Demons in Disguise: The Divinicus Nex Chronicles: Book Three

by A and E Kirk

  “Yes. That is, if I knew what you were talking about,” I added, realizing too late I was giving away too much info.

  “Ahhhh, yes,” he said as a light of understanding dawned in his eyes. “Psyche is the teacher. I must admit, the reports of her beauty are not exaggerated.”

  Was that a pang of jealousy I felt? Nah.

  He chuckled. “Who knew that she possessed the skills of a master pickpocket?”

  “Pickpocket?”

  “Yes.” He fingered the metal brooch Eros had put on my belt. “That is mine. She took it without my knowledge while we danced.”

  “I didn’t know. You can have it back.” I brushed his fingers aside and started to remove it.

  He stilled my hand with his own. “Keep it for now.”

  I moved my hand away from his touch and that warm, comforting feeling it evoked.

  He pushed through a door that led into a room with rows of lockers. I heard voices, but Cristiano chose an empty row, and we exited out another door without seeing anyone.

  “And what of Eros?” he asked, picking up speed down the new hallway. “You desire him to be protected as well?”

  An unladylike noise spurted through my lips. “He can take care of himself. Um, that is, if I knew what you were talking about.”

  He tilted his head. “So you have no love for the demon god of love. Interesting. Yet you spend an inordinate amount of time with him and remain alive and well. Not many could say the same. Unless you two…?” He let the sentence hang with a sexually suggestive implication.

  “What?” I recoiled. “Ew. No. I just told you I’m friends with his wife!”

  “Not necessarily an obstacle.”

  “Ugh!” I made a face. “Double ew.”

  He grinned. “I forgot you are an American.”

  “And I just realized you’re a Euro-creep-an. Thinking I’m that kind of girl. It’s insulting.”

  “Says the girl with six boyfriends.”

  “That’s it. I’m done talking to you about this. Besides, I don’t even know what—”

  “—I am talking about.”

  “Right.” I really wish he’d stop finishing—

  “Your sentences.”

  And I needed to stop thinking out loud.

  “What about yourself?” he asked, weaving us around an orderly pushing a patient in a wheelchair. “Should I add you to the protection list?”

  “Obviously. But down—”

  “Below everyone else.”

  “That’s really annoying.”

  “To list yourself below everyone else? I would agree.”

  “No. To have you—”

  “Finishing your sentences. Yes. I see how it might be.”

  I scowled. “Cut it—”

  “Out.” He tried and failed to stifle a grin. “My apologies. I find it entertaining.”

  “Well, I—” When he appeared to begin speaking a word that began with D, I pointed a warning finger. He closed his mouth and put an index finger to his lips. I finished my own sentence. “—don’t.”

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  This hallway looked familiar. We were close to Heather’s room. My heart sped up wondering what exactly we would encounter.

  Cristiano gave me a sideways glance. “Relax. I will handle this. When we arrive at the nurse’s station, remain silent and keep your head down. Drawing less attention will make it easier to keep you alive.”

  “So you can have the pleasure of killing me yourself later?” I snapped, because at that point, I’d had a heck of a day, and Mr. Bossy Pants Know It All was really ticking me off. Not to mention my formerly stabbed hand had begun a dull, but persistent ache. “That’s so very charming, Mr. Seduction Guru.”

  He laughed at that. A deep, rolling sound that echoed along the sterile walls of Novo. It held such humor, I almost smiled myself.

  He finally sobered enough to say, “So very entertaining.”

  CHAPTER 66

  Heather’s room was empty. The nurses said the last time they’d seen her was when I was taking her away with Dr. Buttefield.

  “Oh, crap. I forgot,” I said as we walked away a few paces and paused in a supply room doorway. “We have to find Buttefield too. Make sure she’s okay.”

  He glanced at his big watch which was so similar to mine. “We have been here too long.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I need Heather.”

  “You also need to stay alive.”

  “Which she can help with.”

  “Further delay only increases the danger.”

