Blackstorm (Nightwraith Book 2)

by Gaja J. Kos

  The men rolling the cages were forced to stop behind me since our little standoff blocked their way. I kept a magical eye on them, making sure the bastards wouldn’t jump me from behind.

  Much to my surprise, they actually didn’t.

  The second demon, however, wasn’t quite as eager to stay put. He came to stand next to his buddy, the pair of them now towering over me like rough-hewn mountains.

  “I would shut that pretty little mouth if I were you,” the brown-haired demonic scum said, his hand twitching as if he was unsure whether to strike me or stroke me. Neither sounded all that good. “The boss said to unload all the merchandise, and that’s what we’re going to do. If we have to tie you to a fucking chair to keep you from interfering, so be it.”

  Red coated my vision at his threat, and I knew the bastard felt my reaction because he tensed, perfectly ready to exchange blows. Funny thing, so was I.

  But Ilya’s voice slammed into us and blasted the tension until he was the one who had our complete attention.

  “Mind your words, Silvan,” the vampire said with such icy calm it sent chills rushing down my spine. “Lana is under Alin’s care. If you lay a finger on her, the following punishment just might be your last.”

  As if slapped, the two demons backed off, eyes turned down in penance. I simply stood there, unable to comprehend the drastic change. Had Alin actually threatened his own gang to ensure my safety?

  These were his men, his subjects. At best, I was an acquaintance—a business opportunity, perhaps, but one he would have no trouble ditching if he chose to. I frowned, unsure what to make of it, yet immensely relieved at the same time. Testing out my improved fighting abilities wasn’t how I envisioned spending the already shitty evening.

  Ilya slid closer, his turquoise eyes finding mine. Again, there was something in the vampire’s gaze, a hint of some deeper understanding I couldn’t grasp. He opened his mouth, but the words were cut off as shouts erupted from the front of the bar.

  Ilya and I rushed down the corridor as one, the two demons close on our heels. We all but exploded into the main area, then stopped abruptly, a string of curses flying from the vampire’s mouth.

  A few of Alin’s men were in here, but unfortunately, they weren’t alone.

  A group of thugs was pouring in through my smashed front door, and based on their claims—and guns pointed at Alin’s cronies—they were about as far from friendly as it got. Though they did give us two choices.

  We could either give up the goods. Or give up our lives.

  Chapter 13

  Alin’s men weren’t thrilled by either option, but it was clear which one they were going to risk. Power rode the air, the glint of steel flickering under the overhead light as the two gangs faced each other.

  Both armed. Both ready to take this fight to the death.

  Ilya’s fingers touched my lower back, discreetly nudging me behind the moderate cover of the counter. The enemy thugs weren’t paying us as much attention as they did to the men standing right in front of them, but still my every move seemed too telling, too disruptive to the stillness that had taken hold of the room. Ilya, however, never let go of me, the pressure of his fingertips guiding me farther and farther.

  Eventually, I managed to take enough painstakingly slow steps so that the end of the counter blocked my body from the midriff down. Ilya released me then, a silent command brimming in his piercing turquoise eyes.

  Duck when shit hits the fan.

  Right. I swallowed heavily, fear coating my forehead with a sheen of cold sweat and tremors spreading down my limbs until my insides were rattling.

  Neither of the gangs had made a move yet. I didn’t know whether I should be relieved by these gifted seconds or petrified of the brewing shitstorm they implied. But the faint surge of determination coming to life inside me was solid.

  Standing here, idly waiting for my death would result in the exact outcome I was desperately hoping to avoid. I breathed past the nausea—even the intake of breath too loud in the vortex of tension—and tugged on the mental strings connecting me with the zombies still lurking in the back room, handling the merchandise.

  While reanimated flesh looked alive, the same couldn’t be said for their vocal cords. Unless I plucked them from their graves within a day of their death, my magic never managed to restore them fully, which left the zombies with deep, throaty voices that tended to scare the crap out of people. Only my regulars seemed to be unfazed by the slightly chilling effect.

