Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1

by Gayle Parness

  "I know I can’t save them, but I can stop their pain, maybe make their deaths mean something.”

  The voice in her head grew gentle, urging her to turn around and get back in the car. But he’d forgotten his persuasive brand of magic didn't work on a theta with her abilities. "Don't do this to yourself, sugar. You know what you went through after Atlanta."

  "Dave and Diane will want this. I'd want this, if it were me.”

  "Hey, Gene." Dylan piped in. “She knows what she’s doing. Trust us.”

  "You’re fucking idiots, both of you. You're putting our entire operation in jeopardy."

  "Boot up your H-tab, hack into the stadium feed, and watch the show," Dylan answered.

  Gene was still talking when they shook their heads and slammed down their mental walls. No more conference calls ’til it was over.

  How strange that Gene was turning into the responsible one.

  They entered the stadium, passing the guard at the gate who nodded in their direction then turned away to deal with an unruly wolf. Walking down the stairs leading to the front sections of the arena, they tried their best to appear to be working, glancing around at the various wolves and vamps, witches and sorcerers who’d showed up for the spectacle.

  One of the odd things about life under the leadership of incredibly powerful supernaturals, was the way the various species relied completely on their senses, most of them arrogant enough to believe their natural gifts were adequate to keep them secure around their enemies. None of them relied on devices, such as retinal scans or even thumb print ID badges, which might have kept Dylan and Celeste out of the stadium. Morphing was great, especially since they were also able to change their scent, but it wasn’t perfect. High tech could trump a good morph every time.

  The Director had hired extra guards, but they seemed disorganized, with no one giving orders. Celeste and Dylan knew there'd be cameras everywhere, but the cameras were easy to spot, and their disguises were perfect.

  They stopped at the final aisle before the closest section of seats, standing behind the last row. There was a large post that partially hid them from the podium where The Director's demonic enforcers sat, smirking, and laughing about something. Celeste was grateful The Director never appeared in front of such a large crowd, preferring to keep out of the public eye. He tended to terrify anyone who saw him in person, and that would disrupt the entertainment. Instead, he'd be somewhere nearby, probably watching everything on his high-end viewer in a private box.

  Dave and Diane were chained between posts, completely naked. They were suffering from the effects of the drugs and whatever torture they’d been victims of, hardly able to stand. Celeste trembled with fury when she noticed a guard touch a zapper to Diane’s breast, causing Diane to cry out in pain. The demons laughed, pointing at Dave.

  Celeste’s fingernails were making half moons in her palms, blood beginning to flow, her anger reaching its peak. To calm her, Dylan sent a warm wash of his power, giving her the strength she needed to help them.

  She'd seen these types of executions before. They were meant to be entertainment, so the torture was dragged out for as long as possible. They hadn't begun yet, but when the executioner arrived, dressed in the usual mask and black clothing, she knew it wouldn't be long.

  They would start with sexual torture, moving on from there.

  Dylan asked, "Are you okay? It's not too late to leave."

  "I'd never leave them now. Can you—can you touch me somehow? Don't make it obvious." He slid his body close enough so she could inhale his comforting scent, his fingers brushing against hers where they rested on the post. "Thank you."

  "If we get split up, I'll meet you at the third gate near the van."

  "I'll find you."

  Celeste took in a very deep, calming breath, sending her mind out to Diane, burning a small pathway so Diane could hear. All eyes were on the executioner as he raised each torture device into the air for the audience to see. Cheers rang through the night, the crowds’ thirst for blood and pain nauseating to Celeste. No one noticed when Diane lifted her head, suddenly able to understand who was contacting her.

  "Diane. Don't say anything. Nod if you hear me." Her eyes widened, but she didn’t speak—only nodding. "I can't save you. Do you understand?" She nodded again. "I can make it fast. Kill you both quickly. Do you want that? Will Dave?" She nodded again, tears streaming down her face. Celeste sent her one last message—one she hoped would give Diane a small measure of peace. "I'm going to kill The Director for you, for you and Dave and all his other victims. Your deaths will have meaning, I promise."

