Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) (13 page)

He lunged for her with his empty hand, his sword brought wide and out of the way. Mistrust was one thing, but killing another. Sanders was not about to kill a woman. Great news.

Shanti peeled to the side while grabbing his wrist and tugging, knocking him off balance. She pummeled two punches to his small ribs, gave a chop to his inner leg near his balls, and then stepped back. He gave one hobble
before pausing, his brain distracted by that kick near his vulnerable area. She used it to give him a hard kick to his kidney, hoping he’d go down.

He didn’t.
He staggered, his eyes flaring with battle rage. It was about to get interesting.

He punched, fast as lightning, ready to tackle her to the ground after
the punch landed. It didn’t.

She wiped his hand away, pivoted, and kicked him in the face. Her foot
slapped off his chin. His head whipped back, his body staggering with it.

Junic
e started screaming.

Shanti braced for a follow-up kick
to Sanders, trying to finally down the stubborn jackass, when her eyes caught movement to the side. Something was barreling toward her.

Not something, some
one
.

It was a tall man with shoulders getting bigg
er by the minute. The impact knocked the breath out of her. They tumbled to the ground, rolling to a stop against the bed frame. Junice’s screams intensified.

Shanti
used her legs to buck him off, hopping up while he tried to get his limbs organized. She threw another kick at Sanders, to keep him put, before spinning back toward Sanders’ hero. He was up now, too, his reaction time as quick as Sanders’, unfortunately. Barely swiveling, she threw an elbow into his face. He staggered backward, his leg catching on the dresser and sending him to his butt.

The hero was scrambling up
yet again, bloody determined. So was Sanders.

These guys were starting to get on her nerves. They took a helluva beating and kept on coming.

Shanti threw a roundhouse kick, knocked Sanders back onto furniture, and turned to the attacking hero. She met him head on, barreling punches into his chest and stomach, then swiping his eyes and getting him in position for a mighty throw. When he responded, she grabbed, pivoted, turned, and used his momentum to throw his body over her shoulder, straight through the window. Breaking glass competed with Junice’s shrieks.

Shanti
was out after him the next second, feeling Sanders’ fingers slip along her sweaty leg.

S
he had to get out of town. This little stunt just cemented that fact. Soon this city would be asking questions to the wrong people, and the Graygual would swoop down after her.

Unfortunately, the time had also come to fulfill her duty. She couldn’t leave another person with the
Gift
for the Graygual to claim. It was a situation of sacrificing one to save many. It had to be done.

With a heavy heart, s
he took off at a sprint, heading toward the closest member of the Honor Guard, which was Xavier. The members of her Guard were the only ones in this city who would not only believe her, but help without comment. She ducked through the unlocked door and quietly jogged through the house, having a rough idea of which bedroom was his since he pointed it out every time they passed the house.

Stepping into, wha
t she hoped was, the right room, she heard the loud snoring of what could only be him. He had one sister—younger women just didn’t get the same volume as a man in the snoring department. Half falling over the many pieces of debris that littered the floor, she reached his bedside. She gave him a little shove and paused, waiting to see if he would spring. He wasn’t battle trained, so he probably didn’t have those reactions yet, so she wasn’t surprised when he only mildly startled.

“Shanti?” Xavier asked in that supreme confusion one gets when waking up out of a deep sleep.

“Yes. I need to know where my weapons are. I am not asking you to fetch them, but I need to know where they are.”

“The Captain has them. Are you naked? Oh—“ Xavier was suddenly wide awake.

“Yes, yes, breasts, I know.” She had briefs on, but still didn’t understand the philosophy of the nightgown. “Anyway, where does the Captain live? Or where does he have them?”

Something new wavered into her awareness. It was violent. The expectation was growing. It was becoming thick now. She could almost see it, red and orange filaments sifting
through the dark room. Those gathered were preparing for battle, working themselves into a fever pitch. She’d felt it before.

A constricting panic started to wrap itself around her midsection. Flashbacks of Chase’s mother, of the dark streets flicking in firelight, houses on fire, children screaming, people running naked and bloody through the streets--

“Xavier, get up.
Now!
Get up. Something is coming. Something is happening! Get dressed! Warn people! Where is the most secure location in the city?”

“Wha—“

“Answer me!”

“The town
bunker.”

“Get your family there. The children. Your friends. Everyone that can’t fight. Get them there.
Hurry!”

“Okay. The Captain is in the heart of the city. Big mansion. You hid in the rafters once then dropped down on Lei
lius.”

“Get them to safety.”

“Wait, clothes!”

And shoes. She’d need shoes.

In a moment Shanti had slipped into some garments Xavier wore under his clothes when it got cold. Unlike on him, they were anything but tight. She was given his sister’s leather shoes, which were slightly too small, but supple. They would do. She took his throwing knives just in case, since he wasn’t excellent with them anyway, and was gone, sprinting across the city, yelling as she went. She wanted to warn as many people as possible—or at least wake them up.

When she reached the Captain’s house she shook the door and found it locked. She climbed up a beam and launched herself onto the first floor roof. Like a burglar, she ran across to the first open window she saw and burst through.
A large bedroom swept out around her with two candles flickering on a bedside table. Two nude figures writhed on the bed, limbs tangled, skin on skin. A soft, feminine moan drifted toward the window.

Oops.

“I need my weap—“

She b
arely hit the ground in time. A knife twanged as it lodged in the wall behind her.

