by Bec McMaster
And as Silas tried to speak through a paralyzed throat, his fingers twitching, Obsidian stepped back. There was nothing more to say. He finally knew the truth.
He was done.
Or no.... Just one more thing left to do to finally cut all ties.
"You'd be wise to avoid returning to the Core tonight," he murmured, as he walked away. "Consider your life my last gift to you, for all I thought we shared. I hope it gives you cold comfort when you're all alone."
Silas crawled onto his hands and knees long minutes after Obsidian had left, his fingers shaking as he lit his cheroot.
Bloody ruttin' hell. He couldn't help feeling as though he'd stared death in the face and somehow survived.
He should have been kissing the bloody ground beneath him, but there was a hollow pit within him. A horrible, empty feeling, as though he'd done the wrong thing and lost the one person who mattered most to him in this world.
"What the fuck was I s'posed to do?" Smoke spilled from his pursed lips. "They would have killed him."
The second Obsidian set eyes on Hollis Beechworth his brother had begun to wear a target on his back. Ghost didn't believe in betrayal unless he was the one doing it. And they'd all seen the way Obsidian looked at her.
Sooner or later, he would have broken faith with them.
Unless they somehow severed the growing bond between Obsidian and Hollis.
"They would have killed me if I didn't do as commanded," he said, but there was an ugly truth there he didn't like to stare in the eye.
"You value your own skin before mine...."
I set the fire.
I set this all into play.
I convinced him he could trust Dr. Richter and the neural device.
I deserve to have him look at me like that.
And now he'd lost the one brother he truly had, and he was in this muck up to his eyeballs with no way out. Sink or swim, Silas's mam had always said, but he couldn't even see the shore anymore.
Or could he?
The Core.
Obsidian was going to burn it.
But there was just one thing Obsidian didn't know.
Ghost wasn't alone.
And he'd been expecting the attack.
Fuck.
Chapter 30
Dawn silvered the skies.
Gemma felt like a stripped-down version of herself as she primed her weapon on the top of the carriage. Usually she had nerves of steel before a mission, running through her checklist of weapons, and going over and over the mission details and map in her head.
But she kept getting this fluttery feeling in her chest, right beneath her diaphragm.
The Chameleon episode had broken some part of her, and she worried she'd never get it back.
"Are you all right?" Obsidian murmured.
He looked deadly in the formfitting black leather body armor he’d borrowed from the Nighthawks. Strands of ashen brown hair hung to his shoulders. The blond was starting to shine through the dye, like glints of moonlight woven through his hair.
"Are you?"
This was a direct strike at those he'd once considered brothers, after all. She knew how much he longed for family and acceptance, for something to belong to.
No matter whether he'd made the choice to throw his lot in with her and COR, there must still be a part of him that ached for the loss he was facing. Not a single hint of it marred his expression, but then it never did. She was slowly learning to read the minutest ticks of muscle in his jaw and around his eyes. The less emotion he showed, the more he felt, she suspected.
And this morning he was locked down tight, his expression as impenetrable as a vault.
"There's nothing there for me anymore. I don't even know if there ever was. My head's still a mess. I can't work out what's real and what is not." His lashes fluttered. "I saw Silas."
"And?"
Obsidian looked down, giving her hand a faint squeeze. "He set the fire in Russia in order to blame you. It was all a ploy designed to make me distrust you."
That had to hurt.
Gemma stroked his thumb. She understood what he wasn't saying. He'd loved her. And his brothers had seen her as such a threat to his loyalty, they'd engineered a way to fracture his belief in her. It was the missing piece to the puzzle. Everything that happened in Russia had been real. "I must have frightened them a great deal."
He looked up sharply.
"I'm sorry they went to such lengths." She bit her lower lip. "I'm sorry you lost so much because of me—"
"Not because of you," he said instantly, capturing her face with his other hand. "I won't have that. Ghost made his choices. This sits on his head. And I am going to remove it, as payment."
"And Silas?"
