Ganriel

by D. B. Reynolds

  His vampires were in full battle mode, howling as they kicked down doors and tossed aside huge pieces of furniture, ignoring gunfire to grab the defenders and rip their throats out, sometimes pausing to drink the blood of their enemy before moving on. Some of the guards held out, retreating deeper into the house, while others raced up the stairs to fire from above. Juro and Ken’ichi dealt with most of those, surrounded by their shields, leaping several feet into the air to grab the defenders, drag them off their mezzanine perches, and rip their guns away before breaking their necks or simply punching their chests so hard that their hearts stopped.

  Other guards, seeing the slaughter, had raced out the back doors, dragging an elegant statue of a naked woman to the back wall to boost themselves over. Raphael’s vampires followed on their heels, until Raphael sent an order to let them go. Our goal is inside. Clear the house.

  NICK SWORE AS HE followed Sotiris down another fucking worm­hole. As planned, he’d sent up his signal when he was ready, then immediately attacked, before Sotiris could become aware that vampires were about to assault his front gate. As predicted, Sotiris’s initial reaction had been shock that he’d been discovered, but that hadn’t lasted longer than a few seconds. He’d immediately responded with an attack far more vicious than even Nick had anticipated.

  “Fucker must really have liked this house,” Nick thought smugly, and hoped the vamps tore it down brick by brick.

  There was little time for smug thoughts, however. Responding to Sotiris’s attack, he retreated as if wounded, wanting to pull his enemy far from the main battle on the ground. Sotiris’s laughter followed as he chased Nick into the ether, following the trace he’d intentionally left behind, making it easy for the bastard to find him. He could almost hear the sorcerer’s heels skidding when he slammed into Nick’s trap, a sticky mess of a spell that could hold a weaker magic user until he literally died of starvation. It wouldn’t work that well with Sotiris, but it slowed him down and made him even more furious. It was an amateur’s mistake—and Sotiris had fallen right into it.

  “Think you’re clever, do you?” Sotiris snarled, as he destroyed the spell with a flare of power. “Let’s see if you can fight without your prepared traps and toys.” Then laughing again, he’d opened the damn wormhole and sped away.

  Nick hated the damn things, but they were Sotiris’s favored escape route, so he’d forced himself to become an expert in maneuvering through the mind-twisting warps of reality, remaining locked on his enemy’s trail. He was just beginning to think this one would never end, when without warning, he popped out of the wormhole and into . . . a desert somewhere. After first making certain his shields were undamaged and in place, he took a quick glance around and chuckled. They were in Joshua Tree National Park, at virtually the same location where Sotiris had tried to sacrifice Kato in order to steal the Dark Witch’s power. He’d never finished the ritual but had run away instead when Nick had appeared.

  “Re-visiting the site of your last defeat, old man?” Nick taunted as Sotiris appeared out of the darkness.

  “I’m the one who should be laughing. You bluster and blunder, but you never can close the deal, can you, boy?” He held his arms out, as if to say, “I’m still alive.”

  “The night is young,” Nick growled and flung a handful of power, the scattered energy turning to individual explosions as they burst against the sorcerer’s shields, where they clung, pulsing, as they bur­rowed through Sotiris’s protection, until the asshole sent a wave of fire rolling over the outermost shield layer, incinerating Nick’s weapons in an instant, then rolling his fire forward to cloak Nick’s shields in turn, surrounding him in flames.

  Nick swore as the fire blinded him for an instant, then he sucked in his own magic and cast it out again, surrounding himself in ice that flowed over his shields, dousing the fire and cooling his skin. The flames had never penetrated, but the heat had, and he’d been sweating buckets. Nick schemed within his ice shell. He wanted to hit Sotiris with something lethal, something he couldn’t easily throw off. It was too bad the bastard had caught on so quickly to the fact that he’d laid traps all along the path of his earlier retreat. But he’d never given that idea more than a fifty-fifty chance of succeeding. Sotiris had never been stupid.

