The first part of the descent was uneventful. The trees provided excellent cover and she and Kerry both wore clothes that had been selected to blend in to the expected terrain. When they reached the split point, they bumped fists once more and set off in separate directions, Kerry to the site they were just above, while Layla continued through the tree cover to the previous quadrant, which she calculated would take her five minutes more than it would take Kerry to reach hers.
She moved as quickly as she dared, climbing a few feet higher into the trees, so she could cross the horizontal distance faster. Either no one was watching, or she did a good job of it—probably a little of both—because she was above the dump spot with two minutes to spare. The next bit would be tougher. The site where Kerry was headed had considerable dried brush on the hillside above it, and the dump itself, with its surrounding sandbags containing the boxes of guns and ammo in tight circle, had been almost flush against the hillside. The one she was headed for had the same dried brush for cover, but only halfway down the hillside. After that there were two small . . . “shacks” was too kind a word for what she was looking at. They were sagging and weather- beaten, with peeling paint and, from what she could see, no windows. She couldn’t fathom what they might be used for, but wasn’t willing to assume they were abandoned or harmless.
Out of long habit, she touched her various pieces of gear like a multipart talisman, and left the security of the trees behind.
The shrubs had looked the same from up above, but were somewhat different than what they’d used for cover previously. These had fucking long thorns. Hell, they were like tiny needles that clutched at her clothes and dug into any bare skin, including her fingers in their fingerless gloves. Every time one managed to hit flesh, she had to bite her cheek to prevent cursing out loud. She couldn’t risk making any noise until she knew for sure what, or who, was sitting in those damn shacks.
When she reached the first one, she moved with silent steps up to the back wall and just sat there for the count of ten. She’d have preferred to wait longer, but didn’t want the delay. Eyes closed, she tuned out every other sense, listened, and heard nothing. No rustle of cloth to give away movement, no breathing to indicate a sleeping occupant. Pulling her knife—a gunshot would give her and all others away—she snuck around to the front, mindful of every footfall. Then crouching low, she slipped her head around the corner, caught a quick look inside, and covered her mouth to keep from retching.
It was a dead animal—a goat from the split second look she’d managed. It wasn’t just dead, it was long dead and appeared to have been deliberately dried. Not mummified, but skinned and dried. Was it some sort of religious thing? Or just a weird and unsanitary way of making goat jerky? Who the hell knew?
More importantly, who cared? It was dead and posed no danger to her mission. She moved on to the next shack with slightly less caution, wanting to avoid detection from below, but not expecting to find anything different.
Another dead goat discovery later, she was back to creeping through a final patch of those damn needle plants before reaching the point where she could reliably throw a live grenade and hit her target. Settling herself behind a cluster of the despised shrubs, she picked her target within the dump, slipped three grenades from her vest, cocked her arm, and hearing Kerry’s double explosion, she threw the first three in rapid succession, then picked her target for the fourth and last one carefully, pulled the pin and tossed it.
By the time it exploded, she was already running up the hill, counting on the enemy’s confusion after the side-by-side attacks to give her a short head start. Unfortunately, while the two guards standing right next to the magical ammo dump were taken out by the explosion, one of the two patrol guards came racing around the building and fired on her as she climbed. Ignoring the needle plants for now, she concentrated on staying low, which meant doing all but a slow creep up the hill on her belly, while still trying to vary her path to avoid a tell-tale straight line. Two more shooters joined the first as they began randomly peppering the hillside with bursts from automatic rifles.
She was forced to a stop after one round came close enough to nick her calf just above her the boot, while another came so close to her head that she’d have sworn she felt her hair move when it flew by. She lay there unmoving, trying to control her breathing, trying to hear something—anything—above the uncontrolled gunfire. When it finally stopped, it was followed by something even worse—the sound of boots crunching the damn shrubs as someone climbed the hill.
Having only a few seconds to decide what she was going to do, Layla turned on her back and aimed her pistol, prepared to kill whoever appeared, then make a run for it. Her chances of escape were slim, but there was a chance she could get up the hill and over the wall before someone else managed to scramble up, check on his buddy, and start after her. Of course, that was assuming the guards liked each other well enough, and/or were poorly trained enough to stop and check their wounded before continuing their pursuit.
But when a lone guard, rifle pointed downward, appeared in the sights of her weapon, she fired, then jumped up and ran.
Chapter Eighteen
XAVIER STARED at the human male standing in front of him. Brian Hudson, Layla’s lieutenant and longtime friend clearly understood the magnitude of what he was saying, and was just as clearly expecting Xavier to kill him on the spot for saying it. Layla and Kerry had not returned to the rendezvous site, nor had they communicated. Brian was of the opinion that the two women, while behind enemy lines, had not been captured, but were unable to contact him or anyone else for fear of discovery.
Xavier’s thoughts went immediately to the worst possibility, which was that Layla was currently being held by Sakal.
“Did you at least attempt a rescue?”
Hudson’s back straightened, his face going tight with anger. “We waited at the insertion point, though she’d ordered us not to. The estate was swarming with human fighters and dogs, which leads me to believe they’re both still running free, probably together. If we’d gone in after them, we wouldn’t have found them, and we would now be dead or taken. We came back here to deliver the intel we’d acquired, and to arm up for war. Now that’s done, we’re going back to get them.”
