Phoenix Broken (38 page)

He struck again, a hard blow that knocked Scott sideways into an oak. Once again, his mind reached for his gift and once again, there was nothing to grasp.

Scott went to his knees. Slush soaked his jeans for the second time that day. Fannie's gravestone flashed in his head. Ignoring the pounding ache there, Scott shook his head. It couldn't end like this. There had to be a way out.
Think!

“You could’ve killed her that night," Scott said. The first words that came to mind, a problem he'd puzzled over time and again. "Your
target.
Hell, you could’ve killed them both Des and Mags. You had the time and it would've been damn up close and personal then. Why didn’t you?”

To Scott's surprise, a spasm crossed the man’s face. He stumbled back, looking confused, almost as if he'd forgotten where he was or what he was doing. His knife hand faltered, but steadied as Scott gathered himself to strike. The Dullahan raised the blade slowly, his arresting blue eyes seeming to gather the shadows around them, turning black. He didn't answer the question, but closed for the finishing blow.

Scott's mind spun, desperation thick in his throat. The man wasn’t a wraith, he
couldn’t
be.
But he moved like one
. Scott couldn’t fight that kind of preternatural speed. The only way to dissipate a real wraith would be to call him by his full name, the one given him at birth.

No chance in hell of him figuring that—

Michael Dermot O’Brien
.

The faint words fell one by one into his head, as if someone had dropped them there.

Mags?

Without thinking, Scott repeated them.

The eyes above him turned suddenly blue again, going wide. Reeling away, the knife fell from his fingers to the ground with a soft thump. The Dullahan was no longer able to hold it, because the Dullahan no longer had a body; only a shadowy, insubstantial form that swirled away into mist as Scott got to his feet.

He ran through the place where the man had been, shuddering at the biting cold licking over his skin.
No time to fucking think.

The rumble of a motor was growing closer in the gloom and silence. As he rounded the last stand of trees, Scott saw it. A big boat, night clinging to a bow that sparkled with ice. It moved thickly through the grey water, heading for a dilapidated dock with a boat house slumped at one end.

Trying to think, he ran his fingers over the grenades in his pockets. The grenades he hadn't used for the same reason he hadn't fired the shotgun or the Sig. He had no idea how many Cross had with him and the women, but facing one man was better than facing a crowd of immortals.

The shotgun,
shit!
Little chance of finding it now. Dullahan had been right, the best chance to strike would be when they were loading the women into the boat. But…

He should leave now. They were obviously headed out on the lake. If Scott could get to a phone, he could've Gordy here within the hour. The water elemental would find them anywhere on the lake. Cross wouldn't be able to hide.

Scott closed his eyes. Des was in there, Mags…
only yards away.
His head knew the smart thing to do, but his body took a step forward anyway, hands still in his pockets. There was a whisper of cloth, then a hard forearm around his throat. Something sharp curled against his spine.
Claws. Shifter.

Fuck.

A voice growled in his ear. "Straight ahead,
para.
Move a toe out of line and I'll rip out your spinal cord and feed it to you."

Scott walked. Muddy ground turned to the hollow thump of boards beneath his boots. When they were within a couple yards of the door, the man behind him called out. Warm yellow light sliced into the greyness, as a vampire peered out of the door and saw Scott. His eyes widened. The face disappeared—to be replaced by a familiar figure. Two, actually.

Cross. Holding Des in one arm. Scott's jaw tightened.

"Well, lookie here, the shifter caught a
para
, and since the forest is staying put, it looks like someone cut off his balls for us. Perhaps Preshea deserves a pat on the back after all." Cross's eyes shone with pleasure as he fisted Des' hair, yanking it back to bare her throat. He flashed his fangs.

Scott didn't flinch, didn't say a word. His face as blank as he could make it, but Cross's smile widened as he drew closer.

"I knew it," he whispered. "You've been a naughty boy, Davidson." His fingers cupped Des' face, digging in cruelly. Her gaze was steady as Scott approached, but full of fear as the vampire continued, "What
would
your wife say? Oh yes …she's dead,
isn't she?

Behind him, the shifter stumbled at the icy entryway, his hold on Scott loosening. Instantly, Scott rolled the flash bangs, one right after the other, through the open doorway. Closing his eyes, Scott turned his back and flung himself blindly at the shifter behind him. The grenades went off. One and two. Lights flared, along with two ear shattering bangs.

