Lover Mine (58 page)

As the young
symphath
flopped over onto his back, he stared in blind fixation at the heavens, a perfectly round, black hole in the center of his forehead.

A
s the countdown hit “one,” Xhex took form in the farmhouse’s living room, thinking that the concerns of an ambush were right—except the slayers were the fuckers getting jumped. Facing off at the nearest
lesser
and falling into hand-to-hand with the guy, she knew she had to work fast.

You had the element of surprise only once in any given fight, and she and her crew were outnumbered four to one—in a sitch where no guns could be used. Bullets were accurate only if you had clean shots on static targets and there was none of that going down. Arms and legs and bodies were flying all around as the Brothers and John and Qhuinn did exactly what she was doing—picking a random inductee and going Bruce Lee on their ass.

Xhex had her dagger out in her left hand while she threw a right hook at the slayer in front of her. The cracking blow knocked the guy senseless, and as he slumped against the wall, she drew her arm back and aimed the tip of her blade right for the chest of—

With a slap, Butch caught her wrist. “Let me finish it.”

Positioning himself between them, he locked eyes on the slayer and put his mouth down close. On a slow, steady inhale, he began to draw the essence out of that body, a nasty cloud—like smog transferring from the
lesser
to Butch.

“Jesus . . . Christ . . .” she whispered as the slayer who once had had form disintegrated into ash at the Brother’s feet.

As Butch wobbled and reached out for the wall like he was having trouble standing, she took his arm. “Are you okay—”

A shrill whistle from John brought her head around just in time—another
lesser
was rushing at her, prepared to use the switchblade in its hand. Thanks to John, she ducked down and lunged forward, grabbing a thick wrist and taking control of the weapon while she stabbed upward, catching the slayer under the ribs.

Bright lights, big bang.

And on to the next.

She was all in the zone with the fighting, fast on her feet, quick with her hands. And even though she was going a mile a minute and she’d poofed off that one slayer, she was going to respect Butch’s role in this showdown. She didn’t understand precisely what that ashes-to-ashes routine was all about, but she was willing to bet that it was a special end for the enemy.

In that vein, she took to slicing the backs of knees and the fronts of thighs. Incapacitation was something she had excelled at as an assassin, because a lot of times she’d had a message to share before she struck mortally. And sure enough, as she left moaning bodies in her wake, Butch swept up behind her, inhaling and turning to fine powder that which they had come to kill.

As she carved and slashed her way through the inductees, she found herself keeping a second eye on John and . . . holy hell. He was one slick fighter.

Who seemed to specialize in snapping necks. He was lethal for closing in behind the enemy, grabbing on and then with brute strength—

The blow came from out of nowhere, catching her on the shoulder and sending her spinning into the wall, her knife popping from her hold as all kinds of Looney Tunes stars bloomed in her vision.

The slayer who had hockey-checked her lunged forward and nabbed her dagger from the bloody living room floor, palming the weapon and coming at her with it.

At the last minute, she bobbed left so that he stabbed the wall she’d hit, trapping the blade in the Sheetrock. As he went to try to get the thing free, she whirled around and nailed him in the gut with her backup blade, springing a hole in his lower intestines.

Meeting his shocked stare, she said, “What, like you didn’t think I’d have a second knife? Fucking idiot.”

She punched him in the head with the butt of her backup, and as he crumpled at the knees, she unsheathed her primary from the plaster and faced off at the fray. As grunts and smacks resounded around the house, she shifted through the fighting to find what was being unattended to—

One of the slayers was flying through the front door, on a bolt for the great outdoors.

She dematerialized out of the house and right into his path. As he went Three Stooges and pinwheeled to a stop, she smiled. “No, you may not be excused.”

The
lesser
took off again and headed back for the fight—which was stupid because there was no one who would help him in there. Well, not to survive, that was.

Her body was lithe and strong as she burst after him and the two of them came around in a fat circle. Just as he got to the door, she leaped into the air and took him down in a flying tackle, catching him around the neck and shoulder and wrenching him around, using the combination of her strength and her trajectory to crank the guy into a living, breathing question mark.

They landed hard, but even as the air punched out of her lungs, she was smiling.

God, she loved a good fight.

 

 

John saw Xhex flash out the front door, but he couldn’t go after her because he had a pair of initiates so far up his ass he was coughing on their eyebrows. But he was going to take care of the crowding PDQ.

Funny how when your female beat feet into the night on her own you got an extra burst of energy—

Not that she was his female.

Funny how reminding yourself of something like that made you mean as a snake.

Reaching out to the slayer in front of him, John snapped the bastard’s neck clean off the top of his spine. As he bowling- balled the head, he thought it was a goddamned pity there wasn’t time to do the same to the kid’s arms and legs—so he could beat the other one senseless with the stumps.

Unfortunately, number two had just grabbed John around the chest and was trying to bear-hug him into hypoxia.

John palmed those wrists and locked the fucker in place, then pivoted around, jumped up, and pulled a straight horizontal in midair. They slammed onto the ground with John on top and the slayer putting the
L-E-S-S-E-R
in
mattress
. Rearing upward, John smashed the back of his head right into his opponent’s face, turning that nose into a geyser.

Quick flip and John raised his fist high in the air.

His second strike caused a round of twitching, which suggested the guy’s frontal lobe was having serious electrical transmission problems and the bastard was now in seizure-land.