“I need my weapons,” she said again, breathless, rising slowly with her hands
in the air. The man had good reactions.

The Captain was standing beside the huge bed, a sword in
one hand, a knife in the other. If she took one step, he would rush forward to meet her, slicing her neck-to-navel in a matter of seconds. Standing with perfect technique, he was powerful and nude, gleaming with sweat and sex. His muscles were substantial and cut and heavenly and it was definitely not the time to notice any of this.

Her mind shuddered to a start
as her groin throbbed. “Something is coming. Open up and
feel
Cayan. Open your mind to it.
Hurry!
I will not be dying tonight. I am not the enemy!
”

His confusion at her having said his real name, something very few actually used, turned instantly to rage. “What the fuck are you doing in my house in men’s underwear?”

His power surged, but it was all outbound—he wasn’t being receptive with it. He probably didn’t even know how. Which meant he was basically as blind as Sanders, but a much better, more thorough fighter.

She should just mentally kill him now. She was back to nearly 100% strength--there wasn’t much he’d be able to do to stop her. Then, a quick look through the house, and she’d have what she
needed. She could dodge the coming horde and be well on her way by dawn.

She looked at the girl in the bed, a beauty by anyone’s standards, and wh
at Xavier would call a knockout in this land. The woman was halfway between fear and outrage. But she was also vulnerable and innocent. And if Shanti killed the Captain of these people, they’d all be plunged into vulnerable and innocent—he was the glue to this town. He was the rock of leadership that kept them functioning like a machine.

If she killed one, she’d also kill a great many. Just her luck.

“Get to safety,” Shanti snapped at the girl. “Get your family to safety. The bunker.”

“What are you talking about?” the Captain snarled. He stepped to her in a rush of movement and grabbed her arm—the men in this city were very fond of that hold.
A surge of pure electricity surged into her body, searing her. No pain rode the current.

Shanti
hesitated, ignoring the fizz of her body. She needed him to use his
Gift
so he would believe her. Precious minutes were wasting away—he needed to organize getting people to safety. But teaching even barely enough to sense the coming horde was that much farther on the “I’m super powerful” wagon. It’d make it that much harder to take him out when she finally did.

But
not
teaching him would get people killed, one of those possibly herself. And all her people with her.

Swearing under her breath, Shan
ti slapped a palm to his chest, the vibe now pulsing between them. Humming. Not pleasure, not sex (mostly), but something else. Something powerful she’d never experienced. Something to do with her
Gift.

He flinched
, his eyes burning, a wrinkle forming in his brow.

Taking a deep breath, forcing the panic down, Shanti focused on the connection. She had trained many, and worked with even more to a common goal, but she’d never dealt this closely with so much power. He was a thick well of it, swirling and pooling within him, crouching and ready to blast out.

Feeling his slick, defined pec warm under her palm, seeing his pupils dilate as he looked down on her, she was acutely aware that he was naked and she was nearly so. He was still hard, his length extending the distance between them and lightly touching her belly with its girth. Her whole focus trained on him, on his heat, on his unique mind, currently swirling and shifting, reaching out to her mental touch even as his phallus was reaching out to her body.

She
delicately touched his mind, aiming for an extremely shallow connection. With any hope she could guide without teaching—she didn’t need to make their future battle any harder. She was a fool.

Having unconsciously figured out a rough control over his power, he felt the connection and yanked on it, sucking her in and clamping down. He probably didn’t even know what he was
bloody doing, but his trap was still just as effective.

Weightless, she fell in head first, feeling a rush she’d never experienced. The ground dropped away and her stomach fluttered, the solidity under her palm the only thing she could focus on. It was too much. Too much power swirling around them, making her dizzy.
And then he mimicked her, tracing her mental path back to the source and weaving in, much deeper and more consuming than he should’ve been able to.

“Stop—“ she gritted her teeth, trying to block him out.

Feeling followed him in. Pushed at her, bombarded her.

“No—“ She tried to wrench away. Tried to control the connection. Tried to
run
if she could. But his complex feelings were so crystal clear she could almost read his mind. And she didn’t want to!

She didn’t want to know that he was concerned she had a troubled past, or his admiration for how she handled herself in spite of it. She didn’t care that he approved of her training and thought she was a caring person underneath her rough handling of the boys. And she
certainly
didn’t want to know how ardently he missed his mother and father, or the solitary confinement in which he lived his life. She would have to kill him when this was all over, and she would rather see him as the asshole Captain with a misguided agenda than a real person with all the vulnerabilities and genuine distresses of a moral leader with a lot of responsibility.

Why was nothing ever easy?

What she did latch onto was his absolute conviction that in his presence, she would be safe. That his people would be safe. He would lay down his life to ensure his city would live, and he had enough assurance in himself and his abilities to safeguard that it was true. It wasn’t, of course—she’d seen enough to know that the Graygual army would steamroll this place, but she approved of his mentality.

As if she needed more complications.

And just as fast, everything leveled out. The rush of the stars and the swoon of power balanced, letting her float. With him. Together they were cocooned in a flux of power so intense, she had no idea what to think about it.

“
Feel
it, Cayan,” she instructed quietly, putting her other hand on his bare chest, trying to find solid ground. He didn’t flinch from her this time. “Do you
see?
All the intentions, the brain paths—all that mental energy; it is coming here. Do you feel how filthy it is? It is hell-bent on destruction. It is foreign to me—I have never felt this specific kind of filth before, but it is badness. Can you feel it? Who is it?”