  “Come on. You’re the Big Bad Sicarius,” I said. “You can find a way. Besides, the least you can do is help since I’m trying to save her from your—” I stopped. Bit my lip. I wasn’t sure how much he was in on it, how much to spill.

  “My what?” he asked. At my silence, he pressed in closer, clueless to the concept of personal space. “My what?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Just help me. Please.”

  His eyes narrowed, calculating. He studied me for a long minute, then he stepped away and dragged me back to the nurse’s station, muttering in what sounded like Latin.

  “Let me see the girl’s file,” he told a nurse.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered. “We’re wasting time.”

  He ignored me, took the file from the nervous nurse, and stomped to an empty desk. Slapping the folder down, he flung it open. His eyes scanned the documents as he flipped pages with angry urgency, ripping a few in his haste.

  “I do not see anything.” He flipped another page and was about to flip another when he froze. The skin around his eyes tightened. For a moment he seemed to stop breathing.

  “My mother,” he said softly. He looked up at me, his gaze cold. “You think my mother is trying to kill this girl.”

  And me. But we can save that for another conversation, big guy.

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but she is the one—”

  “Who signed her into Novo,” he said. “And ordered today’s transfer.”

  Didn’t know that last part, but it made sense.

  “All I know for sure is that her life is in danger, and…” I paused. He gave me a hard look. Oh, what the heck. “If I can get her to remember, she can help expose who’s been trying to hurt me so I can have a shot at stopping them. You say you want to protect me, here’s your chance.”

  He glanced away. Silent.

  One of the nurses said, “Hello, Director Renard.”

  Cristiano grabbed me, and I suddenly found myself huddled under a desk, squeezed behind his large form in a very small space.

  “Of course, Director Renard, I understand.” The nurse was speaking on the phone, her tone deferent. “We’ll take care of whatever you need.” She hung up and told the women around her. “Be ready. Director Renard is on her way.” There was a hub of nervous energy and the nurses began tidying up the station.

  Cristiano pulled us out from hiding. He rolled up Heather’s file and stuffed it into one of the side pockets of his cargo pants. “We must go.”

  “Renard’s in charge of Novo, right?”

  “Yes. She knows me and my mother. If she sees me here with you, she may perhaps ask too many questions. I think it best if we do not encounter a face-to-face with her.”

  That was a big affirmative.

  We hurried down the hallway. “Where are we going?”

  “To the last place you saw Heather. Show me. Now.” He paused to face me, his expression serious. “But we have little time. If I say go, we go. If you refuse, I shall remove you from here under duress. By whatever means necessary. Understood?”

  He didn’t even bother to wait for my answer, just moved aside and gestured for me to lead the way.

  I rolled my eyes and headed out. Cristiano followed a few paces behind. As we passed through an intersection of hallways, there was a commotion to our right. A group of men in black jumpsuits stood in front of a set of double doors. A massive form barreled through the
doors, then kept going and muscled his way past the crowd of jumpsuits, some of which latched onto his body like fleas on a dog.

  The massive form said, “Guys, it was a total misunderstanding. I’m allowed in this ward now.” The bulky figure started shrugging off the jumpsuits until he saw me. “Hey there good-looking. What’s your name? It should be Miss U. R. Hot. Look, thing is, I’ve got some business saving a damsel right now, but when I’m done maybe you and I could get togeth…”

  His hazel eyes lost that cocky come-hither look and widened big as hubcaps. His Adam’s apple bobbed. His gaze traveled up and down my body, landing back on my face with a jolt of astonishment.

  “B-babe?” Blake stammered. “Is that…?” He swallowed again. “Oh my God. What have they done to you? Kidnapped you? Brainwashed you into the Sicarius?!”

  I tried to shush him, but in a flash, his face contorted into a blotchy mask of rage, so fierce and vicious that, try as I might, I could not recognize a remnant of the sweet, adorable flirt I knew and loved.

  The jumpsuits he’d sloughed off got to their feet and stood between us, issuing Blake warnings to back off and calm down. But Blake wasn’t listening. His eyes glazed over and squinted down to slits swirling with the colors of autumn.

