by Tes Hilaire
He frowned, thinking of the dark stain on Gabby’s soul and his little foot-in-mouth routine that morning. He’d called her a merker. And though he hadn’t really put much thought behind her heritage, he realized that he had, in fact, assumed she was at least partially one. From the little he’d gathered from Roland and Logan, Gabby’s mother had been a highly ambitious sort when it came to rising up the ranks of Lucifer’s army. Valin had just assumed that someone who was willing to trade her daughter’s life to gain the good graces of the vampire’s leader would have been more than happy to spread her legs for one of the more powerful merkers out there, if not Ganelon himself. But thinking of his current batting average, Valin now realized that might have been yet another bad assumption.
He hadn’t met a merker yet that didn’t have a stain of evil. And before Gabby had pulled her disappearing act in that mine, her soul had been about as pure as new-fallen snow. Okay, maybe not quite—there had been some real roughness about the edges—but where it counted there had not been anything intrinsically evil to it. Was his guess on her heritage really that off? Valin wouldn’t care either way. The only thing that he actually cared about was how that stain had gotten there—and how to get rid of it.
Merker blood or not, she certainly wasn’t tapping into her succubus heritage. Granted, he hadn’t gotten that much time to observe her, but it was enough to see she made a point to suppress her natural seductive powers. Not that it seemed to put a dent in Aaron’s little puppy dog interest. He was still trying to worm his way into her presence at every opportunity, and the drop-dead glances he reserved for Valin were becoming hard for even Valin—who didn’t give a shit—to ignore. Only reason Valin hadn’t bloodied him up yet was that Gabby hadn’t reacted at all to his less-than-stellar advances. He better fucking watch it, though.
He glanced over his shoulder to where Aaron was bringing up the rear with Bennett…and received a dagger-eyed glare for his trouble.
Beside him Jacob cleared his throat. “Remind me in the future not to place you two on any patrol shifts together.”
Valin raised his brow. “Does this mean we pass?” He figured the only reason Jacob had let them come out tonight was not so much to “get a feel” for their skill level but because the man wanted to test them and see where their loyalties lie.
“Not yet, but so far so good. And if you and Aaron both make it back without bloodied noses—or worse—I think we can consider this a success.”
“Wonderful,” Valin drawled and received an inquisitive look from Jacob. “Good to know you trust me.”
Jacob chuckled. “Hell no, I don’t trust you. But I do trust in your nature.”
“And what is my nature?”
“To protect your mate. Which is why I’m going to reiterate to my brother that he needs to back the hell off you and Gabriella.”
Valin felt like the air had been sucked out from around him. For a moment all he could do was blink at Jacob—as if clearing his eyes would reveal a two-headed demon rather than the soldier that walked beside him.
Jacob cocked his brow. “The hovering around her all the time, the I’ll-kill-you glare you give any man that comes near…that crazed look in your eyes whenever you don’t know where she is? You’re not going to tell me I’m wrong, are you?”
Valin blew out a breath and nodded. “You’re not wrong.”
“Then why are you so surprised? You don’t think I would try and spare my brother the heartache if I can?”
“No, I’m just surprised you know about the mate bond.” The mate bond was a once in a lifetime kind of thing for a Paladin. Beyond silly notions of true love, kindred spirits, or even a human’s idea of soul mates, it was a bond between two souls that was designed by the Big Guy Himself. The original angelic volunteers who’d come to earth to pick up weapons against the fallen Lucifer’s evil hordes had thought it their reward for the sacrifice they’d had to make to take up those arms—the peace and completeness a Paladin received from the mate bond being the balm for a soul that had been rendered incomplete at the removal of its wings. But as more time passed and less mate bonds were forged, the golden glow of that idea faded as newer generations of warriors were forced to search out compatibility pairings in order to ensure the continuity of their order. In fact, most of the Paladin alive today had never found their mates. And when they did? Well, look at what happened to Logan.