  Right now, however, I didn’t care.

  The wards protecting the storage area kept any sounds from escaping, as well as any stray noises from entering. If none of Alin’s men had gone to alert those unloading the merchandise, they were still very much in the dark about what was going on in here. I loosened a painfully tight breath that just might have been a hiss and forced my thoughts down the bond, along with an additional push of magic to give them voice.

  To their credit, the thugs didn’t jerk as Edgar turned to face them and said, “Enemy gang in main area through front door. Armed. Eight of ours trapped inside.”

  A werewolf swore, but quickly went down to business, laying out a course of action that told me they’d prepared for this kind of mess—if not even faced it before. As they eased out of the room, weapons in hand, my zombies followed. The thugs parted in the corridor, some heading towards the main area of the bar, the rest of them taking the back exit to circle around and press in from the front. I ordered the zombies to trail behind the first group, keeping their distance yet staying close enough so that I could rush them inside if need arose.

  My stomach rebelled at the thought of using them as a weapon, but if push came to shove, that was precisely what I was going to do. I glanced around the bar—small movements, nothing substantial enough to attract attention—and noticed whispers of shadows slipping through the blinds. Alin’s men, already moving in position.

  The light touch of Ilya’s fingers once more resting against my spine only confirmed I was right.

  “Hands on your fucking heads!” one of the gun-pointing thugs shouted at the group standing in the middle of the bar, but, like the two times before, none of Alin’s men moved.

  Gods, the tension was so thick I could taste it on my tongue. Pressure grew in the air, that unpleasant combination of light, heaviness, and oppressive stillness that usually precedes a storm.

  Maybe because that’s precisely what it was.

  I sucked in a breath and threw myself behind the counter the instant Alin’s guys blasted the enemy gang members from behind, sandwiching them between themselves and those trapped within the bar. Gunshots and power battered out a vicious rhythm, but not all of the thugs dropped dead.

  Through my zombies, I watched everything.

  The way the enemy gang moved with the knowledge of someone who had been doing this kind of shit for a long, long time; the way Alin’s men worked as a terrifyingly organized front, splitting up then coming back together, all the while lashing out with bullets, blades, and magic alike.

  But what terrified me most was the realization that they were matched.

  The two gangs would run themselves to the ground if I didn’t do something. I glanced up at Ilya who was still by my side, protecting me.

  “Go!” I hissed. “They need your help.”

  When Ilya hesitated, I let him see the dagger resting in my right hand, as well as the magic lapping down the deadly, curved blade.

  “I can handle myself. Just fucking go!”

  He did.

  Ilya threw himself into the thick of it with liquid grace, and as he became nothing more than a blur of fangs and knives, I guided my zombies into the room. And not a second too late.

  More thugs pushed through the broken front door, parting left and right like a seething river. Reinforcements.

  Only they weren’t ours.

  I swore, fingernails digging into the shelves lining the underside of the counter and gave myself wholly to the ma
gic connecting me to the reanimated ones. Arna was the first to get hit. Looking like a human female, she must have seemed like an easy target to eliminate, because the vamp who shot her didn’t waste more than a single bullet.

  Not nearly enough to impede her movements, let alone stop her advance.

  Without hesitation, I sent her forth, her delicate hands wrapping around the vampire’s body even as he pumped her full of lead. Deep down, a part of me cringed as I felt each bullet tear through her flesh.

  It didn’t hurt, merely alerted my magic that there were areas to be fixed, but still it didn’t make me feel any better. She was like a toy, broken for a bully’s amusement.

  I let him shoot her. I let him scream in fury as her hands just wouldn’t let go of his throat—as her ordinary, human teeth bit into his cheek and tore out a chunk of flesh. Fueled with my necromancy, she was as strong as any demon, and the vampire seemed to have realized it, because that was panic seeping through his eyes now.

