Against the Dawn

by amanda bonilla

  “Lorik, where’s your common sense? Your mortal soul might be on hiatus, but your physiology is still human. You have no idea what’s in that glass or what affect it might have on you.”

  “With any luck, whatever’s in here will make me irresistible to women.” He downed the pale blue liquor in a single swallow and plunked the glass down on the hardwood bar. “Bring me another!”

  The bartender pointedly ignored his request and I slid my glass over to him. “Here, take mine. I’m not going to drink it.”

  I’d hoped he’d pound this one like he had the first so I could drag his ass out the door. Instead, he swirled the liquid around in the low-ball glass, the ice tinkling against the crystal. “Tell me, Darian. When did you last hear from Azriel?”

  My hackles rose at his question. Why in the hell did our conversations always have to double back this way? “I don’t know,” I said. “A while ago. Why?”

  “What happened? Why did he leave? Why didn’t you go with him? I expected you to be hard to find, but here you were, right where I left you.”

  His accusatory tone made my teeth itch. “Your nosy attitude is wearing on my nerves, Lorik. I woke up one morning and he was gone. End of story. He left me because he was a selfish asshole whose ambitions outweighed his emotions. I didn’t go with him because he left me without a word. And I stayed here because I don’t like change and there’s a place down on Pike Street that serves great hum bao. Anything else you’d like answered?”

  “One more thing,” he replied. My stomach twisted as a shadow passed over his expression. “Did you know that Azriel is dead?”

  Damn it. I was sort of wishing I hadn’t given Lorik my drink, because I needed a stiff shot of something right about now. “Yes. I know.” He wasn’t going to get another syllable out of me on the matter. For weeks he’d been digging, prying, maybe an attempt to force me into some sort of confession. But why? And for who?

  Lorik raised my glass in his fist and brought it up in a toast. “To Azriel.” He brought the glass to his lips and drained it. “Tonight was very…fruitful. Good night, Darian.”

  To my utter shock, he pushed himself away from the bar and sauntered to the entrance without a glance back. He pressed his palm against the thick doors and they slid open to let him out the way we’d come in. Asher occupied his discarded seat and leaned in to rest his chin on my shoulder. “What was that all about?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” But whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

  Despite the fact that we suspected Mithras was on to him, Ash and I agreed that the best course of action was for him to remain inside of Atlas to keep a lookout while I waited outside. About an hour later, the doors slid open in a swirl of gold dust and Mithras stepped out into the cool drizzle of rain, his posse of warriors not far behind. Jesus, it seemed a little conspicuous to traverse the city with a group like that, but hell, what did I know? Something strange was always going on somewhere in Seattle. Would anyone even blink at a battalion of Roman soldiers cruising down the sidewalk?

  “My brain feels like a bowl of pudding,” Asher complained from beside me. No longer working his mind meld, he could hide in the shadows with considerably less effort.

  “You can call it a night if you want.” I felt bad that I’d exhausted him. “I’m sure I can take it from here with no problems.”

  His soft chuckle bore a hint of playful mockery. “Dude. If you think I’m letting you out of my sight for even a second, then you don’t know me—or my king—very well.”

  “I don’t want you here out of a sense of obligation, Ash.”

  “Darian, please. That Alexander wants you kept safe is a given. But regardless, I’ve got your back. I’ve always got your back.”

  “Okay, then.” I’m not gonna lie, I felt a hell of a lot better knowing that I didn’t have to do this alone. “I can use your help. I have a feeling that wherever Mithras is, his legion of goons isn’t far behind. I can’t take them all singlehandedly. But I think between the two of us, we can manage well enough.”

  Two SUVs pulled up to the building. Mithras got into one with four of his men while the remaining troops piled into the second vehicle. Asher and I took off after them, staying high enough to keep a bird’s eye view of the cars while traveling the path with the least amount of obstacles to navigate. Our shadows hugged building facades and leapt from street light to street light as we leapfrogged one another in our quest to keep pace with Mithras’s trek through the city.

