Ties That Bind: a New Adult Fantasy Novel (The Spire Chronicles Book 2) (27 page)

I couldn’t reply. I didn’t want to. I’ve had to before, had to say the exact same hollow words to every villain that spouted off justifications for the heinous things they’d done. Sometimes the words weren’t so hollow, sometimes the monsters really were horrible and had no excuse. But other times, it was hard not to sympathize.

After all, what could I say? That I wouldn’t have let myself become a drunk in the first place? That I’d have hung in there? How many other platitudes could I have given him, each more callous than the last? No one knows what they’ll do in a situation until it happens to them, and I knew it’d be difficult for me
not
to give into the darkness if it meant I could save the people I loved.

But Alex was right: absolutely nothing excused what Wright had done. That’s why he said it, because that was the only true answer he could give without admitting he sympathized.

“Turn yourself in,” I said, staring down at him through the barrel of my gun. “Hand over the artifacts Fake- the vampire gave you and let us take you in.”

“Those hunters standing guard over me were good people.” He twirled the diseased dagger around in his hand, the black mist swirling in random patterns. “Honorable. But not everyone who passes through Dovesport thrives on honor.”

The noise of half a dozen safeties being clicked off sounded around us. Looking around revealed I’d been wrong: it was eight safeties, unlocked by five men and three women. Not hunters, from the way they were dressed. They were in all black – cargo pants and skin tight shirts with dark holsters wrapped around their shoulders. Mercenaries, probably.

“Drop your guns,” one of them ordered in a deep, rough voice.

With another sweeping glare at the gunmen surrounding us, Alex nodded at me and dropped his gun. I took longer, because even with magic at my disposal, giving up a weapon felt like giving up a limb.

The same man spoke again. “Kick them away. Same with that blade.”

When Alex and I exchanged looks this time, I tried to convey my plan telepathically. I had no idea if he understood me, but when he dropped his sword, I made my move.

The world went dark as I raised a circle of ice spikes from the ground. I didn’t have the energy to make the circle very big, but it managed to skewer one of the women and block the bullets from the others. One of the spikes shattered and Alex leapt over it, decapitating the person on the other side with one clean cut. The mercenaries’ bullets were slowly but surely chipping away at the ice, but I knew there was no way I’d be able to maintain barriers around both Alex and myself, so this was all I could think to do.

Listening for the spot where there didn’t seem to be as many shooters, I slid between two of the spikes, keeping an eye out for my gun. A glint of metal caught my eye, but it was right at the foot of a man who had more tattoos than bare skin. So much for not using magic. Sure, I could’ve fought hand to hand, but you didn’t bring fists to a gun fight.

A cry of pain tore from my lips as a bullet pierced through the skin under my ear, shattering my jaw. The bullet passed through the bone and out the opposite cheek, filling my mouth with blood and my vision with a thousand miniature suns. I hacked up blood and at least two teeth as I scrambled away, taking cover behind a tombstone.

Panic made my heart pound as I wondered about Alex. Was he hurt? Dead? The thought made me stop cold, but I channeled the terror into determination and peered around the corner to find a target. One of the women came into view. I hurled an ice spear at her, skewering her right through the chest. That drew the attention of a mohawked man and he ran over to her. Thanking him for making my job easier, I launched another spear. It lodged itself in his stomach and he fell over. Booyah – Olympic levels of javelin throwing over here, thank you very much.

The crack of stone rang out next to my ear and dust fell on my hand as a bullet whizzed by. I looked over the other side of the tombstone, only to be rewarded with another flurry of bullets. Okay, bad side. Very bad. I snuck a glance over at the guy I took out to make sure he was still down. He was, but I couldn’t tell if he was dead or just incapacitated. I disintegrated the ice spear; if he wasn’t dead, he’d bleed out from the hole in his stomach soon enough.

