Darkness Unbound (13 page)

His cheeks darkened. “One of the ones here? Is it Viktor or Khyan?”

“No. You’ve never met him. He’s from the past.”

He rocked away from the bed putting a few feet of air between them. “The past? Like time travel?”

“I told you it was complicated.”

“How complicated can it be if the guy stabbed you? I read that as pretty cut and dried.” He shook his head and swore.

“That does sound bad. But that same guy just rescued me from the Hashishins’ facility. He had a clear opportunity to finish killing me, but didn’t. Now I’m confused.”

“Astrid.” His tone was parental. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Don’t be a victim. Don’t be one of those pitiful women that keeps returning to the guy that beats them to shit until the day she takes that one punch too many.”

“He never hit me.” Now she defended Zannis? Somehow it mattered that Kane approve of her choice.

“He stabbed you.” Kane fisted his hands. His cheeks mottled red.

The sadness in Zannis’s eyes and possessive anger in his mind when he released her to Ashor flashed through her brain. “I’m pretty sure it’s over between us, but I’m damaged goods. You and me...”

Beyond his fury, pain shadowed Kane’s eyes.

Guilt hit her hard. She didn’t want to hurt Kane. He was her rock. She gripped her hands together to prevent throwing them around him. “My life has gotten really complicated.”

“Maybe right now isn’t the best time. But someday.” Optimism entered his gaze.

“There’s a girl out there for you. I know it.” She should say it wasn’t her, but the words lost momentum mid-throat. She wanted to be his girl, and wished her heart could move off of Zannis.

He asked softly, “How bad did he hurt you? He didn’t just stab you, did he?” His forehead crinkled.

Oh, God.
She’d spent her entire life wishing for someone who cared this much about her. Why did it have to be Kane? The one man she feared this couldn’t work out with. Her eyes burned until a few tears leaked, which she batted away. She despised the weakness of a tearful female. “I thought I loved him. And then...”

“You didn’t deserve it, Bella.”

She locked onto the earnestness in his eyes. “He looked possessed by a demon or something. His eyes were pure black. Then he rammed a sword through my chest after we…It didn’t kill me, though.”

“Aw, Christ. A sword? Don’t cry, baby. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Her gaze blurred. “I’m sorry.” She swiped at her eyes. “This is long ago history.”

He pulled her against his solid, warm chest. She willed her eyes to stop their leakage. Being in his arms felt so good and so right, but she wasn’t a goddamned pansy. With a push she backed out of his embrace and presented him her mask of having it together. “Thanks. I haven’t had a good cry over this in a long time. Sorry I fell apart there. I just…you and me…I’ve got to sort out my life.”

“Right.” He pushed to a stand. His face pinched with emotion for a few seconds before his expression molded into a hardened chill. His soldier face. He’d locked the lid on his emotion. This necessary skill came from years of deep cover and exposure to the evils of humanity. She hated that she’d caused him to retreat to his safe zone. The need to comfort him tugged at her. She held back. The best plan was to let him go. He’d get over her.

He headed for the door, but halted with a hand on the doorknob. “If you need me…” He made a phone sign near his ear.

She stared at his strong back, admiring his powerful frame before he slipped from the room. Her throat ached with the need to call him back and leap into his reassuring embrace. She wished she could promise him there might be a someday, but her rational brain advised they’d never get that day, not as long as there was Zannis. Even so, she didn’t want Kane to get over her. The thought of him with another woman hurt. A lot.

This situation was messed up. More importantly, she just screwed up her friendship with the only person in the world she trusted. She swiped away new moisture from her eyes.

Cy shuffled in on his crutches. Had he been hovering outside the whole time she’d been soaking Kane’s shirtfront?

“Good, you’re awake. We’ve got a meeting. Right now. And you’re coming.” Cy pivoted on his crutches to leave.

“What kind of meeting?” she asked, throwing her feet over the side of the bed. The scent of soap shot up her nose. Someone had washed her while she slept? The thought of a strange person bathing her unconscious body creeped her out.

“The kind that is mandatory. A staff meeting of sorts.”

“Think anyone will mind me wearing…” She waved at her checkered flannel pajama bottoms and T-shirt. “This?”