  Almost an hour later, we found ourselves at the same place Lorik and I had dropped Steve the werewolf at a couple of weeks ago. The compound on the outskirts of the city was just as creepy as I remembered, with the strange beam of light shooting up into the stratosphere like some kind of diabolical beacon. We followed the cars past the main domed building to a smaller, yet still impressive structure facing the north end of the property that appeared to be an underground bunker as well. Waiting outside was a small group of the bald-headed priests, their heads bowed reverently as Mithras got out of the car and walked past them.

  “What in the hell am I seeing here?” Ash sounded like he’d reached his weirdness threshold for the night and I was right there with him. Even for me this was a little out there. “Is it my imagination, or does this guy have a full-on processional?”

  It sure looked that way. The priests were still lining the walkway, heads bowed as the Marian legion filed from the cars and followed behind their supposed master. After the last soldier fell into step, the priests took up the rear, closing in ranks as though providing a shield. An added layer of protection to keep Mithras from harm. “You’ve got to give it to him. The dude knows how to rock the god vibe.”

  Once the last of the priests disappeared inside the building, Asher and I followed. God or not, Mithras was powerful and I didn’t want to trigger any supernatural Spidey-sense he might have had until I was close enough to see the whites of the bastard’s eyes. “You deal with the acolytes, I’ll deal with Mithras, got it?” This was my job. The mark was my responsibility.

  “Hardly fair,” Asher groused as our shadows slithered on either side of the walkway. “I counted at least eight priests and six soldiers. That’s…fourteen for me and one for you.”

  “The priests are human.” There wasn’t an ounce of supernatural energy between them from what I could tell. “I don’t know about the soldiers, though. Are you telling me you can’t handle six guys with broadswords, Ash? I thought you were a triple threat.”

  “Oh, I am,” he replied. I’ve got the power and the skill, but I don’t think my charming good looks are going to do anything for me with this crowd, Darian.”

  I couldn’t hold in the chuckle that worked its way loose from my chest. Gallows humor, considering what we were here for, but right about now I needed the levity. “We’re agreed, then? You take out the security and leave Mithras to me?”

  “Agreed.” A ribbon of shadow brushed against my own and he said, “But if you get into trouble in there, all bets are off.”

  Anxiety curled in my center as tight as a spring. “Agreed.”

  We remained incorporeal, relying on stealth to give us the upper hand. Once inside the building, I realized that my first assumption about this place had been correct: it was a goddamned temple. A narrow hallway descended below the earth to the central space, the walls and floors covered in black marble veined with gold.

  Asher’s whisper tickled my senses as a thought inserted in my mind. “And I thought I had an ego. Can you believe this place?”

  In a throne perched atop a high dais sat the man himself. One arm was slung casually over the back of the throne while the other fiddled with the gold filigree decorating the swirling pattern carved into the wood of the opposite armrest. His feet were firmly planted on the ground, thighs wide and accentuating his slouched position. The salt and pepper gray hair was gone, replaced with shining jet black locks and the lines that aged his face were now smoothed with a youthful countenance
. Only the scars remained, and those he wore with pride. They were the marks of a warrior and he was a warrior’s god.

  Mithras.

  “You’re punctual, assassin. I’ll give you that.”

  His voice echoed across the temple, deep and rough, scraping across my senses like sandpaper. I sent out a mental command to Ash—stay hidden. In a fluid motion, I stepped from the cover of shadow, dark tendrils curling behind me as I regained my corporeal form. The daggers vibrated at my sides, sensing that I was on edge. Oh, don’t you worry guys. I’ll be putting you to work soon enough.

  “Punctuality is one of my strong suits,” I remarked as I approached the dais. The soldiers moved as though to intercept me but Mithras stayed them with a wave of his hand. As one, they stepped back and froze into place. I jerked my chin toward his troops. “That statue act would give the boys at Buckingham Palace a run for their money. Impressive.”

  He graced me with a wan smile, as if I were a child he’d been forced to suffer. “Tell me, who was foolish enough to hire you to kill me?”

  “If I told you it would ruin the surprise.”

  “You have a warrior’s heart.” He rubbed the backs of his fingers against his jaw in contemplation. “It’s too bad you’re a woman.”