It was the one name that made his voice soften, though she wasn't certain if he was aware of it. "He's dead to me."
The same thing he'd said to her once.
"They took everything," he continued. "They took you. They took my memories of my mother. Everything."
"You're getting certain memories back," she said, squeezing his hand. "You can't expect it to happen overnight."
"What if I never get all of them back?"
Gemma scraped her fingers down his chest. There wasn't an inch of fat on him. Only muscle, thick and corded beneath the body armor. Hard. But there was a sense of vulnerability in his voice. "Then we create new ones," she whispered, reaching up and brushing her mouth to his.
Gemma cupped the back of his head and drew him down to her. The kiss felt achingly familiar, and yet somehow unique. Soft. Gentle. All things neither of them had shared with each other before.
She knew sex. She knew pleasure inside out, and exactly how to make a man fall to his knees. But she'd never known this before, not even in Russia.
Vulnerability. Affection. Love.
There were no more secrets between them. No reason not to give herself into his hands. And it was an utterly breathless feeling that made her tremble, despite the barely carnal nature of the kiss.
"Because our story isn't over," she whispered against his lips, as she twined her fingers through his hair. "Its just beginning, lyubov moya."
Someone coughed.
"Egad," Kincaid muttered behind them. "Excuse me while I gag."
"I thought it quite touching. Our little Gemma. In love." This from Byrnes. "And if it's any consolation, you and Ava were worse. You kept thinking you were dying. I swear you were begging Malloryn for more time to be with your kitten at one point."
"Asshole."
"Prick."
Gemma lowered herself onto her toes, shooting them a rather vexed look.
Byrnes slipped his brass communicator into his ear as he blatantly stared at the pair of them and grinned unrepentantly. Kincaid looked like he'd bitten into a rotten plum.
"I take it all back," she told Obsidian. "Charlie is a sugarplum, and thus to be protected at all costs. But you are quite welcome to thrash either of these two."
The faintest of smiles touched Obsidian's mouth. "Grant me a little credit, my love." He raised his voice. "I'm an assassin. If I want revenge, then nobody would ever see me coming, and it will happen when they least expect it. I'm also fairly imaginative when it comes to paying someone back in kind."
Kincaid actually paled.
Ingrid stalked past, slapping her husband across the back of his head. "Leave them alone and come buckle me up."
"But Ingrid," Byrnes mock moaned, as he followed her, "they were just getting to the gushy part."
Gemma released a deep breath and fixed Obsidian's buckles. "Are you certain you have no regrets? I wouldn't blame you if you did, I must say. You have me now, but unfortunately these fools come with me."
Obsidian stared after Byrnes with a considering look. "You don't know how lucky you are."
The words stalled her. Lucky? And then she understood. He'd had no one—the closest ally he'd ever owned had betrayed him.
Gemma kissed him on the cheek. "We'd better j
oin the others. They're about to break into the tunnels."
"Before we go, I have a gift for you," he said, tugging something out of his leather coat. He'd wrapped it in a piece of black silk.
"What is it?"
"Probably not the sort of thing most women hope to get from their lovers." His expression was so serious. So intense. As if he wanted to please her, but wasn't certain this was the right move. "But then, you're not most women."
That stirred her curiosity.
"I adore presents."
"Why does that not surprise me?" His eyes glinted with warm humor.
Gemma unwrapped the package swiftly, revealing a thin steel interlocking necklace that looked somewhat akin to a collar. She could just make out the two small probes jutting out on the side, and a faint frown touched her brow before she realized what they were. Spark conductors.
Her breath caught. "It's a shock collar."
The Coldrush Guards used them on their most dangerous prisoners.
Obsidian tugged the control device out of his pocket. "Range is fifty feet. I flick this switch and you'll go down, a pulse of current running through you."
His earnest gaze met hers, and Gemma was lost for a moment in their arctic depths.
"I know you're nervous the implant might not be destroyed. This will prevent any chance you're a risk to those you love."
