Intimidator (22 page)

Sweat broke out all over her body.

The stigmata. The screams. This was what they did.

The whine lanced straight through her and her head filled with Ally’s shrieks. Though she shut her eyes, squeezing them tight, she couldn’t block those out.

The paper in her palm grew hot, hotter. The temperature climbed and climbed and though she became convinced her hand was alight she said nothing.

The screaming continued. The drill stopped and began again, vibrating into her gut.

She uncurled her hand, cleared the phlegm gathering in her throat, and forced open her eyes. Her throat shook with the hard beat of her heart.

Her hand seemed far away and the tears made it difficult to see, but she focused on the black fragments on her palm. There was nothing left but crispy shreds.

Shit.

She would burn through the leather they’d tied her with, break loose, and turn them all into dead men. But though she tried and tried, until sweat slicked her body and her head pounded, nothing had happened by the time they freed her. Her lunge toward Ally came to nothing.

“Let me see her, please. Let me see her. Please!” She dug her heels in but the man holding her leash dragged her toward the door.

Kasper inclined his head. “You can see her. There she is. Tomorrow, if she has survived, we will do this to you.”

Willow didn’t look. She didn’t want to see more blood on Ally. She’d wanted to touch her, to hug her, to hide her in her arms and whisper that somehow she’d make things right, even if…even if she couldn’t.

Those sounds she heard. She knew them. She didn’t want to see her seizing. The sounds were Ally tapping her heels on the floor and her jaw clicking. She’d seen it in patients at the hospital.

Wrapping her hand around the leash only made her staggering progress across the floor a little slower.

Outside she heard doors slamming and the rumble of truck engines. Voices. The tramp of boots on the floor. Kasper nodded at the men walking into the room. More of the enemy.

They were lost. So terribly lost.

Her poor, poor girl.

Things of the nastiest kind had preoccupied her but now, between the dragging of her heels across the rug and the tromp of boots, the indefinable nibble returned and grew, and slammed into her with the subtlety of a man pushing her into a wall and kissing her.

Stom
, she mouthed.

She could feel him. She put her hand to her breast, smiling in wonder, feeling the beat.
Thump
. A man who had somehow wormed his way into her soul, as well as her panties. A man who she suspected had his name tattooed on the underside of her heart.

She went to her knees and looked upwards, waiting. The creature holding the leash turned to stare at her.

Where are you?

He opened his eyes, assessing where his body said she was. The pull was strong. So close. Stom leaned over the co-driver’s shoulder and tapped the electronic map. “The next street over. About there.”

The man spoke quietly. “Operations control? Can I have a visual on the possible house from data extrapolation?” The screen wavered and snapped to a top down view in shades of blue with what seemed to be people shown as red. They moved and there were so many.

Was she there? His heart said so.

“That’s it,” he said to Stom before turning back to the screen. “Operation control, I see forty-three enemy. The women’s location?” He tapped the screen again. It zoomed into a view of one room. “There. Is this attack approved? We have a target! Go.”

The driver accelerated.

Yes.

Stom said a quick and urgent prayer then tugged on the belt linking him to the ceiling of the van. The side door had hummed open minutes ago and he’d grabbed a handhold to stop himself falling out the door and onto the road that zipped past. Whatever the human speed limit was here, the driver was now exceeding it. Instant maiming if he fell.

Though maybe not. He eyed again his lower torso where the ceram suit ended at his waist. Brask hadn’t let them crank him into a full suit, only Jadd and a couple of others were trained for that. The powered, armored suit clung to you like it wanted to have sex with you and was capable of bouncing you around like an ape on stimulants. They were scared his new flesh wouldn’t take the g forces on his upper torso.

He swallowed, swaying into the swerve, staring at the pinkness on his chest visible under his black shirt. Not much of him was the old him. Baby man, that was him. All pink and hairless. His Feya markings were mostly gone. His bond mate marking was so faint.

Who cared? All that mattered was finding Willow.

The Preyfinder coat whipped out behind him and flapped in Jadd’s face.

“Control that thing,” he yelled. “When we hit the ground, I’ll watch your back, Stom. No hero stuff from you. I’ll take point.”

