Scattered Ashes Page 12

  John, Cam, and Asher follow. Cam and Asher are bringing up the rear, both with their guns drawn. I can’t see what make or model in the dim, but I can see the suppressors attached to the barrels of their handguns. This makes me feel better. Using firearms in this enclosed space will fuck with our hearing. The suppressors will at least lessen that blow. I’m pretty sure I’m sticking with these silent killers.

  Evan pops back into the room. She hands me a pair of Kamas in a back holster, a leg bandolier filled with throwing knives, a Glock 19 with a full clip and suppressor and a handful of throwing spikes. She knows me so well. If we survive this, I need to send her a fruit basket or something.

  “Thank you,” I whisper as I yank her into a quick hug.

  I start arranging my weapons as she pops back out; first by putting my braided hair in a bun with the spikes as hair sticks. Then, I strap on the bandolier on my right thigh and secure the throwing knives. I slip my arms into the back holster, secure the Kamas, and chamber a round on the Glock. Sometimes I wish I were bigger so I could carry more weapons.

  Evan pops back in with West begrudgingly in tow. He helps outfit Aidan, Ian and Rhys with silent weapons. Carver and Javier have drifted closer to the mouth of the staircase leading to the upper levels quietly arguing in Portuguese.

  My previous vision was absolutely correct. I can feel about a bakers dozen, or so, of men outside moving through the trees toward the house. Damn, I hate being right.

  “I don’t give a shit what Nicola says, my visions have been always been spot on, not a single one hasn’t come true, but I’ve never had this much warning before. She can kiss my fabulous ass. So, we need a game plan. Now that they’ve moved in closer, I can sense approximately twenty Soldiers out there, but there could be more in another wave. A brief rundown of the vision: they trigger the sprinkler system somehow; I cannot find any of you; I find Asher with his head almost cut off, and Cam disemboweled.”

  Now I get to the rough part that’s going to make Rhys lose his ever-loving mind. “Carver catches me unaware and stabs me in the chest. But he lets me know he’s going to keep an eye out for Rhys, and then you guys are going to save me. To date, it is the most changeable, in-advance vision I have ever seen.”

  “So let’s change the motherfucker,” Rhys growls next to me. “No one goes anywhere alone. We stay in pairs. They are coming to find us. To kill us. Let’s remind them what true warriors can do.”

  “Where are they coming in?” Javier asks, he and Carver finally finished with their détente at the stairs.

  “Second and third-floor picture windows. They’re repelling from the roof,” I say.

  “Good luck getting through the glass, it would take a damn cannon to break it. Why aren’t they flying in?” Evan asks.

  “Because they plan on leaving with a hostage,” West replies referring to me.

  “I want you guys to dispatch any soul you feel is evil. We need to weed out those motherfuckers, quick,” Rhys demands.

  “It would be my pleasure,” Aidan replies with an evil smile even I can see in the dim. He shares a look with Ian and they both head silently up the stairs.

  Carver and Javier head up to the second floor, Rhys and I go to the first, leaving Evan and West to the bottom floor closest to the hidden basement door.

  In some ways, it is lucky the only entry and exit points are all on the south side of the house. Since the garage takes up the entire northwest section, the only entry points are security-enhanced doors that close like a vaulted safe when the power is cut. However, they do have a fail-safe that opens them in the event of a fire.

  Fuck.

  Just as I think this, the sprinkler system goes off, and I hear the hiss of the locks disengaging.

  Son of a bitch. I really want to know how they know the security system.

  “They are using it as a diversion. Five are on standby to see where the biggest threat is. Three are coming in the third-floor window. Five through the second. Seven are now planning to go through the first-floor window in the Great Room,” I breathe to Rhys from our perch on the staircase leading to the first floor.

  I can’t see them in my mind, but I can feel them there. Like a jagged nail scratching into my brain. I feel their racing heartbeats, their minds buzzing in preparation for the fight. They feel smug and confident.

  Bastards.

  “Bottom floor?” he asks.

  “None yet.”

