by Karin Tabke
Yuri dropped his bike into a sideways slide and let it crash into two of the Slayers, knocking them down like bowling pins. Springing to his feet, he hacked off heads on his way to the steps of the platform.
Ignoring the pain in his side from the Slayer’s sword, Rafe gunned his bike forward, surging into the melee. When he was half the distance to the gallows, a Slayer rushed him and took a swing at Rafe with his sword. Ducking, Rafe narrowly missed the separation of his head from his shoulders. Simultaneously, Rafe drew his right-hand sword. In one fell swoop, he ended the Slayer’s life but not before the Slayer grabbed the right handlebar of Rafe’s bike, causing it to suddenly lurch right and then slam onto the floor and out from under him. Rafe hit the floor, slid to a quick stop, then immediately stood. The hooded girl screamed, twisting and turning against the noose and ropes binding her hands behind her neck. If she kept at it, she would hang herself. Fully focused and running on adrenaline and vengeance, Rafe drew his second sword and hoped Yuri could get to her before Edward pulled the trapdoor lever.
Yuri was closer. He’d made it to the base of the ramp but was stopped by Edward and two other Slayers. Yuri was an admirable swordsman. His sword flew like a nest of angry hornets, slashing against the blades of his opponents. Sparks flew as he pressed his point, forcing them back onto the steps. While this gave the Slayers a height advantage, it also exposed their legs. Yuri took full advantage, cutting through the knee joint of the lowest man. The boneshattering cut sent a bloody arch into the air and dropped the enemy forward, face-first onto the floor. In another tactical slice, Yuri took off his head. Edward ran for the girl just as Rafe looked up to witness the partitions around the base of the platform fly open, revealing a dozen more armed-to-the-teeth Slayers. They tossed the beaver pelts they’d used to disguise their scents from their shoulders.
Son of bitch! He was a fool to have fallen for that trick. And the fool always paid the piper. Rafe snarled. Not tonight.
“You are an arrogant fool, Vulkasin!” Edward taunted from the platform. He raised his sword. “Come now and taste my vengeance!”
Rafael raised both of his swords over his head. “Vengeance is all mine tonight, Slayer!” Despite the added Slayers and the loss of a handful of his men, Rafael’s confidence soared. He was at his pinnacle tonight. Nothing could hurt him! With the help of his magnificent Berserkers, who were making hash out of anything that got in their way, and the power of the ring, he would lead his pack to victory.
Slayers were smart, but he was smarter. Slayers killed because of an eight-hundred-year-old command by a long-dead king. Lycans killed to survive and to avenge the deaths of their loved ones. Tonight, he would avenge hundreds of slain Lycans, including his own mother and father.
He looked up at the ceiling two stories high to several heavy looped metal chains hanging from a swing arm mounted from a thick steel beam. He leapt straight up, grabbing onto a thick, blunt hook looped over the swing arm. He shoved the hook up, freeing it. Securing his right foot in the bend of the hook and wrapping the chain around his calf for leverage, Rafael did a free fall. In a wide, forceful swath, he swung down with both swords drawn, hacking at the rush of Slayers. Bullets zinged past him as the Slayers opened fire, several hitting his vest but not penetrating. As he came in for his first hard hit, he took several Slayers out. As the swing reached its full rotation, he unwound his leg from the chains and leapt onto the bottom of the east ramp that led to the platform, then bounded onto the platform where the girl stood screaming bloody murder.
He swung his blade to cut the rope attached to the noose, but heat seared his hand, forcing him to release his sword instead. He swung his left-hand sword around, and it, too, was shot from his hand. Rafael roared in fury and turned. His gaze clashed with Edward’s. The Slayer held a .44 nickel-plated Magnum aimed directly at Rafael’s heart.
“Take your best shot, Slayer. It’s the only one you’ll get,” Rafael snarled.
The loud rev of chopper engines rose above the din of battle. Familiar but not friendlies. Vipers.
And right on the heels of the Vipers’ revving engines came the sweet sound of sure death—the death of Edward and his Slayers! Rafael grinned. Pack Ruiz. The cavalry had arrived. It was going to be a banner day.