  Oh, hell no. He did not just say that. “I’m sure that you miss the good old days when you and your bros could bond while the little woman stayed at home, but that shit doesn’t fly with me.”

  His dark laughter echoed off the marble walls. “Mine is not an equal opportunity worship, I’m afraid.”

  “Yeah, I heard all about it. Only guys are worthy of bowing down to the almighty Mithras.” I made a show of looking him over from head to toe, and though he was the image of masculine perfection, I curled my lip into a distasteful sneer. “This is a new age, buddy. The dogma of your so-called religion is a little outdated. We don’t hang out in caves. And the closest thing I’ve seen to a slaughtered bull is the steak I ate last week. I know you think you’re some high and mighty deity looking down on your lowly worshipers, but all you really are is a bully and an asshole who’s throwing illegal guns out onto the streets.”

  “War is war, and it is the sustenance that I crave,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t care how I am sated, only that it is done.”

  Yeah, even if that meant killing innocent women intent on ruining his fun. “Let me guess, the more warriors out there fighting, the more full you feel?”

  Another shrug. “I am the warrior’s god. Make of that what you will.”

  Jeez. What an asshole. From behind me, the sounds of a struggle drew my attention and I whipped around to find Asher, corporeal and held by four of Mithras’s soldiers. God damn it.

  “Your effort was admirable,” Mithras remarked. “But all within these walls are bared to me. There is nowhere to hide. You’ve violated the sanctity of my temple, female. And for that, you must die.”

  Well, he’d officially taken misogyny to a whole new level. “And you’ve desecrated your own religion by killing innocents in order further your own interests. For that, I’m going to kill you.”

  Mithras had allowed us to sneak into his temple, a game of cat and mouse for his enjoyment. I suppose we’d entertained him with our bravado, slinking through his halls as though we had the advantage. What a fool I was. Now we were trapped, not to mention surrounded. Mithras glanced over my head to where his men held a struggling, cursing Asher. “Kill the boy first, and we’ll make an example of the female later.”

  Bull. Shit. Two men forced Ash to his knees while a third held his head down. A fourth soldier stepped beside him and raised his sword high, ready to bring the blade down on Ash’s neck.

  No! Damn it! Frantic, I wracked my brain for a way to get Asher out of this mess. I wish I had a way to immobilize those soldiers…

  My skin tingled where Tyler’s silver ringed my thumb, and cool magic snaked over my skin, winding and twining in a chilled caress. A look of panic infused the faces of the soldiers as they struggled to move. I’d somehow frozen them all in place. From behind me, I heard the snap of fingers and the bevy of bald priests sprung to action, each of them drawing a short dagger. The thought struck before I could comprehend what I was doing, I wish the priests were immobilized, and they too froze mid-step like a piece of modern art.

  Ho-ly shit!

  “How did you do that?” The voice of an enraged god boomed all around me, straining with each syllable.

  I turned slowly, a pleasant smile fixed on my face. “You know, I have no fucking idea. Must’ve been my super-secret girl power.”

  Outside, I was the epitome of self-confident calm. On the inside, my brain was running a loop of oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! My hand was growing colder by the second, my thumb almost completely numb from the chill. What in the hell had I done? You’ve granted your own fucking wishes, that’s what! How in the hell did I do it? Only one answer came to mind: Nys’Asdar.

  Mithras rose from his throne, every shift of muscle and sinew a study in raw power. Each step down the stairs of the dais was precisely placed, his gait slow and steady like a jungle cat about to pounce. I wish Mithras was immobile! I wish he was frozen in place and as weak as a newborn puppy! I waited for him to stop in his tracks, to wobble on his newborn legs, but he continued toward me, his expression a hard mask that promised retribution. My hand nearly burned from the sting of cold but either I didn’t have a good grasp of what I was doing—big surprise—or not even Nys’Asdar’s magic could trump a god’s.

  No biggie. I still hadn’t reached the bottom of my bag of tricks. I pulled the daggers from their sheaths and I swear to god as the blades scraped past leather, they sang with elation. Any trepidation I felt melted in a rush of confidence so intense, I could hear the buzz from the residual magic. Mixing magical mediums might have been be a good idea, sort of like shot-gunning a beer and following it up with a fifth of bourbon. I’d more than likely have one hell of a hangover in the morning, but right now, I needed to focus on taking Mithras down so I could get myself and Asher the hell out of here alive.

