by Nova Archer
Look and see.
One of the tall buildings caught Theron’s eye. He’d seen that exact sign somewhere else.
“Stop!”
“What?” Caine called.
“Stop! Stop. Pull over to the curb.”
Lurching to the side, Caine applied the breaks and parked along the curb. Theron opened his door and jumped out onto the sidewalk. He ran down the street a block and looked up at the billboard sign on the side of the skyscraper. He had flashes of the same sign in his head.
Caine, Eve and Mahina came along side him and they all looked at the sign. Caine asked, “What’s going on?”
“I recognize that sign.”
“From where?”
“I think from when I touched Lori James. I think it’s one of her memories.”
Caine spun around and frowned. Eve did the same and asked, “Hey, aren’t we close to Shadowwood?”
“It’s down two blocks,” he said, then perked up and grabbed Theron’s arm. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Nadja owns the studio. Come on!”
They ran back to the SUV. Caine pulled a U-turn in front of thick traffic, and took the next corner at high speed. Within minutes, he drove onto the curb and parked in front of a nondescript brick building with a small sign. Shadowwood Studios.
On the way, Mahina had radioed Jace and Tala in the other SUV, and told them to meet at the studio. As Theron jumped out of the vehicle, Jace screeched to a stop on the curb behind them.
Now, the six of them assembled outside the main door to the studio. Mahina and Tala checked the clips on their guns.
Theron followed Jace and Tala down the alleyway and around to the back entrance of the music studio. His whole body shook with restrained fury.
Jace kicked open the door, then Tala went in, gun pointed. Jace followed her through, Theron at his back.
Murmuring under his breath, Theron rubbed his hands together hard. After a few moments, smoke began to rise from them.
One of the lycan security guards, who had advanced on them from a side room, noticed his movements. “What are you doing?”
Theron continued to invoke the spell, rubbing his hands harder and faster.
The guards glanced at one another nervously, then looked down at their gun hands. Smoke rose from their flesh. They both released their weapons, snatching their hands to their chests. Even from where Theron stood he could see the angry red burns on the guards’ hands.
Capitalizing on the opportunity Theron had given them, Tala and Jace subdued the guards both with well aimed punches to the head.
Once the lycans were down, Tala, Jace and Theron proceeded into the main studio area. Caine had another guard dangling from the floor by his neck. The guard’s face was quickly turning purple as the vampire crushed his throat. After two more seconds, the lycan was unconscious and Caine let him fall to the ground.
“It’s all clear in the back,” Tala said.
Loud, pulse-pounding music resonated. The musicians obviously oblivious to what was happening outside the maid recording studio.
Theron yanked open the door to the studio where four young men were playing and walked in.
Startled, one of the guitarists stopped his riff and stared at him. “Who the hell are you, dude?”
With the guitar riff absent, the rest of the band finally noticed the intrusion.
“Where’s the door to the basement?” Theron commanded.
“Whoa, man, you can’t come in here,” the singer said walking towards Theron, his hand clenched into a fist.
Caine stepped into the studio beside Theron. The singer stopped, his face growing even paler than it was. “Well if it isn’t the boys from Crimson Strain.”
“We haven’t done anything, man,” the drummer whined.
“Where’s Nadja?”
“I don’t know.” The singer shrugged. “She said we could hang here and practice as long as wanted.”
Caine frowned then nodded. “As the man said, get out.”
Without another word, the four band members set down their instruments and rushed out of the studio.
Once they were gone, Theron pushed aside the keyboards and drum set, surveying the floor. Panic took a hold of him. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw it was eleven o’clock. They only had an hour before Lyra would be sacrificed. This was their last chance to find her. Dropping to all fours, he scoured the floor, feeling his way with this hands.
“Theron?” He heard the infliction in Caine’s voice. The sympathy. He didn’t want it. He wasn’t going to give up.
