Dawn of a Dark Knight (15 page)

Phosphorescent waves of rage rolled through him, energizing his body.

Four men barreled in from the other room. Leading the group, the man with the serpent tattoo halted to stare in shock. Prematurely stopping, the others crashed into one another. Their momentum pushed the group forward.

He recognized the serpent neck tat on the leader. The Carver. His lips drew back from his teeth in a grimace that guaranteed payment in pain.

The Carver backpedaled and drew a knife from his pants pocket. Ashor sprang forward inhumanly fast, with a roar. He smashed the Carver’s head into drywall, while simultaneously crushing the hand that attempted to throw the knife. The Carver slithered to the ground, stunned.

Two attacked in a flurry of superfluous knife air-slashes. Ashor dodged. With a burst of hacking, he left one unquestionably dead in a pool of crimson and the other grasping his neck as his life pumped from his body. The fourth piece of shit, although shaken, extracted a pistol from his belt. Ashor grabbed his throat in a crushing squeeze before he got off a shot. The man fell gurgling to the floor as blood from a shattered trachea filled his lungs.

He stalked toward the Carver. “Karma’s a bitch.” He hauled the Carver up by the front of his shirt.

Rage flooded his mind.
Kem-seki
pushed to the fore, and took over. He swiped his blade down the center of the Carver’s chest, separating shirt and skin in one stroke. With a flick of his hand, blood sprayed around them. He threw the Carver to the floor and laughed as he placed a restraining hand against his sliced chest.

Ashor?
Kira’s voice flitted into his mind like a soft caress.

Insanity retreated instantly, leaving a peaceful wake of rational thought. He stilled with the blade poised above the Carver’s face. Now lucid, he processed the horrified look on his intended victim. The
kem-seki
may have been about to do a carving fest, but with its command over his mind was gone he wanted this over. And her out of here.

Ashor’s tone was even and flat as he said, “This has been a long time coming.” He sliced the knife across the Carver’s neck and moved gracefully away from the body to avoid the blood.

“Are there any more?” he asked Kira.

She shook her head.

He removed his bloodied black gloves as he approached Kira. “How badly are you hurt?”

“I’ll live.” Her voice sounded nasal, probably since one of the assholes had punched her face.

“Still feeling the poison?”

“I think it’s about worn off.”

“We need to go.”

Kira’s heart pounded. She stared at the bodies left in his wake, now soaking in their own blood. Their last moments of horror etched into each face.

Although she comprehended their deaths were necessary in order for her to live, she couldn’t stop gawking at the gory sight. For a minute, she thought she’d be sick.

The enraged being slow-walking toward her was far more dangerous than any one of her kidnappers.

She caught herself before she cringed away as he closed in. He’d come for her. He’d killed to gain her freedom. This wasn’t the daydream lover. He was a master killer. What had she expected of a creature who dealt in battles and death regularly?

Ashor paused a few feet from her. He shifted on his feet and frowned, as if uncertain.

Softly, he said, “I won’t hurt you.”

Her gaze darted to the death behind him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. Admittedly, that could’ve gone a little smoother.”

She nodded to him in silent acceptance of the apology, not trusting herself to speak.

He gently lifted her arm to evaluate the damage. “You sure you’re okay?”

The rage on his face was at odds with the concerned tone. A swirling black sludgy substance obscured his irises.

She glanced at her arm. “Looks like the injury is superficial. What’s wrong with your eyes?”

He scowled, but didn’t reply. A black bandana appeared from one of his vest pockets, which he wound around her arm to stanch its oozing. Thoughtful and efficient. He lifted her within his left arm, while he used his right to disarticulate the chair. The effort cost him little more than a slight flexing of his arm muscles. The zip ties fell uselessly from her ankles and wrist. Pulling her against his chest, he stood.

She rested her head against his shoulder, overwhelmed by an acute sense of security at being pressed against his hard pecs.
Don’t forget that massacre
, the rational side of her brain prodded. But this just seemed…right. Oh God, was she one of those girls that fell for the dangerous bad boy?

She whispered, “Thanks for coming.”

“Did you doubt I would?”