  “Well, let’s get to it. I’m warning you; you better stay with me. Don't you dare leave me," he demands on a whisper.

  "I'm staying with you, I promise."

  "I love you, Gorgeous."

  "I love you, too, Handsome."

  I finally have him. After one hundred and sixty years of loneliness, I have him. I didn’t know I was missing him, but now that I know, I can’t imagine living one more second without Rhys. Just the thought of losing him makes my chest ache. I’m going to keep us alive.

  I am.

  I have to.

  Before we leave our positions, I silently slide off my leather-bottomed sandals that could cause me to slip on the water-laden floors.

  Barefoot.

  Shit.

  I don’t want to be barefoot. It’s too close to my vision.

  Rhys goes in front of me; he’s up the three steps and in the hallway leading to the great room before the window breaks. The poor bastards trying to break it didn’t anticipate reinforced glass, though, and the compact battering ram they’re using isn’t quite doing the job. Then an enormous Phoenix walks up. He is easily the biggest man I’ve ever seen in my whole life. He considers the window for a minute, lifts his boat-sized boot, and proceeds to kick the window in.

  Holy fuck.

  I’m not sure a nine-millimeter bullet is going to cut it with this burly bastard, but I’m going to try. I wait for the next crack of thunder to take my shot. I remember the Soldiers at the art show and switch my aim from his chest, where he is most assuredly wearing body armor, and aim for his head. Three rapid-fire shots to the forehead and he goes down like a stone.

  Rhys uses his lifeless body as a springboard and tears into the next Soldier with a kukri. That Soldier’s head goes flying in a separate direction from his body and Rhys is on to the next. I don’t stop firing, taking out two more Soldiers before my clip runs out, and I toss the pistol. I swiftly draw the Kamas’, weighing them in my hands before I strike out at the last Soldier left standing.

  He seems shocked at the sight of his fallen brethren but snaps out of it as I approach. He barely has enough time to raise his weapon before I’m on him, and he has the business end of my Kama embedded into his eye.

  It’s swiftly dawning on me that this has to be the first wave. There is no way it could be this easy to dispatch seven men.

  The rest of the house is silent. No shots fired, no steps on the hardwood floors, nothing. The dread in the pit of my stomach doubles in size.

  “Let’s check on the others. This doesn’t feel right. It shouldn’t be this easy. We’re missing something,” I whisper to Rhys. He nods in agreement.

  We head back downstairs to check on Evan and West. Rhys has my hand engulfed in his, and he has his Ruger drawn. Each step feels like a landmine. Rhys finally tired of the lack of light, lets go of my hand and ignites his hand in a controlled burn. His Fireskin doesn’t deviate from his hand as he uses his fingers like a torch.

  Evan and West are standing out of the way of the glass, French doors, wary of an attack from all angles.

  “You guys good?” Rhys asks. West nods in response and Evan looks simultaneously bored and worried out of her mind.

  “Tell me this doesn’t feel right,” Rhys grouses.

  “Nope. This feels like one big, fucking con,” West grumbles.

  “I can’t see anything. I don’t know what’s going on, but no one is waiting to get in. No one else is out there. Whatever threat there is, it’s already inside,” I say.

  West suggests we move together to find t
he others, and we head to the second floor in search of Javier and Carver. We find neither, but we do see a mound of bodies.

  “Sweet, Jesus!” Evan exclaims. She can obviously see something I can’t, because the expression of sheer terror on her face is enough to chill my blood.

  “Revenant,” she whispers, “Their hearts are missing.”

  Rhys brings his light closer to the bodies. The floor and walls are spattered in red, the lifeless men lying in pools of blood and gore and bone. Whatever tore out their organs was strong enough to go through their body armor and breastplate like it was tissue paper.

  “What, exactly, is a Revenant?” I ask in a small voice.

  “It’s what happens to Wraiths when they go crazy. They start eating the flesh of the dead. But I’ve never seen one eat from the living or kill to get their meal,” she shudders.

  “And how do you kill one?” I ask, my voice getting smaller, because holy fucking shit.

