Excitement tingled over her skin at the chance to train with them. It had been so long, she hesitated, suddenly uncertain.
Atlas studied her for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “Very well.”
She practically skipped onto the mat, while Atlas walked over toward the pile of weapons and picked up two staffs.
The elf was lithe, a quiet observer, ever watchful, and also so breathtakingly beautiful, it made her shy away from looking directly at him. His skin was pale, and so smooth it resembled polished stone, his brown hair was long enough to cover his pointy ears, the strands a little wild, the only thing that seemed to defy his control.
When he turned, he threw one of the staffs at her, and she deftly plucked it from the air. She hefted the weight of it, moving her feet step over step. The staff was about six and a half feet long, the wood worn smooth after years of use. It was about an inch around and fit well in her hands. She guessed it was a bit under ten pounds.
She spun it experimentally, the muscle memory from sparring with MacGregor coming back to her. It had taken her a week of bruised knuckles to learn how to hold the staff and another few weeks of battered arms and shins to learn she needed to know where her body was at all times. After six months, he deemed her adequate.
Atlas whirled the staff so quickly, a soft, musical hum sang through the air.
Then, without warning, he was moving. The end of his staff swung toward her head in a streak. Her training came back in a rush, and she thrust up her own staff in the nick of time, the impact reverberated up her arms. She jumped, whirled, spun and dodged as she struggled to stay ahead of his blows.
Every time she ventured out on the offensive, she got a whack for her troubles.
A tap against her thigh.
A smack on her arm.
A thwack against her ribs that made her falter.
Twice she landed on her ass, once when he swept her feet out from under her in a surprise attack, and a second time when she’d planted her staff and used it as a vaulting pole and he swatted her out of the air like a pesky fly.
After an hour, her muscles felt raw and achy.
Morgan lifted her staff, swiping the sweat away from her face with the back of her arm, refusing to give up, refusing to relent.
Then Atlas did something unexpected. He stepped back, planted his staff at his side and bowed, never once taking his eyes off her. “You did well. With a few lessons, you could become unstoppable.”
Draven gave a wild whoop, shooting her a broad smile. At some point, Ryder had joined him. He stood with his hands tucked under his arms, as if to keep himself from coming to her rescue, but even he looked impressed.
Morgan nearly wilted against her staff to catch her breath, completely flummoxed by their responses. “What do you mean? I was awful. I barely made contact a dozen times.”
“That’s more than any of them have ever managed.” Atlas tipped his head toward her cheering squad, his lips twitching so slightly she almost missed it.
She scowled, not sure she believed him.
“Believe it or not, the first time we sparred, every one of them spent more time on the mat than their feet.” Atlas collected her staff, but paused before turning away. “Your speed is incredible. You were in motion the instant I lifted my staff, almost anticipating my strategies. And you were getting better. You’re almost as good as a Tuatha Dé Danann.”
His green eyes reminded her of hills of Ireland, so intense she could imagine being there just by gazing into them. Cinnamon wafted up from his skin, the sweet smell completely at odds with his unbending posture. “Thank you?”
Morgan wasn’t sure it was a complement or not, but he nodded and strode away to replace the weapons. “We will train again tomorrow.”
It wasn’t a question.
When Morgan hobbled off the mats, Draven and Ryder were waiting. “You were amazing.”
“Hardly.” She grabbed a towel and wiped her face, stifling a groan from her protesting body.
Draven’s smile fell so quickly, she shivered at the quicksilver change. “You don’t understand. We’re barely good enough for him to bother to train with us. Only because we’re team members does he grudgingly beat us to a pulp. To have an elf offer to train you is an honor. It means he sees you as a worthy opponent.”
Morgan peered at Atlas over the edge of her towel, not sure it was a good thing, even less sure what to make of him.
“He’s on his sabbatical. The Elven people come to Earth to serve their time and learn how humans function. They almost never return Earthside after they’ve finished their sabbatical. They’re stiff, strict, and unbending sods, but they are the absolute best fighters. So when he says he will train you, believe me, it is an honor.”
Morgan was humbled.
“I didn’t even think he liked me.”
Draven snorted. “He doesn’t like anyone, but he finds you interesting enough to deem worthy of his attention. So soak it up. Don’t waste this chance.”
She wasn’t sure of his assessment, but she accepted his advice at face value. Ryder glanced at the clock, then at her. “We’ll be leaving shortly. If you hurry, you should be able to grab a quick shower.”
She bolted upright at the reminder, took a few steps, then turned and looked at him over her shoulder. “Thanks.”
Without waiting for a response, she dashed out of the gym, and charged toward her room. She was showered, changed and buckling her last weapons on her person when a knock sounded on the door.
Draven waited on the other side, dressed in full battle gear.
She couldn’t help but stare.
Leather had been made for a man such as him, her own scuffed pants looking shabby by comparison.
“Ready?” There was a hint of flirtation in the way his mouth curled up at her reaction, but his eyes and voice were all business. Again, she wondered about the man underneath his playboy exterior. Every once in a while, she caught the hint of deep loneliness, a black pit of despair when she looked in his eyes.
