Final Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  He smiled at Shawn and the boy whom he was relieving and went out to the sidewalk. It was blessedly cool and quiet out there, the only sounds the usual ones from traffic and the occasional revelers. It was early enough for humans to still be hopping from one form of entertainment to another, although this part of the city wasn’t as congested. Taking out a cigarette and matches, he lit one and leaned against the building with a boot propped flush against it. This was how Mateo had first seen him. What had he thought at that moment? The resemblance to Cadoc must have given him pause, yet he’d propositioned him anyway. It was a sign of how desperate he’d been. Harry’s warning came to mind. Was the human really in a position to consent to a relationship at the moment?

  Damn, he could drive himself mad second-guessing his decisions. He only knew that resisting the attraction had proved futile. And the beauteous feeling inside him when he thought of a life with Mateo was too tempting to resist.

  A group of scruffy young men caught his attention. They were laughing and weaving in a tight group. They weren’t likely to be club members and there wasn’t really any place for them to find fun on this block. Maybe they didn’t understand that this was a private form of entertainment. They seemed overdressed, given the temperature. It was cool, but not freezing. Every one of them had on a long, heavy coat and he instinctively checked to see if they were armed. It was impossible to tell at this angle and distance.

  Flicking his butt away, he straightened, intending to ward off whatever mischief they might be intending. He didn’t know true alarm until the snick of a gun hammer caught his attention. He whirled around to find four men sneaking up from behind him. One was pointing a gun at him and had already fired. Christos was gone from his spot before the bullet left the gun, rushing at full speed to meet his attackers. He had the guy’s arm up and away when he heard a scream and the pops of more gunfire. From the corner of his eye, he saw dozens of human men rushing from alleyways and around corners toward the club.

  There was no chance for him to chase after them. His personal assailants had to be dealt with first and they weren’t making it easy. As he twisted the arm in his grip right out of its socket, he kicked the face of another who was trying to get off a shot. He heard the screams of his opponents and felt the sting of a bullet scraping his thigh. The sounds, along with the scent of blood, sent him into a frenzy. He smashed a third one’s head into the concrete, leaving it a flat, pulpy mess that slid lifeless to the ground. The fourth one’s neck snapped in his one-arm embrace while he made sure that the first two were down for good by stomping on their chests.

  Done, he roared his rage then grabbed the four guns lying around, slipping two into his waistband. He ran to the club entrance and almost stumbled over Shawn. The poor boy was lying face-up with blood spattered over his chest. His lifeless eyes confirmed that there was nothing to be done for him. There was no time for even a second of mourning, either. Inside the club, a battle raged with rapid firing and male screaming. The scent of even more blood hit his nostrils. The club was already awash in it. He could only hope that some of it was the attackers’.

  He raced unheeding into the fray. The music pounded and the strobe lights pulsed, amping the nightmarish quality of the scene he’d entered. Tables and chairs were upended everywhere. Bodies littered the floor, although whether they were all dead, it was impossible to tell. The combatants hid around the room, exchanging fire. Christos took out two more as he dove for cover behind the table where his kills had been hiding.

  Their guns and ammo became his and got stuffed wherever he could manage to find room in his jeans. He searched the immediate area to see who else he could eliminate. From where he crouched, he saw Kitty pop up from behind her bar and get off a few good shots before a spurt of red burst from her shoulder and she fell back again. The mirror behind her shattered, raining glass shards. Fuck, he barely knew her but said a human prayer that it wasn’t a fatal wound. When the fucker who’d lobbed the shot lingered too long from his hiding place, Christos gladly dispatched him. Emil sprinted from the back over to the bar and slipped behind to minister to the woman.

  A familiar sharp whistle caught his attention. He craned his neck around the table to find Claude a few feet away. He gave hand signals that they hadn’t had to use in decades. Christos understood and nodded. Claude jumped from his position behind a wide load-bearing post and fired across the room. When the inevitable return fire occurred, Christos was able to locate more targets. He rushed toward them, firing with both hands, then slid behind their bodies and lay as flat as he could manage. He jettisoned the spent guns and grabbed two more from his pants.

