Seal of Destiny (Seven Seals Series Book 1)

by Douglass, Traci

  “What’d I miss?” Wyck asked as he finished pulling on a black T-shirt to accompany the pair of faded jeans he’d chosen and padded into the kitchen.

  “The Nephilim are behind Tolbert, and they have the girls,” Chago said, fiddling with his empty bottle.

  “Thanks, anchorman. Been there, bought the morning paper. Anything else?”

  “Yeah.” Xander reached over and dislodged Wyck’s phone from the charger then handed it to him, ignoring the flashing red battery indicator. “Forget the previous order. Call the others and have them meet us at Divinity’s.”

  • • •

  Kagan, Chago, Xander and Wyck, accompanied by the final three of their Scion brethren, flashed into Divinity’s marble foyer. She strode in a moment later. “Welcome home, boys.”

  Xander stepped forward to flank her side. Divinity was schoolmarm punctual, as usual. He couldn’t suppress a slight smile at the soothing cadence of her presence. “We have an urgent matter.”

  “Yes, I know. The Nephilim.”

  She led them into the den, and a handmaiden appeared with a tray full of drinks. “Do sit, all of you. My neck will be sore for a week if I have to look up the entire time Xander drones on.”

  Wyck and Chago snorted and took up residence in the leather wing chairs. Another chair appeared for Kagan while the three newest recruits filled an antique sofa along one wall. Luther slumped into the first corner with Rat Pack cool, his fedora drawn low to hide his penetrating, cat’s-eye golden gaze. Beside him, Sloane reclined with the lithe grace of a jewel thief ready to pounce, his tailored, three-piece suit and Italian leather shoes impeccable. On the far end was Barron, the rookie — if two hundred-plus years was considered a trial period. His shaggy, sun-streaked hair and easy grin belied the hard muscle and battle-hewn warrior beneath.

  Xander leaned against the marble fireplace mantel and nursed his brandy while taking it all in. He waited for everyone to get settled before laying out the facts. Life as a Scion was many things. Boring was not one of them.

  Xander glanced around at his assembled men, each one a trained lethal weapon in his own right, and tried to recall the last time they’d all been together. It had been at least a century ago, according to his calculations — maybe longer. He swallowed a mouthful of smooth brandy and contemplated the flames. His troubled mind drifted to Zoe. Was she suffering like he had while in the compound? His fist tightened on the fragile cut crystal. No. He’d sensed the strength of her abilities the night of the club attack. She’d fight the Nephilim. Hell, she’d probably make them wish they’d never touched her.

  After his first-hand experience with the psychic time warp she’d produced at the club, Zoe’s powers made his look like a cheap charade. His fingertips stroked the side of his glass while he remembered their initial encounter at Wyck’s. The brief contact had brought his senses crackling to life. Further exploration of their connection would be a pleasure. His pleasure.

  The clearing of a throat derailed his train of thought. Divinity flashed him the placid smile of a troop leader corralling an ornery charge and took a seat behind her desk. “Go on, dear. We’re ready.”

  “The Nephilim have the first Seal,” Xander said.

  She lifted her glass with no hesitation. “And?”

  “They’re planning to use it.”

  Divinity pierced him with an exacting stare. “What are you going to do?”

  “We’re here to figure that out.” Xander pushed off the mantel. “We need your help.”

  She stood and moved to the window, her fingertips trailing over an odd-looking houseplant. “I always wondered when the half-breeds would emerge again.”

  Kagan scooted forward in his seat, asking the question before Xander had time to respond. “You didn’t think to mention their continued existence until now?”

  “No need. They went underground long ago to avoid punishment for their transgressions.” She stroked a tiny red flower at the plant’s perimeter. The blossom grew larger, and small, sparkling fruit appeared.

  Chago uncrossed his legs. “They’ve grown more powerful.”

  “Yet they’re not without weaknesses.” Divinity turned to face her warriors. “Their organization is the key to their defeat.”

  “And the reason we’re here.” Xander moved to stand before her desk. “To be prepared.”

  “You have the amulet?” Divinity turned toward Xander. He nodded and patted the pocket of his jeans. “Good. You must strike tonight before the alignment is complete.”

  She hustled from the window out into the foyer before turning in their direction. A team of handmaidens assembled behind her. “Now, Scion, let’s get you prepared for battle.”

