I folded my arms and raised my chin as I retorted, “A wise choice indeed.”
He chuckled. “I am beginning to understand that the little Spotter who beat me with her crutches in a mad attempt to protect a Myrmidon was the truest glimpse I ever had of you, Lauren Hope.”
Meeting his gaze, I finally had to smile a little. “Just because I’m a Spotter, doesn’t mean I’m someone to be trifled with especially when the fatal mistake of stealing my Myrmidon has been made.” My smile faded as I recalled how terrible Mathias had looked in the video. “Do you think he’s going to last the full seven days, Royal?”
He sobered, his expression growing grim. “That’s the worst I’ve ever seen Mathias. However, I expect him to be fighting as hard to survive for you as you’ve been fighting to reach him. There’s hope still.”
I could only pray it was true.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
Mathias
The fog pulled at me, hanging off my limbs and adding an invisible weight that threatened to drag me down into the murky depths I sensed beneath the fog. Breathing was harder now, catching in my chest even though there was no reason for it. My fingers tightened around the hilt of my sword. The solid feel of its weight offered a small reprieve.
“Murderer.”
I ignored the taunting whisper as I studied the fog. It had grown darker in patches at first. Now, it hung dense and dark grey all around me. I could feel myself being hunted, being watched by something very different than the annoying boy.
“Not so different. You just try to hide from it.” The boy appeared in front of me, armed with twin knives that dripped blood, and he nodded to me. “Get ready, Wynn Mathias. Now is your reckoning.”
“I won’t fight a boy,” I stated simply. “I won’t fight you.”
“No. I’m not the one who is doing the fighting this time. But, it’s still us. It’s just uglier than you’ve allowed yourself to admit in your dotage.” The boy smirked, a disturbing sight given the fact that he was still covered in a mix of dried and fresh blood. Then, he nodded to a place in the fog. It started to move, warping in a way that almost made it appear to be . . . breathing. “Go on then, face him. We are out of time, and we know it.”
The shifting area of fog tugged at me. I grimaced at the feel of burning in my veins, a burning that certainly didn’t belong amidst the ice. Shaking it away, I realized the boy had moved closer. He stared at me with narrowed eyes. “If you don’t go in, I will.”
“No. Stay here.” The words fell instinctively from my lips even though I knew . . . I knew how well that boy was able to hold his own in a fight.
He suddenly grinned at me. “Hopefully, that particular skill hasn’t left us in our old age. Not entirely at least.”
“Not entirely,” I muttered. Then, I stepped forward into the swirling fog.
A hoarse cry ripped from my throat as the fog tore into me, its burning essence filling my nose and mouth. I dropped to one knee, choking on the fog. However, I kept my grip on the sword.
There was no noise here. The fog surrounded and deadened everything. Not even a whisper of warning, it was only the . . . feel of danger, of an approaching enemy. Instincts that I long ago learned to obey directed my movements as I forced my sword above my head, catching a similar blade mid strike. I shoved to my feet, using my momentum to shove the blade up and to the right.
I couldn’t see my attacker. He was still somewhere in the swirling darkness of the fog. I could only track his sword, which quickly vanished in the fog. Biting back a curse, I changed my stance, pulling my sword closer, as I slowly moved in a circle.
The skin on the back of my neck prickled, and I dropped into a crouch. A sword cut through the air where my head had been only a moment before. I didn’t make a sound as I threw myself forward, my blade aimed for what should have been his legs. He blocked my strike faster than should have been possible. Then he stepped toward me, putting more pressure on my blade and forcing it back toward me.
Setting my feet more firmly, I leaned into his blade forcing us to a standstill. Then, the fog rippled as he stepped into sight. He was dressed in black jeans and practical boots with a leather jacket exposing his dark shirt. Brown hair and eyes that hovered somewhere between blue and green. I knew his face as well as my own, yet there was a darkness around him echoing in the flat iciness of his gaze. He studied me as though I were little more than an insect interrupting his afternoon tea. “You will die here.”