“She’s here. I can feel her.” He glanced at them, tears started to well in his eyes. His heart squeezed. His gut churned. Deep slicing pain slashed through him to his soul. He would wither away and die if he didn’t find Lyra. Without her, he was nothing. “She’s here. I know it.”
Caine, Eve and Tala dropped to their knees to help him search the floor. Jace and Mahina started looking along the walls.
Time ticked by as they searched the room. It sounded like metal clanging in Theron’s ears. Madness closed in on him. He could sense it knocking on his mind. His hands shook and sweat dripped off his face onto the floor. He couldn’t concentrate. He was becoming manic.
Jumping to his feet, he rushed the far wall and tore at the multitude of band and concert posters plastered on the wall. He ripped and tore, shredding whatever he could get his fingers into. Maybe if he tore enough away his heart wouldn’t hurt, the agony of Lyra's loss wouldn’t slice away at him little by little.
He ripped another of Nadja’s posters down, his fingertips brushing against a rut. He stopped and stared at the wall. There was a separation in the wood, and it went all the way to the floor.
“I found it!” he called, tearing away the rest of the paper to reveal a door.
There was no handle, so as a team they pried it open with their fingers. A yellow glow radiated up from the stairs. Theron couldn’t hold on any longer. He rushed down the steps, dread crawling over his skin.
When he got to the bottom, his breath whooshed out of his lungs and he thought he’d been pushed over the edge into madness.
Twelve cloaked figures stood in a semi-circle. Lyra was there—naked and bound to a stone altar they surrounded. And lording over her, with skin as black and oily as tar and fangs dripping with saliva, was the creature from his nightmares.
It smiled at him—as if welcoming the company.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Lethargic but determined, Lyra pulled on the leather bindings strapping her to the unyielding stone slab just as Theron rushed into the room. Tears rolled down her cheeks at the sight of him. She knew he’d come for her.
“Welcome, Theron LeNoir,” the Lady Ankara Jannali hissed above Lyra. “You’re just in time to witness the birth of a new era.”
Theron raised his hands. Lyra saw the telltale red glow of magic around his fingertips. Except she didn’t think the spell worked, because the creature above her started to laugh.
Theron’s face fell and he started to back away. His hands went to his throat.
“You cannot best me with your mediocre magical ability. Your father told me all about your skills, boy, but you are no match for me. I have been casting spells for thousands of years.”
Lyra cried out as she watched Theron struggle against a phantom hand squeezing his neck. He clawed at the air, his face quickly turning purple.
Her vision dragged in and out as she continued to pull on her restraints. Blood loss had made her weak. She could barely lift her head, but she had to fight to stay alive. She had to give Theron a reason to hold on.
Shots rang out, echoing in the lofty room, as the rest of the OCU burst into the room. Tala, Mahina and Eve at the head, guns pointed. The mistress stumbled back as three silver bullets penetrated her body. One hit her in the shoulder, the other two in her chest. None of them seem to do much damage; she was still on her feet, growling like a rabid animal.
Lyra searched the ro
om for Theron. He was slumped against the far wall, but alive. She could see the slow rise and fall of his chest. Perhaps the bullets were enough of a distraction to stop Ankara from killing Theron.
They were certainly enough to prompt the rest of the contingency into action. Within seconds there was a full-out battle in the room. Jace, Tala and Mahina all shifted into wolves and launched at the cloaked figures. Lyra could hear the grunts, groans, and yelps of pain all around her as the fight ensued.
If she could manage a free hand, she might be able to help the others. At least she could rescue herself. She yanked on the leather strap, twisting and turning her wrist to loosen the knot. The leather cut into her skin. Blood dotted the stone beneath her arm. Pain ripped over her. But she continued on. She needed to get free. Theron needed her.
After a few more turns, the loop around her hand loosened. Setting her arm down, she folded her thumb over her palm and pulled her hand free. Glorying in her achievement, she worked at the tie on her other wrist. She pulled and yanked and twisted, but couldn’t get it free. She’d have to try the same technique.