Her heart skipped a beat as she reached up to throw her arms around him. Though Ava had managed to get the neural implant out of his head, there'd been no time to deal with hers. "Thank you."
Gemma clicked the collar into place around her throat. "Shock me if this all goes wrong."
"I promise."
And just like that, all the doubt vanished.
Kincaid snorted nearby. "Christ. Fuckin'. Jaysus. Byrnes and I are going to have to sort you out, mate. A shock collar?"
"You wouldn't understand if I tried to explain it," she told him.
"It's done, Gemma," Malloryn said, slipping out of his coat and sliding a shoulder holster over his arms. "Jack said the neural implant was deactivated when he tested it."
Only Obsidian understood. "There are no certainties the neural implant won't reactivate. And until you've lived through it, it's difficult to believe you can trust yourself. I'm Gemma's guarantee she won't lose control again."
She needed that certainty. The fluttery feeling was gone. She couldn't hurt anyone if Obsidian held the shock controller. She felt like her old self again.
Grabbing a fistful of his coat, Gemma stretched up on her toes, finding his mouth. The kiss was hungry and desperate. And regrettably, all too short.
"Remind me to thank you later," she breathed, as she lowered herself onto her toes.
His hand slid over her bottom, where he gave her a cheeky pinch. "I'm counting on it."
"Now let's go burn this hellhole to the ground."
Black waters stirred beneath them as Gemma paused on the edge of the Core dock. They'd spent twenty minutes traversing the cold, dark tunnels of Undertown, jumping at every rat that scurried away from them in the darkness.
She couldn't see a damned thing below the water, but Obsidian assured her it was there, and he'd taken out a dhampir acolyte on guard in the entrance to Undertown.
One down. Far too many to go.
Byrnes, Herbert, and Ingrid were going to swim into the Core with a handful of Nighthawks, attacking from the rear, thanks to Byrnes drawing the short straw. There was an escape hatch there, Obsidian had explained, which would lead them directly to the munitions factory. Blow the factory and get the hell out, Obsidian had told them, because the training center was nearby and there'd be a dozen good little dhampir acolytes in there, vying for Ghost's attention.
Charlie and Kincaid were suited up in a pair of mech suits. Kincaid wore his Achilles II after the first had been crumpled in the draining factory, and Charlie wore a revolution-standard Cyclops that stood about twelve feet tall, his pale face serious behind the single glass slit in his head-mask that gave the Cyclops its name. They were leading a team through the elevation chamber down to a sublevel of the Core, and working their way up.
Which left the air ducts and the cells.
"There's the duct." Obsidian pointed to the enormous steel pipe that clung to the nearby wall. "It will take us directly to the cells."
"Any rousing speeches?" Charlie whispered loudly.
"Don't get killed," Malloryn retorted, tucking his aural communicator into his ear. "Get in, lay your charges, and get out. We've got Ava and Jack on communications, so make sure you touch in with them. Rendezvous point is the safe house at midnight if we lose each other. Watch your backs."
"Aye, Your Grace." Charlie snapped a salute, pistons hissing in the Cyclops suit as he and Kincaid headed for the elevation chamber that led down into the Core. Ten Nighthawks followed them.
"Ready?" Gemma asked, staring at the air duct. An access hole rested several feet above them, the enormous wheel rusted over from the damp tunnels.
"Ladies first?" Obsidian graced her with a smile as she tested the buckles on her harness.
"Heading into a creepy underwater bunker filled with dhampir?" Gemma grinned at him. "It's possibly the only occasion where I might insist you go ahead."
Obsidian climbed up to the access hole and used sheer strength to twist the enormous wheel. He popped the cover open and vanished inside, feet first.
Gemma followed, finding herself in a narrow duct that led directly down. Using her hands and feet to hold herself there, she clipped the steel cable that was attached to her harness to an empty rivet hole, took a deep breath, and then dropped down through the duct.