  Paging through the encyclopedic book of his mind where he stored thousands of years of experience and learning, he seized upon the perfect weapon. But timing would be critical, seconds would matter. Closing his eyes to minimize any distracting visual input—he didn’t need his eyes to keep track of Sotiris—he muttered the words of an ancient language, one not spoken for millennia and never in this reality. Many magic-users spurned the use of words, but some of Nick’s most deadly spells were powered by the combination of his power and the casting of words into the wind. When he opened his eyes again, the spell was lacking only the final few syllables.

  A single thought would break the icy shield surrounding him, but it wasn’t that simple. He’d have to destroy the shield, cast his weapon, and erect a new, more powerful shield, all within seconds. Because when Nick came out of the ice, he’d be totally vulnerable. It would be for only a few seconds, but Sotiris would be waiting.

  Sucking in a breath, focusing all of his considerable concentration on the sequence and components of the individual actions, Nick drop­ped the ice, said the final syllables to launch the attack, and brought up new shields, all the space of a heartbeat. An instant later, his shields bucked under Sotiris’s blow, but they didn’t break.

  The other sorcerer was already bellowing in rage as Nick’s spell slammed into his head, spreading a lava-hot blanket of power over his skull, singing his hair, and turning his face into a mask of melting wax. It looked horrific, deadly to a regular human, and damaging to a sorcerer. But it wasn’t enough to end their battle.

  Sotiris would already be working to offset the effects of the attack, mind and magic spinning as they analyzed and discarded, needing to understand the weapon in order to destroy it. It took longer than one might expect, because Nick had added a nasty twist to this particular spell. The moment it made contact with its target, it began drawing energy from the victim to power itself. Nick knew the moment Sotiris realized what was happening. The enemy sorcerer reinforced his shields, but shut everything else down for a microsecond, just enough to break the rhythm of the spell and turn the hot goo to ash.

  He glared at Nick as the ash fell over his shoulder and clothes, his eyes already unfocused and calculating as he prepared a counterattack, while Nick, having used a considerable amount of power, began drawing more magic into himself, sucking up the sparse bits of ancient magic said to linger in this part of the desert, draining the life force of the plants. One good thing about the desert—the native plants were hardy and accustomed to regenerating themselves after near death.

  “You’re weaker, old man,” Nick said, mostly to give himself time and to distract his enemy. “My warriors are breaking free.”

  Sotiris’s mouth lifted in a gruesome grin, the lower half his face still looking like a Halloween mask. “Lost one, though, didn’t you?” he sneered right back. “Vampires got him. That must have been a blow to your giant ego. To have one of your precious warriors prefer blood­suckers to the great Nicodemus. Of course, it was you who left him buried for thousands of years. I’d bear a grudge, too.”

  Nick kept his face blank, but that last taunt struck hard. He hated that he’d lost Gabriel to the fucking vampires, but at least he was alive and free. And he wouldn’t blame the warrior if he’d felt abandoned, even though he denied it. It hadn’t been Nick who’d dug him out a cave after two thousand years or more. It had been Hana’s great-great- grandfather. Her ancestors were the ones who’d kept Gabriel sane, and it had been Hana who’d understood what was happening and risked her own safety to get him to Raphael, who’d saved his life. Nick had never stopped looking for his warriors. He’d traveled all over the w
orld, searching, and had even teamed up with the FBI to gain access to their far-reaching resources and manpower—he, a man who despised authority in whatever form it took. He’d done it because he’d been desperate to find them. But then his first warrior—Damian, whom he’d know from childhood—had been found, only miles from a house Nick owned, a place where he’d lived for weeks at a time nearly every year. He figured the fates must have been laughing their asses off that night.

  Sotiris’s cackling laughter startled him out of his destructive thoughts, and he threw a flash spell, mostly to shut the fucker up, but the asshole wasn’t finished.

  “You’ll never find the dragon, you know. Never,” Sotiris repeated, his expression so smug that it gave Nick chills. Had Sotiris somehow acquired Dragan’s statue and done something to keep him buried alive, ensuring no one could ever break his curse?

  God, Nick hated him. There was no one on earth, no one in all his years of life whom he’d hated more. “What have you done?” he growled, hoping the evil bastard would give something away in his rush to brag about his cleverness.