He growled. “You and Brittany might have saved me and I’ll never forget that, but don’t stop me reaching Willow.”

The assessing nod from Jadd said,
sure, but I’ll do my duty by you too
. He suspected that meant, he was number one and Willow was second. That would not go well. Maybe he should get there first. These suit legs could do some mean jumps.

Operations beeped on in his ear comm with a global message to the attack team. “Surveillance shows multiple new Bak-lal arriving. Now sixty plus. Don’t move in until Accor’s team gets there.”

There were nine of them packed in this van, including the driver and co-driver. They’d all be fighting on this mission. With only human weapons and the armored coats the odds weren’t great. Brask hadn’t yet dared to approve off-world weaponry. If only Dassenze were back.

The co-driver spoke up. “The screen shows one of the women has multiple injuries. Her life signs are going crazy.”

“Which one?” Stom croaked out. His voice wasn’t so good. “Which one is injured?”

“Don’t know, sir. The drone is going on body heat and audible data. We don’t know which is her. Operations, advise when Accor is in range.”

The van screeched around the corner, pulled to the side.

Mission control’s reply sank into Stom’s head and resonated. “Acknowledged.”

There were times you just had to act.

He leaned down to check the map, unclicked the belt above, stepped out the door onto the road, and jumped. The engines in the legs detected his need for boost and kicked in with a complaining whine. The pale blue sky flew past. The house roofs became his landing points and he bounced from one to the other, leaving shattered tiles and dented roofing iron on the way.

Willow was worth it. He pulled out two grenades and linked his retinal display with that room as he went. He knew where the women were held; now all he had to do was neutralize everyone else.

On his way over the front yard, where a whole posse of Bak-lal was peering up at him with their blank-eyed expression, he tossed down the two grenades. One-story house. The roof was tiles and he landed above the room where they were.

Stom took another leap fifty feet upwards, spiraled to wrap the coat about his body, and came straight down on both boots. Tiles, timber and ceiling caved in. Something tore along the coat but spun off. The room was revealed. Plaster and timber fragments whizzed out like a flock of angry bees. Willow was to the left. Ally to the right. He hit on the floor and sank to one knee, the armored joints screaming as they compensated. His guns were already out and spitting bullets. Men fell as they reached for their weapons, spinning from the impact of the projectiles.

Blood sprayed. People shouted.

Got the one holding Willow and the four around Ally. A tall one, with some metal thing in his hand, sneered at him and roared, waving at others.

The room filled with sound and blood and whirling figures. He twisted, still shooting.

A horde of men piled toward him, reckless, disregarding the lethality of his presence. Shining blades glanced off the coat. The ones that came toward his face he batted away. Under the sheer weight of six or seven of them he fell, still fighting, one gun skidding away, the other under him. His wrist cracked and fractured.

Pain
speared through him.

What a waste. He only just got that healed.

He was losing.

Desperately he threw out an arm to tell Willow to run. More Bak-lal poured in, mouths open, teeth showing, guns raised. What a mess. Brask was going to hate having to bury him again.

Worth a try. It was Ally dying, he’d seen her wounds, but it didn’t matter. If he let her die without trying, Willow would been destroyed by grief.

The face of a Bak-lal obscured the ceiling as he scrambled atop the pile of men who were crushing Stom. One of his arms was trapped, but with the free one he warded off blows, then he kicked out with his legs. Two of the enemy flew out, smacked into the walls, and kept going, leaving body-sized holes. The top Bak-lal’s pistol swung, coming in to aim at his head.

The rattle and crack of weapons told of the team arriving outside. A new hole or three appeared in the walls, blasting out chunks of plaster and timber. His ears hurt from the sound, his skin hurt, his muscles burned. The air misted with white.

He bared his teeth as the trigger was drawn back.

Like an avenging demoness, Willow leapt on top, naked, snarling, standing on the writhing heap. As she lashed out and clawed at the eyes of the one leveling his gun, the barrel swung and fired to the left. The Bak-lal grabbed her throat, held her still, her feet dangling, and shoved the gun at her side.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t
move
.