  Now he was closer to the dance floor, which was slick with blood. Members and boys alike lay in twisted positions, some moving, others not. Quinn was at the far end, sprawled over another boy, covering him as much as he was able. There was blood on him, too, although whether it was his or another’s was impossible to tell. His eyes were open, however, and he quivered as a few of the attackers moved toward him and took aim. He could have used the speed that Alex’s blood afforded him to escape, but he stayed where he was, protecting his colleague. As focused as the assailants were on Quinn, they must have been targeting him in particular.

  Alex’s boy. If there had been any shred of doubt about who had sent these killers, it was gone now. Dracul had always been good at finding someone’s weak spot. Christos couldn’t let this happen. His life was expendable. Alex needed his Quinn, while if Mateo lost Christos, he would get over it. There had been no declaration of love from his boy, and now he was glad, although he hated the idea of not being the one to rescue Mateo from his hard life. No sacrifice was too great for his captain, however. He owed his life to the man ten times over. And really, other than finding Mateo, this world had never appealed to him. Death would almost be welcome.

  Just as he got set to launch himself between the advancing men and Quinn, an unholy roar shook the room. Alex flew in from the back hall, catapulting from one of the stages and careening into Quinn’s stalkers like a vengeful god. One man fell from a well-placed bullet, thanks to Val, who followed, armed like twenty men. The others disappeared into a scrum that spewed blood and body parts as Alex literally tore the men apart.

  Christos took the opportunity to head to the second floor. There was more firing from there…and screams. Obviously the lap dance area and perhaps even the playrooms were under assault. It had been impossible to note the number of humans in Dracul’s army. He found a couple of the fuckers methodically moving from chair to chair, looking under and around for those hiding and shooting them. Christos roared to get their attention and took great pleasure in delivering double pops to their faces before they could get a shot off.

  He found a man and a boy cowering near the hallway. “Have any gone down there?” He had to repeat the question when they both stared wide-eyed at him with fear. Finally, the boy shook his head. “Are you sure? Then go. Lock yourselves into the first room you find open. Now!”

  The humans scrambled to obey. He found a few more live ones, including those who were wounded. The mobile ones helped the others and cleared the area while Christos covered their backs. When they were gone and he was sure there were none left to save, he peered down into the main area to see where he could be of most help. There were more bodies littering the floor, although now they included only those of the attackers. They were easy to spot compared to the well-dressed members and the scantily clad boys. Slowly, the battle was coming to an end.

  Quinn remained where he was, only now Alex covered him and Val was nearby laying down suppressive fire. It was a dicey situation, one that couldn’t last much longer. Alex and his boy, as well as Val, were exposed, and it was only a matter of time before one of the mercenaries Dracul had hired got lucky, especially as it was clear that those who were left were focusing on those three in particular.

  Then it all changed. From the back hallway, Logan emerged, a gun in each hand. Emil made an attempt to grab her when she
passed his location behind the bar. She deftly avoided his grasp and kept her eyes front. Both guns bucked as she fired her semi-automatics with endless sprays of bullets. A round of returned fire hit her in the chest, just below her right shoulder, kicking her back a half-step. And still she fired. Another hit her leg a moment later. She barely flinched and stepped onto the dance floor. Her march into the middle of the concerted assault against Alex continued with a steady pace and a deadly barrage of rounds—in both directions. There was no fear in her expression, only determination.

  When she ran out of ammo, she tossed her weapons and pulled two more from her waistband, losing only a second of time. Her side bloomed with red, and she redirected her fire in response. Emil yelled and emerged with both hands gripping his revolver—and his fangs descended. He shot past his friend, giving her some cover. Val stood as well, drawing fire toward him. But Logan didn’t back away or falter. She kept coming until she stood right in front of Alex. Two more hits to her torso and she went down, still firing until she landed on the floor.