  “Fire.”

  Well, yippee. At least we have that.

  In pairs, we move on, Evan and West searching the northwest section of the house and Rhys and I looking in the southeast. Together we clear our room, our bathroom, and the next guestroom, only finding one body with his heart still intact. We make our way back to the rally point, where they already have an unconscious Aidan and a critically injured Ian. West is working on Ian, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his neck with Evan’s thin cardigan.

  “There are medical supplies in the bunker. If I can get him there and stop the bleeding, he’ll survive,” Evan says.

  “Take him,” West orders, and Evan grabs him and smokes out.

  “Can he not heal like the rest of us?” I ask.

  “No. Ian is different. He’s half-human. He can’t travel like us or heal as quickly, but he has our lifespan and our purpose.”

  Rhys and I nod in understanding. It has happened with Phoenixes as well when they mate with humans. I can understand the appeal, but I have a serious issue with the logistics. There is no way to extend their human’s lifespan. No spell. No remedy. Nothing to stave off the human condition.

  “What about Aidan? Is he alright?” I ask.

  “Not sure. Won’t be sure until we get him in the med bay,” West replies.

  “His breathing isn’t labored, he’s not bleeding from anywhere but his head, and that looks to be closing up. Let’s find Carver and Javi and then decide where we are,” Rhys suggests. “Aurelia, you stay with him, West and I will check upstairs.”

  I nod and readjust the grip on my Kamas, scanning the landing and hallways for threats as the boy’s head upstairs to the loft.

  I don’t hear him until he’s three feet from me. I didn’t feel him at all. He takes another step closer, as silent as the grave.

  Too close. Dear God, he’s too close.

  “I knew they’d leave you alone eventually,” Javier says with a bloody smile, blood, and gore coating his hands, mouth, and chest.

  Well, I didn’t see that coming.

  RHYS

  West and I swiftly and silently make our way up the short staircase to the loft, West in the lead since his vision is much better than mine. With my light, I can make out the watered down blood sitting in puddles on the dark hardwood floor. The sprinklers have long since shut off, no longer pelting us with the freezing cold water.

  He goes to check the bathroom while I work on clearing the bedroom. The room looks empty but by my count we’ve only found eighteen of the twenty soldiers, and I’d feel a fuck of a lot better if we could find all of them. Find them all and figure out who brought a fucking Revenant to the party. Jesus.

  I find Carver half-sitting, half sprawled on the floor behind the club chair in the corner. He’s gasping shallowly, doing his best to try and talk, but given the foamy bubbles coming out of his mouth, he has a punctured lung. That doesn’t stop his mouth from moving, his eyes wild, desperate.

  Or I should say eye.

  His arms and face are deeply slashed, enough to know that unless he can heal from it, Carver is likely going to lose his right eye. He has four deep gashes, spanning from his left shoulder to his belly, and he has five puncture marks in a circle around his heart. Either the Revenant was interrupted or had to move on quickly because his heart is still there.

  I give a low whistle for West, and I feel him move to my left.

  “Ja-Javier. Re… re… re...” Carver gasps but loses consciousness before he can get the words out.

  Fuck.

  This whole thing is wrong. First the security breach, then the Revenant, and we haven’t found Javi. This situation has fucked written all over it. By the look on West’s face, he’s thinking the exact thing I am.

  “Can he even heal from this?” I ask because Wraith anatomy is not exactly something I’ve studied up on.

  “Best case, yes, but it’ll take several days. Worst case…”

  He shakes his head.

  “You find Javi?”

  “No."

  “You think he did this?” I ask. “I hate asking, but fuck there’s only one Wraith left unless they brought one, which I seriously doubt, and he’s the only one we can’t find.”

  “I’m thinking general logic tells me it’d have to be him. I’ll take Carver to the med bay and be right back.”

  “I’ll head downstairs. I think we need to get back to Aidan and Aurelia and get the fuck out of here.”

  We don’t even make it to the first step before I feel a ripping sensation in my chest and stumble to my hands and knees. Aurelia, I think as the already dark world goes black.