Cy granted her an apathetic once-over. “You’re dressed. That works.”

“You doing okay?” Astrid asked.

Cy cocked his head. His ancient eyes narrowed. “’Bout as good as you.”

“I’m…” She swiped a hand across her face and then mumbled, “Messed up.”

Cy flashed her a wan smile. “This ride is a non-stop brain bruiser. There might be some ups in the future, but right now we’re stuck in the shitty zone.”

“They better be some spectacular ups to make this worthwhile.”

He smiled. “They can be.”

“Lead on. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to a meeting,” she said sarcastically. Remarkably, her body didn’t scream the
hell-no-way
she expected when she stood. That healer must’ve done her thing again. How many new tats decorated her body? Not that they bothered her. As she exited, she snagged the folded fleece pullover from the chair next to the bed. It completed the frumpy outfit.

Cy led down a flight of stairs and around a few corners. Different layout than the house in New Orleans. It was cavernous and timeworn with stucco sides from what she could see through the paned windows. They must’ve relocated officially to Mexico, which was a good decision.

A gigantic semicircular table and ten archaic oversized wooden chairs dominated the meeting room Cy pushed into. The table’s ornate inlaid lettering reminded her of Old English or maybe Celtic. She wasn’t an expert on funky letters. She hung back to determine if there was assigned seating. The others had already arrived. Cy sat without glancing her way.

As soon as she sat in the only vacant chair, Ashor said, “Hope everyone’s adjusting to Mexico. Thanks, Astrid, for what you did to protect the others while we were engaged elsewhere.”

Astrid nodded.

“Whatever happened while you were with Hashishins…well, if you’ve got issues I’d say a few of us have been through similar.” Ashor panned his gaze around the table, not really making eye contact with anyone. The other guys feigned interest in other things. Javen picked at his nails. Nate unwrapped a lollipop. Khyan and Dakar spoke a few words to each other in a foreign language. Christian and Eric stared out the windows.

Javen muttered, “As if anyone wants to rehash that crap.”

“Amen to that,” Khyan murmured.

Ashor stood and glared around the table. “If she wants to talk about it, then—”

“Spare me the she’s-a-girl bullshit,” Astrid interrupted. “I’ll deal.”

Ashor nodded. His shoulders relaxed.

Astrid caught approval from Javen. Apparently she passed the test all men tossed at her when joining their team. They always wondered just how much they’d have to suffer for her being female. She hated that.

Ashor unfurled a massive sword from a cloth wrap. The weapon rolled to rest inches from her hand. The smooth, gold handle’s iridescent sheen was all that could be seen of the sheathed curved blade.
It can’t be.
Her brain skidded into a void of disbelief.

“You recognize that?” Khyan asked from a few chairs down.

Hell, yes.
She gazed, stupefied that
it
rested there. Zannis’s beloved weapon. The blade that had skewered her. The blade she’d been crying over minutes ago.

The longer she stared at the spectacular weapon, the more it lured her as if screaming
touch me
on a mysterious mental wavelength.

After several seconds, she surrendered to temptation. She caressed the handle and murmured words that transported her to a time of playful pleasure. Naked, cushioned between twin muscular thighs. Zannis’s deep baritone had imparted the words she’d just uttered before he instructed,
She requires deference and gratitude before you may touch without feeling her bite.

She pulled the hefty blade from its sheath. Lifting it required two hands. Swirling blue light danced down the golden blade. She rested the blade on the table and then traced the whirling light patterns, mesmerized. Zannis had traced them on that day so long ago. His words resonated in her head.
She’s saved me more times that I can remember.

He must miss this blade,
she thought
.
With a mental shake, she shoved the sword back into its sheath and pushed it away from her.

“It doesn’t burn you?” someone asked.

Drawn abruptly from memory-ville, she scanned for the asker.

Nate repeated his question.

She shook her head. “I have paid her proper deference.”

“How the hell would you know to do that?” Khyan asked.

Barely more than a whisper she said, “He showed me.”

“Can you use it?” Ashor asked from where he stood in front of her across the table. “Ma’at said whoever can wield it can kill Djoser.”

She shook her head. “She’s not mine to use.”