  Grabbing the railing, Christos vaulted over and down into the fray. He whipped his head around, looking for targets, even before his feet hit the ground. A few assailants bolted, heading toward the front door. He gladly shot them in the back, as did Claude. There were more to ferret out, but hopefully not many. This part of the last battle with Dracul would end soon. A bullet missed his ear by a whisker, reminding him that it was still ongoing. As he dove for cover, a sound made his heart stop.

  An explosion, faint but clear to his hearing, grabbed his attention. An alarm blared, mixing with the raucous noise of the music that continued to blast through the club. It was the alarm for the family building. It had to be. This attack in the club had been only part of the plan. The most vulnerable of them were under attack. “Mateo!” he yelled and lurched toward the door. Fire pinned him down and he howled with frustration. Then he took a page from Logan’s book, stood and fired at anything human that moved.

  * * * *

  Mackie sat forward on his bed as much as his belly would allow. “What was that?”

  Merlin hopped to his feet, certain of the answer. “An explosion.” The alarm went off right after that, proving that the house’s security had been breached.

  “We’re under attack!” Mackie cried and tried to get up.

  Annika held him back with her free hand, showing greater strength than she had ever done. She managed to contain both the boy and her dog, which whimpered and struggled against her hold. “No, you need to stay here, and so must I.”

  “But I think only Tony is home for protection. Whatever’s going on, the others need our help.”

  “There is nothing we can do except get killed or captured.” Annika’s expression turned fierce. Her dog whimpered some more, obviously reacting to something it sensed from its owner. Annika shushed it with a kind of impatience than she’d never shown the animal before. Her obvious stress added to Merlin’s own.

  Mackie struggled to get free. “I have a gun and know how to use it.”

  “Do you think whoever has broken in does not?” She shook her head. “There will be too many of them and you will be killed, having sacrificed your child for nothing. You would do that to Mr. Val?”

  The reminder of his husband did the trick. Mackie gave in and collapsed against his pillows. Tears leaked from his eyes.

  Annika’s gaze steadied on Merlin. “You know what to do. It’s all right to be afraid.”

  He swallowed back his protest that he wasn’t, because she would know he was lying. “I won’t fail you,” he said instead and bolted from the room.

  “Wait!” Mackie called. “Take my gun at least.” He pointed to a dresser.

  Merlin glanced at Annika before saying, “I won’t need it.”

  Out in the hallway, the sounds of chaos were more obvious. There was gunfire from the first floor and screams. Idris wailed, telling him that the baby was already in their attacker’s sights. That was good. At least maybe they’d have no reason to search the upper floors. Dracul wanted his son. Hybrids and changelings wouldn’t matter to him. A Queen, though, would be a different story, and there was no telling whom he’d sent and whether they would recognize Annika for what she was. At a minimum, she would be at risk, simply because she was female.

  The alarm thankfully cut off, leaving only the sounds of sobs and crying, which was bad enough. Creeping to the head of the stairs, he peered down and saw human men with large weapons milling about. He clutched at the bannister and took a deep breath for courage before slinging his leg over it and sliding down. He landed right in the middle of the fray.

  A half-dozen humans with big guns were corralling everyone toward the couch where Dafydd already sat, clutching Idris to him. Mateo cowered beside him, a bewildered look on his face because, of all of them, he was the only one who truly had no idea what was happening. Tony lay on his back mid-way between the living area and the kitchen, his arms outstretched and his chest covered in blood. Matti was on his knees nearby, sobbing, Yaro’s arms around him in an obvious effort at comfort. Alun lurked near the dining counter, and seeing that his father was alive and unharmed gave Merlin a surprising sense of relief.