Jacob heaved a large sigh, shifting the belt of ammo strapped over his shoulder under his trench coat. Valin wondered briefly if the man wore the coat in the hot summer months too, and if not, how he hid the virtual warehouse of weapons he toted around from the general public.
“My parents were mated,” Jacob said, causing Valin to do the blinky-blinky headlight thing again. “Oh, they didn’t call it a bond, just soul mates. My father told me it was far more than simple love. I always thought it was kinda kooky until Mother died. He died a week later. Stupid thing, really; picked a fight with one of those half-demon creatures. I think he knew he wasn’t going to come out of it alive and I think he was glad for it.”
Valin nodded, swallowing the jagged shard of lead that seemed to have magically appeared in his throat. “It’s common, actually. The loss of a bond mate has been known to drive the remaining mate to insanity. Especially if they feel like the other’s death could have been prevented.”
“Prevented by them, you mean.”
Valin nodded again, not even able to respond this time. If he hadn’t been off skipping around the shade that night…if he had kept a tether open rather than clamping tight on his shields…
Jacob frowned, studying him. “Is there only ever one soul mate, or can a Paladin move on?”
Valin took a deep breath, pushing away the what-ifs. Even if Angeline had been able to reach him in her need, it was unlikely he would have gotten there in time. “A Paladin can live if his will is strong enough, but not move on,” he answered, surprised at how calm and even his voice came out. Though it must have been too even, too measured, because Jacob was staring at him knowingly.
He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Don’t ask. Don’t make me relive that.
Jacob frowned, coming to a complete stop under a flickering lamppost. “You’ve lost someone.”
Not a question, but a statement, and one that had the other man obviously struggling to fit in with the little he thought he knew of mate bonds and what Valin had just supposedly confirmed about his feelings for Gabriella.
Valin turned to look at him, well aware of the fact that Bennett and Aaron had drawn close enough to hear. Didn’t matter. Bennett already knew and Aaron, well, right now he didn’t give much of a fuck about that prick.
“I lost my pair bond. She was my best friend and we were compatible enough to be given His blessing and form a pairing.” He swallowed, looking forward. “However, I was not blessed enough to share her life for more than a few years.” And never Peanut’s. He’d never get to hold his unborn child.
“Valin?”
He sensed more than saw Bennett come up beside him, his hand hovering awkwardly above his shoulder. Valin shook his head, stepping away from the Paladin’s offer of support. It was too fucking close to comfort and might very well break the dam on the grief that he’d shored up so very long ago.
“I thought we were on patrol,” he snapped as he spun around and stalked toward the next intersection, the other three falling in line. Their silence was so thick that the flapping wings of a pigeon taking off from the roof of the boarded-up building beside them had him practically jumping out of his skin.
Stupid. How long had he stood there pouring out his heart and opening old wounds? More important, why had he let Jacob peel back those scabs? He rolled his shoulders, closing his eyes briefly as he sent out his consciousness for another sweep. What trickled across his senses had his muscles tensing into hard knots. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Jacob asked, his hand shifting into the folds of his trench coat.
No need
to answer when two merkers rounded the corner less than ten feet ahead of them. Unfortunately they weren’t the only ones who’d just pinged on his radar.
<
***
Gabby fought for breath, her knees buckling as she reached out for something to catch herself on. Nothing was there. She stumbled to the sidewalk as the blast of Valin’s projection wrenched through her mind, tearing at both her shields and her grasp on consciousness. For five long seconds she battled the pounding wave of fear and alarm that rolled in like a tsunami after the initial stab of contact, concentrating instead on the gritty feel of the cement beneath her fingertips. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe!
Finally she was able to gasp in air. For once, the sweet ache of gas fumes and rotting trash filling her lungs was a welcome sensation, as was the fact that she was alone in her mind once more to enjoy the return to her own reality and the comforting blanket of her shields snapping back in place. That is, it was reassuring until she realized that she had no fucking idea what had happened.