In a high backward somersault, he leapt over the backside of the platform and retrieved his swords. He jumped back onto the platform. Raising them above his head in an intricate pattern, he maneuvered them until they flew in perfect circular symmetry like the propeller of an airplane, producing a whirlwind. Keeping the deadly rotation going, he walked to the edge of the platform then hopped to the floor and walked toward the Slayers and their bullets, the force of the air disturbance from his swords so great he pushed all of them backward into the far wall. The Berserkers who flanked him went in for the kill. It was not pretty, what they did, but the Slayers deserved no less. Several of them leapt high into the air to escape but crashed backward into the wall from the velocity of the whirlwind.
Thick smoke began to infiltrate the building. An evasive tactic by the Slayers. But Rafael could see through smoke. The Vipers swung left and right, swarming in behind him. They were led by a broadsword-wielding Edward, who rode a Vulkasin chopper.
Rafe leapt into the air after him. Edward jumped off the bike and onto the platform, going straight for the girl. Angel’s men descended on the Vipers, while Rafe’s continued to systematically eliminate Slayers. Rafe went after Corbet.
Edward dropped down in front of the girl. He grabbed the rope that held the noose around her neck and placed the edge of his sword to her throat. “Come a step closer, Lycan, and she dies,” Edward taunted.
Rafael sneered. “You overestimated my affection for the girl. I came for you. She just led me here.”
Edward laughed, ignoring the havoc going on around them both. Flames eating up the walls, gunfire and swordplay. The sounds of men dying.
“I heard different. I heard you have a telepath in your midst. I heard she possesses the power to bring your brother to heel.” Edward jerked the noose, causing the girl to scream. “A trade. My girl for yours.”
Rafael’s fury soared. How did Corbet know of Falon? Smythe knew about the telepath part, but who in his pack had betrayed him and told him about Falon’s disabling of Lucien? Who would dare? “Telepath she may be, but then so is Talia and several others. But with the power to disable Lucien? Someone has been spoon-feeding you bullshit.” Rafael stepped closer. “Even if it were true, she bears the mark of the alpha. She is not a commodity to be bartered.”
Edward pulled the trembling girl back against his chest. His blade dug into her tender skin. Blood dripped in slow rivulets onto the steel. “So be it, Lycan.”
“You looking for me, douche bag?”
Rafael turned, stunned at Falon’s voice. He moved to grab her, protect her. Vehemently, she waved him off. He looked back to Corbet, who looked as stunned as Rafael, but for different reasons. Corbet blanched white, as if he saw a ghost.
Falon sidled alongside Rafael and hoarsely whispered, “My left hand is broken; can you do your voodoo and fix me up so I can help you out here?”
Without breaking his stare at Corbet, who continued to gape at Falon, Rafe handed her one of his swords and gently wrapped his fingers around her broken hand. The fighting abruptly stopped. The only sound, the harsh intake of breaths and the rush of exhales. Blood mingled with death, clogging the air.
HEALING WARMTH INFUSED Falon’s broken bones. She and the man threatening the girl couldn’t stop staring at one another. There was something disturbingly familiar about him. Instinctively she knew he was bad news.
When Rafael’s healing warmth subsided, she flexed her fingers and rotated her wrist. Good as new. She kept his sword. She pointed it at the man on the platform. “Have we met?”
His eyes narrowed. He shifted his feet. She felt more than heard movement behind her. She turned just as Rafael did. A swarm of bodies rushed them, and the fight was on again.
Instead of turning to fight, Falon rushed the platform. Her intent had been to aid Rafael, but he was a big boy and could take care of himself. The girl needed her.
The Slayer with his sword to the girl’s neck had bigger fish to fry: Angor. The beast attacked the Slayer.
And to Falon’s astonishment, the Slayer held his own. How he did and still lived was a miracle. The man was good. An expert swordsman. As good as Rafael. Maybe better. As she reached the top step, the Slayer rammed his blade clear through Angor’s mighty chest. The beast howled in pain, writhing against the steel. The Slayer shoved it deeper into the beast. It fell to its knees then dropped to the planks.
