Cat, I said, my gaze not wavering from the desk and the man still hiding behind it. Go to the foyer and let me know when the reinforcements get here. Bear, close the doors and then see if you can find some way to short them out.
As they raced off, I raised the rifle and shot at the desk. The bullet thudded into the wood, sending deadly splinters flying but doing little else. As I drew closer, I realized why. The desk might look like valuable wood, but underneath its skin lay metal—and not just any metal but, from the look of it, armored plating. No wonder the bastard was hiding behind it. I took a step sideways, and saw that the foot well area had been totally sealed. Winter obviously had every intention of sitting inside his safe little box until reinforcements got here.
“Well, well, well,” a sultry, smoky voice said. “Sal was right. You are extremely resourceful.”
My gaze jerked up to the light screen on the desk. The speaker was the dark-skinned woman I’d followed into the rift at Carleen—the one that had led to Government House. As my gaze met the green of hers, that odd sense of familiarity ran through me again. “I know you.”
“No surprise, given you followed me into the rift,” she said. “How did you manage that?”
“Magic.” I limped around the desk, studying the bolts holding it in place. There were only two—one at either side rather than at each of the corners—but they were sturdy and undoubtedly drilled deep into the concrete.
“Give up the children, Tiger, and we might just let you live.”
“I’ve seen your version of living in the labs downstairs,” I replied. “Thanks, but no, thanks.”
Guards are here, Cat said. Ten in each elevator.
Bear?
Almost—he paused—sealed.
I limped to the nearest bolt, aimed the assault rifle, and fired repeatedly. Dust and concrete flew, becoming a cloud thick enough to make me cough. By the time the clip had run out, a deep trench had been dug around the bolt. Bear carried over more ammo; I reloaded and continued.
The men are outside the door, Cat warned. They are attempting to break in.
It’ll take them a while to do that. If Winter—or whoever he truly was—had fortified his desk, I was pretty sure he would have done the same to the doors.
I kept firing at the concrete, until the ends of the bolts were finally revealed. I repeated the process on the other side, using every scrap of ammo I had, then pulled the two anchoring bolts free and tossed them to one side.
“You can shoot all you want, but it won’t do you any good,” Winter said into the silence. “This cabinet is fully sealed and impregnable.”
“Maybe,” I said. “And maybe not.”
I limped over to the two dead guards, picked up their weapons, then limped back. The woman was still watching me, her expression amused; condescending. It made me wish I could reach into the light screen and throttle her.
“I do not understand what you hope to achieve here,” she said. “You’re trapped and you will die. You know it, I know it.”
“What I know,” I said, “is that the person currently known as Rath Winter is about to die. And when I’ve done that, I’m coming after you. And that’s a promise.”
I raised the handgun and shot the control box sitting on the top of the desk. The light screen flickered, then died. I clipped the weapon to my belt, then pressed my hands against one end of the desk and heaved with all my might. The desk slid several feet forward, but the effort left my head swimming. I sucked in a breath and pushed again. Another few feet forward.
Inside his metal fortress, Winter squawked, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“You said the desk was impregnable,” I replied, with another push. Something tore in my calf and warmth began to pulse down my leg. I ignored it. “But I’m figuring it’s not immune to the laws of gravity or a thirty-floor drop.”
Bear joined me at the end of the desk, and together we moved it another few feet forward.
“You can’t have taken out the windows. They’re bulletproof.”
“You keep thinking that, if it makes you feel any better.”
We shifted the desk again, but this time little more than a few inches. I let my head drop and sucked in air. My body was trembling with fatigue. I was soaked with blood and sweat, and almost out of time.
I was trapped in this office as Winter was in his box.
A sharp, almost metallic whine bit into the silence. They’re using a drill on the locks, Cat said. They said it will take ten minutes.
Which meant I had half of that to finish my task here and figure a way out.
But how?
If Winter held his nerve and stayed in his box, then everything I’d done here—everything I’d gone through—was for naught. Fury rose and I shoved at the desk violently.
As I did, Bear screamed, Duck!
I obeyed without question. The windows lining Winter’s office exploded inward, showering the room with a deadly rain of glass. When it stopped, I carefully peered around the edge of the desk.
All that remained of the windows immediately in front of the desk were the broken remnants of the frames that had once held them. I guess the windows weren’t bulletproof after all.
I glanced beyond them and saw—standing on the rooftop of the building opposite and holding the biggest damn gun I’d ever seen—Jonas.
And he was waving.
Bear, go see what he wants. I heaved the desk again. This time, it slid right to the very edge. A few feet more and we’d all find out how well metal boxes could fly.
The guards are almost through, Cat warned. You have a few minutes, if that.
I braced myself for one more effort, but before I could do anything, the back of the desk opened and the rat threw himself out of his hole.
I grabbed my weapon and fired, but my hands were shaking so badly I got everything except Winter. He rolled to his feet and sprinted away. I kept firing; the bullets nipped at his heels but did no damage.
Jonas says run, Bear said.
I glanced across at the other building, saw Jonas raise what looked like a bazooka, and bolted, with every scrap of speed I could muster, for the nearest side door—one on the opposite side of the room from Winter.