Holy crap, Valin packed a powerful punch. How had he breached her shields like that? Why had she caught the thought that had obviously been meant for someone else? And how the heck had he managed to project what he was feeling along with the thought?
Gabby wasn’t an empathic. Nor was Valin. And projective thought did not convey that level of emotions. Not that she cared about the how right now; what was important was the thought and emotions themselves. Alarm. Fear. For who? Bennett? Or was that fear possibly for himself?
She sucked in a breath, the cool air chilling the sweat that had beaded out on her exposed skin. Whoever the fear had been for, someone was in danger. Given the power behind the projection, they couldn’t be that far away, which meant she was most likely the closest one to providing aid.
Flat-out ignoring the street bum staring at her from his hidey hole in an alcove across the way, she pushed herself up and broke into a run. The residual throbbing in her head made the pounding pace difficult, but with each stride she found an inner strength that pushed her forward faster.
Not far. Can’t be far. Two, maybe three, streets over?
A scream cut through the air, her gut tightening and twisting at the grating scrape of pure agony. Definitely not far, but more north than east. Ducking between two badly parked hunks of junk, she cut across the street, aiming for the narrow delivery entrance across the way. She knew from patrolling these streets for the last few months that it backed up against the brick wall of the building behind it, but the building itself was only a few stories high, had lots of hand and footholds in it, and conveniently sat across from an even shorter building.
Without thought to who else besides the bum might be around, she gathered her muscles and leapt for the narrow ledge framing a second-story window. It took her longer than she wanted to scale the building, but the wasted time was easily made up when she sprinted across the rubber roofline, grasped onto the brick lip on the far side, and pushed off, drawing on her supernatural strength and the willpower of desperation.
The street flashed beneath her—a streetlamp, a couple scurrying pedestrians in dark hoodies furtively heading in opposite directions, an idling car with its lights off down at the corner—and then she was landing, the impact forcing her down onto all fours as she fought to keep moving forward. This roof wasn’t as well cared for, the cracked rubber pitted and covered with a skin-abrading combo of tar and fine asphalt. Ignoring the sting, she went into a tuck, rolling up into a crouch, then spun around a rotating vent that popped up in her way, only to come up against the short lip of the backside of the building. Unfortunately, this is where her shortcut ended. Grasping onto the edge, she vaulted over, dropping down onto the sidewalk below with a teeth-rattling jar.
“Gabriella!”
She jerked her head around, spinning on the balls of her feet toward the sound of Jacob’s voice. A hundred yards distant came Jacob and Bennett, their pace frantic but stunted as they half-dragged, half-carried Aaron between them. Aaron gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t hold back the grunts and moans of agony as the two men dragged him along.
Gabby sucked in a breath, her gaze dragging over his wounds. His favored gray T-shirt and cargo pants had been singed until they looked like the equivalent of charred Swiss cheese, each gaping hole exposing glistening red flesh. The burns ran up the side of his thigh, stretching across his torso and the entire right side of his face. He looked like something out of a Batman comic—or a war zone.
“Aaron…” She shook her head, choking back the keen of misery that rose. Just as sharply fury followed. No one harmed what was hers. Yeah, she might have wanted to rough up the idiot more times than she could count, but that was her right as his friend and mentor.
“Who did this?” she demanded, rushing over to them.
“Bloody pyros…” Bennett shook his head as he made to shrug out from under Aaron’s armpit. “Here, help get him home. I need to go back.”
Her gut clenched. Bennett wasn’t like her. He was more of a practical sort and didn’t appear to buy into petty things like revenge. So the only reason she could think of for him to be going back was…“Valin?”
He nodded. “He stayed behind to protect our retreat.”
Against a pyrotechnic merker, and Lucifer knew what else. “Oh god, no…”
Ignorant of Bennett’s swearing, she bolted down the street.
