Impulse (7 page)

His eyes glittered with regret as they lowered to the scene. “Gifts are different forms of energy; if you don’t learn how to use it, then it ceases to be a gift. This will require you to think of nothing else
but
control. Whatever you do that pulls a dagger, you must multiply it times a thousand, or this man shall suffer on my floor until we can locate someone more capable of pulling it free.”

More
capable. I didn’t like the way that remark made me feel.

I once impaled my own hand moving a metal object; the metal always sought me out. This would require strict concentration to guide the sword straight up into the air.

My eyes flicked nervously to Novis and I positioned myself so that one leg was on either side of Justus. I widened my arms above the sword and took a cleansing breath.

“If I hurt you, Ghuardian, I’ll accept whatever punishment you want to dish out.”

That was guilt talking, because I suddenly had images in my head of polishing his entire car collection with cotton balls.

I flexed my fingers, dreading failure. My palms prickled with an electric charge as I began to slice my hands up and down in the air, feeling the energy pop even harder. Because the sword was still impaled within Justus, his power was dripping all over it. And it was
strong
.

Sweat beaded across my brow and the muscles in my arms burned. I was going on pure instinct—running my hands up and down in chopping motions with the palms facing each other. I glanced down at Justus, saw the spatters of blood on his shirt, and immediately closed my eyes. The air charged and static snapped against my palms. I looked like a robot spazzing out and hoped nobody was laughing.

“
Ffffuck
,” Simon breathed. “Look at that!”

The moment he said that, I opened my eyes and gasped. You could actually see the charged energy in the air surrounding the sword like tiny blue sparks.

When the intensity reached its peak, I crouched, holding onto the enormity of that power. It swelled between my hands like an expanding ball of matter. In one sweeping motion, I stood up and lifted my arms into the air. The sword made a strange sound when it broke free from the marble and sliced upward.

Simon lunged forward as if to catch it, but the power behind the release was so strong that the handle lodged into a chunk of the ceiling that remained. We looked up at the long, red blade pointing ominously at Justus, who was covered in a blood-stained sheet. My hands tingled and sparks crackled against my skin like snaps from a rubber band. A faint bluish light radiated from them and I closed my fists.

I was a Unique, and wielding metal was only part of it. In that moment, I realized that I had the potential to do amazing things with my power once I learned to harness it.

Simon fell to his knees and covered the bloody wound with his hands, offering his healing light. Justus draped his tattooed arm across his forehead and blew out a breath as his skin color returned.

“You are a remarkable Mage,” Novis complimented me. “Remarkable indeed.”

“Silver,” Justus summoned.

I knelt on the uneven rocks and glanced at his beautiful gold watch. The face was shattered. “Did I do that? I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Can you afford two large?”

I didn’t even flinch. “No sweat.”

He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. “Despite your insubordination, you
are
fucking classy.”

I wasn’t sure if my skipped heartbeat was from the compliment or his bluntness, but I blinked and looked away. “Why would Nero do this?”

Novis answered. “He’s instigating war on the Mageri. This is retaliation for the raid we conducted on his compound. It’s imperative that we stop him. Men like Nero are not easy to hunt, even with the help of HALO. I fear it could only get worse. As long as Nero walks free, we’re all in danger. If you come across information, you
must
give that to the Council. He has committed treason against the Mageri by this…” He turned his head with a disgusted expression. “… senseless attack. I cannot express how it upsets me that this happened under my roof. The loss would have been far greater had the people not been moved out of the house. We will have justice for the lives that were lost tonight.”

Chapter 5

“Why attack your own kind if you want to start a war against the Breed?”
I just didn’t understand the power struggle with the older immortals. Had they become so bored with their immortality that war was a pastime?

Simon ruffled his hair and uncorked another bottle of wine. We had barely slept unless you counted the three-hour nap I took in my chair, slobbering on the table. The conversation carried through the next evening and everyone was too rattled to sleep. I cooked seven omelets for Justus to help him regain his strength, and it provided me with a distraction. The light Simon lent him to heal was draining, and my instincts to look after him kicked in.

“I don’t understand who the enemy is anymore.” I groaned, rubbing the exhaustion out of my face.

“Perhaps the Mageri,” Simon suggested. A river of wine flowed past his lips. “Not everyone supports their laws. If he wants to gain power, then one way to do it is to dismantle them.”

“That’s about as effective as homegrown terrorists who anthrax the post office because they don’t want to pay their taxes.”

The glass tapped on the table and he dipped his finger in the wine, circling it around the rim and producing a hollow note.

“But people suddenly didn’t trust their mail,” he pointed out. “Sometimes the most effective way to remove a leader is to create doubt among their followers. We can only speculate and quite honestly… I’m not sure I can wake another brain cell.” He sighed and dropped his head on an outstretched arm, staring at the grooves in the table. “It could have been so much worse,” he muttered.

Justus walked into the room, smelling like expensive soap.

“I called Novis,” he said, sitting to my left at the head of the table. “He summoned a Relic to see what can be done for Adam.”

My bottom lip quivered and I pinched it between two fingers. Adam’s injuries looked severe.

“Push it back, Learner. Do you think he seeks your pity?”

Relics were a type of doctor. They inherited ancient knowledge through their genes and specialized in information. Anything new they learned was retained and passed down to their children, so it was actually fortunate to be the youngest child in a Relic family. It seemed a little farfetched, but maybe a Relic could help Adam because he would have been scarred from those injuries.

