by L. D. Rose
“I’m going to fry that motherfucker.” Blaze snarled with revenge, careful not to brush the hooks still embedded in Dax’s back. Dax didn’t say a word, just focused on hanging on to the fragile threads of his life until this was all over.
They made it to the stairwell, a cold draft swirling up from the ground floor as chills flowed through his muscles and shivers rocketed down his spine. He winced under the impact of Blaze’s boots on the steps and his brother let out a rueful curse.
“We’re almost there,” Blaze reassured him, the noise of battle growing distant and muffled past the walls. “It’s almost over.”
As if on cue, a loud stomping echoed from below, starting at the foot of the staircase. Blaze hissed another curse and halted, gripping Dax firmly as he raised his Glock, aiming over the railing at the oncoming assailant.
“Blaze?” A low Irish brogue, the sound like music to Dax’s ears. “That you?”
Dax shifted across his brother’s back to see Kayne pop into view, Beretta lifted in a two-handed grip as the Shamrock eased onto the landing. His green eyes bulged as if he’d been whacked in the back of the head, absorbing the sight of Dax half-naked and ruined over Blaze’s shoulder.
Blaze pitched a sigh and put the gun up, securing his hold on Dax as he swayed slightly.
Dax could only imagine what he must’ve looked like, fucked up beyond all recognition, hooks lodged in his shoulders with their chains dangling down his bare back as he bled like a stuck pig.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Kayne exclaimed.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Blaze asked, incredulous, voicing Dax’s sentiments exactly.
“I’ve got Cindy. She’s in the Charger parked by the High Line. I drove as fast as I could.”
Dax reared up, heart tanking into his churning stomach as Blaze tightened his hold on him again, grappling to keep them both upright.
“Dax—” His brother warned, but he ignored him.
“Cindy?” Dax rasped, throat as dry as the Sahara, breath shallow and uneven. “Is she okay?”
Kayne nodded. “Fine, lad. She helped us find you and we couldn’t have done it without her. Let’s get you both out of here and back home.”
Relief overwhelmed Dax once again, his body trembling from more than the cold. Hundreds of questions barraged his mind, but he kept them at bay, storing them for later. Resting his head on Blaze’s shoulder, he clutched his brother tightly, skinned fingers burying in his shirt.
Thank God. He didn’t know how he would ever repay them.
“Lead the way.” Blaze gestured as Kayne raised his Beretta and trooped them back downstairs, taking out anyone who stood in their path.
By the time the wind hit Dax like a bucket of ice water, his ears were ringing and he wondered if he’d passed out, the hazy world continuing to tilt and rock on its axis. Both men moved faster now, buildings and pavement whirring by as the gunfire became less frequent.
One minute, they were sprinting, with Dax flopping around on Blaze’s back like a broken marionette. The next, they were at a standstill beside the Charger, gasping and fighting to catch their breaths.
Bodies littered the area, fallen Temhota soldiers who were either dead or unconscious. One was splayed out across the Charger’s busted windshield in a pool of blood, but the car was otherwise empty.
Every fiber of Dax’s being ached while Blaze attempted to lower him to his feet again. Head roaring, Dax leaned on him heavily, his brother taking on the full brunt of his weight. His bleary eyes searched the car and the surrounding area before he could even prop his fractured bones underneath him.
No, no, no. Where was she?
Kayne confirmed his fears when he shouted, “Shit!”
The Irishman lurched toward the car, pulling open the passenger’s side door and glancing into the backseat. “Oh, fucking hell!” He punched the leather cushion before he straightened, facing them as he shoved his hands through his disheveled hair.
Dread macerated Dax’s guts and he tripped, but Blaze held him true, his weak heart bashing against his ribcage like a panicked fist. “Where is she?” he croaked, his voice shaking as hard as the rest of him.
“Fuck!” Kayne yanked on his hair in frustration, kicking the bumper, his expression riddled with angst. “She’s gone. And she took the goddamn PPK with her.”
