Yield the Night (3 page)

The last bit of her happy bubble popped as another thought occurred to her.

What if the note wasn’t from Lyre at all?

She didn’t know what Lyre’s handwriting looked like. What if it was a trick? Some plot of Samael’s or Lilith’s to lure her out into the forest by herself in the middle of the night?

Her hand clenched, crushing the note. There was no way to know for sure without going to the meeting point tomorrow night and hoping for the best. Biting her lip, she smoothed out the paper. She didn’t know why, but her gut said it really was from Lyre. She would have to take the risk.

“Piper!”

Hearing the alarm in Kindra’s voice, Piper sprang to her feet. She stuffed the note in her pocket and ran for her bedroom door.

“What’s wrong?” she yelled as she threw the door open.

“I smell smoke,” Kindra yelled from somewhere downstairs. “Something is on fire!”

A zing of fear ran through her and an image rose in her mind: the grainy newspaper photograph of the destroyed Consulate. Panic surged and she bolted toward the stairs.

She got ten steps down the hall before an ear-shattering explosion rocked the Consulate.

She hit the floor. The building heaved. Light bulbs shattered, plunging her into darkness. Another detonation went off in the west wing. Wood and metal screamed as support beams gave way.

With snapping sounds like gunfire, one end of the living area fell into the foyer. The floor plunged downward, turning into a ramp. She scrabbled desperately for a handhold as furniture and debris slid off the edge and crashed down into the entryway. Friction lost out and suddenly she was sliding fast. She screamed as she went over the edge. She landed hard and fell into a painful roll, crashing into an upside-down sofa. Debris rained down on her.

A third detonation tore through the front of the manor.

The earth bucked and trembled. The dining room table, a casualty from the upstairs kitchen, lay on its side a few feet away. She dove toward it. Tucking herself against the heavy wooden top, she covered her head with her arms as the front wall of the building buckled inward. Wood and bricks smashed down on the foyer, but the table shielded her from the worst of it.

Breathing hard, limbs shaking, she shoved a chunk of drywall off and staggered to her feet. Cool night air whipped across her face but she barely spared a glance at the front lawn, which was now one with the demolished foyer. Half the manor was still standing.

“Kindra!” she screamed.

Stumbling over rubble—thank goodness she was wearing her leather boots—she ran into the hall, still calling for the daemon. Kindra had just been shouting to her; the daemon couldn’t be that far. The hall was pitch black, and as soon as she entered, she smelled it—smoke. Something was burning.

She almost ran into a barricade at the end of the hall that separated her from the main-floor kitchen. Part of the upper floor had buried the hallway.

“Kindra!” she yelled desperately.

Kicking at the debris, she found a loose spot. She yanked a few two-by-fours out of the way and squeezed through the tiny gap. Halfway to the other side, the debris shifted and the hole tightened, squeezing her middle. With a terrified gasp, she squirmed out, scraping her hips on the splintered wood. As soon as she pulled her feet free, the gap caved in and she heard another wave of rubble fall from the upper level.

Scrambling away, Piper turned toward the kitchen and saw where the smoke was coming from. The kitchen was on fire. Flames danced over every surface, greedily devouring the wooden cupboards.

She spun away from the kitchen and toward the living room, eyes scouring the remains of the sitting area where, just a few minutes ago, she’d been sitting, eating cookies. A deafening crash rent the air as another part of the house caved in on itself. Breathing fast, she focused on the living room again. A wall had collapsed over half the room, burying the sofa, but—

Her heart leaped into her throat. Red curls peeked out from beneath the broken wall.

Piper dashed to the wreckage and grabbed a heavy piece of drywall with studs still attached and bent nails sticking out from the back. Straining, she dragged it off and flipped it aside. Kindra was sprawled amidst the remains of a bookshelf.

“K-Kindra!” she coughed. It was becoming hard to breathe. Smoke burned her eyes.

She grabbed the daemon’s arm and pulled it around her shoulder. Gritting her teeth, she stood, heaving Kindra up. The dead weight was almost too much for her. Kindra shuddered.

“Piper?” she groaned.

“Kindra, hang on, okay? This way.”

