◊
THE MOMENT THEY SNAPPED the cold, hard steel around my wrists, I knew it was going to end badly. I’d never seen Corinth look so terrified. It hurt to watch, and it was even more gut-wrenching that that guy kept hitting him in the stomach. Currently, though, I was in trouble on my knees next to Vinson. The cuffs they’d slapped on me were made of some kind of heavy-duty material, because I couldn’t break them no matter how hard I tried. The rest of what was left of clan Deimos had formed a tight circle around us.
I took a vicious blow to the stomach and gulped for precious oxygen, my watch pinching painfully against my skin, reminding me of the panic button. I pushed it, knowing it probably wouldn’t help, but I couldn’t think of a better idea at the moment. Paul was the only one who could help right now. A tiny part of me held out hope that Alastair was still in town and that he’d come running. Since he’d been gone, there had been times, during my weakest moments, that I had thought about doing just that. What stayed my hand was the fact that his mission was probably more important than mine. Trust and loyalty were hard, and he’d definitely earned both of those. Alastair had protected me on countless occasions, shown me compassion, and helped me transition from self-conscious to bold. Besides, I couldn’t always rely on him to get us out of a jam.
Vinson was gagged by duct tape. Chains and rope covered every inch of his body, but he managed to waggle a finger at me, the only part of him that was free, and his eyes flicked to mine. He was trying to tell me something.
The vamp who kicked me said, “Who’s going to off the Russian?”
My eyes darted back up and my breathing quickened. The vamp who spoke looked more like a math teacher than a cold-blooded killer. He wore thick-rimmed glasses, the kind only worn for fashion, and had a head of patchy hair that poked out in all different directions.
“Firing squad for the Russian?” He pulled out his magazine, eyeing the rest of his bullets. “Anyone got any more ammo?”
The guy who had snapped on my cuffs looked like he was my age. He would have fit right in at my high school—actually, he reminded me a lot of Colton, Madison’s boyfriend, except this dude had a head full of dark hair, and Colton was blond.
I tried to wrench my hands free, but the cuffs bit painfully into my wrists. I let out an involuntary gasp, and the dark-haired vampire, seeing my pain, started in on me again, landing a savage blow across my shoulder. I gritted my teeth as a spasm worked its way up my neck.
He pushed his face closer to mine. “You killed my sister.”
I managed to give him a thin-lipped grin before snarling, “You’re going to have to be more specific… I’ve taken out a lot of y’all today.”
He kicked me again; this time, I felt a rib break. I was lucky there was a hard lump in the back of my throat, or I would have given him the satisfaction of crying out. The cold glint in his eyes told me he enjoyed seeing other people’s pain. I didn’t plan to oblige him.
“Starting to remember yet? You stole her car.” He crouched down beside me, leaning in closer to whisper in my ear, “I’m going to kill that freak… the skinny kid with the dagger. I don’t care how much Stanton wants him alive. That mutant will get what’s coming to him even worse than what I’m going to do to you.”
His eyes flashed as he stood back up. I risked a quick glance back to Vinson right as he managed to form the letter C, and then hold up four of his digits. His stony black eyes were wide, urging me to understand. As soon as he saw that I was paying attention, he lifted his eyebrows and nodded, again showing me C and four fingers.
And then there was a shift in the air right as a concussive heat wave hit us.
My tormentor dropped his gun in sudden fright. Seeing my opening, I propelled myself back to my feet, hands still restrained behind me as the world around us turned into a conglomeration of fire and chaos. A section of corrugated steel and metal cracked overhead, accompanied by a horrible screeching noise right as a section broke loose from the ceiling, swinging down like a deadly pendulum, heading straight for us. Timing it perfectly, I barreled myself into the guy’s chest as the backswing of jagged metal sliced right through the top of his skull. What a way to go. I turned my head away from the carnage and cringed. The combination of the sudden upheaval and my wicked grin caused the rest of our rapt audience to run.
Flames licked at the roof, spreading across the ceiling as the earth roared its displeasure beneath our feet. My balance was already off, thanks to my hands bound behind my back, so when the ground shook and reinforced masonry broke apart, I found myself tripping over Vinson’s still-prone form. He grunted, wriggling against his bonds, looking a lot like a magician trying unsuccessfully to free himself from a straitjacket. Climbing shakily to my knees beside him, I turned around. Facing the opposite direction and blind to what I was doing, I began working at his bonds. My sweat-slicked fingers kept slipping off the ropes as I jerked, wrenched, and tugged at them. It was a painstaking process that left my fingers raw and swollen, but finally I felt the rope give in right as another explosion shook the foundation to its core.
An iron support beam broke loose and hit the ground, hurtling toward us like a missile. I watched in stunned captivation as sparks shot up from the beam’s underbelly. It was a fast, strong, locomotive of pure devastation, and the razor-sharp metal looked as deadly as a carving knife. There was nothing I could do to prevent it from mowing us down. My choices were bleak: throw myself out of the way at the last second and let it wipe Vinson off the face of the planet—or block it with my body; maybe save his life. He’d do the same for me. I would never be able to live with myself if I jumped out of the way like a coward. So I closed my eyes, and braced myself for the impact. The steel javelin hit me, knocking the breath from my lungs, and punching a hole right through my abdomen. I gritted my teeth against the agonizing pain as the force of it slingshotted me away from Vinson, in the opposite direction. Oddly enough, as I slid across the warehouse floor, still skewered by unforgiving metal, I had one last fleeting thought: Vinson really knows how to take a building down.