  • • •

  The Director himself, with Mallory in tow, came to collect Mira. The pair waited outside the bars while four guards trussed up Mira’s still unconscious form like a stuffed pig and carted her out of the cell.

  Zoe remained huddled in the corner, her eyes shut tight. She tried to push reassurance into Mira’s mind. Kagan would return. Her powers were muddled in here, especially after the torture these assholes had subjected her to, but she knew the Scion. No way Kagan left Mira behind. No way.

  Memories of the day’s experiments flooded Zoe’s mind — machines and wires, electrodes and needles, too many needles. At first, she’d been terrified. Rape, she could handle. Torture, not so much. They’d packed a lot into the short time she’d been here. She came to realize the more afraid she became the harder it was to fight them off. Fear weakened her powers. Any overwhelming emotion lessened her psychic strength. Blurred the signal.

  An image of Xander popped into her head. Absurd. The only strong sentiment she felt toward him was revulsion. After his foray at Wyck’s apartment, his gentle push into her psyche, she’d stayed free of him. The last thing she needed was another psychic trying to hustle her game. Yes, she’d sent him the one message when Tolbert had kidnapped her. Out of necessity only. Nothing more.

  Alone now in the holding cells, Zoe’s thoughts veered from her disturbing emotions toward Xander to a more pressing issue — Tolbert’s game plan. From the information she’d gathered, Mira should have been their only target as the host of the first Seal. Yet they’d wanted Zoe too. Her abilities. Dumbass bastards. She’d never use her talents to harm anyone, let alone Mira. Mira was her sister, if not by blood, then certainly by fire. Zoe would die herself before harming Mira.

  The ding of the elevator signaled the return of the troops. Armed guards entered and clanked her cell open. Two hulking men hauled her from the room. Zoe struggled, but it was like trying to topple a brick wall with a Q-tip.

  They journeyed to the lab once more, and Zoe focused her adrenaline-fueled senses. This time she’d discover some answers.

  • • •

  Mira opened her scratchy eyes and waited for her vision to clear.

  Toted as she was beneath the beefy guards’ arms, her vantage point was limited. Only flashes of ceiling and the occasional door marker appeared in her peripheral vision. Her mouth was sore and dry, a musty gag stuffed inside to prevent no more than the odd grunt or groan.

  After a while, all the rocking and swaying made her seasick, and listening to the guards mumble in their strange language had her wishing for an ice pick to the eardrum. The guttural cadence of their words sounded Latin or Russian in origin, with a pinch of Chinese and German thrown in for flavor. Whatever the hell they were saying, the continued murmur set her nerves on edge.

  A small eternity and a million twists and turns later, they exited through a doorway. The temperature rose by several degrees. Humidity abounded. The pungent odor of rot and wet earth wafted. Nothing but black surrounded her. The downward tilt of her body meant they were descending. Caves, maybe? Shit! Not Gehenna again. If the guys were right and Lucifer was here … Still, he hadn’
t made an appearance. Not yet, anyway.

  They rounded a corner and Mira found herself upright again. She glanced around. Torches blazed along the walls of a large auditorium. Her mouth-breather escorts turned, stopped. Mira spotted a stone platform at the room’s center. Before she could study it closer, the guards swiveled again and continued down the stairs. Their shadows loomed, cast by the firelight to shoot upward like carnival caricatures. Only one thought echoed in Mira’s mind, a skipping record caught on repeat. Where the hell was Kagan?

  • • •

  Argus watched the buffoons cart their bundle toward the platform. He squirmed against his own bonds while they tossed their cargo on the slab beside his. Glimpses of chestnut curls and a hint of spicy scent identified the package before they pulled the tarp away. The guards strapped her struggling form tight and left. When they were alone, he gave a cackle and a less-than-subtle snort. “Well, well, if it isn’t the fucking princess? Not so high and mighty now, are you, bitch?”

  Mira rolled her eyes. “It must suck to be a loser in two different life forms, huh Argus?”

  “You don’t know anything, nerdgasm. You couldn’t satisfy old McClaine here, let alone a pussy Scion boyfriend.” She tensed against her restraints and he smiled. Hit a nerve, eh? Argus chuckled. “Aw, what’s a matter? He up and leave your sorry ass already?”