At least two hard objects she guessed were weapons poked at her side from beneath his coat. He shifted her subtly to alleviate their pressure. With the small movement, the burning ache of an injury to his lower abdomen tore into her. Before she could comment, another magus appeared.

Ashor whipped around. A growl emerged from his throat as his body tensed. She expected him to put her down in prep for battle, but was surprised when he withdrew a gigantic, black-bladed, curved sword smoothly from a sheath at his back with his right hand, while gripping her tightly against his chest with his left.

Kira glanced at the new guy who was equally as tall and beautiful as Ashor with an uncompromising physique. It was the snakebite victim. Ethan. A tie at the back of his neck neatly confined his dark brown hair. Hard gray eyes glittered with a warrior’s alertness in his tanned face. Like Ashor, he had a small amount of the black sludge moving in his irises, something she hadn’t noticed the other day.

Surprise and then fear crossed Ethan’s face. “It’s Ethan. I’m on your team. Stand down.” He glanced at the carnage on the floor. “Damn, Ashor.”

Ashor sheathed his sword.

Ethan gazed at Kira for a few seconds and then broke in a grin. “I’m sorry about the great legs comment yesterday. That viper poison had somewhat of a sedative effect or something.” His voice trailed off into silence when his gaze met Ashor’s.

“Why the hell were you staring at her legs?” Ashor gritted out.

“She had on this skirt and I was on the floor. I didn’t see up the skirt or anything just…never mind. She staying with us now?” He looked hopeful.

Something passed between Ashor and Ethan she couldn’t interpret.

Ethan raised his eyebrows in obvious surprise, but stayed mute.

Ashor asked, “Did Javen arrive?”

“Not yet, sir, but I expect him soon.”

As they descended the stairs, another imposing figure appeared. Definitely a magus. Three diagonal, half-inch wide tats over scars ran from his forehead to chin. Each inking was composed of intricate Arabic-type writing or…she squinted to make out the writing. They were mini-hieroglyphics. Another remarkable, dark blue, intricately woven tattoo navigated high around his entire neck. The effect was spine-chilling. If you took away the tats and gave him a haircut to control the dark, wavy hair, the guy would be hands-down gorgeous as she was discovering they all were.

The cold look on his unsmiling face didn’t waver when his eyes met hers. This guy was dangerous.

His ancient, black eyes connected with hers for no more than a second. Within their depths was no judgment or malevolence, only mild curiosity. A potent power passed and, gently, probed through her mind. As quickly as she detected it, it vanished.

The new magus ignored her to address Ashor in a clipped English accent, “Did I miss some good action?”

“Not really,” Ashor replied.

“Here’s your new phone.”

Ashor grabbed it without letting go of Kira.

“Thanks, Javen. Take Ethan and Christian in your car,” Ashor ordered.

“Sure,” he nodded.

Ethan gave Ashor one last curious look and then grinned.

Chapter Fourteen

“Terek, it’s Mahmud. They’re here on Long Island. Magi…Shit, Shaitan is here. I thought you said they were taken care of. How’d he find us?”

“You dare snap at me over another one of your failures?”

“No, sir. I, uh…shit. So sorry, sir.”

Terek gripped the cell phone so tight that he felt the plastic crack
.
How he despised the magus that had escaped him. The bastard kept killing recruits and now he’d screwed things up in New York. Shaitan. He rolled his eyes. “I forbade all of you from using that ridiculous nickname for him. Did you get the amulet?”

“No, but we have Markus Langford, and he had a girl with him that I was about to interrogate. I think they hid the amulet somewhere.”

“You have a name for this girl?”

“Yeah, it’s Kira something.”

“Kira Hardy?”

“Don’t know her last name.”

“You have this woman still in your possession and alive?”

Mahmud’s side of the call remained silent for several seconds. “She’s still here.”

“Do you or do you not have her?”
I’m going to rip out Mahmud’s heart.
He closed his eyes and force-relaxed his grip on the phone.
Patience.

“Shaitan…er, that magus came for her. I’m watching the guy get in his car with her right now. But I can get her back. There’s just one of him, right?”

