Shattered Spirits

by C. I. Black

  No. Ryan didn’t weaken her. He was her inamorator. He gave her strength.

  Her magic billowed, and she saw that she wasn’t out of control; it was stronger, bigger, more powerful than it had ever been before. She hadn’t been losing her mind; she hadn’t known she needed to compensate for the greater force she now summoned. It burned through her because she wasn’t used to it. Her mental and magical muscles were being stretched and overworked.

  And none of that helped her right now.

  Odyne’s magic still seared her every nerve and the people below still panicked. Even the dragons were panicking. The emotion was palpable, crackling through the air, grating against her tenuous control.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. A thread. That was all she needed, something she could weave into a net. But the start was the thread. Thin, electric, controllable.

  Her magic snapped.

  She ground her teeth, focusing on the look and feel of a magical thread. Just a hint of magic. That was all it was. She didn’t need all the power she’d summoned, not this moment. Mother, it felt like she was a hatchling again and had just realized she could summon earth magic.

  The magic writhed and seethed.

  She’d controlled it then. She could control it now. The situation didn’t call for a delicate touch. At this point she’d take a couple of hours’ memory wipe.

  Please.

  The magic jerked in her grasp.

  God damn it! She seized a small part of it with her mind and wrenched it into a thread. It jerked again, then lengthened, maintaining its shape. More magic rushed to it, as if magnetically drawn.

  She seized another small piece and set it across the first, and another. The flood burned but she wouldn’t let go. Just keep breathing and focus. Just make a net.

  CHAPTER 44

  Ryan wrenched back, dodging another strike to his head. Pimm was stronger than he looked—it explained how he could decapitate that security guard with one blow… how he’d decapitated Pete.

  Pimm growled and rushed forward, his shoulder low. Ryan twisted out of the way—farther from the weapons—and shoved Pimm. The man crashed into the wall, but spun around as if the impact hadn’t hurt him.

  Swell.

  The gun lay behind Pimm and the machete a few feet from that. Ryan had no idea how he was going to detain the man. Twisting his arm back into a joint lock wasn’t going to hold him. Ryan might not even be able to lock the man’s joint in the first place. But killing the man wasn’t an ideal option, only a last resort. Whether the members of Newgate P.D. believed it or not, he was still a cop, and cops didn’t just kill people, no matter what they’d done. If dragon-kind felt differently, that was their business. They could deal with Pimm without Ryan. But right now it was Ryan against Pimm and he was going to do what was right.

  Except he had no idea how.

  Ryan’s vision flashed from his body to the decapitated security guard. He lay a few feet from his sword with his firearm still holstered, and there on his belt were his handcuffs.

  Pimm launched at Ryan again. He sidestepped the lunge, but Pimm’s hand whipped out and seized Ryan’s forearm before he could get to the fallen security guard.

  Pimm yanked Ryan around, slamming him against the glass partition. The stainless steel railing topper dug into his back. His vision writhed around him, to above him, to the dead security guard, back into his head.

  “You shouldn’t have embraced the demon,” Pimm said. “You could have still been saved.”

  Ryan grabbed Pimm’s wrist and wrenched, but couldn’t break his hold. “I can still denounce it. You’ve shown me the truth.”

  Pimm glanced beside him. “But—” he said to empty air. His expression hardened and he swallowed hard. He turned back to Ryan and leaned in. “It’s too late for you. I’m sorry.”

  Pimm tossed Ryan to the floor. The man jerked his foot back to kick. Ryan rolled out of the way, but wasn’t fast enough. Pimm’s steel-toed boot skimmed Ryan’s already bruised ribs. Pain exploded in his side. Something had snapped—maybe many somethings. He couldn’t breathe. The agony burned across his chest.

  Pimm jerked his foot back again for another strike.

  Ryan scrambled away. He had to get to the security guard’s body and those handcuffs. Only a few feet remained.

  Pimm’s foot slammed to the floor and his other foot rose to kick.

  Ryan’s vision shot from the security guard to Pimm. Ryan wasn’t going to get to the cuffs or even the gun fast enough. Pimm’s foot rushed toward him. Another blow could kill him. It could slam an already broken rib into his lungs or heart and he wasn’t a dragon. He couldn’t heal from that.