Wasn’t going to be any trouble as he waited for Butch to come at him. John lunged for the doorway that Xhex had dematerialized out of, his shitkickers skidding on the blood that was now running both rusty red and glossy black.

Just as he came to the open doorway, he caught himself on the jambs.

It was the most spectacular tackle he’d ever seen. The
lesser
she was chasing was gunning back for the house, having obviously rethought his escape strategy, and he was hauling balls, his bare feet screaming over the frosty grass. Xhex, however, was closing fast, triangulating an interception that was possible only because she was stronger and more focused than the former human.

John didn’t have time to intervene even though he wanted to: Xhex jammed into the air, springing up and stretching out for the
lesser
. She clipped him right around the waist and winged him around, pasting him on the ground and slicing the backs of both his thighs so deep he screamed like a girl.

She dismounted and was ready to go again—

“John! Behind you!”

As she shouted at him, he swung around and got faced by a slayer, the guy bull-rushing him right out the door. John landed on his ass, skidding back on the crappy concrete walkway.

Which proved why you needed to wear good leathers.

Dermabrasion much?

Pissed off that he’d been parked on the front lawn with Xhex playing witness, he grabbed the hair of the slayer and yanked the thing into an arch that would leave the guy’s spine humming like a motherfucker.

With a soundless growl, John pulled a reveal on his fangs and bit the fucker in the neck. Ripping all kinds of gross former human anatomy free, he spat the shit out and then dragged the gurgling thing back into the party by the hair. As he passed Xhex, he nodded at her.

“You’re welcome,” she said with a small bow. “And nice move with that bite action.”

Looking over his shoulder at her, the respect she paid him hit him harder than any of the slayers had or could: His heart swelled and he felt as if he filled out his skin better all around.

Fucking sap that he was—

The unmistakable pop of a gun going off behind him froze him where he stood.

The loud ring was so close his eardrums felt pain rather than hearing anything specific, and for a split second afterward, he wondered who’d done the shooting and who, if anyone, had been shot.

The latter was answered when his left leg went loose under his weight and he went down like an oak.

X
hex’s knife flew from her hand a split second after she saw the
lesser
come around the corner and level a gun muzzle right at John’s back.

Her dagger traveled hilt over tip through the air, crossing the distance in the blink of an eye, winging past John’s ear so close she prayed to a God she didn’t believe in that he wouldn’t suddenly decide to turn his head for any reason.

Just as the slayer pulled the trigger, her blade caught him in the meat of his shoulder, the impact shifting his torso, the pain making him drop his arm.

Which meant John took the slug in the leg instead of the heart.

As her male went down, she leaped over him with a war cry.

Fuck Butch O’Neal. This kill was hers.

The
lesser
was scrambling as he tried to disengage her weapon from his torso—at least until he heard her yell. Then he looked toward her and shrank back in horror—which suggested her eyes were glowing red and her fangs were fully extended and flashing.

She landed in front of him, and as he cringed and put his hands up to shield his face and neck, she didn’t move: Her backup dagger stayed by her side and her third-stringer remained holstered on her thigh.

Other plans for this boy.

Using her
symphath
side, she burrowed into the slayer’s brain and popped the tops on his memories so that all at once, he felt the impact of every horrible thing he’d ever done and every terrible act that had been perpetrated against him.

Lot of shit. Looooot of shit. He’d apparently had a thing for underage girls.

Well, wasn’t this going to be satisfying on so many levels.

As he went down to the floor, he screamed and clutched his temples—like he had a chance in hell of stopping the deluge—and she let him suffer and wallow in his sins, his emotional grid lighting up in all the sectors that indicated fear and loathing and regret and hatred.

When he started to bang his skull against the dirty wallpaper, leaving a black stain where his ear was, she planted one and only one thought in his mind.

Planted it like an ivy streamer . . . a poison ivy streamer that would take hold and infiltrate and own his mental real estate.

“You know what you have to do,” she said in a deep, warping voice. “You know the way out.”

The slayer dropped his arms and revealed his wild eyes. Under the weight of what she’d released, and as a slave to the dictate she gave him, he grabbed the hilt of her dagger and ripped it out of his flesh.

Turning the point back toward himself, he double-gripped the weapon, his shoulders tensing as he prepared to send the blade on a rocking descent.

Xhex halted him, freezing him so she could kneel down right beside him. Going face-to-face, she looked into his eyes and hissed. “You don’t go after what’s mine. Now be a good boy and gut yourself.”

A splatter of black blood hit her leather pants as the guy nailed himself right in the stomach and dragged the blade crosswise, making a nice messy hole of things.

And then on her mental command, even as his eyes were rolling back in his head, he withdrew the weapon and handed it to her hilt first.

“You’re welcome,” she muttered. Then she stabbed him in the heart and in a flash, he was gone.

As she pivoted around, the sole of her boot squeaked on the wet floor.

John was looking up at her with eyes that were not dissimilar to the slayer’s, his stare peeled so wide he was showing no lid at all on the top or the bottom.

Xhex wiped her first blade on her leathers. “How bad are you?”

As John gave her a thumbs-up, A-OK, she realized the house was quiet and looked around. Everyone was still standing: Qhuinn was just straightening from a decapitation, and wheeling around to see if John was okay. And Rhage was coming in at a run from the kitchen with Vishous on his heels.