavement, still muttering to herself about experiments.
Wyck stood and watched her, fascinated. Regardless of what she said, she did need his help. Blood loss for humans was nothing to mess around with. As a Scion he was immortal, but she was not so fortunate. Perhaps he should let her faint, then he could heal her wounds in peace and get on with his search for clues to the Nephilim’s conspiracy. His Scion brothers had even suggested that perhaps she was in league with the half-breeds. He hadn’t wanted to believe such a thing of his Seal’s host when he had first seen her tonight, but he couldn’t deny it was a possibility—especially considering her lack of reaction to her opponent during the fight.
The woman stopped and wavered, then collapsed into a heap again.
Wyck was beside her in an instant. He collected her weapon, jamming it into an extra sheath in his boot, then lifted her into his arms once mo
re. Honestly, it didn’t matter if she was working with the Nephilim or not, it was his heavenly eternal duty to protect her, no matter the cost or consequences.
The fact she was beautiful had nothing to do with it.
Wyck sighed. Yep. Danger was definitely following him now.
He was her Scion, her guardian. He should not have any sort of feelings for her.
Things were safer that way.
He stared at her a moment longer, torn between depositing her outside the nearest ER and taking her to his place to heal her wounds and get some much-needed answers. The Scion in him said to leave her. She would only complicate matters.
The man in him couldn’t leave her behind.
Wyck closed his eyes and summoned another vortex.
He couldn’t leave this woman to fend for herself. It didn’t matter that he had stacks of work to do and more leads to check out for the Nephilim conspiracy. Honestly, there were no rules about Scion becoming involved with their Seal hosts, romantically or otherwise. It was just his personal preference. He felt her Seal’s power calling to him. She needed his help and he would give it. Simple as that. He’d tend her wounds and restore her strength. If Divinity ever questioned his motives, he’d say it was in service to the Seal, a natural part of his Scion oath.
He would leave out the part about being drawn to her.
She woke again during the trip to his flat near the Ponce City Markets. He kept his gaze on the Atlanta skyline, monitoring the area for any signs of another impending attack. He’d cloaked them inside the vortex, but the Nephilim could still sense his Scion powers and track them, so he needed to be extra careful. Above them the sky twinkled with the constant flashing lights of planes circling to land at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. He couldn’t fly at that altitude when carrying mortal cargo. The air was too cold and thin.
Glancing down, Wyck met her gaze, her emerald eyes sparkling with fury and confusion.
“Feeling better?” he asked, afraid to maintain eye contact for fear she’d fight him again.
“I’d be a lot better if you put me down.” She pushed against his chest so quickly he almost lost his grip. She slipped and looked down, then squeaked and buried her face in his chest, terror pounding through her veins. “Holy shit, we’re flying!”
He chuckled, couldn’t help it, as he adjusted his arms beneath her knees and around her back then directed the vortex to fly nearer to the ground. They leveled off above the rooftops and the red brick façade of his old, converted 1920s style warehouse loomed in the distance.
“Keep going, all the way down.” She clutched his leather jacket in her hands. “Please.”
“Not yet. It’s not safe here and you’re in no fit state to fend off another attack. I’ll put you down when we’re secure at home.”
“The only secure place in this city is my lab,” she grumbled.
She twisted hard and fell out of his arms. Wyck cursed and zoomed after her as thunder rolled through the night sky. She was lucky to land on the roof of the building below. He watched as she struggled to her feet, only to collapse again near the edge of the rooftop.
“Where do you intend to go?” He landed behind her and caught her arm, afraid she would fall. She looked back at him , her eyes wide with fear. Unexpected yearning tugged at his gut. He pulled her back into his arms and cradled her close to his chest. “You’re in no fit state to run.”
“I felt fine.” She frowned down at the toes of her sensible pumps. “Then I felt terrible.”
“That’s because my presence soothes you. The moment you move away from me, the effects of your blood loss return. I won’t harm you... no matter how much trouble you are.”
Her knees wobbled, and she slid her hands around his neck. Wyck shivered as her fingers tangled in the blonde curls at his nape. Her warm breath fanned his skin and awareness rippled through him, rendering him unable to focus on anything but the feel of her against his body and the anticipation of more to come.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He swallowed hard, resisting his urge to pull her closer. “Wyck.”
“Like a candle?” She ran her hands down his biceps and his muscles trembled beneath her touch. Warmth raced through every inch of him. “Light of the world. Now, let me go!”
The head-butt caught him by surprise and Wyck stumbled backward, losing his hold on her. She took a running leap and hopped over to the next building’s rooftop, then continued running. He swiped his hand under his bloody nose and scowled. He had no intention of hurting her. He only wanted to help.
Wyck summoned another vortex and flew after her, keeping his distance this time. She would falter soon enough with her flagging energy reserves. He hadn’t lied about his presence alleviating the effects of her injuries. He tracked the white flash of her lab coat and gave her perhaps another minute before she collapsed again and became compliant.
In reality, she didn’t even last that long. Halfway across the rooftop, she tripped and fell flat. This time, she didn’t get back up, just laid there, panting.
Wyck landed close beside her and she grabbed his ankle, looking up at him through the hair covering her face. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Not feeling well.”
He carefully lifted her against him once more. She lay in his arms, lax, fatigue pulsing off her in waves. Her escape attempt had only worsened her condition and the physical exertion had quickened her blood loss. She shivered and moaned, her eyes fluttering open.
“My name’s… Quinn. Dr. Quinn Strickland.” She closed her eyes again, leaning her cheek against his shoulder.
A strong name for a strong, beautiful woman.
They took flight again, heading for his flat while Wyck pondered the strange evening that had brought them together. He’d watched her since birth but never imagined they’d meet in person. All it took was one Nephilim attack and she’d turned his world upside.
Seemed danger was near for them both.
Scion's Surrender Page 7
