OmegaMine (26 page)

Trey made it to the shooter nearest him and took two shots
to the chest before he disarmed the Shepherd with a quick swipe of his claws that
severed the man’s hand at the wrist. The Shepherd screamed and Trey snagged him
by the back of his neck, grasped his uninjured arm and shoved him into the
ground.

One of the pack leapt over Trey and his prize, completed his
shift to wolf and jumped into the open door of the van. The vehicle rattled
from side to side as the crazed beast searched for danger inside. Within
moments the wolf reappeared. While Trey’s pack mate couldn’t convey the absence
of others in the van through words, he managed to do so with impressions and
feelings.

Another scream ripped through the night, only this one was
followed by the distinct gurgles of a death rattle. Trey lowered his head and
glanced to the right, watching in satisfaction as his pack mates tore into the
body with lethal teeth and claws, shredding the Shepherd to pieces.

Then an unexpected yelp of pain—one that could only come
from a shifter in animal form—came from behind him.

“Brian!” Trey called to the closest half-shifted werewolf,
grasped the Shepherd with the missing hand and thrust the staggering man to his
pack mate. “Take him!”

Trey had pivoted toward the sounds of combat when a fully
shifted wolf flew through the air and collapsed in a heap on the ground. The
wolf struggled to find his feet, legs unsteady as he rose. Trey stepped past
his pack mate just in time to see Diskant arrive on the scene. The Omega hadn’t
shifted, though his eyes changed colors, flickering like a miniature rainbow.

“Time to dance,” Diskant growled and advanced on the man who
stood near the back of the van, covered in black leather.

“Bring it, bitch.”

Trey turned toward the massive motherfucker who embraced his
own death and was standing to the left, legs apart, hands held up. His face was
heavily shadowed with bristles, harsh lines and a wicked-looking scar that ran
along his chin. Clenched in each fist were curved daggers, the blade on one
side serrated, the other smooth. If the foul language, unusual attire and
facial piercings—in his nose, brow and ears—weren’t a dead giveaway that they
weren’t dealing with a Shepherd, the sleeve tattoos running up each arm were a
testament to it.

Diskant lunged and the man moved in a graceful arc to avoid
collision, gliding out of the way as he brought the dagger within inches of the
Omega’s departing back. He spun in a motion that looked oddly coordinated
considering his size and stood ready once again in the exact same position.

The crisp melody of glass shattering captured Trey’s
attention. He watched pack members as they took out the windows to get inside
the second van, which had stopped several yards away from the first. Gunshots
sounded when one went through each window, creating more frenzied snarls, and
the van started to rock.

“Son of a bitch!” Diskant thundered and Trey returned his
focus to the fight taking place in front of him.

Diskant was standing with a hand clasped to his chest as he
gazed down at the bloody gash over his heart. The man with the knives was
standing across from them grinning from ear to ear.

“Is that the best you got?” the man taunted but remained as
he was: still, focused and alert.

Diskant didn’t respond as he lifted his head and sized up
his opponent. Slowly Diskant started to move to the left. The distinct scent of
tiger tickled Trey’s nose, informing him Diskant was well and truly pissed. The
wolf lived to track with a pack. Not so the lone, hunting cat.

Once the man slipped, Diskant would rip his throat out.

“Trey!” a loud, concerned voice yelled from the van.

Never had Trey felt compelled to protect Diskant from harm.
Even as a boy the future Omega had been sturdy and more than capable of holding
his own. However, there was something dangerous about the human standing before
the fully grown shifter, unafraid and unfazed. Trey had seen the expression
before, when Alphas battled it out until one stood alive and the other lay
dead.

“Damn it, Trey!” another voice growled. “Get the fuck over
here!”

“Fuck!” he snarled and hauled ass to the van.

“Don’t fucking touch it!” Trey recognized Brian’s deep
voice. “Get Emory out of those cuffs and get him out of here.”

Trey rounded the corner, shoulder brushing the now-opened
door in the back. His brother stood at the back of the van and appeared to be
unharmed with the exception of bloodied wrists. Then Trey got an eyeful of what
his pack mates had found.