TWENTY-THREE
Damn it. How did she end up in this situation again?
When they’d arrived at the abandoned warehouse, it was on fire. Kayne hadn’t stopped, speeding past the flames, turning left onto the next street over. He’d driven farther, then parked the Charger, killing the engine as they watched the smoke plume in the clear night sky. They’d beat the storms at the New York state line.
He’d loaded up on weapons, prepared to go inside that inferno for his brothers. For Dax. And he’d ordered her to remain behind with the PPK he’d given her.
The significance of the burning building had hit them both—
either Blaze had gotten to Dax and saved him, or he’d failed and the fire was an extension of his grief and rage.
Kayne had actually locked her in the Charger, flattening his palm on the rear window, the damned car beeping in response to its master.
With a final, “Stay here, Cindy,” he’d vanished, darting across the street toward the warehouse.
Now as she picked up the PPK, Cindel gripped it tightly in her hand. She’d finally ceased shivering, her hair and clothing damp but chilled against her skin. The utter silence was unnerving as she examined her surroundings, shadows hovering in every corner, hulking buildings looming around her like sentinels. Gansevoort Street stretched out in front of her and she glimpsed a rusted metal staircase on the sidewalk to her right, leading up to a railway bridge overgrown with brambles, vines, and dead foliage.
Cindel listened to her soft breath, her heartbeat, the ebb and flow of blood rushing through her body. She slowly mustered up her courage, gathering her wits about her. Her pulse quickened when she recalled the muzzle of Jacques’ gun hitting the back of her head, her scalp prickling at the memory. She’d sat like a coward while his words whispered in her ear, filled with triumph and satisfaction.
Ah, ah, cherie. Let it go.
No. She wouldn’t let it go this time. No more being a victim.
She was going to help them.
Gulping past the chokehold of fear, she pressed the button on the passenger’s side armrest—the right goddamn button—and the doors unlocked simultaneously. Just as she grasped the handle and prepared to run, a crowd of males dashed in front of the car, racing on Gansevoort toward the rusted staircase.
And time slowed to a crawl.
Alek was the first in line, wearing the Temhota battle uniform, clutching what appeared to be bags of blood and a soiled knife. He vaulted up the stairs before Rome emerged at the street corner, golden eyes blazing as he spotted Alek disappearing into the brush. Bolting after him, the hybrid was soon followed by a gang of Temhota soldiers, the vampires right on Rome’s tail. One managed to pounce on him and everyone tumbled to the asphalt.
Cindel stifled a gasp as they piled on top of the hybrid, beating him to the ground, and she lifted her stunned gaze to the bridge. Alek stared down at them from the top, smiling his wicked smile as he sheathed the knife and drew a huge handgun from his shoulder rig. The weapon looked too big for him, an almost cartoonish revolver, and she knew a bullet of that caliber would kill the leader of the Senary instantly.
Barely thinking straight, her breath scraped out of her lungs as she yanked the handle and kicked the door open.
The car alarm went off, screaming into the night, sending a jolt through every last vampire, including Alek.
Fueled by pure instinct, she stood on wobbly legs, but her aim was steady as she leveled the
PPK at her sire’s startled face.
Their eyes connected and his jaw unhinged at the sight of her, his pupils dilating to devour the whites.
Commit to it.
And for the first time in her miserable life, she pulled the goddamn trigger.
Alek moved at the last second and the bullet burst through his shoulder, blood blowing out the back of the wound as the revolver slipped from his grip. When the weapon hit the ground, it discharged, another round firing into the sky. All of the males cowered, hesitating, giving Rome enough time to recover.
And like an invisible explosion around the hybrid, every soldier went flying, limbs flailing in all directions as Rome delivered a telekinetic concussion blast that nearly shoved Cindel off her feet. A vampire landed on the still-blaring car, cracking the windshield even further as she struggled to maintain her balance.
Then reality sped back up.
