The Reluctant Amazon (Alliance of the Amazons) (4 page)

“Do it,” he snapped.

She was slow to obey, but with a heavy sigh, she closed her
eyes.

Sparks took Rebecca’s hand, lacing their fingers and pressing
their palms together. “Now, I want you to picture a fire, a huge fire. Think
about a bonfire or a burning building. Just focus on the flames and feel the
heat of my touch.”

Rebecca’s face scrunched in concentration, and her fingers
squeezed Sparks’s enough to turn white. Her nose creased and wiggled. Drawing
her lips into a thin line, her breath quickened its pace, her chest rising and
falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

“In those flames, search for a face,” Sparks continued as many
Amazon Guardians before her. “Find a woman who looks like the flames are a part
of her, like they grow from her hands and her hair.”

Rebecca’s eyes flew wide as she released Sparks’s hands. “Oh,
my God. I—I saw her. She’s close. She’s at… I don’t know the name of the bar,
but I know how to get there.”

* * *

“My kind of place.” Sparks crawled from the driver’s
seat and greedily eyed the Harley-Davidsons parked in a neat row. “I’m in
heaven.
Hog
heaven.”

Artair tugged off the cover of the hidden cache of weapons and
pulled out the same sword he’d used before. Staring at the swords and knives,
Rebecca swallowed hard. “You really think you’ll need that?”

“Nay, but ’tis best to be prepared.” He slid the sword into the
scabbard that rested against his hip.

Sparks came around to grab a large knife, staring at it in
admiration. Then she slid it into her boot and belted a sword at her side.

“You best take a dirk, lass.” Artair nodded toward the
weapons.

“What’s a dirk?”

Sparks shook her head, making Rebecca feel like a child being
told not to play with matches because she might get burned. “Shit, a knife that
big? She’d just stab herself or put out an eye, Artair.”

He plucked a weapon from the stack and laid it across his
outstretched forearm, holding it out to her like a waiter serving an entrée. “A
dirk, m’lady,” he said with a cynical grin. “Think you can handle one?”

Rebecca shook her head before he even finished the question. It
was the kind of weapon only found in violent video games. Huge and dangerous. “I
don’t want one of those. I couldn’t hurt anyone.”

“You’ll learn.” His eyes burned holes right through her, and
somehow she knew he was disappointed by her reluctance.

Whether she disappointed him or not, she wasn’t about to carry
around a weapon like that, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to stab some Hell’s
Angel.

He frowned and dropped the dirk back in the bin before throwing
the cover over the stash.

She squeaked in surprise when he suddenly crawled inside the
van.

Damn, but the man moved fast. He crouched beside her, grabbed
the skirt of her dress and shredded it with his knife, cutting it up to
mid-thigh. Then he twirled her around and finished ripping off the majority of
the material. Her two-thousand-dollar wedding gown with the beautiful train of
bows, beads and ruffles now had a frayed miniskirt. Thank God, she still wore
the slip so he couldn’t gawk at her bare legs.

“Take off that—that—underdress,” Artair ordered, tugging at her
thick slip.

“No way.” Rebecca plopped down and stubbornly folded her arms
over her breasts.

He sat down hard, making the van rock before dragging her face
first across his lap and slipping his hand up her legs, under her mangled dress.
“Where does this unfasten?” His hands moved across her before a zipper hummed. A
few seconds later, he tugged the material off her legs.

“I won’t let you touch me! Don’t touch me!” She jerked her
hands free and tried to get to her feet, but Artair put a strong hand against
the small of her back, pushing her against his lap.

He gave her a hard swat on her butt. “Set your arse down. If
you insist on wearing all that—that—fluff, you won’t be able to run if need be.
I’m just trying to free you.” He dragged the slip the rest of the way down her
legs and dropped it next to her face. “’Tis
all
I
wanted to touch. Nae more. You flatter yourself thinking otherwise.” He rolled
her off his lap, and she landed on her ass. Before she could fire any sort of
scathing retort, Artair had already made his way out of the van. “Time to get
Megan.”

“I’ll stay here,” Rebecca announced. “You guys go have your
fun.”

“You will not.” He reached in to grab her arm and hauled her
outside. It appeared she had no choice in the matter.