The cable whizzed from the reel at her waist, letting her plummet almost to the bottom. Light spilled through another access hole Obsidian had opened, and she hauled herself up short and slipped through, unclipping herself.
Obsidian knelt beside her, packing away his harness into the small satchel he carried. He drew a pair of wicked-looking knives. "Ready?" he mouthed, as Malloryn and several Nighthawks joined them.
Gemma nodded.
The fluttering had gone away, her heart was pounding, and all her senses were on high alert. Drawing the pair of sai strapped to her thighs, she gestured for Obsidian to lead.
Time to kill some dhampir.
Working with the Nighthawks held an odd sense of familiarity that comforted Byrnes, even as he stared down into the dark waters.
Until the Guild Master paused beside him.
"Just like old times," Garrett said, flashing a grin at Byrnes. "You. Me. Vampire infested tunnels. Possible mayhem."
"Don’t get yourself killed," Byrnes said tightly, as he slipped the breathing apparatus over his head. "My heart’s barely recovered from last month. I am not going to have to tell your wife some dhampir ripped your throat out."
"I already promised Perry nothing’s going to happen to me. Apart from punching a dhampir or two in the teeth with this." Garrett flexed the steel fingers of his bio-mech arm, and Byrnes couldn’t help looking at it.
A member of the Sons of Gilead had tried to shoot Garrett in the heart during a riot, in the hopes the Nighthawks would clash with the human populace. At the very last second, Ava had saved Garrett’s life by crying a warning, though he’d had lost his arm in the process.
The craving virus could heal almost everything, but as Byrnes paced outside Garrett’s room that day, he’d honestly wondered if Garrett would survive.
It had not been the best moment of his life.
Needless to say, the second Byrnes got a chance to breathe, he was going to go hunting for a certain SOG rifleman. He might even invite Perry. She could always be counted on for a certain spot of murderous revenge.
"Are you ready for this?" he asked Garrett, in a quieter voice.
They’d never exactly seen eye-to-eye, but Garrett was probably one of his first true friends, as much as Byrnes could call anyone a friend. He wasn’t… used to feeling like this for other people. Worrying abou
t them. Nervous for the coming fight. All his emotions had been on edge since he’d been forcibly turned into a dhampir, and he didn’t like it one bit.
Garrett squinted at him in the dark. "Well, I’ll be damned. I thought I was talking to Doyle then for a second. He’s the one who hovers over me like a nursemaid, not you. Are you sure you’re all right? I’m not used to this more emotional Byrnes. Ingrid’s been a good influence on you."
"Sod off."
Garrett grinned at him. "I’m fine. I promise not to die, or get eaten by a dhampir. And when this is all done, you’re going to sit down for that arm wrestle you’ve been promising me for the last month. I know I’m going to beat you, dhampir or not." He looked down into the dark waters. "Are you ready?"
Byrnes gave him a thin smile, "Last one in is—"
Garrett shoved him into the water.
The dhampir initiates spent most of their lives in their personal quarters or the training center, Obsidian had explained. With the sun rising, a good number of them would be heading to bed.
Which meant they'd be handling the most dangerous section of the facility.
Gemma gestured several of the Nighthawks to fall into place behind her as she pressed her spine to the wall and held her pistol cocked.
Across the hallway from her, Obsidian did the same.
He arched a brow at her. Ready?
Gemma nodded.
Holding up three fingers, he slowly counted down. Then they were moving. Rolling into the corridor, she kicked the door of the closest cell open and tossed a smoke bomb inside. A coughing figure emerged, trying to haul his shirt up over his mouth and nose.
Gemma spun and kicked him in the head. As he staggered, she shot him five times. Head and heart. Brutal but efficient. One of the Nighthawks behind her was prepared to cut his heart out as she took point again.
Moving like clockwork, they cleared each cell. Gemma kicked the next door open, coming face to face with a startled dhampir who had a knife in hand. He blinked in surprise, and she shot him right between the eyes. His body hit the floor, and she stepped forward and drilled two more bullets into his head, and one into his heart, just in case.