  Footsteps announced the return of the security team. This time the guards moved toward Argus. Two flanked him on either side while another dressed in a lab coat stepped up on the platform with a doctor’s bag in hand. He laid out his instruments beside Argus’s head — clamps, picks, and a nasty-looking scalpel. Normally, he’d enjoy this type of foreplay. Not today. Anger boiled deep. Yet try as he might, his powers refused to surface.

  Argus roiled in vain against his chains. The chains! He squinted at the cuffs, frowned at the telltale hint of copper. Fucking demon’s bane. They’d forged the steel with it. Probably formed the bullet from the stuff too. His pierced heart lurched in response. Sweet Mary on a chopper! The bastards had found his weakness. Fuck it all!

  Doctor Death pulled on a pair of latex gloves and nodded. The man ripped open Argus’s shirt to expose the amulet’s burn mark. Cold air seeped into his heated skin and left goose flesh in its wake. From his position, Argus could barely spy the bottom edge of the sigil. Ah, hell to the fucking no!

  The scalpel glinted as the man lowered it toward Argus’s chest. He barked an order in Enochian. “Allar iadpil vgeg!”

  The goddamn wankers pressed his arms tight to the slab. Argus jerked. The blade carved deep, cleaving a neat square of flesh from his breastbone. Exquisite pain radiated from his chest, sparking agony throughout his body. Hot blood coursed from the wound. Argus waited for the healing to begin, but nothing happened. In fact, none of his wounds had healed since the douche had shot him in the interrogation room.

  The surgeon stepped away and placed the seeping piece of hide on a white linen cloth before handing the bundle to the Director, who waited in the shadows. Job completed, he snapped off his gloves and tossed them. The bloody scalpel followed soon after. After a last glance at his handiwork, the butcher of Wanker Town, USA picked up his bag and left. Argus discovered agony without healing wasn’t nearly as enjoyable. Mr. Propellerhead better hope he never regained his strength or else he’d be one dead mimbo.

  He turned toward Mira again and caught her gaze before she looked away, her face pale and strained. His blood continued to drip to the stone platform below. Argus chuckled at the thought of the scrawny surgeon with a roasting spit up his ass. Mira shot him a withering glare and struggled against her restraints. Her fear coated his tongue like the best champagne. Gleeful anticipation filled his floundering demon heart. “Don’t worry, Mira. You’re next.”

  Chapter 18

  Seven flashes of light pierced the forest surrounding the Tolbert complex. The warriors dressed in black, their long coats concealing an array of weapons. Xander checked his watch and nodded to Kagan then lifted the amulet from his pocket and slipped it over his head. The talisman glowed brighter in response to the approaching alignment.

  Kagan headed across the snow toward the entrance. His black sunglasses hid his growing anxiety from the group. Buono. Mira was his number one priority.

  He approached the glass entry doors. Five armed guards stood poised around a terminal inside. He pulled on the door. Unlocked. Confirmation Tolbert expected the Scion this night. Kagan stepped into the marble lobby and focused on the security station.

  Five pairs of mirrored sunglasses stared back at him, the expressions beneath impassive, inhuman. He moved forward and a sixth officer blocked his path, metal detector in hand. Divinity was right, as always. These creatures were like robots, functioning off a hive-mind intellect that brooked nothing but conformity. Kagan smiled, an icy chill coursing through his veins and numbing his heart.

  The security guard ran the metal detector wand around the outline of his silhouette. A warning sounded within milliseconds. At the officer’s gesture, Kagan opened his coat to reveal a body packed to the gills with artillery. The guard reached for his own weapon. He didn’t get it out of the holster. Kagan put a bullet between his eyes. One less mind in the hive.

  He stepped over the fresh corpse, a second gun in hand to blast simultaneously. Bullets sprayed the lobby. The tang of gunpowder and warm blood choked the air. He moved deeper before signaling for the waiting Scion to join him. The guards began dropping like stones. Kagan ducked behind a pillar and tossed away his spent weapons. Through the cacophony, one guard radioed for backup. Merda! Kagan leaned around the corner to fire. He never got the chance. The man’s chest erupted in crimson, riddled from behind with Xander’s bullets.