“Yes.” She snapped the door shut behind her, following him down the stairs.
And couldn’t help but notice the view from the back was almost as captivating as the front. With conscious effort, she tore her eyes away, her cheeks heating at her wicked thoughts, uncomfortable with her uncharacteristic emotions.
She needed to get back to what was important—the hunt. It was time to set aside this other nonsense.
As they travelled through a warren of passageways, she discovered she was a little nervous about her first mission with them, worried she wouldn’t live up to their expectations.
It shouldn’t matter.
She didn’t come here to make friends.
She should be more worried about finding the witch-killer, but somehow she was being sucked into their high-octane lifestyle.
They made her feel less like a freak.
Like she belonged.
A dangerous feeling, one she refused to let worm its way in her head and distract her.
When they entered a familiar tunnel, she knew they were heading toward the garage.
What she didn’t expect was to find Harper and Kincade standing so close the witch was practically wrapped around him.
Every ounce of good cheer vanished. “What’s she doing here?”
Draven glanced at her, then at Harper, barely covering his own grimace. “Once we herd the gaggle of gremlins, she’ll be able to open and close the portal. This should be a quick in-and-out mission.”
Kincade deftly extracted himself from the queen bitch’s clutches, not seeing her scowl when he walked away. “Our target is a warehouse infected with gremlins. We are only to exterminate them as a last resort. Any questions?”
No one said a word.
“Then load up.”
Everyone headed toward the van. Kincade slipped behind the wheel. Ryder opened the passenger door, ready to heave his bulk inside when Harper sauntered forward and commandeered the front seat right out from under
him.
Like he was some damned servant to cater to her every whim.
It didn’t even dawn on Harper that he wasn’t opening the door for her.
A muscle jumped in his jaw as he closed the door with a soft click and climbed in back. Morgan was appalled to realize this was his life.
He deserved better.
Atlas soon joined him in the back seat. She piled in next, Draven right on her heels. They were barely seated when Kincade stomped on the gas. Draven pulled out the blade tucked into his boot, calmly running a whetstone along the edge over and over. Instead of being calmed by the repetitive motion, darkness oozed from his pores, obliterating any hint of the flirty, carefree guy she first met.
Ryder continued to stare out the window, refusing to meet her gaze. While everyone else was armed to the gills, he only had one blade…the one she gifted to him.
She blinked, startled by the notion that he couldn’t bear to be parted from her gift.
Her stomach dipped wildly, and she shoved away such a foolish notion.
It was a fine blade.
That had to be the reason.
Right?
And yet, Morgan wasn’t convinced.
Tearing her eyes away from Ryder, her attention landed on Atlas as he calmly ran a cloth over a pair of short, double-edged swords that looked wickedly sharp and totally deadly.
Of all the men, he appeared the most relaxed…as if excited at the prospect of a good fight.
Instead of the joking and comradery she’d become used to hearing from the team, the van was ominously silent, each man lost in his own world. Morgan wondered if Harper had upset the balance among the men…or worse, if her own presence was the one to ruin the cohesiveness of the team.
Bile rose in her throat at the thought, and she turned to stare out the window.
They drove down the twisty mountain road for what felt like hours. When Harper set her talons on Kincade’s arm, Morgan’s annoyance turned to disgust while she watched the witch try to work her wiles on him. She only felt marginally better when he immediately extracted himself under the guise of adjusting the thermostat. The blonde chatted away incessantly, until Morgan wanted to lean forward and stab the bitch. Something of her thoughts must have telegraphed itself to Draven. He leaned over into her seat with wide eyes, blocking her view. He uncurled his fingers to reveal a pair of headphones.
She nearly sagged in relief and gave him a grateful smile, plugging them in her ears.
And couldn’t have been more surprised at the choice of music.
Instead of heavy rock, the song was an old Irish ballad of lost love.
She was immediately entranced by the tragic love story, the soaring notes touching her soul, and her heart grew heavy in her chest over the loss of something she would never be able to feel.
The sun had long since been banished from the sky, the moon nothing but a sliver hanging above them, when they pulled up on the outskirts of town and parked in front of what appeared to be an abandoned building. Darkness drenched the warehouse, giving the steel structure a Gothic vibe. A small lake shimmered in the distance, wisps of fog rising from the calm waters like ghosts, warning away unwary visitors.
While the guys threw open the van doors, she reluctantly removed the headphones.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Atlas and Ryder doing the same, and felt a sort of kinship with them. Then it hit her…everyone else was used to riding with Harper, and brought along their own protection. Mirth bubbled up in her chest, and she barely resisted the urge to laugh at them…and made a mental note to pick up a pair of her own ASAP.
She almost felt bad Kincade had to suffer the whole ride.
Almost.
When Kincade cut the engine, sounds returned in a rush…or the lack of sounds.
Not even insects dared buzz.
The total lack of life was so eerie, the hair on her arms lifted in warning.
Whatever was here had either scared away even the smallest of life forms or—knowing gremlins—had eaten them. They must have moved on bigger prey, since Kincade and his squad had been called in to deal with them…like a stray human or two. As if picking up on her thoughts, Draven studied their surroundings as well, the intensity of his expression making him look ready to burst into action at any moment.