  Mithras advanced and I took a step back. And then another. He towered over me, nearly eight feet tall. Jesus, he could change his form at will, his arms bulging even bigger, his thighs the size of small tree trunks. I dug the balls of my feet into the soles of my shoes and forced myself to hold my ground. Mithras held out his right hand and as it curled into a fist, a long wooden spear with a wicked steel blade manifested from nothing, shooting to its full six feet of length in the blink of an eye.

  Okay, that was impressive.

  He held the staff in both hands and rushed me with a flourish of movement that was little more than a flash of color. I needed the boost of skill and confidence that the daggers gave me, but as far as my reach went, I couldn’t compete with the long spear shaft. Mithras struck out and the butt of it caught me in the ribs, a sharp jab that sent me flat on my ass. He twirled the weapon until it was perpendicular to the ground and stabbed down. I rolled to my left, barely avoiding the sharp spaded tip of the blade that Mithras buried a good three inches into the marble floor.

  I tried to shuck my corporeal form, but it wasn’t going to happen. Mithras had the temple locked down, holding me in my body. From a low crouch, I launched myself at him, ducking below the wide upward arc of the spear shaft. The daggers directed my aim and I struck out with my right arm, a quick stab that sunk deep into the flesh between his ribs.

  “I’ll gut you for that,” Mithras growled as he spun away.

  The blade released from his flesh and another surge of mindless battle lust settled over me, the daggers urging me to fight. Where was Ash? Was he still held fast in the grip of the frozen soldiers? I needed to know he was safe, but Mithras fought with such unrestrained vigor that I barely had the opportunity to take a deep breath let alone shift my gaze. He held the spear in both hands, coming at me with the blade and swinging around to follow up the assault with the butt. My arms ached as I parried blow after b
low, right, left, right…

  “Mother fucker!” I cried out as the thick blade cut across my upper arm, opening a wide gash. Blood trickled down my arm as the wound began to heal, the skin pulling as it knitted back together.

  The blades gave me a personal advantage, in fact, I had no doubt that without them I’d be dead by now. Mithras’s assault was relentless, his stamina unending. His speed, agility, strength all connected him to something not simply otherworldly, but divine. My confidence began to tank, despite the daggers as I wondered, was it even possible to kill a god? He stabbed down and I lunged out of the way, avoiding the spear blade by less than an inch. His eyes flashed, one a blue gas flame, and the other an emerald glinting in the sun. A battle shout erupted from his powerful chest, shaking the temple to its foundation.

  “I will drink your blood, defiler,” he spat. “And I’ll mount your head on a pike as a warning to other ambitious females who dare walk through these doors.”

  Come the fuck on. “Your chauvinism is getting old, Mithras.” My breath sped in my chest and my lungs burned from my efforts. Still, I goaded him. “Admit that you can’t handle a strong woman and get over yourself. Ain’t nobody got time for your shit.”

  My trash talk spurred his anger. Exactly the result I was hoping for. Time to wrap this job up.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When I sparred with the Reaper in Kieran’s den, I’d held back. Fought against the daggers, refusing to give myself over to that power. Now, though, all bets were off. Control had always been my number one hang-up. That being, I couldn’t relinquish it no matter the situation. What Xander had given me was a way to let go. The daggers were my permission to accept help without losing face in the presence of whoever might be near to see it. He knew the shame I’d endured after Kade’s attack, and that those I respected had witnessed my weakness. The daggers were the perfect gift, really. And they proved that Xander knew me better than I gave him credit for.

  Power vibrated up my arms and this time, I surrendered to the sensation. Mithras had a good two and a half feet of height on me. He was twice as wide. Each swing of my blade was a futile attempt to score his flesh. A toothpick lashing out at an ancient oak. The daggers urged my arms where they needed to go and I slipped into a comfortable rhythm. Mithras was still faster, though, and he caught me in the side of the head with the blunt end of the spear.