  A couple of knife-wielding buddies went over to help him, but I sent two more zombies their way, letting my anger at the bloodshed, at the destruction, guide their attack. They jumped the thugs with a viciousness I never thought I possessed, keeping them occupied long enough for Alin’s men to sweep in and finish the job.

  The instant the souls departed their flesh, I pumped the corpses full of magic, raising them to join the fight once more. Only now, it was for our side.

  I repeated the drill with each new body Alin’s men dropped to the ground.

  With some of them having far more inconspicuous wounds than the rest, the thugs failed to separate friend from foe straight away. Death rode the air, carried on the notes of screams and broken bones, most of it coaxed into the air by the mass of zombies I now controlled.

  It was kind of frightening, honestly, to be able to let my necromancy ease onto the back burner once more, my demonic instincts, as well as the training Alin had drilled into me making my immediate oversight redundant. But I didn’t have time to dwell on the implication the ease of my actions brought.

  Not as a fucking mountain of a man peered behind the counter and saw me crouched in the shadows.

  “You’re the fucking necro.”

  Shit.

  I moved from the compromising position before he could trap me, my arm twisted behind my back to keep the dagger out of sight. My breaths were shallow and quick enough to make me dizzy, but I slowed them down, curbing their frantic nature with each step the man-mountain made towards me.

  My magic tasted his essence, and a hint of surprise fluttered in my mind. Man-mountain wasn’t that bad a description since he had Leschy blood running in his veins. He was a descendant rather than a woodland spirit in full, but his ancestors had given him the height and strength to pummel even a person of power into submission. I could only hope they hadn’t given him the ability to cast illusions, too.

  Fighting him would be hard enough without losing grasp of the world around me.

  I balanced myself on the balls of my feet and did a quick check on the grip I had on the dagger. Reverse. Just what I needed.

  Despite what Alin had said, despite the intention clouding the Leshy descendant’s eyes with a veil of darkness, I was still reluctant to take a life.

  And I didn’t have to.

  I only needed to maim the bastard enough to bench him from the fight and let Alin’s men do the rest. Murder by proxy sounded like a plan to me.

  Right on cue, the man-mountain leaped. He moved with surprising ease, his long limbs reaching for me even before his feet landed on the ground. I ducked, came in low, and sliced the blade across his thighs. My shoulder crashed into the counter as I spun around for the follow-up strike, the damned space far too narrow to move comfortably.

  I swore.

  I could try fighting close quarters in literal close quarters and bang myself up, or I could risk getting shot or singed by magic by moving out into the open space by the door leading into the back area. Dammit!

  Evading another blow from the Leshy descendant that whooshed past my face, I started moving towards the door. I called two of the zombies who were still in fairly good shape to create a divide between that part of the bar and the main floor, hoping they would intercept any stray bullets.

  The good thing was that the thunderous roll of weapons fired appeared to be dying down, lessening my chances of getting shot in case the zombies weren’t enough. The bad—I didn’t even want to think what the lull implied. What the nearly overwhelming stench of blood and death implied.

  My gaze was locked on the Leshy descendant, and only one of my zombies still had partial sight. The thugs must have heard man-mountain’s comment about my abilities, and were unfortunately smart enough to know that reanimated corpses were a live feed for the necromancer in control of them.

  They killed the feed.

  And I was up next.

  Man-mountain came at me again, and this time he wasn’t fooling around. I barely moved away from his fist, but his second blow caught me in my side. Black spots coated my vision, the entire world shifting for a dreadful, sluggish moment. I sucked in a shallow breath, forced my legs to move, and used every single technique Alin taught me.

  I couldn’t tell how much time had passed as I gave myself wholly to the fight, but a myriad of cuts started to blossom on man-mountain’s skin. Some slashes were deep, dripping blood on the floor, but the bastard kept on attacking regardless. Just what I needed. A stubborn one. Shit.