The guards are through, Cat screamed. Run faster!
I couldn’t. There was nothing left in the tank now. The main doors were kicked open and men flowed into the room. There was no time for finesse now; I launched myself at the side door, twisted around, and hit it feetfirst. A scream of pain tore up my throat, but the door slammed back hard and I was through. As I hit the ground and rolled to the side, there was a huge whoomp behind me, and the office literally exploded. I threw my hands over my head, my ears ringing as heat and concrete and Rhea only knows what else punched through the air. As silence and dust began to fall around me, I crawled back to the wall and peered around the door. All I could see were shattered remnants, be they building or men.
Cat, where’s Winter?
Wait. Then. Crawling toward the other rift.
For Rhea’s sake, why wouldn’t the bastard just die? Then the rest of her sentence impacted and I became aware of the sting of energy across my skin. I slowly turned. Sitting in the middle of the long, wide room was the biggest damn rift I’d ever seen. This time there was no inky wall of darkness to hide its presence, and its gelatinous, gently spinning surface ran with ragged thrusts of foul-looking lightning. It felt dark, dangerous, and I couldn’t help wondering if this was one rift I was better off leaving alone.
But that was a question for another day.
I sucked in a breath and then, using the wall as a brace, pushed upright. My head swam and my knees buckled. I swore and concentrated on remaining upright. On remaining conscious.
“Tiger?”
Jonas’s voice. I waved a hand; I didn’t dare do anything more, lest I topple.
/>
Footsteps approached and then he appeared, an angel dressed in full corps battle gear. He lifted his visor. His expression was grim, his eyes hard. “You’re a mess.”
“But a mess that’s alive, thanks to you.” My voice came out scratchy. Hoarse. I swallowed heavily, but it didn’t seem to help the aching dryness in my throat. “Why are you here?”
“Because I knew you were in trouble.”
“You knew? Not Nuri?”
“Call it a shared realization. And no, I will not explain that right now.” Amusement glimmered briefly in his eyes. I wondered if he’d caught the half-formed thought, or whether he simply knew me well enough to guess. “Corps are evacuating the building, and despite the uniform I’ve borrowed, we aren’t out of the woods yet. Let’s get out of here.”
“We can’t—”
“Tiger—” Exasperation filled his voice. “We have only a small window of confusion in which to make—”
“Winter’s alive,” I cut in. “And heading for a rift.”
Something entered his eyes. Something that was as dark as the rift in the room and just as deadly. “That,” he said softly, “cannot be allowed.”
“No.” I pushed myself away from the wall. “Let’s go.”
“You are in no state—”
“Ranger, just stop arguing and do as I ask for once.”
“If all déchet had been as stubborn as you, we might have lost the war.” He shouldered his weapon, then shoved an arm around my body to support me as we headed into the broken remains of Winter’s office.
“Stubbornness is born out of emotion and having something to care about,” I replied. “Most déchet had neither of those.”
“Or you just got more than your fair share of it,” he muttered.
I smiled, then caught sight of the jet pack sitting on top of Winter’s desk. “How did you get that? I thought they were rarer than hen’s teeth.”
“They are these days, but I’ve been a mercenary for a very long time.” He skirted around a huge chunk of ceiling concrete. “There isn’t much I can’t get my hands on.”
Hurry, Cat said. Winter is near the rift. It spins.
Jonas must have heard her, because he cursed, swung me fully into his arms, and ran. We all but flew across the rest of the office and through the open doorway into the next room. This was a replica of the one on the other side, but the rift here was slightly smaller. Winter was midway down the room, dragging his body toward the slowly spinning rift, leaving in his wake a bloody trail. Both his feet had been blown off.
Jonas deposited me against the nearest wall, then strode forward, grabbed Winter by his calves, and dragged him back.
Winter screamed and fought, kicking and punching, to little effect. Jonas simply dragged him back to me, then planted a heavy boot on the back of Winter’s neck, mashing his face into the carpet. Winter continued to scream, but the sound was muffled and accompanied by odd gurgling sounds.
Jonas’s gaze rose to mine. “Do you want the honor?”
I sucked in a deep breath, then slowly shook my head. “You do it.”
For Penny, and for all the other children. I didn’t say those words, but I didn’t need to. He heard them anyway. I saw it in his eyes.
He flipped his rifle from over his shoulder, aimed, and fired.
Rath Winter’s head exploded and his body stilled.
The bastard was finally dead.
Relief swept me, a tide so strong my knees buckled and I fell sideways. Jonas swore and lunged forward, somehow managing to catch me before I hit the bloody floor.
“Now we get you out of here.” His voice was grim. “Corps are on their way up. We can’t be found here—they had orders not to enter this floor.”
Orders given by the woman with the smoky voice and leaf green eyes, no doubt.
“If the jet pack can’t be traced back to you, leave it,” I said. “Take me down to twenty-nine instead.”
He took off his coat and wrapped it around my body, then swung me into his arms again and strode back into the office. “What’s down there?”
“Dissections.” I rested the side of my face against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. It was an oddly soothing sound. “And women who can still be saved.”
I hoped.