Probably not. Not when it concerned the akhrian.
“Get her back. When you reacquire her, don’t do anything to her. Bring her to me. Immediately. This is of the utmost importance.”

“What about the amulet, sir?”

“Have one of your men get the information from Markus. I want you to personally transport the girl to me.” Terek hung up.

****

Ashor deposited Kira in the passenger seat of the SUV. No discussion. No explanation as he threw his sheathed long-blade in the back seat and slid behind the wheel.

Oddly, she felt bereft at the loss of contact with the security of his body.

With a screech, he maneuvered the SUV into traffic. Her reflection in the side mirror showed a battered, bloody woman she barely recognized. Could she possibly look worse? Hastily she swiped at the blood beneath her nose and on her cheeks, but resorted to picking when it didn’t come off easily. Purple darkened her left cheekbone. With a shrug, she gave up all aspirations of improvement.

Her bandana-wrapped wrist ached. Too bad she wasn’t able to use the healing power on herself.

She rested her head against the seatback. Shouldn’t one of them say something to end the silence? She turned his way, prepared to throw an icebreaker, but her bravado died. Her gaze shot back to the road ahead. This guy had just killed four men in cold blood in seconds without even getting out of breath. That maniacal laugh as he’d sliced the snake-tattooed guy had been utterly insane. That being was not the guy who now drove with such calm focus. Also not the guy who wrapped her arm. And definitively not the blazing hot, insatiable, fantasy lover. Who was he? Was she even safe with him in the car?

Her gut screamed a
hell-yes
.

She peeped at him out of the corner of her eye. His massive presence dominated the vehicle. All those angles in profile and sheer strength in his body…her mind shorted out.

Do what you do best. Be a doctor.
She knew well how to put personal shit on hold to do her job. She faced him and forced out, “Did one of those guys back there get you? I know you’re hurt.”

He cleared his throat and replied, “Something happened earlier today.” His face tightened, but he didn’t alter his fix on the road.

“Pull over. Let me take a look.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She leaned in to touch his midsection. He flinched. Her fingers came away with blood.

“Stop the car right now!”

He pulled the SUV to the shoulder while commenting, “I’ll heal. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“Take off your shirt. Let me see what’s going on.”

“How about we not do this right now?” He threw the car in park and faced her.

“Take the shirt off.” For good measure she added, “Please.”

“Why are your eyes brown?”

“Contacts. I have a little problem with people staring. Shirt, please.”

Complying, he shrugged out of his black leather coat, and tossed a few knives into the back seat next to his long blade before removing the tactical vest. Her eyes caught on the black leather wrist guards. The left one had several deep scratches into the leather
.
Wow.
Guys actually wore those things outside of movies.

Focus, he’s hurt,
she reminded herself
.

He took off a dark T-shirt to reveal a blood soaked bandage that covered most of his chest and abdomen.

“What did this to you?” she asked while unwrapping.

“Daemon.”

He said it so matter-of-factly as if this was an everyday nuisance.

“Was it trying to eviscerate you? No, don’t answer that. Of course, it was trying to kill you.”

She’d seen plenty of mega-wounds, and Eric’s of the other day ranked pretty high, but this…she swallowed a gasp. The four vertical, bloody cuts from pecs to just south of his belly button were within millimeters of full-on disembowelment. How had he managed to take out those guys in that smelly room? Not to mention carry her, pressed against these injuries.
Doesn’t this hurt?

Oh, God, had she transmitted that telepathically? Had he heard?

He jerked as if she’d touched something painful.

She glanced up sharply.

Burns like a motherfu—
His eyes widened as if telepathy caught him offguard. “Uh, yeah, it hurts. It’s just not anything new.” His gaze darkened as his finger touched her cheek, the one now the color of an eggplant. “If I could kill them again, I would just for this. Does it hurt?”

Emotion both foreign and complex blossomed in her chest. “It’s nothing to complain about, at least in comparison.” She waved her hand at his bloody body. She should try to fix him. But did she have enough juice to attempt it?

Biting abdominal pain cramped her body. His pain. Okay, no question on the trying. She couldn’t stomach
sharing
that for more than a few minutes. “Let me help. At least see if I can make this better.”