  Dracul’s men wasted no time pointing their guns in Merlin’s direction. He lifted his arms in surrender and pasted a look of non-aggression on his face. He knew how to do this. His whole life had been filled with dangerous, heavily armed males with hair-trigger tempers. He had learned the way to navigate these waters, had mastered the technique practically in infancy. Brutal men would find nothing to worry about in his expression or actions. Hiding his fear was second nature, too.

  “Can anyone join this party?” As he walked by, he kicked the gun lying near Tony’s hand out of his reach. He knew the guy wasn’t dead because he hadn’t turned to ash, but he was betting these humans had been told nothing about alien physiology and thought the man was gone. Otherwise, they would have already taken this precaution. It wouldn’t help matters if the honorable idiot came to long enough to reach for his weapon and become really dead as a consequence.

  Merlin sneered at Matti. “What’s the matter? Can’t you even manage to cry over your dead father’s body?” He darted his eyes to Tony and hoped his meaning got through. A moment later, Matti, with Yaro still clinging to him in support, crawled to Tony and threw himself over the man—putting pressure on that wound, Merlin hoped.

  One of soldiers barked, “Stay right there!” to Merlin.

  He stopped and smiled. “I’m not your enemy.”

  “Shut the fuck up! We’re wasting time,” he said to his companions. “We need those two,” he added with a flick of his free hand at Dafydd and Idris. “Come over here, cunt, and shut that brat up.”

  Dafydd didn’t move other than to shake his head. “I’m not going back to him. I’d rather die.”

  “Nobody said you could speak, cocksucker. And if that were an option, believe me, you’d already have a hole in your head. Get over here now!”

  Merlin took a half-step forward. “Dafydd, don’t be the stupid cunt Dracul always said you were. Do what the man says. Have you forgotten your place already? You belong to Dracul and so does Idris. If you don’t obey this man, they’ll knock you out and take you both anyway, except then Idris won’t have you to care for him. I know how much that matters to you.” He sneered.

  “Listen to the emo wannabe, cunt.”

  Dafydd hesitated only a second more before rising from the couch. One of the men grabbed him by the arm and tugged him toward the door. Idris cried even harder, clearly irritating the men. And while Merlin figured they were smart enough not bring the boy back to Dracul harmed, there was no telling what humans would do under stress. They didn’t always act in their own best interests, and their scents told him that they were far more stressed out at the moment than they should have been, given that they were in control. All it would take was one stupid hair-trigger move for this whole thing to end in a blood-bath.

  T
his was when the many interactions he’d had with the child paid off. Merlin leaned to intercept them. “Be a good boy, Idris. You know how.”

  The baby stopped crying with a hiccup and, sticking his thumb in his mouth, laid his head against his father’s chest. Dafydd raised his eyebrows at Merlin but otherwise said nothing and let himself be contained by the doorway without further protest.

  “We’ve got one more to grab,” the lead soldier said, looking around.

  Before the man could explain himself, a figured dropped behind Merlin from the second floor. The only warning was a whoosh of wind that caused him to turn in time to see it. Demi crouched with fangs bared, hissed, then lunged toward the man holding Dafydd’s arm. Before he could get far, Merlin put his training to good use. He whirled around, raising one leg in a roundhouse kick to Demi’s face. The connection jarred him to the bone and he almost winced at the sickening sound. Demi fell to the floor with a grunt and tried to get up before passing out.

  “Nice move, kid. What’s your angle?” the head soldier asked with a sneer of his own.

  Merlin straightened. “I want to come with you.”

  What the fuck is going on? Mateo was frozen to his spot on the couch. He didn’t understand any of this. An explosion had caused the front door to bang open before these strangers with guns had burst in. The home invasion had stunned everyone into inaction except for Tony. The guy had pulled a gun from a holster in his waistband that had been hidden by his shirt. Mateo had watched in shock as the brief shoot-out had occurred. It had been so surreal that he’d felt as if he were still watching a scene from the Star Wars video game that he’d finished playing an hour ago.