Kindra got her feet under her and staggered beside Piper, leaning heavily on her. The heat from the fire beat at her as she led them toward the kitchen. The fastest way out of the manor was through the back door, except it was on fire too. She half-dragged Kindra to the edge of the inferno. With one arm shielding her face, she kicked the door hard. The flames jumped from the impact but the door remained intact. Teeth bared, she kicked again. The door flew open and Piper hauled Kindra out as the scorching heat singed her face.

Fresh air swept into her lungs as she led Kindra away from the building and onto the lawn. Cold drops of water peppered her face; it was starting to rain. A dozen yards out, her legs buckled and she fell on the grass. Kindra dropped to her knees, one hand pressed to her head. Blood streaked the side of her face.

“What happened?” she whispered, eyes still dazed.

Piper shook her head, looking back at the building. The corner with the kitchen was the only part of the manor still standing, but the flames were quickly consuming it. Somewhere in the destruction, all her worldly belongings had been crushed and were burning. And somewhere inside, Marcelo and two daemons were either trapped or dead.

“It’s the seventh attack,” Kindra said hoarsely, also staring at the wreckage. “One every night this week ...”

Piper didn’t answer, unable to speak. Her heart pounded and her head spun. She kind of thought she might throw up. Or pass out. Or both. She should do something. There was something she should be doing, right? Search for Marcelo? Call for help? Maybe she and Kindra could dig them out. She rubbed her hand over her face, smearing soot and raindrops across her skin.

A thought popped into her head, snapping her out of her daze.

“Kindra,” she hissed. “We have to get out of here.”

“What? No, we need to—”

“Now!”

“But—”

Piper grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. She ran for the dark line of trees at the edge of the lawn. They ducked into the foliage and Piper crouched behind a thorny bush.

“Don’t you remember what the article said?” she whispered, pulling Kindra into the shadows with her. Rain pattered on the leaves overhead. “That daemon who survived the explosion was killed afterward, shot in the head.”

No sooner did she finish speaking than shadowed figures appeared, slowly circling the Consulate. Kindra went still and silent, her jaw tight as she watched the strangers. Piper’s hands clenched. The six men came around to survey the demolished half of the building, their backs to Piper and Kindra as they examined the rubble, searching for survivors to finish off. Even in the uncertain light, Piper could tell they were armed; they carried themselves with that stiff-shouldered stance of men with heavy guns. She gritted her teeth. They were the ones who’d been blowing up Consulates for a week. The ones who’d blown up her home.

Kindra shifted her weight. Piper glanced over—and gasped.

“Kindra, no—”

The daemon rose to her feet, shedding her glamour in the same movement. Her wild red hair drifted outward, suddenly immune to gravity. Her ears were now pointed, cheeks hollow beneath dramatically sharp cheekbones. Her eyes were huge and black as coal. Her body, more willowy and lightweight than ever, coiled in readiness. Narrow red things—scales? feathers?—rose in lines on her arms like a cat’s hair standing on end.

Before Piper could even finish her protest, Kindra sprang out of the trees. With impossible speed, she flashed across the expanse of lawn. Piper swore under her breath and ran out after her, keeping low.

Kindra was on the first man before he could turn. Piper didn’t see what Kindra did but the man screamed as he fell. The others spun toward the daemon. She dashed away, almost too fast for the eye to follow, then reappeared, making a grab for a second one. The third got his gun up and fired but Kindra abandoned her target and flashed away, a dark blur. His gun flipped up, hitting him in the face, struck by an invisible blow from the daemon. He staggered, brandishing his rifle and wildly looking around for Kindra.

Between the darkness, the haze of rain, and the lethal daemon, none of them noticed Piper coming.

She rushed in and swung her leg up in a hard kick, her booted foot hitting the nearest man’s hand before he could pull the trigger, crushing his fingers against the metal. He yelped and twisted toward her, but she grabbed his gun and wrenched it hard, probably breaking more of his fingers as she tore it from his grip. As soon as she’d disarmed him, she slammed the stock into his face, knocking him clear off his feet.

To her left, another man yelled in panic as Kindra caught him. He collapsed and the daemon sped away as the remaining three let loose deafening sprays of bullets at the empty space where she’d just been. Tossing the rifle aside, Piper dove toward them, dropped low, and swept her leg into the nearest one’s ankles. He fell, landing hard on his back. Piper jumped on him and smashed her elbow into his temple. Two left.

