Slow Burn (24 page)

The click of a gun and shell loading into place above the
crowd startled him. Slowly, Derrick backed up.

Into the barrel of the gun.

“Nice try, filth. But I am going to win this round.”

Slowly, Derrick let out a breath.
Carmela!
“Bitch. I
should tear your throat out now.”

“You should. Then the crowd will see it and blood lust will
go through along with the message we’re sending to national TV that you animals
are nothing more than second class citizens.”

TV crew? Fucking shit! “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I? Turn around. I told you I was going to broadcast this
hate-filled act and start a war.” Her voice was filled with smug satisfaction.

Slowly, Derrick turned, keeping the gun he had behind his
back.

Hopefully, she didn’t notice.

“Oh, you could try to shoot me. Even the gunshots here will
be heard. And televised. Look.”

Carmela wore black from head to toe and tied her gray-blonde
hair back tightly behind her head. Sunken eyes looked even more hollow along
with wrinkles and her mouth turned in a frown. The top she wore didn’t quite
fit her; in fact, it hung loosely off her flesh. Her eyes rose and her jaw
twitched. Again, she shuddered, but narrowed angry eyes at him. The hand she
held her gun in shook. In fact, if he didn’t know better, he’d swear her motor
skills had worsened overnight.

Behind her, the crowd erupted once again into a frenzy
shoving, punching, thrashing to the speed and fury of Ark-KaotiK. Sonja’s head
whipped her hair up and down like mad. Her lithe body had so much power onstage
that it didn’t matter if she were simply a human, she could easily control the
audience.

And she wore his coat.

In the back, a film crew kept cameras trained on the band.
Hopefully, Max picked up through Derrick’s earpiece.

“Copy that. One film crew eradicated.”

Derrick didn’t let relief show on his face. Instead, he
turned his attention to Carmela. “You’ve been a thorn in my side and the
world’s ever since you started hating us. Why do you not embrace who you are?”

The surprise registered in her widening eyes. “How did you
know?”

“I’ve always known. It’s been the talk of the town in most
of the cigar shops I’ve been in. And some of the bars where only shifters are
allowed to hang out. We all wondered why you turned your back on us. You had
numerous communities eradicated. You used Nazi tactics to remove those who
would support you; you bullied and destroyed families. You betrayed us.” He
stepped closer to her and grabbed the gun, then yanked it out of her hands.

Her eyes widened further, her mouth opened. “How could you?”

“How could you?” He pointed the gun at her, glared angrily.
“You’re the one calling us all pathetic even though you’re one of us. You’ve
got so much blood on your hands.”

The music behind him hit a crescendo. The energy above the
crowd grew stronger, angrier. Darker. The clouds above were now so black that
they would eat up the light and all the good that came with it.

Lights flashed in time with the kick drum and snare, guitars
screamed. Sweat filled his nostrils, a putrid, angry scent.

His mood shifted. No longer concerned with justice,
vengeance consumed his thoughts. Dammit!

The trigger taunted him. He could squeeze it and blow her
head off completely. He’d have one more body on his hands but this would be a
just kill, wouldn’t it? She certainly didn’t hold any remorse for the bodies
she’d dropped in her day. Not when those bodies would have willingly helped her
cope with whatever was eating at her physical health.

The fury of her actions weighed on him.

Sonja couldn’t deal with his guilt if he purposely killed
Carmela.

But she deserved to die.

With the gun barrel pointed straight at her head, he could
easily destroy the hate monger before him. He knew from his espionage days that
cutting off the head of an organization effectively cut off the group’s power
and drive, at least momentarily. That is, until someone else started an
offshoot.

“You should die.” He started, stepped closer, and shoved the
barrel against her temple.

Her eyes widened but she didn’t show any fear. “Go ahead,
pull the trigger. If I can’t eradicate your filth, I’ll choose to die and live
in Heaven where God creates nothing but perfection.”

The overwhelming urge to shove the gun in her mouth and pull
the trigger sat on his shoulders like a lead weight. He’d do it any other day,
but not with Sonja’s presence so close, so wrapped around his soul and heart
that doing the wrong thing here, even for the right reason, would not ease
anything for him.