“There’s only one woman I care about saving right now.” His voice was grim. “You need urgent medical attention—”
“I can heal myself, but they can’t. Please, Jonas. It’ll be our way out. Bear, show him.”
After several moments, Jonas swore. He shifted his grip on me, then punched the elevator call button and said in a gruff voice that wasn’t his own, “This is four-five. I’ve reached the twenty-ninth floor. I need medical teams in hazmat suits up here immediately. I’m bringing one badly injured woman down, but there are at least six others needing urgent attention.”
I didn’t hear the response. Jonas was obviously wearing an earpiece. The elevator door opened, and he stepped inside and pressed the ground-floor button before waving what looked like a plastic card across the scanner. The doors closed and the elevator quickly began to descend.
But not as quickly as the darkness descending on me. But this time it was okay. I was safe. My two little ghosts were safe. Jonas would get us all out of here, and I would recover.
I had to recover.
I had a promise to keep.
DON’T MISS THE FIRST NOVEL IN KERI ARTHUR’S SOULS OF FIRE SERIES,
FIREBORN
NOW AVAILABLE FROM SIGNET SELECT
All of us dream.
Some of us even have pleasant dreams.
My dreams might have been few and far between, but they were never, ever pleasant. But worse than that, they always came true.
Over the course of my many lifetimes, I’d tried to interfere, to alter fate’s path and prevent the death I’d seen, but I’d learned the hard way that there were often serious consequences for both the victim and myself.
Which was why the flesh down my spine was twisted and marred. I’d pulled a kid from a burning car, saving her life but leaving us both disfigured. Fire may be mine to control and devour, but there’d been too many witnesses and I’d dared not use my powers. It had taken me months to heal, and I’d sworn—yet again—to stop interfering and simply let fate take her natural course. But here I was, out on the streets in the cold, dead hours of the night, trying to keep warm as I waited in the shadows for the man who was slated to die this night.
Because he wasn’t just a man. He was the man I’d once loved.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and tried to keep warm in the confines of the abandoned factory’s doorway. Why anyone would even come out by choice on a night like this was beyond me. Melbourne was a great city, but her winters could be hell, and right now it was cold enough to freeze the balls off a mutt—not that there were any mutts about at this particular hour. They apparently had more sense.
The breeze whisked around the parts of my face not protected by my scarf, freezing my skin and making it feel like I was breathing ice.
Of course, I did have other ways to keep warm. I was a phoenix—a spirit born from the ashes of flame—and fire was both my heritage and my soul. But even if I couldn’t sense anyone close by, I was reluctant to flame. Vampires and werewolves might have outed themselves during the peak of Hollywood’s love affair with all things paranormal, but the rest of us preferred to remain hidden. Humanity on the whole might have taken the existence of weres and vamps better than any of us had expected, but there were still far too many who believed nonhumans provided an unacceptable risk to their existence. Even on crappy nights like this, it wasn’t unusual to have hunting parties roaming the streets, looking for easy paranormal targets. While my kind rarely provided any sort of threat, I wasn’t human, and that made me as much a target f
or their hate as vamps and weres.
Even the man who’d once claimed to love me was not immune to such hate.
Pain stirred, distant and ghostly, but never, ever forgotten, no matter how hard I tried. Samuel Turner had made it all too clear what he thought of my “type.” Five years might have passed, but I doubted time would have changed his view that the only good monster was a dead one.
And yet here I was, attempting to save his stupid ass.
The roar of a car engine rode across the silence. For a moment the dream raised its head, and I saw again the flashes of metal out of the car window, the red-cloaked faces, the blood and brain matter dripping down brick as Sam’s lifeless body slumped to the wet pavement. My stomach heaved and I closed my eyes, sucking in air and fighting the feeling of inevitability.
Death would not claim his soul tonight.
I wouldn’t let her.
Against the distant roar of that engine came the sound of steady steps from the left of the intersection up ahead. He was walking toward the corner and the death that awaited him there.
I stepped out of the shadows. The glow of the streetlights did little to break up the night, leaving the surrounding buildings to darkness and imagination. The ever-growing rumble of the car approaching from the right didn’t quite drown out the steady sound of footsteps, but perhaps it only seemed that way because I was so attuned to it. To what was about to happen.
I walked forward, avoiding the puddles of light and keeping to the darker shadows. The air was thick with the growing sense of doom and the rising ice of hell.
Death waited on the other side of the street, her dark rags billowing and her face impassive.
The growling of the car’s engine swept closer. Lights broke across the darkness, the twin beams of brightness spotlighting the graffiti that colored an otherwise bleak and unforgiving cityscape.
This area of Brooklyn was Melbourne’s dirty little secret, one definitely not mentioned in the flashy advertising that hailed the city as the “it” holiday destination. It was a mix of heavy industrial and run-down tenements, and it housed the underbelly of society—the dregs, the forgotten, the dangerous. Over the past few years, it had become so bad that the wise avoided it and the newspapers had given up reporting about it. Hell, even the cops feared to tread the streets alone here. These days they did little more than patrol the perimeter in a vague attempt to stop the violence from spilling over into neighboring areas.