The rest of the group carefully exited the vehicle, stretching their muscles, their eagle eyes missing nothing despite the darkness.
As everyone gathered around in a group, she ended up across from Kincade. He gave her a hard look, clearly wanting to say something, but tightened his mouth and turned away instead. “We’ll split up into two teams. Harper, Atlas and Ryder are with me. Draven, you will be in charge of Morgan. We will enter the warehouse, then split up. We’ll head right, while you go the opposite way, and sweep the warehouse. When you find the nest, signal us, and we’ll get the portal open and corral them together.”
Ryder’s and Atlas’s expressions hardened, ready to protest, but Kincade’s glower silenced whatever they were going to say.
Draven, if possible, looked even grimmer.
They all turned toward Harper, and Morgan understood.
She was just a hunter.
Expendable.
They needed to protect their asset.
“Agreed.”
Kincade’s head snapped toward her, and the tightness in his shoulders eased when he saw she understood.
Without another word, everyone scattered. The men merged into the darkness like they belonged there, easily disappearing from view.
Harper might as well have glowed for all the effort she put into blending.
The warehouse turned out to be built of steel and concrete, a veritable fortress.
The gremlins had chosen well.
The door gave a screech of protest when Atlas wrenched it open, the elf wincing at the racket, before slipping into the warehouse.
Instead of an empty warehouse, the racks were full of boxed merchandise, blocking their view and making the mission more of an obstacle course. Harper lifted up her hand, and a small orb began to glow, bobbing gently in the air. When she touched the small light, it sounded like she ran her finger along the edges of a wine glass. But whatever she did, the orb seemed to understand and attached itself to her. It rose ten feet in the air, and hovered above her, illuminating enough of the area so she wouldn’t trip.
Even Morgan had to admit it was a neat trick, although she wondered about the light pinning a target on them.
Then she understood.
It was a compromise.
Harper couldn’t see in the dark. She would only end up stumbling around, attracting attention. At least this way she would be able to see what was coming at them and hopefully defend them. As the team split up, Morgan reluctantly followed Draven, worried that Harper would get the others killed if it meant keeping herself alive.
They passed three racks of goods, the shelving thirty feet in the air, when she heard rustling, like an army of rats were moving above them.
Morgan instinctively armed herself with one blade in each hand, but knew they would be useless for defense if the gremlins were organized and decided to attack all at one time.
“The queen is in charge. They won’t do anything without her permission.” Draven’s comment didn’t reassure her, since the queen was usually the most vicious of the bunch.
A stack of boxes began to teeter, giving her only seconds of warning before they began to rain down on them. Morgan charged forward, grabbed Draven about the waist and tackled him to the ground. They skidded on the cement a good few feet, and a couple of boxes heavy enough to be full of rocks struck her legs. A sharp stench stung her nostrils, and Morgan covered her nose with the back of her hand. The boxes were doused in urine. When she pushed upright, she looked back through watery eyes and saw the pathway behind them was completely blocked.
They had no choice but to go forward.
“Thanks.” Draven stood, offering her a hand, the other he used t
o pinch his nose shut. She accepted help, stooping long enough to retrieve her knife.
Above them, about a dozen creatures began to cackle, hoot, and screech as if they were watching an event.
They were being toyed with.
“They were expecting us.”
“Not us.” Draven’s voice was grim. “They were expecting humans. Based on their level of organization, the group has obviously done this often.”
Meaning the gremlins had caught and consumed more than one human.
Packages stacked on the floor began to rustle on both sides of the shelving, the boxes jolting as the little bastards zipped down the racks.
She spun to keep them in sight, awed at how incredibly fast they moved.
A shadow flew overhead. When she tipped her head back, she saw a dozen creatures no more than two feet high leap the fifteen feet across the aisle. She threw a blade, managed to hit one, but her weapon bounced harmlessly off its hard, reptilian hide. They scampered up the shelving and disappeared into the boxes as her blade clanked harmlessly to the ground.
There appeared to be three different varieties. The majority of them were varying shades of green, covered with warts and black, oily spots. Those were the males. The younger ones were a light tan, slightly smaller, but no less deadly. A couple had bright yellow bellies, but no less hideous. They were the females. Their eyes were pure red, their black pupils narrow slits. Some had distinctive stripes, while others were marked with scars, whether from battle or decoration, she wasn’t sure.
One evil little critter, slightly bigger than the rest, glared down at her from his crouched position, his scars prominent on his body, a bold slash gouging deep ruts across his face. He was the commander, battle-hardened and vindictive about having his space invaded. His large ears were thin and leathery, swiveling to catch even the slightest sound, the left one kinked where it had nearly been torn off. His claw-tipped hands were wrapped around the metal grates of the shelving, his arms almost as long as his entire body, which made climbing and running on all fours easier.
This one appeared to be covered with some kind of goo that dripped down the shelves. The ammonia smell was nearly enough to knock her out. Tuffs of scraggly hair struck up from the top of his head. He sneered, revealing dozens and dozens of bloody, razor-sharp teeth.
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