  Diane’s head moved again, a final acceptance of her fate. She mouthed thank you, and the gesture almost finished Celeste, but she had to stay strong. She closed her eyes and worked up her rage toward The Director and sent it out in a blast of psy-magic, turning it into a laser, burning through Diane’s brain until her heart stopped beating. She did the same for Dave.

  Killing two of her troupe members took only twenty seconds in real time, but performing the act was a slow motion nightmare she'd never forget. They collapsed, their bodies limp, still hanging by their chained wrists. A demon—Rem—walked over to check on Diane, another toward Dave. The executioner moved closer.

  Celeste was hoping for this chance. She took in a blast of Dylan’s axis and wished the demons a painful death, blasting them with the fire she’d used on the sorcerers—their clothing, their hair, their disgusting lives going up in flames. The fire burned the bodies of her friends as well, leaving nothing for The Director to mutilate.

  "Go." Mack's voice was urgent as he dragged Celeste toward the exit.

  "Wait." Celeste looked directly into the nearest camera, letting go of her glamour, her face returning to normal. Her eyes swirled with their new iridescence, a gauntlet thrown in the face of a male who only understood power.

  She spoke. "We're coming for you."

  Celeste flipped him off and ran like crazy, morphing her face back into the Slavic-looking guard. Angry audience members were on their feet, shouting that they'd been cheated out of their money. Some spilled into the aisles, making it difficult to navigate, while others cowered in their seats, scanning the skies for a missile attack or some other explanation for the sudden flames. Guards were running in all directions, not knowing what kind of sniper or sorcerer they were supposed to be looking for. Dylan and Celeste took advantage of the situation, fitting into the general chaos as they ran toward their planned exit point.

  Three guards were lined up, blocking the exit. "You're to stay inside and continue to search for the assassin," the taller one yelled over the noise. His uniform looked a little fancier.

  “Maybe someone’s in charge, after all. Just our luck.”

  Dylan yelled over the sound of the angry crowd gathering by the blocked exit. "We were told to search the parking area."

  "We've been ordered to lock the place down and guard the exits. Get back." The crowd was turning unruly, pushing them against the other guards. “Get back, or we have orders to shoot.”

  "Move out of the way." A furious werewolf shouted at the guards blocking the exit. He was trying to protect his pregnant mate from getting shoved around. An intelligent guard would know not to mess with an alpha werewolf and his mate.

  “We’re getting crushed!” someone screamed.

  That's when Dylan punched the first guard in the face, pushing the second guard into the alpha wolf, who instantly started pounding on him with his fists while his mate screamed for him to stop. The first guard had gone down hard, so to keep him from getting trampled by the anxious crowd, the third guard dragged him over to the sidewall.

  Celeste heard three shots. Members of the crowd behind them tried to turn, to run away from whoever was wielding the gun. The third guard was pointing his weapon at the wolf beating up his buddy, so thinking quickly, Celeste made the armed guard point his gun at his own foot. When he squeezed the trigger, she and Dylan raced past the exit gate and into the
lot.

  They were almost to the van when Dylan stopped, leaning over to try and catch his breath. For the first time she noticed there was blood on his right side, near his waist.

  "You’re shot? Put your arm around me. We're almost there." He limped a few steps, stopping again, his wound more serious than he was letting on.

  Suddenly a man came out of the crowd, throwing Dylan’s arm over his shoulder and supporting him. “Where’s your car?”

  The male was hooded, so Celeste couldn’t see his face, but at that point, she didn’t care. She needed the help. He boosted Dylan into the van, lifting his shirt and looking at the wound. It was bleeding badly. The male licked his hand and placed it over the wound, which could only mean one thing.

  He turned to look at her. It was Joseph Herron. She pulled in power, readying herself to fight him off.

  “You saved my second in command’s life back there at the gate. His mate’s, too. She’s my sister.”

  He closed the passenger side door. “Get him back to your people fast. My saliva will help, but he doesn’t have much time. The bullet was poisoned.” With lightning reflexes, he took hold of Celeste’s hand. “My offer stands. With me, you’d have an army behind you. Together we can take him down—run the city ourselves.”