“No,” I grunted as I strained to keep our blades locked. “I will not let you defeat me.”
“Oh, it’s far too late for that. You are a murderer, the blood of innocents stains your hands and your blade.” He smirked at me. “Sweeping it under the rug because you fell for a pretty face doesn’t change a thing. It does not change the cry for justice.”
“Justice was paid when the rogues were captured and punished for their crimes,” I grimaced. “I was not held responsible by the dragons.”
“They didn’t know what you were or how much damage you had inflicted before the final battle. You avoided true justice, the justice demanded by a Myrmidon.” He kicked at me, connecting with my knee and sending me stumbling as I barely warded off his attack. “You, Wynn Mathias, are guilty of serving rogue dragons, of pillaging undefended villages, and of murdering unarmed civilians who didn’t run fast enough to avoid your blades. The price of justice is clear. Death.”
I ran at him, knocking his blade aside and then punching him in the face. He staggered back a few steps and laughed. His smile grew mocking. “Is that all you can do? Let her make you that soft, have you? Did you tell her? About your crimes against the paranormal community, I mean. The killing, the plundering, and the burning.”
“What happened when I was a boy is no longer relevant,” I rasped.
“And, what of your actions as a man?” He grinned, a sinister sight indeed, as emptiness joined the ice in his gaze. “How many innocents you captured, tortured, and killed because of orders?”
“No, I did not participate in torture. Those I took into custody or killed were not innocents. I always checked my intel. My handler made certain we went after confirmed targets and not personal agendas,” I breathed even as he continued to press our locked blades closer to me. I pushed back, feeling the strain in my arms and shoulders as they trembled from the exertion. Why was this so difficult? I should have ended this by now.
“You are weak.”
“No weaker than you,” I countered. Panting, I threw my weight forward. Despite the risk of cutting myself, the move worked just enough to throw him off balance. Catching his ankle with my foot, I yanked.
He toppled to the ground, the fog swirling over him. However, he leapt back to his feet with his sword at the ready with a disappointing swiftness. He shook his head at me. “A man hovering in front of death should know when to bend his knee and present his neck.”
I scoffed. “You should know that such a fate is not for me. My apologies for your plan, however, I don’t intend to go quietly to an execution. Particularly, if it’s my own.”
“This is not an execution. It’s justice.”
Narrowing my eyes at him as I kept pace with his circling, never letting him get around behind me, I knew I shouldn’t listen. And yet . . . I shook away the doubts. “No. I don’t deserve execution for what I have done. What I did was necessary to protect innocents.”
“Did you enjoy claiming those lives?”
“No. But, it was required because they wouldn’t be stopped otherwise. One life committed to violence in exchange for the many who are innocent. That is just, and it is necessary.”
“You didn’t care who was innocent. You only lived for the kill.”
“No.”
He lunged.
I blocked his strike and we came to a standstill once more, blades locked. I stared into the face that was my own and then shook my head. “No. I was a child forced into an impossible situation, manipulated and used for t
he greed of others. That blood does not belong to me or at my feet. It belongs to those ultimately responsible for the carnage. As for the rest . . . I was a soldier, a warrior. I did what others would not because it was needed, and someone had to do it. I did it to protect. There is justice in protecting others.
“You will die alone and lost because you have spilled blood you should not have spilled.”
I stared at him for a long moment. “No. I know where I’m going. You, on the other hand, aren’t invited there.”
I didn’t give him time to respond. Wrenching my blade free, I knocked his sword aside and then plunged my blade through his chest. There wasn’t enough resistance to be real. He closed his eyes and shattered into shards of ice that swirled away into the fog.
Weakness snapped at me, dragging me down to my knees. Panting, I looked at my sword. The blade was completely clean. The fog gave way to the cliff looking over the North Sea once more, but I didn’t attempt to stand. It would’ve taken too much effort.