Knowing the type of people who frequented this kind of
establishment, the three of them would never survive if they went in and tried
to drag a woman out, especially if Megan was as reluctant to come as Rebecca had
been. Hell, if this day continued on its present course, they would all get
knifed to death by heavily tattooed men in black leather.

“Aye, Sparks. You’re right. ’Tis a place made for Fire.” Artair
chuckled while Sparks danced around, happy as a kid in a toy store. “I don’t
expect trouble, but ye best stay close to my side, Becca.”

Close to his side? The man changed his moods at the drop of a
hat. When he’d held her, she’d felt safe for the first time since this nightmare
began. His embrace had been soothing, but he’d suddenly gone hard, shouting at
her and growling whenever he had the chance. In fact, growling and grunting
seemed to be his favorite forms of communication. God, he confused her. Of
course, her whole damn life was confusing now.

She still didn’t understand how she’d known where they’d find
Megan. Yet as Rebecca had touched Sparks, the face of a woman with hair the
color of fire had formed in her mind. A tug pulled her thoughts toward
Condemned, a bar she wouldn’t have dreamed of being caught dead in but somehow
knew was exactly where they would find this Megan.

Sparks led the way through the front door, followed by Artair.
Rebecca reluctantly went inside, trying to hide behind his bulk. He stopped
short, and she ran right into his back. With one of his growls, Artair grabbed
her upper arm and tugged her to stand at his side. “Stay close.”

She glanced around. Condemned was exactly what she’d expected.
Dirty and rough. The place smelled of stale tobacco and spilled beer. Peanut
shells littered the floor, and she didn’t think they’d feel too pleasant against
her bare feet. She’d never seen so much leather in one place. Men. Women. It
didn’t seem to matter. They were all clad in the most stereotypical biker attire
she could have imagined. T-shirts with Harley logos. Heavy chains as jewelry.
The rough sounds of George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone” thrummed through the
bar. If she hadn’t been so frightened, she would have laughed at a song like
that greeting them as they walked into a place like this.

From behind the long bar, an overweight man wearing a dirty
wife-beater slapped a bar towel over his shoulder. “You folks ain’t welcome.
This here’s a private club.”

“Ah, Jim,” a throaty, feminine voice scolded from farther down
the bar. “Where’s your hospitality?”

The face she’d seen in her vision came toward them. She tried
to squelch her envy at the woman’s appearance. Her hair was the same brilliant
shade of red as Sparks and hung past her shoulders in waves. Her oval face was
so perfectly shaped, she could have been on the cover of
Cosmopolitan.
Bright blue eyes didn’t seem to miss anything. Dressed
in black leather pants and a black T-shirt that hugged her ample curves, the
woman stopped in front of Artair.

“My, my. Aren’t you a tall drink of water?” Her gaze slowly,
blatantly raked him from head to foot then returned to rest on his kilt. “Nice
legs too. Buy a girl a drink?” She laid a hand on his chest, lightly scraping
her perfectly manicured, blood-red nails across his muscles. “Mmm. You’re a
weightlifter,” she purred, moving her hand from his chest to rub her palm over
his broad shoulder.

Jealousy sparked in Rebecca at the woman’s familiarity with
Artair. She had no inkling where the resentment came from, but if this was truly
Megan, Rebecca doubted they would ever get along. All she wanted to do at that
moment was break Megan’s nose the way she’d broken Rick’s. Thankfully, Artair
saved her the trouble.

“You’ll not be that free with your hands, lass.” He shoved
Megan’s hand away, folded his arms over his chest and leveled that same hard
stare he’d used back at the church. “Yer Megan Feuer, aye?”

Megan cocked her head. “Who wants to know?”

Sparks would probably step in with her explanation, but because
Rebecca had been so intent on watching Megan put her mitts all over Artair, she
hadn’t realized Sparks wasn’t standing with them any longer. Her gaze wandered
the room until she noticed Sparks at the bar, throwing back a shot.

Artair must have noticed as well, because a threatening snarl
rumbled from his chest. “Sparks! Get your arse over here and deal with your new
Fire!” Damn, but the man’s voice could make the walls shake.

Sparks nodded at her empty shot glass, and the bartender
quickly refilled it from a bottle of Cuervo Gold. She grabbed the glass, threw
her head back to down the contents and then slammed the glass on the bar. “Celt,
ye be all work and nae play.” Pulling a ten-dollar bill from her jacket pocket,
she slapped it on the bar as the bartender watched her with open appreciation.
“Thank ye, kindly.” She picked up the dirk she’d set next to the glass.