The enormity of what he was seeing slowly computed until a
cold numbness swept through him. The device was large enough to have taken all
of them out, with enough C4 to leave behind a nice, fat hole in the ground.

Quickly he slid the pieces together.

There were only three Shepherds. Too few to defend
themselves against an attack.

As if they hadn’t planned for a battle but a sacrifice.

Fucking shit
.

He ripped the Shepherd with the missing hand from Brian, who
stood just inches away, and demanded, “Where are they?”

The Shepherd didn’t answer, though his eyes did widen.

“I’ll torture you slowly.” Trey growled a low, menacing
warning. “And I’ll make sure to keep you alive for a long fucking time. You’ll
be praying to that god of yours on a regular basis.”

“It’s a trap.” Zack leapt from the van, totally nude as he’d
shifted during the scuffle. “He was trying to set the damn thing off when we
made it to him. Chris is still looking but he thinks the detonator didn’t
engage.” Zach’s gaze lifted and met Trey’s. “We have to call Dougan.
Now.
”

Trey yanked the cell from his pocket, hit the number on
speed dial and placed the phone to his ear. Seconds passed like the sands
through an hourglass—painfully slow. Trey didn’t meet Zach’s terrified stare as
he ended the call.

“They’re not answering.”

“Why aren’t they answering?” Zach asked in panic.

Trey shook his head, shoved the Shepherd toward Emory whose
hands were now free, and moved from the back of the van toward the sounds of
flesh meeting flesh. When they made it around the vehicle Trey discovered the
man who faced off against Diskant was still alive but hadn’t survived the
minutes unscathed. The human’s daggers were gone—but that hadn’t slowed him
down. He was going toe-to-toe with Diskant now, fists raised, face bloody. A
large cut over his right brow was swelling, the heavy pooling of blood covering
the eye beneath.

A circle had formed around them, cheering Diskant on,
clamoring for blood.

Trey dialed Dougan’s again, listening as he watched Diskant
take advantage of the human’s injury and toyed with him. The shoe was on the
other foot now. It was only a matter of time before Diskant got bored and took
him down. Each time Diskant feigned a strike the man reacted, until he was
wobbling on his feet like a broken tinker toy.

Diskant’s next punch wasn’t for show. When he clocked the
man in the chin the big bastard went down. His legs continued to move but he
remained immobile on the concrete, eyes closed, chest heaving.

“D—” Trey started to speak when a crushing vise of emptiness
gripped his heart and rent it in two.

He watched, dazed and openmouthed, as Diskant sank to his
knees at the exact same moment, their motions mirroring each other’s. The
ground rose up to greet their knees, the hardness of the earth nothing in
comparison to the agony that washed through them.

“Ava,” Diskant gasped, clutching his chest.

Trey didn’t attempt to move, too broken by the knowledge of
what he knew to be true in his soul, and turned his head.

The Shepherd Emory held by the throat stared Trey in the
eye, cradling his bloody stump of a wrist. “You’re too late,” he informed him.
“The Lord’s will be done.”

A few minutes before…

The street was empty as Paul crossed it, only a few
pedestrians standing along the darkened sidewalk. The wind caressed his cheek,
scattering his neatly combed hair across his forehead. He closed his eyes as he
continued forward, basking in the feel of the tepid autumn air. The mugginess
that came from the city was washed away by the cleansing breeze, allowing him
to pretend he wasn’t standing on a gritty street but a gorgeous stretch of
pasture as far as the eye could see.

As if it were preordained, the vision of the farm he’d been
raised on reminded him of his place in this world, providing strength and
fortitude where a man’s fear of death threatened to destroy hours of planning
and preparation. This was what he was born for, what he was meant to do.

There was no death when you were promised eternal life in
heaven.

Opening his eyes, he weaved around a motorcycle parked along
the side of the bar. There were several of them lined along the road, which
didn’t surprise him. The devil’s hands enjoyed fast and dangerous recreations.
It was ingrained in them at birth, just one of many attributes that revealed
the demon lingering within.