“I guess we’re not such a coward in our old age, after all.”
I breathed a laugh. “Still around? I thought you were haunting me.”
“Not anymore, old chap.” The boy sauntered into view. He was clean for once, and his clothing had been replaced. He looked more like the reflection I remembered after living with my uncle for a couple of months. The hollowness in his cheeks was gone, and he looked less haunted.
Then, he smirked. “It’s too bad, you know. She’s probably not dead yet, so you won’t find her where you’re going.”
“Then, I’ll be the one waiting for her. I can be patient.”
The boy snorted. “We hate being patient. It’s much more fun to jump in right away.”
“I’m sure I can find some suitable tea while I wait.” I looked out over the cold dark sea. “And, perhaps, a warm beach this time.”
“You haven’t put your sword down.”
I looked down at the sword. It was growing heavier by the second. My arm shook and the muscles in my hand cramped in protest at maintaining my grip on the hilt. I rotated the sword, studying the way the light played across the blade. “It does . . . feel as though it’s time to put this down, doesn’t it?”
“I hope it hasn’t left our mind as to what surrendering the sword is going to mean here.” The boy strolled closer and poked me in the side of my head. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
I chuckled softly, but didn’t swipe at the boy this time. Instead, I reached out with my free arm and pulled him into a hug. “I think it’s time, Wynn. We won our rest.”
Then, I deliberately released my grip on the sword. It dropped to the grass beside me as the boy I used to be wrapped his arms around my neck. Hugging him closer, I looked out at the sea. There was a storm blowing in. It was a gorgeous sight . . . almost as gorgeous as Lauren when she was determined to do something.
The rain started to fall, gently striking against my skin. I tilted my head back, and then breathed out a long slow breath. The only thing I missed was her.
Goodbye, heart-love. Until next time.
* * *
Lauren
Weard Headquarters was a massive building proudly standing amongst the skyline of Chicago’s famous Loop. From the outside it looked intimidating if mundane, no hint given to the norms that its steel and glass exterior held the heart of one of the paranormal community’s most notorious security firms. Of course, the norms couldn’t see the quantity of high numbers swarming around the base of the building.
7s and 8s dominated the large stone plaza, most of them milling around the doors leading into the building. Night had already fallen and a breeze was blowing in off Lake Michigan, leaving the skyline lit for all to see. I looked around once. No one had noticed my approach.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to stride across the plaza. I kept an eye on the numbers. There were no low numbers here, which was . . . odd. Not everyone who worked for Weard was a high number.
“Stop where you are,” the command rang out.
I looked up to see a man and a woman loping toward me. Shifters. Their numbers glowed as 7s, and their eyes flickered to gold. Shifters with something else in their past heritage to keep their eye color from always being a distinctive gold. The woman grabbed her companion’s arm, and he turned on her with a snarl though he didn’t shift. She ignored him, her gaze focused on me. “It’s her.”
Taking advantage of their distraction, I quickly stepped forward. “I’ve come for a meeting. Let me through.”
They looked at each other, and then the woman jerked her chin in the affirmative. “Better hurry, little Spotter. Time’s almost up.”
I didn’t quite understand why they didn’t challenge me further or try to bring me in themselves. In fact, I almost expected them to interfere despite my bluff. Choosing not to question it, I continued striding toward the building’s doors. I heard the woman speaking softly and glanced back only long enough to see her speaking into a radio. I don’t know what she said, but no one else challenged me or tried to get in my way.
Instead, they watched my approach. The weight of a good twenty or thirty high numbers made sweat trickle down my neck in spite of it being a cold December night. The plaza was clear of snow for the moment, but it had started to fall again. Shivering, I kept my hands out of my pockets as I climbed the wide flight of steps leading to the building. I should’ve remembered to get gloves before Prince Ciril’s plane dropped me off.