The Slayer yanked his sword from the matted bloody fur and pointed it at Falon. “Seize her,” he commanded. Several other men stopped their attacks on Rafael’s men and hurried toward her.
Falon leapt over them as they came at her. Above her, Rafael swooped down from the ceiling chain and neatly cut down two of them. Falon choked back a cry as warm blood sprayed across her face. The girl screamed behind her. Falon turned to see the Slayer who had her yank hard on the drop floor lever.
The girl’s body plummeted downward, her strangled screams cut off from the yank of the noose. Falon hurled her sword, but Rafael was faster. His sword flew hilt over point toward the girl and just as the velocity of her body would have pulled the noose completely closed and snapped her neck, the blade severed the rope she hung from. She dropped to the floor, hitting it with a dull thud. Falon ran to her while Rafael went after the prick who had tried to kill her.
Falon knelt beside the motionless body so close to Angor’s. His blood pooled slowly around them. She pulled the hood off the girl and pressed her hand to her chest. Though faint, her heart beat a steady thud. Compelled by something she could not explain, Falon turned to Rafael’s prized Berserker. The same one that had tried to kill her. The same one who nearly did. She crawled to him on her hands and knees, slipping in the sticky blood. Without hesitation, she placed her fingers into the deep wound, and pressed her other hand over it.
“C’mon on, you brute,” she whispered. “Find the will to survive.”
She felt the slice to his artery with her fingertip. She pressed more firmly into his chest and called upon a greater power than her own to repair the damage. Her body thrummed with warmth—entering through her head then tracking down to her neck and shoulders and into her arms and fingertips. Into Angor. His heart shuddered then beat once. Then a second time and a third. He stirred. His big red eyes opened. His heartbeat picked up a steady rhythm. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
Falon smiled. The beast snarled, his fangs bared. Falon sat back on her heels. So much for being grateful. Big sweaty hands grabbed her.
Falon twisted around and found herself seized by three of the dirty bikers that had come in and fought beside the Slayers. She screamed and kicked at them, wondering where Rafael was. She looked across to the platform to see him chained to the gallows post.
What happened? How?
He’d been captured and chained?
How could that be?
He was stronger. Smarter. His eyes flashed red as she caught his gaze. “Rafael!” she screamed as she was dragged toward the front of the burning building. The thugs jerked her hard, turning her around. Violently, she twisted until she could see Rafael again. “Rafael!” she screamed. “Rafael!” Several Slayers at very close range pointed their guns at his heart. They were going to kill him! “No!” she screamed.
Crazed fury possessed her. Her body tightened. Blood pounded in her ears.
Standing beneath the great weight of the chains, Rafael roared furiously. Red eyes flashed. As she strained to get to him, his body jerked and contorted. His human roar morphed into something primal. Animal. Falon screamed in shock and horror as he dropped to all fours and in less than a heartbeat turned into the big golden wolf that had been protecting her when Rafael was gone. The chains fell from his body. He snarled and lunged toward her.
A staccato of shots rang out. His furry body twitched as bullets ripped into him. “Rafael!” she screamed, reaching out for him. Shock waves slammed into Falon. Rage infused her. Fear of losing Rafe tore her in half. Her vision clouded red. Her bones cracked, her skin tightened. Her body felt as if it were tearing apart at the seams. She shoved at the hands that held her captive, but it was not enough.
She screamed again, her voice raw, sounding like Rafael’s primal roar.
His big body slammed into them. Falon went spinning on her back across the concrete floor and into Anton’s arms while the bikers scrambled to get out of the wolf’s way. Head down, the great beast stalked his prey.
“Destroy him!” Edward yelled as he mounted a chopper. The bastard was going to take off like the coward he was.
Falon flung Anton’s big arms from her as Rafael annihilated the three bikers. Despite her cast, she ran after the Slayer as he throttled his bike toward the back of the burning building. Smoke clogged her lungs, but she continued forward, ignoring the calls for her to stop. All she could see was a red target on the Slayer’s back. The smoke thickened, and her lungs ached as she tried to draw in clean breaths. Her pace slowed. She stumbled. Her eyes burned. Her heart thudded like a freight train in her chest. She fell to her knees and was caught by strong arms.