Directly ahead was his goal—a tavern of the damned,
consisting of those tainted by Lucifer, the most unclean wreaking havoc on
earth. There were several inhabitants inside, all of whom were seated at the
bar or at tables along the wall. A large television flashed blue against the
glass, causing the concrete outside to appear an indigo shade of neon.

Stopping as he came to the sidewalk just outside the
entrance, he lifted the cross hanging from his neck and brought it to his lips.
He needed the reminder that this wasn’t for naught, that he was intended for a
greater purpose. The Lord would protect him and keep him and into His arms he
would surrender.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy
kingdom come; thy will be done, in earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day
our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that
trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil.

Releasing the blessed piece of silver, he reached into his
duster and activated the switch against his sternum as he pressed his thumb to
the device in his left hand. The corresponding beep and sounds of chemicals
mixing told him everything was ready.

A haze of shame assailed him as the fear returned, making
his palms sweat and his hands shake. While he was proud to serve his brethren,
he wasn’t ready to leave this plane behind. It was mortal vanity and weakness,
wanting to live in a world such as this when it offered but a glimpse of what
he would receive upon the reckoning. When the Christian souls were given
eternal life in the final days, his would be called upon to reap unending
happiness and love.

Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, he mentally
repeated The Lord’s Prayer and began walking toward the crystal-clear glass
door to the bar. Right now his kinsmen would be doing their part to abolish the
filth that had trespassed into their home, even at the cost of their own lives.
That was why he had been sent to the den of the damned, to make certain that no
matter what occurred a price was paid and an unforgettable mark was left.

Heads turned as he entered. Bright, luminous eyes inside
faces that weren’t wholly human rested upon him. The tall male behind the bar
growled and started to walk from behind the counter as the rest rose from their
seats and created a circle around him. Unperturbed, he continued walking into
the room, watching as the men and women clothed in snug leather rose from their
seats and advanced.

A phone started ringing. It shrilled over and over, in
harmony with the approaching shifters, their combined steps—both his and
theirs—bringing them closer to each other until the high-pitched blaring
stopped.

He stopped when he reached the middle of the room, ever
silent as they neared. Their glowing eyes proclaimed the demon beneath their
skin sought to take control.

The phone started ringing again. A high-pitched buzz filled
his ears and his heart started to race. He absorbed those final moments
magnified by fear and finality.

Everything came into focus—those around him, the colors
inside the room, the smells of alcohol, cigarettes and cigars, his childhood,
his favorite pet, his parents, what could have been his future—until the weight
in his hand was almost too heavy.

Slowly, he lifted his arm and revealed the device cradled
inside his fingers. The shifters watched the movement with their opalescent
eyes narrowed and unnaturally muscular bodies tense. It wasn’t until he pulled
his jacket aside with his free hand and revealed the intricate wires and liquid
compounds affixed to his chest that he saw recognition, comprehension and alarm
cross their faces.

Before they could react, he whispered, “For thine is the
kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”

Then he lifted his thumb.

Chapter Eighteen

Ava was walking from the living room to the kitchen when
what felt like an explosion tore through the lower portion of the building. The
back of her head hit the edge of the counter and a dull, stabbing sensation
followed, causing her vision to blur as a deafening roar burned her ears until
all she could hear was a high-pitched ringing. She fell to the floor, landing
on her stomach. The ground beneath her seemed to roll and rumble, as if a
stampede were occurring downstairs.

Clumsy and dazed, she braced on hands and knees. The floor
shook and swayed as she tried to stand. Pictures flew from the walls and landed
inches from her hands, mixing with pots, pans and portions of the ceiling that
crashed to the floor. Each time she tried to rise her feet slipped from beneath
her, as if her brain were sending the signals but her limbs refused to function
properly.

A strange wailing sound seemed far away, as if a siren or
alarm was crying in the distance. She shook her head, blinking back tears as
she struggled to focus. The room was suddenly hot, the floor beneath her hands
going uncomfortably warm. She groaned when she lifted her fingers to the liquid
seeping down her neck, the warm pool soaking into her shirt, and tried to
comprehend why there was a massive, gaping hole where solid bone should have
been.