  His vision lurched to Capri. Sweat slicked her brow, and her complexion was pale. Her breath came in quick gasps. Whatever she was doing took all of her concentration.

  Ryan’s vision spun back to Pimm, who kicked at him. He twisted out of the way but wasn’t fast enough. Pain roared through his chest and his vision darkened. He sucked in a breath and seized Pimm’s foot.

  Pimm tried to wrench free. Ryan scrambled to his knees. He shoved Pimm’s foot up and toppled the man, then dove back to the security guard’s body. He’d never be able to win a fistfight with Pimm—even without broken ribs.

  He reached for the gun—it was closer—but Pimm grabbed his ankle and yanked him away. He seized Ryan’s jacket, hauled him up, and slammed him back into the floor.

  More pain seared across Ryan’s chest and face. His breath vanished, and so did his sight. Only a black, airless vacuum surrounded him. He clawed at it, fighting to stay conscious. His magical vision lurched above him. He lay, gasping, blood oozing from his nose. His arms and legs twitched as if he tried to move, to stand, but couldn’t. He was trying to stand.

  Come on. Get up. But the vacuum clung to him.

  Pimm lunged past him to the security guard’s body and grabbed the man’s sword. Behind him, Capri panted and trembled, and the dozens of people still below looked dazed.

  Pimm stalked back to Ryan and raised the sword.

  He had to get up.

  His vision writhed and spun. Death was imminent.

  Get up!

  The blade hurtled toward him. His muscles spasmed with agony, and he wrenched to the side. The blade slammed into the semi-opaque floor with a squeal. More pain. More flickering darkness. He fought to ignore it and kicked Pimm in the knee. The man staggered, and Ryan shoved up and grabbed Pimm’s sword arm.

  Pimm yanked with his incredible strength against Ryan’s grip. Ryan clung to him. He couldn’t let Pimm get in a solid strike. Pimm slammed Ryan against the railing. Gasping, Ryan switched his grip, tightened it on Pimm’s wrist and rammed his palm against Pimm’s elbow, snapping his elbow in the wrong direction.

  Pimm howled and dropped the sword. It skittered to the far side of the walkway into a pile of broken, beaded glass. He turned to grab Ryan with his good hand. Ryan twisted and kicked Pimm in the knee. The man dropped to the floor.

  Ryan scrambled for the sword. Pimm dove after him. Ryan’s fingers brushed the hilt of the weapon, but Pimm scrambled past him and grabbed it. Ryan lurched for Pimm’s hand. Pimm shoved him and rose to his knees, the sword raised above his head.

  Ryan jerked to his back and slammed both feet into Pimm’s chest, shoving him. His head hit the steel railing and his eyes flashed wide. Time froze for a heartbeat, suspended in the horrible image of Pimm, his head bowed from the blow, the sword still gripped in his hand, and nothing below him.

  With a scream, he fell. Ryan scrambled forward. Pimm slammed into a sculpture and a glistening spike jutted from his chest.

  Someone wailed. People rushed toward Pimm’s corpse, and away from it, while others just looked stunned.

  Ryan dragged his attention to Capri. She pressed her forehead to the cool semi-opaque floor, her pale gaze locked on him. She was all right. Thank God. They were both all right—with a few broken ribs, but still alive.

  Relief and love filled her expression,
and that magnetic attraction that he hadn’t been able to explain or deny filled him. Now he knew it was a soul bond, a connection between paired souls that couldn’t be broken. It didn’t matter that she had the spirit of a dragon and he a human. They were a match, a perfect pairing, bonded for life—and given that magic existed, beyond life.

  Her gaze jumped past him and her eyes widened. His vision shot out of him. Katar, Ginger, and Cestus rushed to the shattered doors.

  “Take care of them,” Katar growled.

  Ginger sneered and rushed onto the bridge with Cestus. Capri lurched to her feet, but she was too far away. Ryan scrambled to the security guard’s body, his chest screaming in pain. He seized the guard’s gun and fired, hitting Ginger in the heart. She staggered.