  Fresh weapons in hand, courtesy of the deceased guard, Kagan joined the rest of the Scion. They lined up across the lobby, a wall of impenetrable force, armed to the canines and pissed beyond reason. Soon, a flood of Nephilim reinforcements streamed into the room from the elevators and stairwells. One man stepped forward, semiautomatic at the ready. “Surrender, Scion, and we may let you live. Our fight is not with you.”

  Kagan surveyed the gathered assembly with a quirked brow. His smile never wavered as he pulled out two Uzis. “Want to bet?”

  • • •

  The staccato ping of distant gunfire echoed off the cavern walls.

  Argus gritted his teeth and tried again to loosen the chains around his hands and feet. The wound on his chest remained open, his regeneration powers gone. Those fucking half-breeds had poisoned him. Reduced him to nothing more than the humans he despised.

  Footsteps approached. Argus squinted up into the Director’s condescending smirk. “Thought you might like to see what your death has wrought, demon.”

  He pulled open the collar of the cassock he wore. Argus’s gaze snagged on an amulet glowing beneath the heavy black fabric. A second Antares? Realization dawned on a rush of fury.

  “Skin makes an excellent mold and demon scales are even better.” The Director stepped back and closed his robe, sliding a glance at Mira in the process. “Now, demon. You’ve fulfilled the bargain.”

  Another knuckle dragger armed with a sinister semiautomatic approached while the Director uttered his travesty of a benediction. “Teloch amma doalim siatris.” May death lift your curse, scorpion. Argus pulled with all his strength against the iron chains. Like hell, you fashion-challenged mothafucka!

  The guard opened fire. Bullets ripped through Argus’s flesh, his body jerking in a macabre breakdance. He rolled to one side, his last sight the stream of his own blood and fluids flowing over the platform to gather in a basin at the center. Well, screw me good and call me a whore. The bastards killed me. His furious screams rang out before the darkness descended.

  • • •

  The Scion split into two groups, dodging between marble columns. The Nephilim charged the middl
e of the lobby. Kagan led the three newest Scion up the left colonnade while Xander surged right with Chago and Wyck.

  Chips of travertine rained in a blizzard of debris. Bullets ricocheted off every surface. A soldier stepped out from behind one of the columns and managed to land a bullet in Kagan’s thigh before his spine was severed by a well-aimed shot from Kagan’s own Heckler & Koch. Bastardo!

  Newbie Scion Barron, exhibiting perfect athletic prowess, executed a running flip off the nearest wall to snap a Nephilm’s neck when he landed. Kagan lifted a brow when Barron retrieved the guard’s weapon. He caught Kagan’s eye and grinned. “Surfer training.”

  • • •

  Across the room, Xander tossed his spent Uzis and reached under his coat to remove a matching set of Sig Sauers. He waited until Wyck and Chago each emptied their rounds and ducked behind columns to refuel before stepping out. He moved forward, firing continuously to clear the path. Nephilim bodies dropped like New Year’s Eve balls in hyperdrive.

  Chago peeked around a column several yards to his front, and Xander halted fire. The other warrior stepped out to slice off an opponent’s head with his machete. He sent Xander a curt nod and disappeared again. Xander smiled through the accumulated Nephilim goo now covering his face. There was nothing like a good battle to get the blood pumping.

  After tossing his now empty Sigs aside, Xander dove for an abandoned M16, his body sliding across the floor. He snatched the weapon in passing, cocked, and fired into the center of the room. His wild ride ended with a thud against Chago’s booted feet. The warrior helped him stand then moved to check on Wyck. Xander glanced out into the deserted lobby. Job well done.

  He spoke too soon. A gun cocked beside his ear. Fuck. Xander closed his eyes and swallowed hard, his gaze drifting sideways to sight his would-be executioner. The killer’s voice sounded oddly quiet, soothing after the cacophony of bullet fire. “Now, Scion, you die.”

  A flash of movement caught Xander’s attention. Wyck jumped the guard from behind, kicking the weapon from his hands before he could react. With a quick swivel and twirl of his opponent’s semi-automatic rifle, Wyck blew a hole straight through the Nephilim soldier’s heart. The man fell at Wyck’s feet and he toed the body away, stepping over the remains to toss his eyewear in a nearby trashbin. “Blimey tosser broke my shades.”