“It seems to like you. Maybe you can borrow it.” Ashor rocked back on his heels and waited for her answer.

“I met this sword long ago. It may allow me to touch it, but it’s like the King Arthur sword-in-the-stone weapon of myth. He said it only works for one person. Him. Besides, I can barely put my hand around the handle. Even two-handed, the thing is too heavy for me.” She glanced around. These guys who had come through for her needed Zannis to destroy their enemy. That adversary happened to be the daemon that commanded the Hashishin shit who staked her. She sighed, resigned to the fact she’d have to face Zannis again. Her gut clamped tight with excitement and dread. She massaged her forehead against the start of a headache. “I’ll bring him here for you. This seems to be what the goddess wants, but I have no control over him. None. Are you sure you want him here?” She direct-eyed Ashor.

Ashor’s lips flattened. “We have no choice.”

“Does he know this daemon you need to kill?” asked Astrid.

Cy spoke up. “They’ve met a few times.”

“I’ll bring him here, but I don’t think he will do this, kill this daemon, just because I ask.” Astrid felt the energy to open a doorway already revving in her chest.

Javen murmured next to her, “Don’t put too much money on that. That guy’s got a major boner for you. Based on what I saw the other day, I’d wager if you asked him to cut off his left nut, he’d do it.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Astrid whispered.

“He’ll do it…uh, kill Djoser that is,” Cy chuckled. “Djoser pissed on his life just like he did on most of ours.”

“How would you know? You’re what? Fifteen?” Astrid stared at Cy. She suppressed the revving doorway energy with a gigantic mental
N-O!

Cy said, “I remember the past. Some of us do. Draggon and this particular daemon had a bad moment. That was the day he lost his mind. I always thought him going nuts had to do with getting accidentally possessed by Djoser, but now I don’t know. What exactly did Draggon do to you? And how long ago was this?”

Astrid shrugged, not interested in a group share of the worst moment of her life. “Why don’t I ask him to join us right now and get this over with.”

“Okay. But you can send him back, if he loses it, right?” Ashor asked, massaging a hand along his chin.

Astrid shrugged. “I think so.”

“Then do it,” Ashor ordered. “Let’s talk to him.” Ashor yanked a serrated blade from his cargos, and clutched it tightly. She noticed the others also prepared weapons.

Astrid freed the energy within her. It bolted through her torso and abdomen, exiting from her hands. She envisioned Zannis. A black circle took form on the wall across from her. Several seconds later, Zannis appeared at the doorway. His swirling blue-black gaze darted around the room, alighting on each of the other guys before coming to rest on her.

Her pulse pounded a concoction of excitement and anxiety through her veins. She reached for the comfort of her Glock on her right hip before remembering its absence. How she longed to have Kane close. He’d have her back, regardless of their personal mess. These other guys seemed reliable, but she was barely an acquaintance to them. She forced out in a tone far steadier than her heartbeat, “You’re free to cross.”

As he stepped through the portal the air around him contracted as if his massive presence sucked it into his vortex of power. He wore the same clothes as before, when he’d gotten her out of the Hashishin facility. Loose dark trousers and the shirt Javen lent him, both wrinkled with a few tears.

Zannis’s face tightened. In her mind he asked,
What is this? An inquisition?

Astrid waved at the others, refusing to move from her seat. The bulky table separating them helped her delusion of safety. “I was recruited to be in this group to enable you to cross into this world. They want you to kill a particular daemon. Well, technically, the gods want you to do this, not just them.”

“Way to sell it,” Javen grumbled beside her.

Zannis needed alone time with Astrid to set things straight. Not an eight magi inquest. And one teenager, he amended. The door to the meeting chamber was locked, which made this a magus-only assembly. He drew forth
seichim
to assess the powers of each magus surrounding Astrid. Powers were easily detected and assigned. Their energies swirled—unfocused, turbulent, and borderline chaotic. The most roily, probably a newly inducted magus, wouldn’t meet his gaze. Lightning. He considered both the Ghost-sighter and Lightning’s facial jewelry, wondering why they’d put such easy pain targets on the face.

“You seem pretty in-control, unlike what I’ve heard you used to be like,” Ashor said.

“You would be?” Zannis asked.