I think I saw Vinson freeing himself right as I plunged through the heart of the inferno, flames accepting me into their blistery embrace.
An image of my father hit me: his smiling face and also my mother’s—when they had been happiest together. And then my mind shifted back to thoughts of Vinson. I knew he would probably think he had failed his mission. He hadn’t come out and said it, but I think Vinson had made my father a promise to keep me safe. Those two had had a special bond, and now I guess I’d never find out why or how that had come about.
The metal still in my stomach was at least five hundred pounds of pure steel. The force of resistance was too much for me to stop it without the use of my hands. Instead, I was an unwilling participant along for the ride. It flung me against the far wall, pinning me in place as helpless as a fish on a hook. At least this part of the warehouse hadn’t been completely consumed by the fire yet.
I sucked in a deep breath, intending to use what little strength I had left to push the steel back, but my hands were still pinioned behind me, and instead of pulling in oxygen, I got a lungful of searing heat. It stunned me, tears springing to my eyes. Pain is misleading, complex, and volatile, not just a mere reflexive response to an injury. In my case, I couldn’t feel anything below my waist. There had been a serious disconnect from wound to brain—at least, that was my guess for the lack of pain. I read somewhere that if you didn’t look at an injury you wouldn’t be able to feel how badly it hurt.
Now, I found that I could only gaze up at the warped ceiling with a cold despair spreading through my veins. The fire crawling across the rafters was hauntingly beautiful. The iron was twisted and deformed, as bright as a solar flare—melting like crayons, from Mississippi mud to rust red to, finally, molten yellow. It reminded me of the end of one of Paul’s lit cigarettes. It was a blessing being pain-free, and also horrifying. An angry squeal of metal on metal came from above, as if even the building were crying. Another beam collapsed in on itself, as fiery orange sparks shot out in all different directions. At least this would be the last thing I saw, something so stunningly warped and yet oddly comforting.
I smiled at the thought that if Vinson made it out alive, he would have to live with the fact that I saved his life. I reached for my Sight—not because I thought I could save myself, but because I didn’t want to die alone. A twist of familiar presence stirred inside my chest, and I felt only its sorrow. I could almost hear it say, “I’m here. You’re not alone.”
I was surprisingly dry-eyed. In the end—I was glad for its company, but saddened that my Sight would die with me.
Another block of concrete cracked under the pressure directly over my head, and this time, as it came crashing down, there was nothing I could do but close my eyes.
When I didn’t feel the impact like I expected, I cracked them back open again.
Someone was standing over me; I could see black combat boots and hear labored breathing.
“I’m here.”
***
I fully expected it to be Vinson who had spoken, but when I saw who was standing over me, I thought I really had died. Either that or this was the best hallucination in the entire world. My heart gave a jolt, and then it started to flutter rapidly against the backs of my ribs, like caged hummingbirds.
Even though he was giving in to some extreme exertion, I’d have recognized those features anywhere. Exceedingly bright blue eyes met mine. His blond hair hung partially over an eye making him look younger than he actually was—the contours of his face, even shadowed by rising flames, were still a sight to behold. A vein popped out on his forehead, and with a final grunt of effort, Alastair heaved the two-ton block of concrete he’d stopped from flattening me aside, as if it didn’t weigh a thing.
And then he was kneeling by my side, damp and sweaty hands exploring where the hunk of metal had entered my stomach. A muscle ticked along his strong jawline as he assessed the damage.
After eight long months, there were no cordial niceties or greetings, no hug or “Hey, let’s catch up” as his eyes zipped back and forth, the wheels spinning in his head as he rapidly thought through his options. “As soon as I wrench this out of your stomach, you’ll start losing a lot of blood. I’ll have to put a lot of pressure on the wound.” Alastair squinted down at me, the concern and emotion churning in those remarkable blue eyes of his. “You’ll have to help me,” he said hoarsely. I could tell he was trying to hold back a flood of emotions.
And then he was lifting me gently into a sitting position so he could inspect the cuffs at my back. I let out a strangled cry; even that small amount of movement was excruciating—there it was, the pain returning. I just kept thinking over and over again, You shouldn’t have looked.
His brows furrowed and he pressed his lips into a thin line. If my hands were free, I would have reached up to trace the outline of his soot-smudged cheek. “I’m sorry, Larna… I have to get these cuffs off,” he said, regret for what was to come lacing his voice. “What are they made out of?”
I shook my head, finding it frustrating that I couldn’t brush away the tears now welling up in my eyes. “Go… find… Corinth,” I panted. “Leave me.”
He rolled his eyes at me as if I’d suggested something so foolish that it wasn’t even worth a reply. He replied anyway. “Like hell.”
My own eyes flashed dangerously back at him. “They took him… He needs help …”
He spoke more to himself than to me as he blew out a frustrated breath. “Where’s the key?” He wheeled around, scanning the immediate area.
I nodded in the general direction of where Colton’s doppelganger had been crushed by the thing that probably now had me pinned against the wall. Payback, I suppose.
Alastair spun around. The raging inferno rose up before him like a firestorm. He had to shield his eyes against its blinding intensity. Spurred on by the fire’s path of destruction toward us, he turned back to me, making his mind up. “I’ll break them myself.”
My head sagged against his shoulder as he sat me up—this time, I found I was too weak to even respond.
“Hold on... Stay with me, Larna,” he pleaded.
I managed to gasp, “Leave me… Go while you still—”
“One… two …”
He pulled on two. Ass.