8s framed either side of the large rotating doors, dragon-born. They didn’t move at my approach, but one of them spoke into his sleeve. Their bodies leaned toward me as I stepped up to them, threatening without truly moving. I clenched my jaw and held my head up as I continued walking. The doors slowly rotated and then deposited me in a huge lobby filled with more high numbers.
They watched me hungrily, and I knew one slip of fear would bring them down on me. They looked half wild. The numbers above their heads flickered dangerously, bouncing from 8 to 9. I made a show of looking around at them, desperately hoping none of them picked up on the way my heart was frantically beating against my ribs.
Finally, I looked at one of the wilder men. His leather clothing was ragged and patched, while he held a throwing axe in one hand and a gun rested on one hip with a bowie knife on the other hip. And, his eyes were golden. Knowing I couldn’t show any weakness, I raised an eyebrow at him and said, “Since you seem to have scared off your secretaries, you will need to take a message.”
He looked at me, and his face morphed into a lion’s head as his number flicked from 8 to a 9. “Do I look like a messenger boy?”
“I didn’t come here to play games with the hired help,” I stated stiffly. The chorus of growls that greeted my words made me want to run. I locked my knees instead as I forced myself to keep talking. “Tell the Nephilim that Lauren Hope is here to see him. And, I have what he wants.”
The man shifted back and then pointed to one of the younger looking men, a slender dragon-born with dreadlocks to his waist. He jerked his thumb toward the bank of glass elevators. “Escort her to the war room, Devin. I’ll call the boss.”
This was . . . going a lot smoother than I had actually thought it would. Okay, maybe a little too smoothly. It took every ounce of control not to look back over my shoulder or to react when several of the shifters decided to achieve a partial change in order to better snap their jaws at me. Lions, wolves, dragons, and even bears. The dragon-born didn’t have the privilege of donning scales or breathing fire, yet the amount of bloodlust in their eyes would have sent any sane person scrambling for the nearest exit. Fortunately, none of them actually attempted to touch me.
Devin stopped in front of a glass elevator, which opened as soon as he pushed the button. He started to reach for my arm before he caught himself and quickly dropped his hand back to his side. Instead, he nodded to the elevator. “Get in, Spotter.”
I positioned myself with my back in one of the corners out of instinct. And,
Devin took the opposite corner. Interesting. It seemed the Nephilim had given some very specific instructions to his hunters about how they were permitted to handle me. Or maybe they just didn’t know how to handle any weak paranormal who voluntarily approached a building overflowing with hunters. The elevator kept rising, passing empty floor after empty floor. About halfway up, I caught a glimpse of a huge room filled with screens and cubicles . . . There were only a smattering of people in the room, and they all seemed to be under guard. Then, I spied a cage hanging midway. The elevator continued up before I could see what or who was inside.
We went up twenty floors before the elevator stopped. Devin led the way out, and we walked down an empty hall with no doors before reaching another elevator bank. This one also had transparent walls, but they were glamoured. I could just make out the faint shimmer of the glamour on the glass, which kept the appearance of deserted floors as we went up. Whatever was on these floors, they didn’t want me to know about it. Finally, the elevator stopped and Devin motioned for me to step out first.
Every instinct I had screamed that I shouldn’t let him get behind me. I didn’t have much of a choice, however. There was no one outside the elevator to greet us and Devin muttered quietly, “Go to the left.”
I obeyed. We walked down the hall, turned a corner to the left, and walked down another long hallway before he ordered me to stop. Then, he stepped up beside me and ran a hand over the righthand wall. He hissed and pulled his hand away leaving a streak of red blood. I stared as the blood seeped into a seam of the wall, which then widened into a doorway. Devin jerked his chin toward it. “Go in.”
I stepped inside. There was a long conference table carved out of dark mahogany lined with leather chairs and three walls of screens showing various images. However, there was no one else in the room. I spun back to the door only for it to slide shut. “Hey!”
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