Desperation filled her heart and she turned to find Theron. He still lay against the wall, and hadn’t moved.
She reached toward him, stretching as far as she could. “Theron,” she screamed.
He remained motionless.
Tears rolled freely as she closed her eyes and searched her soul for the magic she would need. Curling it into a ball, she harnessed the energy and tried to move it down her arm to her fingertips.
Opening her eyes, she stretched her arm out again toward Theron. Pulling on her other arm, she cried out at the sickening pop of her shoulder joint. But despite the pain tearing through her, she reached out to him and threw the ball of magic.
She watched as it hit him in the chest and spread over his whole form, like a rapidly spreading energy blanket. She prayed it would work.
“Theron! Wake up!”
His eyes snapped open.
Her heart leapt in her throat and she began to smile, but a hand clamping down over her mouth cut it off.
“Going somewhere, witch?”
Lyra struggled against the force holding her down, but the mistress was too strong. She leered down at Lyra, her cruel black lips split into a blood-freezing grin.
“It’s almost midnight. I don’t want you missing all the fun, since you are the main attraction.”
Lyra fought against the hold on her, thrashing her legs and arms. She raked her nails across the mistress’s arm with her free hand. It had no effect.
Still grinning, Ankara raised her arm over Lyra. In her hand, she held a long silver ceremonial dagger. A horned beast carved into the glinted blade.
Shaking her head, Lyra watched in horror as the knife came down. This was it. She was going to die. There was no stopping it. She hadn’t fought hard enough. Theron hadn’t come soon enough. Now, she was going to die without being able to tell him how much she loved him. How much she wanted to start a life with him.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Lyra prepared for the pain to come. She took in a deep breath as the blade plunged into her stomach.
But the pain never came.
Opening her eyes, Lyra looked down at her belly in disbelief. The razor-sharp dagger point hovered one inch from the soft flesh of her stomach. The mistress couldn’t bring it down any further.
Theron had formed a protection bubble over her.
Shrieking, the mistress reared back, removing her hand from Lyra’s mouth and lifted the knife high over her head to bring it back down this time aiming at her throat. The bubble couldn’t sustain the level of force and power Lyra knew the mistress possessed.
Terror-filled, Lyra sucked in a breath as the blade came down. Theron appeared in front of her, shielding her from the killing blow. She grasped his hand and in a blink of an eye fed more magic into him than she’d ever produced. A blaze roared inside her. Searing agony ripped through her inside and out as energy flowed from her into Theron.
Together.
Theron’s and her gran’s voices melded as one in her mind.
Together you can make it right. Together you are strong. Together your magic can go from dark to light, make things right from wrong.
Time stood still as the blade came down. She could see every inch it descended, closer and closer to Theron’s back. He wouldn’t survive the wound if it pierced the magical shield and slid into him. No amount of healing magic could fix an injury so grave.
She squeezed his hand, and stared into his eyes. She saw in them what she’d been looking for her whole life—unconditional love and understanding. She saw her soul reflected back in the swirling gray depths of his eyes. And she lost herself completely to him. In that moment, they became one.
The dagger never found its mark. In a blaze of blue light, the mistress was thrown back, the knife melted in her hand. Screeching, she scratched at her eyes while they seemed to dissolve from her face.
With a blood-curdling scream, she fell to the floor sliding in and out of her true form. Half her body formed the black skinned demon and the other, the radiant vampire beauty. As she cowered on the ground, clawing at her deformed body, Caine and the others crowded around her.
“Is she dead?” Lyra asked, her body shaking uncontrollably.
Smoothing her hair from her forehead, Theron glanced over his shoulder. “Not yet. But she will be before long.”
Caine turned and looked at Lyra. “We’ll take care of it Lyra.” He gestured to Theron. “Get her out of here.”
Without another word, Theron untied her and was carrying her up the stairs. Tears rimmed his eyes as he murmured into her neck. “Ma petite sociere, my love.”