Rebecca was in awe. Sparks and Megan were women who demanded
notice simply by walking into a room. The red hair, she figured, and the cocky
attitude. Their confidence washed over her. While she took comfort from it, she
envied them for being all she wasn’t.

While Artair, Sparks and Megan talked, Rebecca looked around
Condemned. A place like this would normally terrify her. The men were rough. The
women even rougher. Most of them warily watched her little group while they
continued to drink, shoot pool or throw darts. If Megan gave so much as a peep
that she didn’t want to leave, every customer in the place would come to aid one
of their own.

“We could take ’em.”
Sparks’s voice
echoed in her head. The older Fire gave her a quick nod before turning back to
Megan.

Funny, but the confidence Rebecca felt from Sparks and Megan
was slowly becoming her own.

Megan seemed to be listening to the story of her new destiny
with eagerness. Of course, they hadn’t kidnapped Megan. Yet. With each piece of
information she was given, she nodded enthusiastically, and when Sparks produced
a flame from her thumb, Megan acted as ecstatic as someone who’d just been told
she’d won the lottery. She tried several times to duplicate Sparks’s motions,
and was rewarded with a flicker of flame. She whooped in joy that somehow
touched Rebecca’s heart.

Things changed so fast, Rebecca couldn’t even react. She
noticed the smell first, that same sickening mixture of rotten meat and human
waste she’d smelled outside the church. As the doors to Condemned slammed open,
the odor grew to an overpowering stench.

Artair suddenly unsheathed his sword, Sparks readied to use her
dirk, and Megan slipped her hand under the cuff of her pants to produce a small
handgun. He motioned to Megan. She stepped over to stand in front of Rebecca,
who could only manage to gape.

The first monster that pushed its way inside could have been
someone right out of
Dawn of the Dead.
His skin was
pallid and rotting, literally peeling off his face in globs like some macabre
spa facial. The two men who followed appeared even worse, eyes glazed as if they
had severe cataracts, threatening snarls spilling from their lips. Ragged
clothes hung from their bodies.

Revenants.

The word echoed through Rebecca’s mind as adrenaline pumped
into her body. The weapon of the enemy, the creatures who she was evidently born
to fight. She willed herself to move, wishing she’d taken the dirk Artair had
offered, but her feet remained frozen to the ground as her heart slammed in her
chest.

Artair charged the first of the beings and beheaded it in one
swift swing of his sword. As the revenant’s head rolled into the brass footrest
of the bar, the place erupted into action. People began to shout and charge the
creatures, which had now been joined by several more.

Rebecca backed away until she found her retreat stopped by a
pool table against her ass. What was her next move? Should she jump into the
fray?

And do what?
Fight them off with my bare hands?

Her eyes followed Megan, transfixed with the way she could
easily bring one of the revenants down with a good kick. The woman had trained
in martial arts. The only thing physical Rebecca had ever participated in was an
aerobics class with some other teachers at her school.

Pointing her gun at a female revenant who’d lost her right arm,
Megan fired off two shots. One took off a fair-sized chunk of the zombie’s nose,
the other hit her right between the eyes. The damned bitch just kept coming.

“Nay, Megan!” Artair shouted as he kicked a revenant in the
gut, knocking the creature to its knees before he lopped off its head. “Bullets
willnae stop them.”

“
Now
he tells me.” Megan dropped
the gun and winked at Rebecca.

Megan’s confidence suddenly bubbled up inside Rebecca. She took
a reluctant step away from the pool table and looked around to see what she
could do to help. Shit, she’d never get used to the repulsive smell. She gulped
down the bile rising in the back of her throat.

A revenant in a hideous brown suit hovered behind Sparks.
Rebecca gave him a good, solid kick in the ass to draw his attention. Sparks
whirled around, gave Rebecca a big smile and nodded at Megan. The three trapped
the zombie against a wall, moving together as they shared a common goal. Rebecca
blocked his retreat on one side. Sparks on the other. Megan used a sweep of her
leg to knock his feet from under him. Sparks hurried in and chopped off the
guy’s head like some lumberjack splitting a log, swinging her sword like an
ax.