  “No,” he choked. Then his voice boomed with fury. “No! You’re not taking her, too. Stay away!”

  With that final word he flung off the last of the jumpsuits clinging to him. They skidded across the floor, or slammed into walls and slid down like undercooked pasta.

  Three of the men he’d previously shrugged off tried to jump back on, but after an incensed grunt from Blake, they were once again sent flying through the air. Other jumpsuits started pulling guns and talking into radios. There was a lot of shouting. I tried to push through, but no luck, and Blake didn’t notice or hear my cries for him to stop.

  Instead, he hunched over, arms out, doing a pretty good impression of The Hulk in transformation. Muscles bulged. Teeth bared. An unreasonable wrath shook through him. I thought I heard thunder crack outside, then realized it was the building around us contorting. The double doors groaned, started to twist and pucker, the hinges pulling loose.

  I’d seen Blake hold up and put together a building much bigger than this one, so I had no doubt he could bring this little baby down. Destruction wasn’t usually his thing, but he was, shall we say, in a mood.

  Two guys in front of me held guns on Blake. They sighted him down. I leapt forward, yanked one guy’s wrist down and away while landing a solid kick to the other guy’s hand, and watched the gun go spiraling through the air. I punched one guy in the neck and kicked another in the groin, but there were too many of them, and not enough of me.

  In my peripherals, a figure flew forward at a dead run. It stepped on fallen jumpsuits and easily punched and kicked through several more, leaving them unmoving on the ground. Then it knocked another aside as it used that falling jumpsuit’s shoulder to launch into the air, plant a foot briefly on the wall, then ricochet and flip like a spinning pinball toward Blake.

  The figure latched onto Blake’s back, and now that he wasn’t a blur of motion, I saw it was Cristiano.

  He wrapped his legs around Blake’s torso and jammed one arm around the big guy’s throat, using his other hand to lock the hold. The momentum from Cristiano’s leap brought the two down, Blake falling backwards onto Cristiano whose back hit the floor, and the two skidded on the shiny, smooth tile. There was a hard grunt, but it was difficult to tell from whom.

  Blake squirmed and bucked, but Cristiano held on, his face shading to dark crimson with the effort as his chokehold tightened.

  “Stay back!” Cristiano grunted to the jumpsuits holding guns. They kept their weapons trained, but didn’t interfere. Nor would they let me through.

  “Don’t hurt him!” I shouted, talking more to Cristiano than the jumpsuits, because like a great beast in the throes of death, Blake’s squirming began to subside, becoming mere erratic twitches.

  His eyes rolled up in his head, and a moment later, Blake’s huge body went limp.

  “No,” I said, choking on my heart.

  It got a little quieter. Enough that I heard a concerned voice echo from far down the hall. “Blake?”

  Then there were footsteps running and the shouting resumed. This time mostly from the Hex Boys headed our way at a full sprint.

  CHAPTER 67

  I rammed my way through a couple of jumpsuits and knelt next to Blake. Jamming my fingers against his throat, I let out a gasp of relief. “He’s alive.”

  “Of course.” Cristiano maneuvered out from under Blake and stood. “Merely unconscious.” He saw the Hex Boys on the run toward us. “But the rest may not be so lucky.”

  By this time, the jumpsuits had us surrounded in a protective circle, positioned with their backs to us and pointing weapons toward the Hex Boys. I lifted Blake’s head onto my lap, stroking his cheek, brushing curls off his sweaty forehead. Before I could stop him, a guard scurried over and latched something around Blake’s leg.

  “Get off!” I yelled, but he was already gone. Little rat. On Blake’s ankle, I recognized the same contraption with the blinking red light Heather had been wearing. A tracker. Crap. This wasn’t good. For any of the Hex Boys.

  “Cristiano,” I said urgently. “You can’t let the guards—”

  “Hurt them. I know,” he said without looking at me. “I have been doing my best, but how many times must I be expected to save you and your Hex Boys?”

  He stepped through the jumpsuits. The Boys saw him. Recognition dawned. They slowed, somewhat in shock, but also to set up their offensive and defensive positions, readying for a fight. I understood, and apparently, so did Cristiano.