Then the screaming onstage stopped. The band had quit
playing momentarily to change instruments.

Derrick glanced above Carmela’s head and saw the angry swarm
of clouds, energy the others couldn’t see. It mounted higher and higher,
growing thick, dark. Blacker than black. This must be the buildup he’d heard
about. When he watched Sonja’s first show a few days back he hadn’t seen this.
The ominous black cloud took up more area as it grew.

It distracted him just enough for Carmela to land a punch in
his chest.

He stumbled back a step but held onto the gun. Then he
reached for her and conked her across the head with the butt of the pistol.

She went limp, falling into his arms instantly. He shoved
the gun back into hiding, dragged her from the crowd, mouthing something about
how much she partied. Then Max spoke in his earpiece. “You got this?”

One problem solved. One more to go. “She’s down, Max.”

“Roger that. Getting her to police medics.” Max’s voice came
across loud and clear. “The TV crew has been unplugged.”

“Thank Goddess for small miracles. I nearly killed her.”

“You still might. Your witch is onstage again and has the
mic in her hands.”

“Listen up!” Sonja strutted across the stage as though she
owned it. Her power and beauty were unmatched in Derrick’s eyes along with her
grace in commanding an audience.

She really could lead the entire crowd to their deaths as if
they were nothing more than lemmings.

“We’re going to do something different here. We normally
play straight through our own shit but this is a special gig. So we’re going
back to our roots!”

The crowd’s cheers went wild. “Slayer!”

“Fuck yeah!” She swung an arm back and pointed at Jacob.

Instantly, he kicked on the double-bass drums and started
banging away.

The rest of the band joined him and an old Slayer classic
came to life through her rapid-fire vocals.

The crowd began moshing again while the circle pit resumed
the swarm of chaos.

Overhead, the black cloud swirled around faster, crackling
when sparks shot out. Why couldn’t anyone see it?

“Shit.” It registered in Derrick’s mind what she planned.
“She still doesn’t know, Max!”

“She didn’t see any of this?”

“We’re pumas who live in the shadows, we do our jobs without
being seen, Max.”

“Yup. So, fuck.”

That about summed it up, didn’t it? Derrick looked around,
watched the crowd swirl and swarm, bodies surfed and swayed. Fists flew, energy
continued to feed upwards from the angry crowd. Panic started to set in and
bile rose in his throat. “No man. She loses herself when she’s onstage. That’s
part of the beauty of music. But without focus on anything but death. And
Slayer had that market cornered. She’s going to use that energy!”

Max shouted. “Get to the stage! Pull her away from that mic!
Kiss her if you have to!”

Kissing her would distract her. He’d do it any time, any
place. That is, if he could make it to the stage before things went south of
heaven.

He sucked in a deep breath, centered himself emotionally,
and put up shields that would better block all the negative crap from the
crowd.

Pushing his way through the first few rows of bodies didn’t
prove to be too difficult, but bodies bouncing off each other in the throng of
the pit, humans and shifters slamming into each other. Well-muscled shirtless
guys with egos that seemed too big stomped around, waving hands and challenging
others to step in the pit with them.

Derrick would be in trouble if he didn’t get around them.

He cut between two kids in their late teens. Someone grabbed
his shoulder and yanked him back. “Shit!”

Derrick spun on them and had a hand to their throat.

Their eyes went wide; mouths opened, both muttered an
apology.

Sonja’s screams brought him back to his senses. Derrick
peered up, saw the cloud grow darker in color, as if absolute darkness wasn’t
dark enough. Energy continued to crackle overhead, increasing with the tempo of
the song and the crowd’s movement.

Derrick shoved the offender back, offered a wry grin, and
maneuvered his way through the crowd.

Hair flew in all directions, spinning, thrashing while fists
and elbows bumped into him and pushed him around.

Gritting his teeth, Derrick held his own and managed to keep
his hair from getting caught in some dumb moron’s hands.