  We danced again, exchanging blows and slashes until my magic sang in alarm, the sheer force of the realization nearly making me lose my footing. I was down to a single zombie.

  Furiously, I searched for more corpses to raise, but with broken limbs, they were all but useless. I could force them to crawl around, only that was it unless I wanted to burn up all my power to mend their bones. No chance to attack. Not even a chance to protect.

  But even worse were the shadows now pooling in the edges of my vision.

  Part exhaustion, wishing to snag away my consciousness, part the wall of black-dressed thugs, closing in on me.

  I was running out of time.

  I couldn’t waste more of it trying to knock the man-mountain out.

  I had to kill him.

  Even as I moved, my stomach protested, but I swallowed the bile, swallowed the scream that wanted to rise as I went against everything I stood for, against the light I was trying to hold on—and attacked.

  He evaded my first two blows, but not the third. I sliced the blade across his throat when he came in low, then flipped the dagger into a forward grip and pushed it deep into his flesh, carving out his stomach. The magic flowing down the blade spread through man-mountain’s insides, reaching all those places the steel couldn’t.

  The instant he tumbled down to the floor, soulless, I tried pumping him full of magic. But the only thing that rose was my stomach.

  Unable to hold myself back, I threw up in the corner, hot tears streaming down my cheeks.

  I didn’t know if time stopped in that moment or if I somehow blanked out, but when I regained my senses, the bar was eerily quiet.

  Still on my hands and knees, I spun around. Ilya and two of the werewolves from Alin’s gang were held at gunpoint, three thugs keeping each of them in place. And standing around me was a circle of sweaty, bloody men, with the promise of murder blazing in their eyes.

  My murder.

  They closed in, two of them pointing their guns at me, while those who possessed magic worked on containing me through metaphysical means. I fought to push my necromancy beyond the shield, fought to raise the man-mountain from where he lay just an inch behind them, but they were too strong—or I was just too shaky to get the job done.

  The end result was the same.

  I was cornered, and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do about it.

  A bitter, silent laugh rolled through my chest. I wasn’t going to die by Alexander’s hand, after all.

  No, I was going to
end as a victim of a bloody gang war.

  Anger swirled through me—better than fear, but still such a useless emotion—and I forced myself to look into the faces of my soon-to-be killers.

  “Do it, you fucking pricks,” I hissed, but the resonance of my words was buried under the pulse of power that swept through the room, bringing the vow of a fiery death.

  Death strode through the door, his emerald eyes ablaze and wild with fury.

  Chapter 14

  One second I saw Alin, his face a mask of fury, beautiful yet cruel at once. The next, blue fire shot from his palms, growing until there was nothing but that flaming, endless azure where he had stood, the wild embers tipped with blinding white. The gleam of pure, undiluted power—demon fire—spread through the entire bar, engulfing every body and saturating every atom of air until I felt his presence on my tongue, my skin—even my mind.

  Instinctively, my eyelids fluttered shut in an attempt to protect myself from the brightness of Alin’s magic. I was wrapped in a blaze of power unlike anything I’d ever experienced before, but when a gentle wind brushed against my heated cheeks and swept down my limbs, I couldn’t seek refuge behind the thin veil of darkness any longer.

  I opened my eyes and gasped.

  The Night Hag was doused in ethereal blue, the shapes of objects and people cutting through the flair, reminding me of the wispy silhouettes that made up the Shadow World—yet not. Because there was a kind of beauty to this almost translucent reality, a lightness that stole my breath away and made it impossible not to admire what I saw.

  What I felt.

  I was kneeling in a storm of untouched energy.

  It lapped at my skin in soothing, almost loving caresses, but it didn’t extend the same courtesy to the rest.

  Screams broke through the haunting serenity of the display, the thugs arching their backs, twisting as if they wanted to exorcise the power from their flesh. But it was too late. They were already one, the seam between them and the undulating, brilliant blue without weaknesses. Without cracks.