“Falon,” Rafael breathed, pulling her close to his bare chest. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Falon looked up into his blazing turquoise eyes and said, “Like you care.”
His fierce face froze; his eyes searched hers then softened. “I care, damn it,” he growled.
So did she. She opened her mouth to tell him, but the velocity of an explosion shoved her harder into his arms, the percussion of it deafening. Fiery shards of the building rained down upon them as Rafael shielded her and called to his men to get out. It was the last thing she heard before her world went dark.
FALON WOKE TO wild laughter, lurid female screams, and the hard cadence of rock and roll.
Slowly she sat up. It was still dark, but the gray fingers of dawn were just tinting the night’s dark a shade lighter. She was in Rafe’s room. How? They had been hours from here. She realized she was naked and that her cast was gone. She wiggled her toes and rotated her ankle. No pain.
In a wild, mad rush, the evening’s events slammed into her. The blood, the gore, the girl, but predominant was the vision of Rafael when he turned into a wolf!
The big blond wolf!
Since the night she’d met Conan, her life had become a Halloween classic. None of it made sense. Yet all of it fell into place. She was different. Rafael was different, and in their differences, they were somehow connected. She’d known it but ignored it, because all of it terrified her.
Falon hurried to the bathroom, took a quick shower, and put on the fresh pair of black jeans and skimpy black half top left for her. She strode to the door, intending to get to the bottom of all of this. This—whatever this was. She’d get her answers, and then she’d get the hell out of Dodge!
She pushed open the door and was hit with a cacophony of sound and sex smells. A hard shot of desire zapped her right between the legs. Her nipples hardened. She shook her head, fighting off the overpowering urge for sex. Not just sex, mating sex.
Primal rutting, and not just for the sake of letting off some steam with an available dick. No, her body craved one man. She swallowed. In this case, she supposed she craved one wolf.
Falon shook her head again and took a step back into the room. Rafael had turned into a damn wolf! Right in front of her. How was she supposed to deal with that? “Oh, hey, love your fur coat.”
It was fantastic and crazy and . . .
When she had seen him chained and about to die, something deep and viciously primal in her had reared its head. She had felt it. An uncontrollable rage. The desperate need to protect Rafe. It fired her up, nearly consuming her. Had the same thing happened to him when he’d seen her being dragged away? Had that b
rought about his change?
Falon squared her shoulders. In some unexplainable way, she was connected to Rafael. It had nothing to do with sex, his brother, his people, or the Slayers. It was more organic than that. It was as simple and as complicated as destiny.
She cursed. Destiny be damned. She was a sitting duck here.
As she descended the staircase, her nose twitched. Sex, hot, heavy, pungent, permeated the sultry air. Wild laughter both male and female filled the structure. She stopped in her tracks at the edge of the great room. Her jaw dropped; her body flamed red with shocked embarrassment. Dozens of naked writhing bodies tangled into a wild mass of heaving, grunting debauchery. Unable to move and just as unable to tear her gaze from the grotesquely erotic sight, Falon gaped.
She’d heard of orgies. Had read about them in some tattered magazines left behind in some of her flophouse rooms. And while she wasn’t naive, she’d never really thought that people, women especially, had sex with more than one man at a time. Apparently she was wrong. Very wrong.
Her body warmed, partly because of the hedonism playing out before her but mostly because she knew she was being watched. Slowly her gaze rose and caught the molten stare of Rafael’s. He was the only person clothed! He grinned, a wild, mysterious grin. Falon held her breath, fighting her natural urge to go to him. He watched amused as she mentally fought with her desire for him and her resistance to what they both knew was their destiny. He held out his hand to her, giving her the choice both of them knew was already made.
Falon’s limbs loosened. She felt like melting wax. She put one foot in front of the other, careful not to step on a writhing body part on the floor. A large hand grasped her bare foot. She gasped. Rafael growled a warning. The hand slid back into the naked fray, and she took another step, then another, until she had crossed the room without further assault.
Rafael took the final step to her.
“Welcome to the celebration,” he said hoarsely, taking her hand into his big warm one. His long fingers wrapped possessively around hers.