Kindra appeared again, this time behind the second last man, and grabbed his head, clearly intending to break his neck.

The last man whirled to face his comrade—and opened fire.

Piper screamed. Kindra fell backward, the man she’d been about to kill collapsing on top of her, riddled with his companion’s bullets. Neither moved.

The last man spun around and leveled his gun at Piper’s chest. She braced for the blazing agony of bullets.

But he didn’t fire.

“I don’t believe it,” he said flatly. He glanced swiftly over his shoulder. “Sergeant!”

Piper looked in the same direction. Three more men were running toward them, clutching their weapons and breathing hard. They slowed as they drew near and raised their guns toward Piper as their eyes scoured the bloody scene.

“What the hell happened?” one of them barked.

The man who’d shot Kindra didn’t immediately answer. He was still staring at Piper, his face hidden behind a black ski mask, the barrel of his gun barely a foot from her chest. Cold rain peppered them, the flickering flames of the Consulate fire reflecting off the wet metal of the gun. Her gaze darted from the dark heap that was Kindra beneath a dead man, and back to the man who’d killed her. Tears stung her eyes. Rage closed her throat. Her right hand clenched and unclenched. If she only had the Sahar, she would show these bastards what a real explosion looked like.

“What
happened
?” the leader demanded again.

The guy in front of her snapped out of his reverie.

“Do you know who this is?” he asked, the words edged with an emotion she couldn’t name—something between fury and fear.

“No idea.”

“That’s Piper Griffiths.”

“
What?
” The leader peered at Piper. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am,” the man retorted.

“What’s she doing here? She wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“Holy shit,” another muttered. “Good thing she didn’t die.”

Piper looked between them, confusion battling fright.

The one who’d recognized her lifted his rifle and rested it on his shoulder. With his free hand, he grabbed the bottom of his ski mask and pulled it up to reveal a cold, angry sneer.

Her heart skipped in her chest.

“Fancy seeing you again,” he said. “Last time we met you left me to die in a burning Consulate. Shame I couldn’t return the favor.”

She stared, barely able to comprehend what she was seeing—
who
she was seeing. The first time she’d met him, his smile had been friendly and open, his sandy hair a little longer and his face smooth with carefree youth. Shortly after that, she’d strangled him unconscious so she could rescue her uncle.

His name was Travis. And he was a Gaian.

CHAPTER 3

P
IPER
stared at the bare wall across from her and wondered why the hell these things kept happening to her. Abducted again, less than twelve hours after arriving home. It wasn’t fair.

Beneath her disgust at her awful luck, fury and fear simmered. Fury at the Gaians for destroying her home. For killing Marcelo and the two daemons in the basement. Above all, fury at Travis for killing Kindra.

Fear twisted her stomach because she didn’t know what was going to happen next. But she wasn’t terrified. She wasn’t trembling. It was hard to fear the Gaians, who had already revealed they had no plans to kill her. Her last abductor had been a thousand times more terrible. The Gaians might be capable of murder but Samael had turned torture and killing into an art.

After capturing her, Travis and the others had taken her to their vehicle. She’d been bound and blindfolded for the three-hour—by her best guess—drive. Still blindfolded, she’d been led into a building and dropped off inside her new accommodations: a closet. A big closet, but still a closet. Likely in a basement since they’d gone down some stairs and the air was dank in her nose. She wasn’t tied up anymore, which was nice. But she couldn’t break the lock on the door or otherwise get out, which wasn’t so nice.

She sat with her back against the far wall, watching the door. Light leaked in from the gaps around it. She sighed. She must be jaded; being kidnapped just didn’t faze her anymore. Or maybe she was still in shock from surviving the attack on the Consulate.

Letting her head fall back against the wall, she twisted the leather band around her wrist, thinking about Ash and Lyre. Her hand drifted toward her pocket where Lyre’s note was tucked away. What would he do when she didn’t show up and he discovered the destroyed Consulate? What then? The questions circled in her head, and a few hours of worrying passed before footsteps sounded in the hallway. A key slid into the lock. The handle turned.