With a full heart, Lyra wrapped her arms around Theron and let him take her away to safety. As they moved through the cellar, she saw several other bodies on the floor—the co-conspirators in Ankara’s bid to open the gates of Hell and release her fellow demons. Nadja Devanshi lay unmoving, her eyes wide and her throat ripped out. She wondered who had had the pleasure of that kill. She also recognized Nadja’s lawyer. Mortally wounded, he met her gaze, but she turned away, not giving him the attention he wanted. He didn’t deserve her pity. None of them did. They had reaped what they had sowed.
Once up the stairs and out of the studio they were greeted by several police cruisers and a couple of ambulances.
Laal rushed over to them, his hands fluttering like a butterfly. “Let’s get a medic here,” he yelled.
Two paramedics ran their way. But Lyra didn’t want them to touch her. She was safe in Theron’s arms and that was all that mattered.
“Put her over here,” one of them said.
Lyra shook her head and gripped Theron tighter. “No, don’t let them take me. I don’t want to go to the hospital. I want to go home with you.”
“Shh, its okay, Lyra. You’re safe.” He set her down on the stretcher.
“Don’t let me go.” She grasped his hand tight.
He pressed his lips to the tip of her nose. “I won’t. Ever.”
That was the last thing she heard him say before a wave of nausea swept over her and pulled her down into oblivion.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The warm afternoon breeze rustled the strands of hair around Lyra’s face as she pulled the weeds surrounding her tomato plants. She raised her face to the wind and inhaled deeply. It felt heavenly to be outside in her garden after being cooped up inside for the past two days healing.
Her wrist, which she had badly sprained, still pained her if she exerted herself too much but the skin on her arms and hands that had been burnt by the flow of magic had fully healed. Thanks to Theron’s special healing ointment. If only he was here to revel in his labors. Unfortunately, she hadn’t heard from him in three days. The last time she saw him was when he handed her off to the paramedic.
She stabbed her rake in the dirt and yanked another weed out. That was how she felt right now. Raked and stabbed and yanked on. Her heart couldn�
��t handle much more.
Three days ago, she had awakened in her bedroom. Caine, Eve, Jace and Tala had been there, standing around her bed waiting for her to wake. She learned that Theron had set her up at home with her own doctor and nurse instead of going to the hospital, just as she asked. But he had been absent.
Caine had told her Theron returned home, but assured her he’d be back. She wanted to believe it, but ninety-six hours later she was having her doubts.
Trust your heart, Lyra.
“My heart’s not doing too well right now, Gran. So you’ll excuse me if I don’t fully invest in it.”
You of all people should know that what you see with your eyes isn’t always true.
Lyra stood and brushed at the dirt clinging to her cotton pants. “Please don’t philosophize with me today. I’m really not in the mood for cryptic nonsense.” She moved to the next row of vegetables, knelt down in the soil and started to dig out the unwanted plants.
He loves you, darling. Have faith in that.
Sighing, Lyra wiped at the hair tickling her nose with the back of her gloved hand. “Sometimes that’s not enough to believe in.”
She took in another whiff of perfumed air and tried not to notice the pain in her chest. She had no idea that heartache actually hurt in the chest cavity. Every time she breathed or moved she wanted to cry. As if there was a string attached to her tear ducts from her heart. She hated the feeling. But couldn’t stop it. There was no spell or charm to make the agony disappear. Being in love was a whole different sort of pain.
A throb at her wrist gave her pause and she stopped her work. Stripping off her canvas gloves, Lyra rubbed at her sore injury. The effort of her yanking on her restraints had done a number on her wrist.
As she stroked her tender skin, she gloried in the fact that they had won. The bad guys had been caught and justice would be served. The mistress had died of her injuries. And Lyra thanked the Goddess for it. The thought of that demon being alive and able to manipulate and maneuver even behind jailhouse bars literally made her sick.