  Capri leapt past him and rammed her shoulder into Ginger, knocking her over the railing.

  Katar’s eyes flashed wide. He grabbed Pimm’s machete and bolted away down the hall.

  “You take this guy. I’ve got Katar.” Capri raced through the doors after him.

  “No!” Ryan fired at Cestus. He had to help her. She was running straight into his future flash.

  CHAPTER 45

  Capri rushed after Katar, her head pounding and Odyne’s magic still burning through her. She couldn’t let him get away. He had to answer for the laws he’d broken, if not to his new-found friend, Regis, then certainly to his doyen, who he’d plotted to murder.

  That, and he pissed her off. He’d put everyone in danger, dragon-kind, her team’s lives, and Ryan’s life.

  He ran around a corner. She raced after him. He stood in the center of the hall, a gun pointed at her. Bang.

  She jerked back around the corner, but wasn’t fast enough. Pain sliced her side, making Odyne’s magic billow. She pressed her hand to the wound and her back to the wall. Mother, did it hurt.

  “Did I hurt you, blue drake?” Katar asked. “Don’t you heal fast? Or is Odyne’s touch still slowing you down? All that pain from just one little touch. It burns for a long time.” Katar chuckled. “We did studies, Regis and I. You know, the effects can last for years.”

  Wonderful. “So I guess you know what’s waiting for you when you return to Court.”

  “Regis won’t send me to Odyne. I’m his favorite now.”

  She glanced around the corner. Katar was creeping closer, the gun shoved down the front of his pants and the machete raised.

  “Who said anything about Regis? Barna knows you tried to kill him.”

  “Barna knows no such thing. All he knows is that I claimed you and your team were in league with the mages. For all he knows, it’s true.”

  “Yeah. That’s why we saved him.”

  “Minor detail that I can deal with. Starting with you.” He leapt around the corner, swinging the machete for her neck.

  She ducked and rammed her shoulder into his chest. He staggered, and she grabbed the gun from his waistband.

  He slammed the machete’s hilt into the mostly-healed gunshot wound against her ribs, drawing an agony augmented by Odyne’s magic.

  She gasped, the pain weakening her knees. He jerked back to strike again. She shoved forward, catching his arm with hers.

  “You’re not strong enough to stop me, little girl.”

  “I don’t have to be.” She flicked the safety from the gun and fired into his gut.

  With a scream, he wrenched back. She fired again, skimming his ribs. He twisted and kicked her in the chest. The force slammed her against the wall. Agony and blackness swarmed over her. He raised his machete to strike. She raised her gun, and he bolted around the corner.

  She scrambled forward on her hands and knees, trying to get her feet under her. He threw open a security door and rushed inside. Pain threatened her consciousness. She shoved up to her feet, fighting the agony, and raced after him.

  Inside was a concrete stairwell. Katar’s footsteps clattered above her and another security door banged open.

  There, one flight above her. Light from the hall beyond the open door filled the stairwell. She raced up the stairs, opened the door, and rushed into the pool of illumination from a security light. Beyond, the hall lay in darkness. Ghostly plastic sheets and strings of wires hung from the unfinished ceiling. Door frames stood empty, like hungry mouths, some dark, some with the promise of pale light, maybe from another security light or a window.

  Katar didn’t make a sound. His footsteps didn’t pound in the hall in either direction. Wherever he was, he was lying in wait for her.

  * * *

  Ryan ran down the hall and around the corner. Empty. Panic pumped through him. Capri was in the middle of his future flash and he had to be there to stop it. He’d shot Cestus with his last two bullets—he’d wish it had been three—kicked him in the head, and knocked him over the railing. Then he dropped the gun, grabbed the sword at his feet, and chased after Capri. But he hadn’t been fast enough. She was gone.

  This was not happening. He might have told himself he was investigating Pete’s murder, but really he’d spent these last few days trying to keep Capri safe.

  Which way to go? Down the hall? One of the doors?

  He strained to hear something, anything, but there was nothing but the mumble of voices from the lobby behind him.

  Everything within him screamed to find her. Now!

  But where? How?

  The hall rippled and darkened. That damned security door banged opened and Capri rushed out.