I took out my frustration on a few locks of tangled hair. “I’m trying not to think about it, but you didn’t see him. I didn’t try hard enough to warn him about the liquid fire.”

“It was already too late,” Justus added in a smooth, baritone voice. “The damage was done.”

Simon’s leg was hopping and we listened to the heel of his shoe tapping on the stone floor.

Justus looked agitated and rubbed his bicep. “Simon, if you have something to say, then stop running a marathon underneath my table and come out with it.”

“Did either of you see anyone prior to the blast? Someone that looked out of place? Maybe I’m talking rubbish.”

I knew what Simon was driving at but kept my mouth shut. Merc flashing through the hall, running in the direction of the chaos. Maybe he was rushing to fight, but I never saw him after that. The risk of implicating a Council member without evidence could be damning, so I joined my Ghuardian in the head shaking.

Simon spread his arms across the table. “In proximity to where the sword was in the house, it’s rather convenient that it fell on you the way it did. Novis had it mounted on the opposite side of the upstairs room.”

Justus ran his hand over the spot on his belly where the sword had gone in. He was unshaven and while completely healed, he still winced every so often. Phantom pain.

“If I could remember,” he muttered. “I only recall waking up.”

“Maybe I’m pissed from the wine, but everyone knows the story. It was his peace sword and had never shed a drop of blood in his lifetime… until tonight.” Simon looked at me because I didn’t know the story. “It hung over the Council’s quarters for more years than I can remember as a reminder that peace could be found without violence. It’s only my opinion, but I think Nero wanted that sword baptized in blood. Symbolic, wouldn’t you say?”

I stood up from the table and rubbed my eyes. “You boys talk it out; I need to take a shower and meet up with Logan.”

***

The doorman didn’t even flinch when I let myself in at the Red Door. I was a regular. Justus enjoyed taking me to this private Breed club because most of the women didn’t throw themselves at him like everywhere else, and it allowed him to be the hunter for a change. Human women could hardly contain themselves in his presence, but he got a little more space at this particular club. While the green swill they served packed a punch, I kept my nose in the familiar beverages.

The décor was relaxed with dim lights and candles on the wooden tables—yet still gave off a club vibe with plush red colors. We had a regular semiprivate table in the back where Justus could skim his eyes over the crowd and select his next conquest.

After everything that had transpired, I needed to get away from Simon and Justus for a while. I hadn’t spoken to Logan and wanted to get his thoughts on everything.

Justus was meeting with someone, so I rode with Simon in his classic GTO while Justus tailed behind. Because of the enforced rules in a Breed bar about violence, he felt better leaving me there than at home alone. Justus was going to be tied up for a while on HALO business, so Simon left me the car on the condition that I fill the tank and have Logan follow me home.

For some reason that night, the Sensors were out in force and a few of them were openly exchanging. A red glow illuminated their palms during the transference, and I turned away with disinterest. It still disgusted me that one of my own memories was up for auction.

An hour passed and Logan hadn’t responded to my phone calls. It wasn’t like him to be late but maybe he forgot, so I decided to give him another thirty minutes.

“Looks like someone stood you up. I’ll keep you company.”

A man claimed the empty chair at my table without an invitation. He was tall from my vantage point. Thick shoulders gave him a hard edge—like a boxer—but it was his hair that stood out. It was short, dark, and shaved into a wide Mohawk. I lowered my eyes to the dark stubble on his chin and he snapped his gum and blew a pink bubble, watching me from behind dark sunglasses. He wore all black, and I could tell by his energy that he wasn’t a Mage. Something about the way he smelled bothered me; it was a blend between stale raspberries and vinegar.

“No thanks,” I said, rising from the table.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist and he gave me a thin-lipped smile.

“Sweetie, I’m not asking.” I tugged my wrist but his bruising grip tightened. “My
boss
doesn’t like snoopers and it seems you’ve been sniffing around Samil’s place.”

“Why don’t you tell Nero to shove it up his ass, right where your head is? Let me go, because you know the rules in a Breed club.” I twisted my wrist free and he leaned back in his chair with a smug grin.

“What’s in the box you took from Samil’s house?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

The bartender was nowhere in sight and the only other person in our section was an older Asian woman with papers scattered across her table. I turned on my heel and briskly headed to the back hallway. Simon’s car was parked in the rear.

Just as I stepped out of the door, he shoved me so hard that I missed the steps and fell on my stomach.

“Going somewhere?”

I winced from the pain but quickly rose to my feet in the dark alley, ready to pull out a small dagger strapped beneath my shirt. Justus made me wear it on the odd occasion, and after the party, he wasn’t leaving me alone unarmed. It was a stunner capable of paralyzing a Mage. But I could tell from his energy that this asshole was no Mage.

“I hate repeating myself,” he said.

“Do I look like I have a box?”

His jaw punched out and his boots stomped down the cement steps.

“I know you don’t
have
the fucking box. What I want is for you to tell me where it is.”

“It’s hard to take a man seriously who wears granny shades,” I dared to say. “Throws off your whole scary-guy image.”

That was my best effort to get him to remove his glasses. A unique eye color might reveal what Breed he was; then I would know what I was up against and how much of my ass was about to be kicked.

He threw them on the ground and stalked toward me with the conviction of a Chitah. His amber eyes were a stark contrast against his dark hair and brutal features. Logan said that it was uncommon for Chitahs to have raven locks—most of them had hair color in the shades between light brown and white. Not this guy; his brows were black and angled down, giving him an angered expression.

Through conversation, Logan taught me how to take down a Chitah.