Xavier was every bit as furious as Hudson seemed to fear. But that fury wasn’t about to burst forth in a rage of violence against this human, who like it or not, had done the smart thing, the right thing even in reporting back. He needed the intel they’d brought, especially the destruction of the suspicious sites. He also, like Hudson, believed in Layla’s skill and intellect, and thought it likely that she and the other woman had evaded capture.
His rage remained unabated, but was banked carefully inside him, saved for those truly responsible for this conflict, and for any harm that might befall his mate. It was possible Sakal didn’t yet understand Layla’s importance to him. But they were about to find out.
He let the cold violence of his nature fill his gaze as he studied the human once more. “You will return to where”—he forced himself to speak evenly, when all he wanted to do was howl—“where Layla was last seen. You will find her location covertly but make no attempt at rescue. Sakal will kill her if he knows she’s important to me.”
“We don’t leave anyone behind. Ever. I’m not going to stand around and watch while they—”
“She is not being left!” he roared.
The door flew open behind them to reveal Chuy, fangs bared and ready to do battle in response to Xavier’s outburst.
“We’re fine,” Xavier said with constrained calm. “I’m fine. Thank you, Chuy.” He waited until his lieutenant had closed the door again, then continued. “I will see to Layla’s safety. If, by chance, she has been taken, she will be under a vampire guard by now. If you went in, you would most likely be killed, and Layla along with you. So you will observe and report directly to
me. I know you care for her, but know this . . . She is mine in a way you cannot understand. I will reduce Sakal’s estate to rubble and kill anyone who gets in my way in order to find her, to keep her alive.” He gave a slow blink and when he stared at Hudson again, he let the human see the monster in front of him. “Do you believe me, Brian Hudson?”
To his credit, Hudson didn’t shrink back from the display of power, from the uncontrolled rage in front of him. His shoulders stiffened and his head came up to meet Xavier’s gaze directly. “I do, Lord Xavier. But remember this, I love her, too. We all do. Not in the same way, but she is our sister and our friend. Whatever assistance we can render, we will. I’m going to brief my man, and we’ll meet you on the battlefield.” He punctuated that declaration with a sharp nod, then turned on his heels and marched out of the office.
Alone, Xavier closed his eyes and followed the pull of his blood, trying to find Layla. She was alive, he knew that much. But while he detected her determination and an accelerated metabolic response to danger, he sensed no fear. He touched her through their nascent blood link, wishing he could communicate more directly. But the link wasn’t strong enough yet. Not at this distance. But once he arrived in France, once he’d taken Sakal and destroyed his fucking estate stone by stone, he’d find her easily enough. And then he’d let her watch while he showed the sorcerer what happened to those who thought to take him on.
He wasted no time after that. He and his vampires loaded into the Sikorsky helicopter he’d bought from a corrupt Russian general, who’d probably stolen it from his own government. Xavier didn’t care where it came from, or what might have happened to the general who’d betrayed his own people. The helicopter was his now, and it was useful.
He was silent for most of the short flight, speaking only to confirm his attack plans with Chuy. It would be a brute force, frontal assault . . . with him providing the brute force. He’d left any idea of a slow, deliberate strategy on the floor of his office when he’d learned of Layla’s disappearance. And nothing anyone said would dissuade him.
The Sikorsky didn’t allow for a discreet landing, as Layla’s team had earlier. It set down directly in front of Sakal’s estate with its closed and presumably magically reinforced gate. His vampires piled out immediately. They had their orders and would soon be swarming over a wall that might as well have been half its height for all the good it did. Humans might have been deterred, but his vampires were only amused.
As for Xavier himself, he strode to the heavy front gate, with its curlicued designs and elegant wooden crossbars, then lifted his hands, and with a single, concentrated blast of power, blew the damn thing apart.
The sound was enormous—a huge concussive blast of noise that knocked over the estate’s defenders and reduced the magnificent gate to rubble. As more of his vampires charged in his wake, Xavier remained outwardly calm and utterly collected. Human fighters lay everywhere, knocked unconscious by the explosion, while all around his vampires fought bloody hand-to-hand battles against the vamps whom Sakal had somehow persuaded to serve him. Most likely for money and for the simple love of battle. Vampires loved violence, loved the spray of blood from their enemy. It was a truth they tried to hide from the human population, but when it came out, as it did now, it was deliciously brutal and ultimately deadly.
With teeth bared and fangs on full display, Xavier gathered a far greater kind of power and bellowed his enemy’s name. “Sakal!” The sound traveled into every building and room on the estate, sliding through windows and under beds, to every ear with the ability to hear. Xavier was confident the sorcerer would appear, although knowing the vampire lord’s immunity to magic, would no doubt attempt to keep his distance, while still responding to the challenge. Xavier could deal with that. His power was more vast than Sakal could know, greater even than his Sire’s had been.
It took time, but he was a patient man. Well, not truly, but his own vampire warriors were slowly destroying Sakal’s army, clearing a path forward. The sorcerer could either present himself or Xavier would go hunting.