  “No, no. I’d rather surprise you . . . or not”—he smirked—“since you’ll never find him.”

  Nick staggered as Sotiris threw a massive energy spell, cursing him­self for letting his guard down, for letting the fucker get to him. He dropped to the ground in time to dodge a second spell nearly as powerful, but . . . what the fuck? Where was Sotiris getting that power? Had he been playing with Nick all along? Pretending to weaken, lulling him into false confidence?

  A second, far more awful possibility occurred to him then. Hana. She’d never have cooperated willingly, no matter what Sotiris threatened. Bluto’s threat against Gabriel’s life had been real and visceral, but there was no longer any blackmail for the sorcerer to use. None that Hana would believe, at least. But then, Sotiris didn’t need to threaten, did he? Once he had her in his grip, he could simply strip her mind until she was a shell of herself, stealing everything from her but her magic, keeping her prisoner as his own personal amplifier.

  He hoped for Gabriel’s sake that it wasn’t true, that Sotiris hadn’t yet had time to use Hana that way. But as a third massive blow struck him, nearly fracturing his shield, he feared the worst. Even that consideration had to wait, however. He couldn’t help Hana if he ended up dead in the next few minutes. And he had no intention of dying. Gathering his power and his focus, he bombarded Sotiris with everything he had, forcing the other sorcerer into a defensive huddle, his shield pulled over his body like a shroud. But despite his situation, despite the fact he should have been worried for his life, the bastard was grinning.

  In a moment, Nick knew why. A wormhole opened without warning, and Sotiris stepped into it, turning to give Nick a parting shot. “They don’t have her yet. And I’ll get there before they do.” Then he collapsed the portal behind him and disappeared.

  Nick cursed. The bastard shouldn’t have had enough power to defend himself against that kind of unrelenting attack and still fashion a stable wormhole. Even worse, no matter how many times Nick tried, he couldn’t find the right path to follow him. And that worried him even more. No sorcerer should have been able to close the time warp behind him the way Sotiris had. It introduced an instability that required an enormous amount of power to control and threatened to dump the traveling sorcerer in a place far from his desired time and place, not to mention with bits and pieces of his body missing. And yet, the bastard hadn’t been concerned for his safety at all. It had to be Hana’s power, and Sotiris still had her.

  They’d failed.

  Dreading what he would find, Nick opened his own wormhole and raced back.

  GABRIEL HAD HEARD Raphael’s order to attack, but he hadn’t needed it. He’d had one goal from the moment he entered the house. The guards he fought and killed were only obstacles to his search for Hana. Damian and Kato fought at his side, clearing the path as they raced upstairs, and once they’d reached the second floor, destroying any of the enemy who thought to come at them from behind. The three of them had fought hundreds battles together, and they fell into rhythm as if no time had passed. Damian fought two-handed, his sword in one, a sub-machine gun in another, while Kato relied on his black blade. The feral sword sang greedily as it chopped off heads and limbs, blood swimming down the blade against all laws of gravity as it sucked up the life force of its enemies. As for Gabriel, he’d left his heavy blade behind, choosing a gun identical to Damian’s, wanting to travel light in his race to rescue Hana.

  He knew vampires could form blood bonds with their lovers, bonds that were even stronger with mates. He and Hana hadn’t taken that final step yet, but her blood ran in his veins from the many times they’d made love, and she’d drawn enough of his blood during her passionate bites to forge the beginnings of a bond between them. It would strengthen over time, but it was enough for Gabriel to follow within the confines of the house where she was being held captive.

  “Up the stairs,” he told his brothers. They moved as one, Kato turning to fight a pair of gunmen, lopping off their hands along with their guns, while Gabriel shot a third fighter who thought to take Kato from behind. Damian was already halfway up the stairs, clearing their path with brutal efficiency, shooting with one hand while slicing with the other, power gleaming off him like a sheen of sweat as he demonstrated what it meant to challenge a god of war.

  “Go,” Kato shouted, and Gabriel turned, running up the stairs to meet Damian, who fired over his head, freeing Kato to follow.