  14

  I’ve Been Here Before

  AURELIA

  I gasp awake and instantly feel cold. My clothes have long since dried, and they are rough and stiff with blood. The bite of shackles encircles both my wrists and ankles. My arms are stretched above me, already half numb from the position. I try, but I can’t move my hands or feet more than a few inches. The table I’m chained to looks like a stainless steel morgue slab. The clank of the metal on metal makes a shudder shake its way up my spine.

  Well, I've been here before.

  The panic attack I feel barreling its way through me is nothing new, and it takes roughly a fucking millennium to get under control. Well, a millennium and for me to pass out from hyperventilation. But, hey, I’m being held hostage. I get one freebie meltdown, right?

  Consciousness takes its sweet, merry time coming back. I know this because now the room has people in it. I can’t see them or hear them, but I know they are there. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say some torture is about to start.

  I think at this juncture, I’m going to make it a life goal never to be tortured again.

  The room is gray and barren with windowless cinderblock walls and industrial lights hanging from the ceiling. Moisture is crawling up the walls, and the smell of mold and death is stuck in my nostrils. This is a basement or dungeon. My hair is still trapped in its braid, but I can feel the throwing spikes are gone. My belt, necklaces, earrings, and bracelets are gone too.

  A Soldier comes into my line of sight, and it requires a fuck ton of self-possession to tamp down my fear. Especially since he has a very large Morganite blade in his hand.

  Jesus Christ, is that big of a blade really necessary?

  Apparently so, because he is using it to cut away my clothes, leaving me in the draft, the fucking pervert. He’s quick and efficient, removing my shirt and jeans before I can get over the shock of what he’s doing. When he gets to the point in the festivities where he tries to cut the middle of my bra is where I snap out of it.

  I don’t think so.

  Putting an Aegis on a metal table with metal bonds in a wet, stone room is a very bad plan. I’ve never been happier to completely fry someone in my life. I am also thoroughly pleased when I see the wetness of him pissing himself. That memory will probably never get old.

  It takes a while to work myself up to it, but I manage to dislocate my right thumb, j
ust barely holding onto my gorge as it rises in my throat. The smell of burnt flesh does nothing to me, but dislocating one measly joint and I’m ready to puke.

  I need my head examined.

  I squeeze my right hand out of the cuff and snap my thumb back in place. Ugh.

  Don’t puke. Don’t puke.

  Now I’ve reached a dilemma. I still have three limbs trapped and the thought of dislocating another thumb – nope. I’ll wait a minute.

  “It took longer than I anticipated for you to dispatch him,” a voice calls and my already topsy-turvy stomach nearly loses it. I’d know that lilting accent anywhere.

  Iva comes into view wearing a pristine white evening dress. It is long sleeved and body hugging, showing off her model-tall, lithe body. Her white hair is at odds with her youthful face, but I know better. She is ancient, one of the oldest of our kind at fourteen hundred years. She has brown prosthetic eyes in place – a new addition. Back when I was still in the Legion, she usually wore dark, green-tinted spectacles to hide her organless sockets.

  Ah, the advances of modern technology.

  She still has the scar tissue from their removal, though, and it is just about the only thing that mars her beauty. Her mouth is painted in a pretty red pout, and I’m not sure how she does it, but those fake eyes follow my movements as if they were her original, working eyes.

  “Sorry to disappoint. I didn’t know we were having a party,” I say referring to her dress, “I would have dressed up.”

  She bends and scoops up the Morganite blade with zero effort or searching. Her fingers find the hilt as if those eyes in her head actually worked. I swear it’s eerie.

  “I think your clothing is the least of your worries, dear. What you should be worried about is that pesky Aegis taint you have in your blood,” she says as she tosses the blade from one hand to the other. “I’ve worked very hard to eradicate that irksome little faction. I’ll not have it passing down your line. Oh. That’s right, there won’t be anyone else in your line, now, will there? No matter,” she shrugs as the knife’s tip touches the skin of my left inner thigh.