The human soldiers among Sakal’s defenders had already dropped their weapons and stepped to the sides, where they knelt or sat in surrender, and the remaining vampires were few and not long for this life, when there was a stir beyond the immediate zone of battle.
“The coward comes at last,” he thought and wondered if the sorcerer thought he could beg for his life. If he would even try.
Slowly, his vampires, covered in blood, violence still running high within them, began to step back, to clear a path. Xavier waited until he caught his first glance of Sakal, and almost laughed. It was the sorcerer all right, but he hadn’t come to challenge anyone.
“Mate of mine,” Xavier called, his heart soaring at the sight of her drenched in blood with more than a few injuries, but still whole and strong enough to stand and face him. “You brought me a present.”
“We found him trying to climb over the wall. He’s not terribly agile, I’m afraid.” With all three of her fellow warriors ranged next to her, Layla shoved the bound and gagged sorcerer forward, where he fell to his knees, his eyes furious above the several strips of wide, silverish tape that covered his mouth.
Xavier grinned when he recognized it as duct tape—the American solution for everything, it appeared. Even muffling sorcerers.
“We thought about killing him,” she said conversationally. “But decided you deserved his death, since it was you, and Chuy,” she added with a glance at his lieutenant, “whom he intended to kill. Although his luck does seem to be somewhat lacking lately.”
“Yes,” Xavier agreed, walking slowly closer, enjoying the sight of Sakal’s terror increasing with every step.
Standing before the kneeling sorcerer, he reached down and yanked away the tape, pleased at the raw skin it left behind, the tiny drops of blood that speckled Sakal’s jaw when he howled in pain.
“You have no—”
He slashed out with his own power, shredding the sorcerer’s vocal cords. “I should have killed you the first night I met you in Barcelona,” he growled. “I knew then what you were. But at least now I can avenge my Sire’s death, and the deaths of too many others who thought you were . . . more than the conniving worm you’ve always been. Burn in hell, Ori Sakal.”
Holding out a single hand, he flexed his fingers and pulled. Sakal managed no more than a guttural noise as his sternum cracked and ribs shattered, freeing his heart from the cage of the cowardly body that held it, until it hung suspended in the air before his horrified gaze. “Die,” Xavier said softly, and it burst into flame.
Sakal had never been much of a vampire, but he was old enough that he fell to dust in the dirt amid the ruins of his estate, where it mingled with the remnants of the vampires who’d made the mistake of thinking they could take on a vampire lord and win.
Going immediately to Layla—who he could sense was standing only by virtue of her unbreakable will and determination—he put his arms around her.
The pain in her eyes seemed to lighten when she grinned up at him. “Sorry to mess up your grand entrance.”
“I was coming to rescue you,” he said in an aggrieved tone.
“Aww, maybe next time.” She pulled him down for a kiss, wincing when it crushed a torn lip. “I did bring you a nice present, though.”
“Thank you for the gift, cariño.”
She laughed weakly and said, “Well, it was really from all of us.” She slouched slightly, but he took her weight, so no one would notice. “I’m really tired, though. Can we go home now?”
LAYLA WAS BONE-tired by the time they returned to the Fortalesa. When Xavier closed his office door behind them, he swept her into his arms and carried her through the office and into the first bedroom.
“Well, Sakal’s dead,” she said sleepily as he opened the second door and carried her down the stairs to the bedr
oom in the vault. “No more morning raids with heavily armed teenagers disappearing into the woods. No more kidnapped children, the fucker. He deserved to die for that alone. Whatever happened to those kids from the farm, by the way? Did they ever show up again?”
“No. Once Sakal left Barcelona it seems they did, too. In the middle of the night, apparently, taking Sakal’s brother with them, or they with him. I’m not clear on that, and don’t care. They were pawns, all of them, including his brother.”
“His brother is a vampire, though. Didn’t he betray you, too?”
He shrugged. “Another weakling, but without Sakal’s sorcery, not much of a threat. If you want to kill him, however, I could find him for you.”
He laid her on the bed and stretched out next to her.
“Nah. Everyone’s going back to their lives, I guess. Which means my team and I should be heading back to France.”
He rolled until he was mostly on top of her, her head caged in his arms, as they lay face to face. “Your team, perhaps,” he said flatly. “But what of you?”
“Well, I go with—” She swallowed what she’d been about to say when she saw the pain in his eyes. She’d expected anger, a furious demand, but not this terrible hurt. “No, no,” she said immediately, reaching up to touch his face, to sweep away the pain and betrayal. “I’m teasing, Xavier. My team isn’t going anywhere. They’re having too much fun here. If you’re not careful, all the rest will leave the vineyards behind and show up here, too. They’re jealous that the four of us got to fight with vampires, and they didn’t.”
“And you?”
“Oh, you’re definitely stuck with me, I’m afraid. I do love you, so much. But honestly, dude, I’m too tired tonight. I have a headache.”
He stared silently at her for so long that it scared her for a moment, but then he laughed. “Good one. But don’t do it again. We’ll settle the rest of it tomorrow night.”
Xavier: Vampires in Europe (Vampires in America Book 14) Page 34