With as many bullets whittling away at the tombstone I called cover, there had to be at least two or three people firing at me. How many did that leave for Alex? The holes in my face were healing up, sapping my strength, but whenever I tried to actively suppress the ability, it just drained more of my energy. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t. Fucking A. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about getting a dimple piercing on my other cheek to even things out.

The sound of shuffling grass got louder. I charged up a fistful of electricity, ignoring the way the world darkened around me as I did so. As soon as the footsteps sounded like they were right next to me, I leapt up, quickly finding the closest human figure and shoving the charge right at them. The body flew through the air as I ran for cover behind another tombstone. Looking out now, I saw I’d hit a man and he knocked into another man, who was currently pushing his crispy friend off him.

That made three confirmed dead and at least one incapacitated, leaving four still kicking. I spit out the remaining blood in my mouth, grimacing as my teeth began growing back. Black and white dots danced around my vision and darkness lined the edges of my sight, making me feel like I was watching things through an old movie filter. I looked back to where I’d seen my gun. The tattooed man had moved away, his body now partly obscured by the few remaining stubs of ice.

The metal glinted alluringly under the dull grey light. I could pull up a barrier and run, but there was a high chance I’d end up falling over from exhaustion before then; I wouldn’t be able to hold a barrier up for more than two solid shots, three if I was trying to be an overachiever. How much worse would it be just to tank it?

I guess I was about to find out.

Placing one hand flat on the grass, I kicked off hard and sprinted towards my goal. Gunshots rang out and my eyes caught a glimpse of a dark haired figure I thought was Alex when a bullet lodged itself in my shoulder. It burned, getting worse with each step I took, but I persevered, the gun getting closer and closer. Another flurry of shots rang out, and this time my luck ran dry as three hit me.

I threw myself down to avoid any more, covering the grass in my blood as I crawled the rest of the way to my gun. Two of the bullets had hit my side, one nicking my ribcage. Those weren’t the problem. The third one went clean through my neck, causing blood to spurt from both the entry and exit wound as well as my mouth. This week has been absolutely shit for my face.

The world patched in and out as I continued to pull myself forward. Who would have thought it would be so hard to crawl while spitting up a river of blood? My nails scraped against the barrel, and with a final gurgled grunt, I grabbed hold of it. Rolling onto my back, I waited for the darkness to dissipate enough for me to see vague outlines of people. I didn’t need to see the specifics; even with my aim, I could hit a giant blur just fine. A giant blur that would hopefully
not
be Alex. I fired off three rounds at the closest figure, watching it crumple to the ground. Another charged forward, and I managed to make out a few feminine features before putting a hole through her head.

I rolled back over, spitting out what I was sure was the last of my blood as the holes in my neck began to heal. That’s it. There was no way I could push any harder. Grass tickled my nose as I rested my face on the ground, taking in the smell of dirt, fresh grass, and blood.

Pounding footsteps forced me to push myself back up. The giant tattooed man was charging forward with a machete raised high, apparently having run out of bullets. I aimed and fired, getting a round into his thigh before my clip gave into peer pressure and I was left squeezing the trigger of an empty gun. The man was right above me, machete raised high when he froze. His blade embedded itself into the ground with a muted thunk two centimeters away from my face. I looked up at his torso, where Alex’s sword was sticking out.

Alex dragged Wright over to me. “Morgan, are you okay?”

I didn’t even have the will to verbalize an answer, but the bullets in my side decided now was the best time to be ejected and I ended up groaning at the sensation. I guess that was an answer in itself.

“I’m calling an ambulance.” There was blood all over him and his breathing was heavy, but he seemed to be in better shape than I was.

Agony ripped through me as I shoved myself onto my other side to face Wright. His pale eyes were milky and he was clutching his abdomen, blood running over his arm and staining his white shirt crimson. It reminded me of my father and the rage numbed my pain long enough for me to speak.

“The vampire who approached you,” I breathed out. “Grey eyes, curly auburn hair?”