  He raised his hands in a gesture of supplication. “All is well, gentlemen, but you need to come with myself and my associate. We will get you all, including your large friend here, safely back to your quarters.”

  At the word “associate” Cristiano gestured toward me. The Boys had already been eyeing Blake, but now they shifted their angry stares to me.

  It was almost comical the way the expressions played over their faces. Anger faded into confusion, then disbelief, then full-on denial which morphed into a slow, amazed acceptance mixed with a recurring dash of disbelief.

  I lifted my shoulders and gave them a cringing smile. Finally, after several moments of high tension, the body language in all the Hex Boys relaxed. Well, all of them except Ayden.

  Matthias rolled his eyes and said, “Un-bloody-believable.”

  Ayden said, “Yes it is,” and made a fast move toward us. The jumpsuits jerked their guns in the Boys' direction.

  Matthias put a hand on Ayden’s chest to stop him while Logan and Jayden each grabbed one of his arms. When Tristan said, “Hey!” and stepped forward, the jumpsuits kept their guns aimed but shuffled a quick step back and closed ranks.

  Cristiano, still facing the Hex Boys and standing squarely between them and the guns pointed in their direction, raised his arms out to his sides.

  “Hold your fire,” he told the jumpsuits over his shoulder. “You may go. My associate and I can take it from here. We will return the Hex Boys to their quarters. Thank you for your help. There is no need for an incident report.”

  The jumpsuits’ heads began swiveling toward each other. There was muttering before one of them said, “That’s going to be a problem.”

  CHAPTER 68

  Logan pointed at Blake’s ankle and told the guards, “Take that tracker off. Now!”

  “Not a chance,” the head guard said with a final shake of his head. “We told you what would happen if there were any further incidents. You each will be wearing one shortly.”

  I stayed in the rear of the entourage, remaining next to my Sicarius “associate.” Cristiano’s hand firmly gripped my arm. The Boys pushed a still unconscious Blake on a squeaky-wheeled gurney provided by the jumpsuits, who had insisted on escorting them back to their quarters.

&n
bsp; Logan looked ready to explode. Ayden, Jayden, and Tristan made noises of protest, but Matthias squelched them with a firm gesture for all to remain silent and follow along, and in short order, we arrived in what was apparently the Boys' assigned quarters.

  The collection of rooms resembled the Presidential Suite in some super swanky hotel. Floor-to-ceiling doors of tinted glass led to a large deck, which had a private pool and hot tub. From several stories up, the view overlooked Novo’s lush grounds and the vast desert beyond the walls.

  A formal dining room opened to a gourmet kitchen where a baking pan half-full of Tristan’s favorite chocolate oat bars explained the yummy aroma. In front of the entertainment center, several game controllers were scattered about as if they were flung aside in haste. Two doors led to bedrooms. I wasn’t sure what was at the top of the circular staircase.

  “There will be guards posted outside,” the head jumpsuit said. “In case you gentlemen need anything. Just ask. Your trackers will arrive shortly.”

  As the jumpsuits filed out, the head guy looked at Cristiano. “Are you coming, sir?”

  “Shortly,” Cristiano answered. He closed the door behind them, then turned and leaned against it, arms folded, calmly waiting for all hell to break loose.

  It did.

  CHAPTER 69

  Blake was still out cold on the gurney. Jayden rushed over to him and checked for injuries while Logan materialized his bow and arrow and aimed it at Cristiano. Ayden pushed me back behind him, away from Logan's target. Tristan stood next to me, a hand on my shoulder, while Matthias stepped up to stand in front of us all, facing the Sicarius assassin.

  Who looked bored.

  The Aussie said, “How’s Blake?”

  Jayden flipped up one of Blake’s eyelids. “Vitals are robust. No damage. Simply unconscious due to lack of oxygen.”

  “I can fix that,” Logan said, keeping a bead on Cristiano.

  “I would suggest that you let him be,” Cristiano said. “He has sustained a severe emotional distress. Continued slumber would be beneficial to his recovery.”