  “While I’m chained naked to your bed?” she raged.

  “You pissed me off.” He shrugged. “Everything’s changed now that you’ve declared your rebellion. You’re magnificent—a sirocco of flame and power. I would never dare treat you with such disrespect. We would be equals, bringing these demons to their knees and restoring the city and its people to health.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “No more than you.” And then he was gone, racing toward the helicopter idling at the far corner of the lot.

  Once she was behind the wheel, she ripped off her shirt, pressing it to Dylan’s side. He held it there with shaking hands. "Go,” he croaked. “We need to move. I'm okay.”

  She gunned the engine, pulling out of the lot with a squeal of tires on asphalt, trying to contact Gene at the same time. "We're on the road, but Dylan’s hurt—shot in the side with a poisoned bullet. He's putting pressure on it. Get the clinic ready for him."

  Gene didn't answer and Dylan wasn't looking that great. Could things get any worse? "Try to pull in some power. Focus it on the wound, maybe that'll help,” she told him." About two blocks away, Celeste started to shake violently from the adrenalin comedown. She cranked up the heat in the van and kept driving. She should know better than to ask if things could get worse.

  "Faster, love. I hear helicopters." Dylan managed to fish a bottle of water and a granola bar out of their backpack, handing it to Celeste then taking the same for himself. She practically inhaled the bar and the water as she attempted to restore some of her lost energy. Dylan only managed a few sips of water and very little of the bar.

  Gene finally answered, speaking to both of them. "Liz says the doctor's on the way. The clinic’s stocked pretty well. You'll be fine, Mack." Gene’s voice sounded calm, but there was an edge to it that scared her. Mack was his closest friend.

  Traffic slowed, coming to a stop. A checkpoint had been set up at the Bayonne Bridge. The cop was a young human. Celeste morphed into a hot babe and rolled down her window.

  "License and City ID." The cop sounded bored, not even looking at her.

  They didn't have any paperwork at all. Celeste threw him a fantasy whiff of perfume. "Hello Officer. I think I have the documents right here in the middle console." She spoke in a husky voice. His bored expression turned eager when he got a look at her generous chest.

  Dylan had his hoodie pulled up, pretending to sleep. He was using axis power to stay alive and couldn’t share with her. Crossing her fingers that it would be enough, she dove into her psycore and sent the cop a little fantasy that he’d checked their IDs and found them in order.

  The cop waved them on. “Too close,” she whispered, exhausted and spent. She’d be in serious trouble if she needed more power for anything else. They squeezed hands as she drove—the tactile feeling of skin-on-skin reassuring. Dylan was pale, shivering badly, his grip on her hand weakening. She trembled beside him—terrified he might have lost too much blood or that the poison was destroying his organs.

  “You will not die. I won’t allow it!” she hissed, relieved to see the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly.

  When she pulled into the building’s driveway, Gene and Tom raced out with a gurney, transferring Dylan and rolling him inside in record time. Thank god for Staci's idea to build a clinic on site. Somehow, Celeste found the strength to get herself out of the van, following the gurney into the building, her knees shaking, and her stomach queasy. She was told by a stranger to wait outside the exam room until the doctor could check Dylan out. She sat alone on an old couch someone had gotten from Goodwill, her legs curled up under her body, wringing her hands and biting her lip.

  Celeste wasn't surprised that everyone was focused on Dylan. It was what she wanted. She didn’t deserve anyone’s help, even though she couldn’t ever remember being this drained. There was a good chance they'd all hate her for what she'd done to Dave and Diane. Staci and Sam were Diane and Dave's closest friends.

  She replayed every second of what happened; from the moment she’d entered the stadium to their crazy escape. Other than preventing Dylan from getting shot, there was nothing she would have changed. Gene was already furious that they hadn't cleared their plans with him first, disobeying a direct order. And now Dylan was hurt. She lifted her chin, a movement that challenged every muscle in her shoulders and neck. She’d face their anger the way she’d faced everything in her life. Maybe one day they’d understand.