He kept a steady focus on Sonja, watching her thrash her
blood-red hair as she screamed satanic lyrics written by Slayer’s bass player
into the microphone. She ushered the crowd into a furious frenzy.

The sight of her looking through her hair up over the crowd
caught his attention.

Her jaw dropped and she almost faltered on the lyric. She
saw the cloud. “Dammit!”

Time was running out. Derrick continued pushing through the
crowd. He screamed at Sonja but she couldn’t hear him.

The band slowed down, the guitarist to Derrick’s left held a
note.

Sonja ran a hand through her hair and started singing again,
the lyrics mesmerizing anyone who ever thought about killing someone and
becoming addicted to the bloodlust.

The crowd chanted along, fists raised and pumping. Bodies
slammed furiously into one another while the mosh pit erupted.

Then the band kicked in behind Sonja.

“Shit.” Derrick was completely boned. This wasn’t what he’d
hoped for. At least a media mess would be avoided once the carnage had been
cleaned up and Ark-KaotiK could be held blameless for the deaths, they weren’t
playing their own material. Right. That didn’t happen, the band was always held
responsible.

He realized he had no idea how she was going to manipulate a
crowd that size to commit mass suicide.

Then it dawned on him. The lyrics, she’d send a final push
of magic into the lyrics written by the band known for themes of murder and
suicide along with typical anti-religious themes, and the crowd would explode
into a bloodbath of epic proportions. “Max, we’ve got a problem.”

Static came back on the ear mic.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

His lover, the woman who bound herself to him, was going to
cause mass suicide and he couldn’t stop her.

Not unless he got to that stage in time.

In the stillness of his mind, he saw a thick fog and an
answer. The big cat’s eyes glowed brightly, and while they looked menacing,
hope seemed less out of reach.

Derrick had one chance. One shot. He only needed to get
within fifteen feet of the stage.

She belted out lyrics about the loss of innocence with her
eyes closed. The power had built so badly around the crowd that it’d take just
one thought to send them all to their deaths. Using hearts and the ability to
stop the flow of blood would kill everyone instantly.

It’d be painful but Carmela would have her fucking massacre.

She put extra emphasis on the last words in each line, using
the power of language and spell craft to weave meaning into the electrically
charged current flowing from her to the black cloud.

Sickness in her stomach settled into full-blown panic as she
neared the last few lines of the chorus. She sank to her knees and continued to
sing, hoping there would be a way out at the last minute. She prayed to
numerous gods in her head, even the moon and sun that watched over her power
and Rob’s, with the hope that in the end, something would happen to stop this
massacre she had no desire to be a part of.

Maybe the crowd wouldn’t notice her purposely botching the
lyrics to sway their thoughts.

She swooned back and forth while that blackness came to her,
surrounded her, gripped her with fear, and made the rush of a kill seem
logical.

The song tempo sped.

The drums raced, Corey’s right hand beat double time on the
high hat while his left pounded the snare drum at half the speed.

Dez and Raj played faster and faster.

Sonja couldn’t see past the thick cloud before her. Hair had
fallen in her face, stuck to her skin from all the sweat. She continued to sing
while praying her voice would go out.

Then it hit her, she could burn out her vocal chords on the
last line, send everyone to their deaths and then…

Never sing again.

Hell, she couldn’t, not if she killed her mate.

Tears dripped down her cheeks as she forced herself to stand
and continue the words of one of the most psychotic songs about addiction to
murder.

That is, until her eyes misled her. She blinked through the
tears, moved strands of hair from her face, and held the mic to her lips.

She blinked and blinked again. Even startled, she hadn’t
stopped singing.

The large puma had leapt from the shoulders of someone in
the crowd and landed onstage before her. It stood, looming large and predatory,
then paced back and forth across the stage.

For a second, she felt the fear she should naturally have
when a large creature like that stood before her, then she looked past the
beast at the crowd.

The crowd continued to sing and mosh while some held out
camera phones and snapped, clicked, and recorded the event.

The calmness Derrick always instilled in her returned,
settling around her like a warm blanket and a cup of hot cocoa.