With a final livid glare, Alek disappeared into the brush, escaping over the bridge. Rome levered to a stand, blinking rapidly as he raised a palm to the bleeding gash on his temple. His goat-slit eyes centered on her, widening, but they didn’t have time for a standoff.
Cindel ran to his side, grabbed his hand, and dragged him toward the stairwell. He didn’t reject her, didn’t wrench his arm away, only let her guide him up the corroded stairs.
When they reached the top, he let her go, determination etched into his angular features. “Follow me,” he growled as he snapped into action, chasing after his sworn enemy.
Their sworn enemy.
Although she fought to keep up, her fear-laden legs didn’t disappoint, adrenaline coursing in her veins as they pursued Alek. They ran under several deserted buildings made up entirely of glass windows, most of them shattered like broken teeth, the wind howling through them like banshees at the upper levels.
Scattered obstacles were strewn in their path—splintered benches, overturned trees, and debris from the adjacent structures—but Rome cleared the way for her where he could while they both launched over the rest. He remained ahead of her but occasionally glanced over his shoulder to ensure she was still trailing him.
She couldn’t deny the relief each look brought her.
As they marathoned north, vampires lunged at him and he disposed of them with an efficiency that was both terrifying and inspiring. He rarely fired his gun, but when he did his aim was point-blank perfect, with every bullet hitting its target. She never had to use her PPK, no matter how far they traveled, allowing her to concentrate on keeping her legs moving.
The ruined landscape of the city’s west side opened up before them, glimpses of the Hudson River flashing from behind the derelict buildings. The chase seemed to go on for miles, and as the path curved west, Rome slowed as if he’d lost Alek. But the Senary leader continued on, sprinting across the straightaway toward the river.
Cindel rounded the bend as an abandoned railyard spread beyond the trail. The Hudson Yards. Humans had been developing this area before the Insurgency but aborted the expansion and half-built skyscrapers after the vampyr uprising. The Yards contained the last few active trains in New York City, with access to the major intact subways left on the island.
Only two trains lingered now, appearing like beached whales with their exposed silver bellies. She discerned a figure aboard the closest locomotive. Grasping the railing, she peered down at the flat decks below the bridge.
“Rome,” she shouted to his shrinking form in the distance. When he spun around, she pointed at the subway cars. “There!”
Following her direction, he stared out toward the yard and bent over the railing, looking down like she had. Then he backed up a few steps and leapt off the bridge, landing feet-first on the platforms below before he charged after Alek.
Cindel watched as the train started, the dull monotonous sound amplifying in the dark. Rome ran faster, hurtling over the tracks, but as the cars began to move, he realized he wouldn’t make it. Stopping short, he lifted both hands and pushed them into the air, palms out as they took on an ethereal glow.
No. Cindel slapped a hand over her mouth.
He was going to stop the train with his mind.
Cursing, she looked over the railing again, gauging the distance below, praying she wouldn’t break her legs. She was very aware that hybrids had limitations, and if Rome needed help, she had to be there. Straddling the metal bar, she flipped both legs over and gripped the railing from behind, her sneakers barely fitting on the concrete ledge.
Glancing up, she found the train had—incredibly—begun to decelerate, the locomotive resisting the coercive force of Rome’s power. She could hardly believe her eyes, but now wasn’t the time to marvel.
Bracing herself, she took two deep breaths before she released the bar and jumped onto the raised deck below. She didn’t land nearly as gracefully as Rome, the impact rattling her bones, but at least she wasn’t injured. Breaking into a mad dash, she raced to meet him, seeing his hands waver, the glow flicker, the train gaining ground as it won the battle. Then he collapsed and panic seized her by the throat, hauling her faster toward him.
When she rushed to his side, he was on his hands and knees, cradling his head in his dimming palm, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned. The first train passed, revealing the second subway, the one and only vehicle left in the yard.
“Are you all right?” Cindel asked and he nodded, then shook his head. Giving him a moment to recoup, she jogged toward the second train, but as she came closer, it occurred to her with growing horror that it’d been disabled.