  He fought against the flash. He needed to stay in the present—and he was not going to think about whether the flash was now in the present or not. Knowing what was going to happen wouldn’t help. He needed to find her.

  The flash wrenched back and the security door banged open again.

  Ryan’s heart skipped a beat, and he squinted his mental eyes. There was something behind her, through the door. A dark line that cut on an angle behind her… like a railing.

  She’d come from the stairwell. But to what floor?

  The vision wrenched back again. Bang. The door swung open. He squinted harder, focusing all his concentration on the spot over her shoulder inside the stairwell.

  There, behind the railing, was a thick black line painted on the cinder block wall. Part of a four. She was on the fourth floor.

  He yanked free from the flash and rushed to the stairwell door, but the flash swarmed back around him. It poured over him, stealing his breath. He clutched the door frame to keep standing. The world twisted and the security door banged open.

  Yes. He knew. She was on the fourth floor.

  Blood stained her side and smeared across her cheek. She didn’t look in trouble anymore. Now that he knew what she was, she looked ferocious, a predator on the hunt.

  He fought to see past the flash.

  Someone screamed.

  It sounded so real.

  His flash jerked. Now he was in an unfinished office. Street and building lights shimmered out a bank of windows. A security light shone a patch of harsh light by a pillar and wires hung from the ceiling.

  Capri fired but the gun clicked. She was out of ammunition. A man—Ryan didn’t recognize him—with wild dark hair and dressed like a security guard laughed and rushed toward her. Another security guard, with a square jaw and brush cut, stepped into the light, and beyond him, a shadow among the shadows, stood Katar, watching it all.

  Ryan wrenched against his vision. Get up the damned stairs.

  Someone yelled. The sound was strong, close. It didn’t ripple or echo in the darkness. It was real. His future flash was happening now.

  He bolted to the stairs, but they weren’t there. He hovered above Capri’s shoulder as the men rushed at her.

  He fought to return to his body. He couldn’t just watch. He had to help her.

  CHAPTER 46

  Capri sidestepped a punch from a security guard with wild dark hair. She slammed a fist into his face and another in his gut, but he lunged around to grab her arm. She leapt back as the other guard, a handsome man w
ith a square jaw, jumped at her.

  She twisted away and kicked him in the knee, making him stumble.

  “I said, grab her,” Katar growled from somewhere in the shadows.

  “Why don’t you come out here and do it yourself?” she said.

  Wild Hair punched at her head again. She ducked and scrambled away, pain burning through her. She needed to finish this fast. Except both of the drakes she faced were bigger than her, and without a weapon it meant they had the advantage.

  The one with the square jaw grunted and pulled out an expandable steel baton. Neither man had a gun—half good, half bad. It meant they couldn’t shoot her, but it also meant she couldn’t take their guns and shoot them. Square Jaw rushed at her.

  She ducked under his swing and rammed her fist into his kidneys. He jerked his arm back. She ducked under the swing again, shoved her hand against his neck and hooked her foot behind his heel. With a jerk that sent agony searing through her, she shoved him down to the floor, slamming her knee into his groin as they hit.

  His breath burst from him, showering her face with a spray of saliva. He tried to hit her with the baton but couldn’t get the leverage for any strength. She seized it, wrenched it from his hand, and slammed the tip into his neck.

  The weapon hit; flesh resisted, then popped. She yanked the baton free. Blood flew from the weapon and splattered the pillar beside her. Square Jaw grabbed his neck. Blood oozed between his fingers. He gasped and gurgled. The wound wouldn’t kill him, but hopefully it would incapacitate him for a long time.

  Movement flashed at the corner of Capri’s eyes. She dove off Square Jaw, rolling on her shoulder and twisting up into a crouch. Wild Hair leapt over Square Jaw’s body, rushing toward her.

  Capri rolled out of the way and slammed the baton against Wild Hair’s leg. He screamed and staggered. She leapt up, whipping the baton against his ribs, arm, ribs again. He lurched back. She pressed her attack. Snap. Snap. Jab.

  Wild Hair backed into the wall. There was nowhere to go. She jabbed again. The baton hit his chest. He grabbed it and twisted, wrenching her forward.