  Dylan groaned from the other room. She needed to be in there, to hold his hand, to give him the courage to live. But when she walked a few steps, she was caught up in an uncontrollable episode of intense shivering and had to lean against the wall to keep from falling down.

  That’s how Sam found her when he ran down the stairs. "Why are you here alone?" he asked.

  "They said I c...can't go in yet."

  Sam took off his button down shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders. "You're in shock. You need a blanket. Lay down on the couch." He helped her back to where she’d started out, pushing her gently down and using a pillow to elevate her feet. He left for a moment, returning with a fleece blanket from the storeroom and a bottle of water.

  "P...please, find out how he is. I'm sc…scared."

  "I will. Close your eyes. I'll be back in a flash." He brushed hair off her forehead, disappearing around the corner of the hallway.

  She must have passed out, because the next time she opened her eyes, Alan had her sock-clad feet in his lap and was rubbing them vigorously. "You're icy cold. Staci said I should try to get your circulation going." He rubbed one of her hands between both of his. "Mack's gonna be fine."

  "Really?"

  "Yep, the doctor said the bullet went right through and didn't damage anything important. The werewolf saliva neutralized the poison and slowed the bleeding. You were both lucky. How do you feel?"

  "I'll be fine if I can see him."

  "Sure." Alan scooted out from under her feet, gently picking her up as if she weighed nothing at all.

  "Wow. I'm impressed."

  "Super hero APM," he joked.

  "That explains the theme music." Alan had managed to pipe in some tunes to the waiting area.

  "It's a scientific fact that music helps the healing process," he defended himself.

  “You know, you’re not an APM anymore. Now you can be what you like.”

  “I’ve been wondering if I could get hold of a guitar.”

  “Get Staci or Tom to put it on their never-ending list.”

  Hooked up to an IV line, Dylan seemed to be sleeping soundly, his chest moving in time to the sound of his steady breathing. His color had returned, and he was actually smiling in his sleep.

  “I
was so scared, and here he is, smiling like he’s having the nicest dream in the world.” Celeste’s cheeks were tight with her own smile.

  The nurse who’d told Celeste to wait outside was gathering up the bloody clothes they'd stripped off Dylan. Without asking permission, Alan placed her on the bed next to the patient, readjusting her blanket so she’d stay warm.

  “I’ll tell the crew upstairs what’s going on.” Alan ran out, the sound of his footsteps on the stairs matching the rhythm of his piped-in music.

  The nurse handed her a straw and cup of water, whispering, "You might have a mild case of shock, so I want you to only take very small sips. No food, until later. Try to let your guy get some sleep. Your man's healing powers are very strong. He’s already hooked into the source and rebooting naturally, so he'll be fine. Try not to worry."

  “Thank you.”

  Staci came in a moment later. “Oh, wonderful. Have you had a chance to meet Doctor Wilton?” She indicated the female Celeste had assumed was a nurse. She kept her mouth shut and put her own sexist faux pas down to a lack of energy and a lifetime of experience with only male doctors.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Ingrid.” The doctor’s smile was warm and comforting. She’d picked the right profession.

  “I call myself Celeste, now. And Mack is Dylan. We’re not in a troupe so…”

  “I understand. Those names are perfectly fine. Glad to have you on our side of the tracks.”

  “Thank you for everything you did to help him.”

  “You’re welcome, but it was your quick work and the wolf saliva that really saved him. I’ll stop back in tomorrow, if I’m able. I have other patients in the neighborhood who are waiting.”

  Staci perked up. “We’re hoping to make a difference here.”

  “That would be wonderful. Make sure they both rest.” She left quietly, leaving only Staci, Celeste, and a sleeping Dylan in the room.

  Celeste sipped on her water, too exhausted to speak. She wondered if Staci was being kind to her only because she was so weak.

  Almost as if she'd read Celeste’s mind, Staci smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "You're a courageous young woman, and I feel nothing but respect and affection for you. Diane and Dave chose to leave us. You did them a great mercy. Now get some sleep. That’s an order."