Beneath the glare of the full moon, the train gleamed with a pale blue sheen, its flank exhaling a cloud of mist. The locomotive was completely frozen over, freshly iced and chilled.
Ice. Alek had taken on Dax’s trait, just like her.
Rome’s boots thumped up behind her, gravel crunching under soles, and his swift intake of air was audible.
“Shit,” he hissed as they both turned toward the departing train now picking up speed ahead. The back door flung open and Alek stepped out on the threshold, fangs flashing as he grinned.
Anger whipped into Cindel with blistering lashes as he pressed his lips to his palm and blew her a kiss. Then he waved them off, victorious, before vanishing into the whale’s belly.
Without warning, a deafening crack rented her eardrums, and Cindel whirled to catch Rome striking the side of the frozen train. He left behind a bloody print, ice splitting from its epicenter as he stalked away.
“So help me God, I’m going to cut that fucking smile off his face if it’s the last thing I do.”
Looking back at the receding train, she set her jaw and murmured, “Me too.”
~ ~ ~
“What do we do?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know? Find another goddamn car!”
“Well, how the hell did you get here, el Diablo?”
“JJ has the Expedition and he’s underground, el leprechaun-o. I haven’t seen him since.”
Blaze and Kayne continued their pissing match while Dax struggled to stay conscious, body tremoring and teeth chattering. It was getting harder to breathe. He’d lost way too much blood. The world just kept spinning and spinning, a sea of acid and bile roiling in his stomach, and all he could think about was Cindel, alone out here somewhere, fighting for her life.
“Guys,” he rasped. “We need to find her, we’ve got to—”
The harsh percussion of gunfire sent them all crashing to the ground and Dax yelped from the impact, his bare skin chafing and his bones aching.
“Shit!” Both Blaze and Kayne spat in unison as slugs showered the tarmac, kicking up rock and burrowing into the fallen bodies. Kayne palmed both of his Berettas as they scrambled behind the Charger, Blaze heaving Dax up in front of him while the shooters approached from south Washington Street. Onc
e they were all propped behind the trunk, Kayne and Blaze retaliated as the shootout intensified, bullets ricocheting in every direction, effectively trapping them.
Dax wheezed, wanting to help so badly, but he could barely hold his head up and keep his ass covered.
Then, as if they’d hit the jackpot, the roar of the Expedition’s engine barreled up Washington, followed by the rat-tat-tat of JJ’s MP7 submachine gun. Grunts and shouts echoed in the night while JJ tore up the street, tires squealing as the SUV screeched to a halt beside them. Drawing the gun back, he bellowed, “Get in!” as he hung out the driver’s side window and let it rip.
They rushed for the passenger’s side, Kayne shooting in the lead while Blaze carried Dax and JJ shielded them, hollering at them to hurry the fuck up. Blaze tossed Dax in the far backseat and Dax kept his head down as his brother parked in front of him and Kayne sat shotgun. As soon as every door slammed shut, JJ dove inside and put the pedal to the metal, peeling out and revving the SUV into the red.
While the Ford chewed up the road, slugs pinged off the bulletproof frame with decreasing frequency, and they all pitched sighs of respite. Blaze dropped his head back on the headrest while Kayne and JJ exchanged greetings, clapping hands.
“I wasn’t expecting me lucky charm,” JJ exclaimed, and Kayne let out a husky laugh.
“Yeah, well, this charm ain’t so lucky, lad.”
“You guys all right?” JJ asked, eyeing the rearview mirror.
Blaze swallowed hard and nodded, looking over his shoulder at Dax. “Yeah,” the edges of his mouth tugged into a frown, “we’ll be all right.”
Dax curled up on the cold leather, shivering even harder, but at least he was horizontal and the dizziness eased.
“You got a blanket in here?” Blaze asked, searching the truck’s interior.
“Yeah, there’s a fire blanket under your seat,” JJ replied with increasing concern in his voice.