The gun was coming her way. Willow stared into death’s eyes, her fingernails had left red scored grooves on his face but the man wasn’t registering pain. Why couldn’t she do more? She sobbed. They were both going to fucking
die
.

She’d been trying to set these bastards alight. Nothing.

His hand on her throat was choking her and she sucked in a wretched gasp of air, her vision smudging as her brain faltered.

The metal of the gun jabbed into her ribs. She was a half second away from having her guts blown across the room.
Why couldn’t she?

Burn.

Think small. Eyes? Oh. Yeah. Course.

His eyeballs burst into flame, a simmering orange.

Seemed even Bak-lal hated having their eyes on fire. He released her, dropped the gun, and toppled off the pile of men, screeching, with his hands scrabbling at his face.

The small success stunned her for one millisecond then she went ballistic on the pile.

Slap their faces and burn them. The growling ones that turned to get her were the first to go.

Burn,
she hissed into their blank faces.

The only drawback: she had to touch them to do it. Dirty, disgusting work. Bad. And every one she hurt, they seemed
people
somehow, it made her shudder inside.
I’m weak.

Horrifying, but it worked. She lost a few layers of her soul, but she didn’t stop. She kept going, she burned them, and she freed him.

The room filled with writhing men clutching at their burning eyes. The Preyfinders picked them off. The battle rolled on. Bullets spat. Stom dragged himself to his feet and swept her off to the side, one blood-smeared arm dangling at his side. Then he enfolded her in his coat.

Ally.

There she was, where she’d last been, only with Kasper straddling her. The drill was in his hand, poised above, ready it seemed, to be driven into her skull.

No
. Frantic she tried to leap toward her.

But Stom fought her. He held her tighter, wrapped the coat around her more.

“No, Willow, no. You can’t. There’re more bullets than oxygen out there. No.”

He was gasping for breath and fresh blood welled from the side of his neck.

Watching Ally die was going to etch itself into her memories, but this time, because she knew it might be the last thing she could do for her, to honor her life, she watched. Despite wanting to reach out and drag her to safety and not being able to do a damn thing, she watched.

Ally’s hand shot up, fingers splayed, and Kasper froze. What happened next was inexplicable. Impossible. She rewound what she’d seen.

Men were struggling, falling, and partly obscuring her view. There was a series of bangs as one huge Preyfinder leveled his weapon and emptied it into Kasper. He slumped to the floor, coughing out his last breath.

That part was good.

Except Ally was gone.

“Where is she? Stom? Ally’s vanished! Where can she be?”

“Don’t know.” He slid down the wall, taking her with him and she pressed her hand on the neck wound, his blood welling through her fingers, her pulse hammering at her. If he died after this…

“Don’t you die on me again, Stom, you bastard. Don’t you dare!”

A whistle made her whip her head around, teeth bared, ready to turn into a crispy thing anyone who dared threaten her mate. A Preyfinder advanced on them.

“I’m Brask, Willow. I’m his friend.” He ducked his head and peered at Stom. “You be good, man. We already spent a year’s revenue on you. You owe us.”

“Will he be okay?” She sniffed and looked from her man to Brask and back.

“Sure I will.” Stom spat blood to one side. “Fine. I am. I’m definitely fine.”

Behind Brask the fighting sounds had petered out to nothing.

“Yeah, he’ll be okay. I have his read-outs. He’s wired up and scanned. Neck wound’s bleeding, that’s all.” Brask grinned. “We can rebuild him. Make him better than he was.”

She scowled. “That’s an ancient movie quote, isn’t it?” Sick man. Aliens apparently equaled a bad sense of humor.

Relief washed in. She swayed on her knees, still perplexed. Where was Ally?

“You need to find my cousin, Brask. Please. She’s gone. She was here.”

“I know.” He tapped his ear. “The drone above. The orbiting scan even. She disappeared from both. I have no idea where to. Here. Last image from Rimill. He’s the one who shot your big bad guy. Kaper?”

“Kasper,” she whispered. A video played out in the air in front of her. It looked taken from the side, perhaps down the sights of a gun. Ally, eyes wide open, hand outstretched, staring at Kasper, who didn’t move. He was stuck in position, ready to kill her with that drill.