  “We must be on the right track,” Damian snarled. “They’re on us like flies.”

  “Then like flies, they’ll die,” Kato crooned, having fallen under the spell of his blade.

  Gabriel clashed gazes with Damian, and they shrugged. This was Kato at his most lethal. What more could a warrior ask for at his back?

  They raced along the second-floor balcony, Gabriel in the lead as he followed that tenuous thread in his mind, a thread that grew stronger with every step he took. The hallway twisted and turned, and by the time they reached the double doors at the end, they were alone, with a trail of their enemies’ bodies in their wake.

  Gabriel pushed the doors open, leading with his gun, Damian right beside him. They spread out automatically, taking two steps into the room and freezing. Hana lay motionless on a bed pushed sideways against the wall, a single guard standing next to her, his gun at her head.

  “Drop the guns or she dies,” the gunman rasped, sparing a glance for Kato who moved up to stand with his brothers, the three of them in a widely spaced arc, making it difficult for the gunman to keep them all at bay. Kato appeared to be weaponless, since he’d slid his blade into the ensorcelled sheath at his back, thus hiding it from sight. So, the gunman focused on Gabriel and Damian, who both held their guns out flat and slowly bent to place them on the floor.

  The gunman watched the two of them carefully, his eyes following every move. He never noticed Kato’s blade slicing silently through the air like a thrown spear, cutting through the man’s tactical vest as if it wasn’t there, and stabbing straight into his heart . . . where it immedi­ately began emitting a song of eerie delight as it drank up the heart’s blood of the dying man.

  Gabriel didn’t wait another second. The moment he’d seen Kato with bare hands, he’d known what the outcome would be. He was rushing to the bed before the gunman began to fall.

  “Hana,” he whispered, taking out his knife and cutting the ropes which bound her hands. She was unconscious, blood oozing from a deep slash in her right palm and a cut on her forehead, while more blood caked her lips and chin, as if she’d vomited the stuff. “Hana,” he repeated, stroking her face. She didn’t wake up, didn’t respond. “I’m getting her out of here. She needs a doctor.”

  Damian looked at Kato and said, “I’ll lead; you follow.”

  RAPHAEL GLANCED up as Gabriel appeared at the top of the st
airs with Hana held closely in his arms. His two friends were with him, guarding him front and back, but they’d clearly already wiped out whatever resistance had been on the second floor. He met Gabriel’s gaze and held up a hand for him to wait, then contacted Juro who was mopping up operations in the courtyard.

  Gabriel is bringing Hana down. I want two vehicles waiting when he gets there, with three fighters, plus the drivers. I’m bringing him out.

  Getting Juro’s wordless agreement, he turned and waved Gabriel down, drawing on his full power to create a bubble of protection. “Stay close. All of you,” he ordered the three of them, and started for the front door, ignoring the few fighters who tried to stop them, their bullets and bodies both buffeted aside by the force of his shield. The house doors had remained open throughout the fighting, and he strode out, going directly to the open door of the waiting SUV. Gabriel slid in with Hana in his arms. Damian went in after him, with Kato taking the front seat next to the driver. The second vehicle pulled up behind, with four vampires already inside.

  “She needs a hospital,” Gabriel said, but Raphael overrode him.

  “To the estate,” he told the driver, then turned to Gabriel. “One of my people is mated to an excellent trauma care surgeon. He has a fully equipped medical suite on the estate, and he understands vampires.” He met Gabriel’s eyes intently, hoping he’d understand the unspoken message. Dr. Peter Saephan was, indeed, a world-class trauma surgeon, but he also knew the benefits of vampire blood for an injured human. It was something Raphael wouldn’t speak of in front of the two ancient warriors in the vehicle. They might be Gabriel’s oldest friends, but they were human, and the only humans who knew vampire secrets were their mates. And not even all of those.

  Gabriel gave him a short nod, and Raphael stepped back, closing the door. The SUV and its escort took off at vampire speed—which meant very fast, since vampires had superior reflexes and night sight, and didn’t have to worry about injuries. Juro stepped up to his side.