Chapter 8
Valin dodged another fireball, feeling the curl of the hair on the back of his calf as he dove behind a jacked-up van missing all four tires. Protected from sight, he immediately shifted into a formless shadow and, taking advantage of a gust of wind and the scattering of leaves it kicked up, made his retreat to a nearby Dumpster. The van, already coated with graffiti, inherited another coat of dark char as the pyrotechnic merker worked to ensure that Valin wouldn’t be coming out of there alive again. Amazingly enough, the van didn’t blow, showing that tires weren’t the only thing to be lifted by the locals, but gasoline too.
“Sorry, buddy, no boom-boom today,” Valin muttered from a safe distance of a couple dozen yards away and settled down to wait.
Damn, that had been close, though not as close as the previous round they’d played. If he wasn’t careful he wasn’t going to make it out of here at all. Not that getting out of here was his goal at the moment, but ultimately it would be nice.
He flexed his elbow, wincing at the pull of pain that came from stretching the burnt skin and muscle. Damn if it might actually scar. Though he should be thankful it wasn’t his face. Poor fucking kid. As much as Valin didn’t like puppy dog’s attitude, he didn’t harbor Aaron any real harm. But because Valin had screwed up and lost his focus, the kid was going to go through life with a messed-up face…assuming he lived that long.
He’ll live, but only if you keep these fuckers off their asses. Speaking of which, where were they? He and the pyro had been playing cat and mouse for the last five minutes, which given the extent of Aaron’s injuries was probably another five short of long enough for Bennett and Jacob to drag the invalid far enough away that these merkers wouldn’t give chase.
Valin’s stalling techniques had consisted of the classic strategy of pissing them off (slitting two of their throats in quick succession would do that). He’d stuck around long enough to finish the job on one with a good carving session with his pretty knife to both head and heart, but had to skip off into the shade before finishing off the merker’s temporarily immobilized buddy for fear of getting fried. After that the game had really started. With one down, one recovering, and the last out for blood—his, to be precise—Valin had made a game of wagging his naked jangles in the universal taunt of the ages…then hiding and ghosting in time to avoid becoming a crispy critter. At least mostly un-crispy. More like the
original recipe perhaps. But levels of doneness aside, this time his pyromaniac buddy didn’t appear to be seeking, which was simply not acceptable.
If he thought he could ghost in close enough to sneak up behind the bastard and take him out, this would all be much easier. Unfortunately his options were vastly limited, given that he’d had to ditch his knife the moment he’d first shifted into the shade.
A longing glance at the inert knife on the sidewalk halfway down the street showed the other merker staggering to his knees, one hand clamped tight to his throat, the other pressed hard against the nearby lamppost. Aaaannnnnd so much for almost-even odds. If the merker was up, it wouldn’t be more than a minute or so before he was running too. Too bad it wouldn’t be away.
Taking a deep breath, Valin took stock of his options, which yielded about the same amount of return as his recent investment in the stock market—far less than stellar. If he thought he could ghost over there, grab his knife, and do a little slice and dice before the pyro could join the round, he’d go for the kill. But he didn’t trust the pyro’s scruples enough to not indulge in a little friendly fire if it meant taking out his intended target, which, um, yeah, would be Valin.
He had just about come to the conclusion that making like Speedy Gonzales and vamoosing in hopes they’d follow was his only option, when a guttural cry erupted from the cross street. Who the hell?
Risking exposure, he ducked his head back out, then sucked in a breath. That was Gabby, knife drawn, and running all out at the pyro.
Fuck. No…
“Gabby!” He leapt up from his hiding spot, then cursed and ducked as his own knife sailed toward his head.
That was just so wrong: a merker using a Paladin blade against him. He hoped the cost had been a nice burn on the fucker’s hand at least.
Valin was torn between ghosting to where the pyro was patiently waiting for Gabby to get close enough and grabbing for his knife, but his decision was made when the second merker simply disappeared, only to immediately reappear directly in front of him.