Wright opened his mouth to answer but ended up coughing up blood. He nodded through his hacking.

“Name. Details.” My arms and legs were getting numb, a million imaginary knives stabbing through my skin.

“Vampire.” He devolved into another coughing fit. “Said name…Morgan, but he…accomplice…”

Alex knelt by me, taking my face in his hands and peering into my eyes. I let him fuss over me while Wright hacked out a lung. Shit. Wait. He can’t die yet. Fumbling around weakly, I grabbed the old man’s arm and sent trickles of healing magic into him. It made me feel dirty and that much closer to death, but we all had to do things we didn’t want to. Fuck adulthood.

“Morgan!” Alex shook me as the world went black. “Keep your eyes open. They’re almost here, just keep your eyes open.” He ripped my hand off Wright.
“Don’t.”

“He…info…” I gasped out. “Accomplice…”

I looked back at Wright and he nodded feebly. “Hooded…didn’t see…but…”

“But what?” Alex hissed, keeping two fingers pressed firmly against my neck, ironically where the bullet had entered. How the fuck was I still alive?

“Called him…Lucas…” Wright’s eyes slid shut, and I reached for him again, but Alex held my hands tight.

“He’s still breathing, we can ask him more later.”

I lolled my head back to him, my cheek hitting his knee. “Alex…you…”

“A few broken bones,” he said, wincing. “Maybe more than a few.”

I gave his hand a weak squeeze, managing little more than a twitch. He did better, tightening his grip for a quick beat before laying down next to me. His face was a few inches away, and I wanted nothing more than to move closer and kiss him. I settled for looking into his weary blue eyes as the sound of sirens approached.

18

Alex freaked out when I decided to leave the hospital against doctor’s orders, but I insisted – in what was definitely
not
a tantrum – that I would heal just fine back at Sulliva– my dad’s house. I also added that since the old man was being discharged, it would help for him to have some company. It was a weak excuse, but Alex didn’t put up too much of a fight after I made it. Based on the haunted look in his eyes whenever he passed Tom’s room, I didn’t think he wanted to be here longer than he had to.

Despite that, he stayed by my side the entire time I was confined to my admittedly comfy hospital bed. It actually made me cry once (okay, twice) when I woke up and saw him snoozing by my bedside. I blamed it on the drugs they gave me – drugs they refused to sell. According to Alex, I pouted when the doctor said he wasn’t going to be my dealer. He was a liar, obviously, and I threatened to set him on fire if he ever pinched my cheek and called me cute again.

Sull-
Dad
was healing well, and I was getting a little better at calling him that. I guess, despite all my protests, I had never really let him go. Or wanted to. Queue the “still a little girl who just wanted her daddy to love her” montage. Now, I just needed to find my mother and we could all live together in familial bliss… with my Garou half-brother and his mystical werewolf mother. That would be a sight to see.

Why does everything in my life sound like it’d make a hell of a sitcom?

“Miss Wallace?”

I looked up from my cinnamon bun mid-bite, giving the maid who just entered a guilty look.

“Hello,” I said, trying to smile through a mouth full of food. It didn’t work.

I took advantage of Alex dozing off (which was probably the cutest thing ever, even counting watching Rowan paw at dream mice while she slept) to hit the kitchen. Ever since we left the hospital, he had me on healthy food. Gross.

“I… don’t think cake is a good idea for a healing body,” the woman said. She was the lady from breakfast the day I’d been captured – the one who’d been pregnant when I was little.

I still couldn’t remember her name, though I did appreciate the concern. Rolling my shoulders, I noted there was still a shit-ton of soreness, well, everywhere. But nothing could keep me from fatty foods. Personally, I didn’t think I was doing too bad for a chick who took a bullet through the neck a week ago. Maybe surviving a bullet to the head wouldn’t be so impossible after all. What did seem impossible was how tempting it was to try it out; this new quasi-suicidal behavior I’d picked up was getting out of hand.