Scott threw the stunned shifter into the lake. He slammed into the docking boat instead, sliding down the stern to hit the still spinning propeller. It caught at his jacket, and with a scream, the shifter vanished under the icy water. Scott turned back to the doorway. Smoke was curling out, Cross lay slumped over the doorway, his clothes singed, obviously unconscious. Scott reached for his blade, but it was gone, lost in the fight with the Dullahan.

No time.

Get the women.

Get the fuck out.

Des was slumped next to Cross, out cold, but uninjured. He scooped her into his arms and hollered for Mags.

"Just get out of here, Davidson, there's no fucking time!" Ignoring her, he followed her voice. Mags was slumped on a chair that had been knocked sideways onto the floor. She glared at him, blue eyes bright through the smoke. One wrist and both ankles were fastened to a stout wooden chair. Zip ties. Fuck. Again, one hand slapped at his belt as he shifted Des. No knife. He knelt next to the telepath, who continued to berate him as he let Des slide onto the floor.

Cursing, he ripped at the plastic ties with his teeth.

Mags slapped at him with her free hand, stinging, hard slaps. At the same time her power punched weakly at his mind, giving him an instant headache. "Leave me, you idiot! Just go. That psychotic son of a bitch is waking up, Davidson. I can feel him."

Scott laid his head on her wrist, his head aching, eyes watering from the smoke and more. “I can’t leave you. I
won’t.”

“You will or Des will die, Scott.
We all will.
" Her fingers stroked the back of his head once, then shoved him back, away from her.
"Run,
you stupid motherfucker! And bring them all back—bring them all back and kill this sonofabitch.”

The vamps were all coming round, he could hear stirs and curses. Scott tried one last time to free Mags, then with a curse he picked up Des’ limp body and ran. Ran through the acrid smoke, slipping in a patch of blood, but outside finally. There were shouts now from the boat.

Whipping past the trees, dark sentinels looking on. Lungs burning, praying not to fall in the snow. It took forever to reach his vehicle and by then, Scott could almost feel the breath of the men behind him. He threw Des inside and got it running, stomping on the gas just as something hit them hard, making the SUV fishtail in the gravel. Vamps, at least two of them. Scott silently willed the tires to stay on the road, as he watched one vamp make a grab at the bumper in his rear view mirror.

The vehicle shuddered and moaned, but the bumper ripped free with a shriek. With a roar of spitting rock the tires grabbed hold and they surged forward. Less than 250 yards to pavement. If they could get to the highway and pick up speed…

The back window exploded. In a heartbeat Scott was back on that 7
th
street bridge, Toby’s cries in his ears. He almost expected to look over and see Fan staring back at him, her eyes wide with fear and shock.

But it was Desdemona who lay next to him, unconscious, her head rolling against the passenger seat. He wouldn't lose this time.
Not this time.

That fucker was not getting to Des. If they could make the turn onto the highway, they were home free.

Taking a breath, Scott coaxed the wheel around as they hit the intersection, tapping the brakes to hold the turn, then he floored it. In the rearview mirror the vamp that had busted out the back window was hanging on for dear life. Twisting the wheel back and forth viciously, Scott saw the rest of the safety glass peel away into the night air, taking the vamp with it like the tail of demented kite.

He slammed his fist into the roof the SUV as they straightened out, looking over at the woman next to him, unable to stop thinking of the one left behind.

Oh my god, Mags.

Oh my god.

His foot pressed the accelerator to the floor, but Scott already knew no matter how fast he went, it wouldn't be fast enough.

Mags was thrown into what appeared to be a small cabin. Her hip slammed painfully into a bed. She rolled back just as the light came on, stinging her still sensitive eyes.

Cross stood above her, a vamp hovering protectively behind him. He looked a bit worse for the wear; clothes singed and burned in spots—and his eyes were positively on fire with madness. The vampire was livid Scott had escaped him twice in one night. If she'd any doubts just how livid, Cross had killed them along with two of his own people when they'd returned with the news the
para
had somehow gained the highway and was gone. The blood splashed liberally over his khaki pants and white shirt was theirs. As he looked down at her, she could see it flecked over his face.

Mags' heart was racing, but her mind had gone cold and clear. She smiled up at him serenely. He backhanded her.

A blow like a gunshot, it knocked her flying across the bed. Landing flat on her back, her head spinning, Mags blinked. The pain was immediate, washing over her face and neck in a hot surge, accompanying the throb in her thigh.

Cross snapped his fingers. The vamp next to him fumbled in his pockets, finally slapping a syringe into his boss's hand.

"Out," he snapped. When the goon was gone, Cross turned to her.

Mags' couldn't lift her aching head, but she turned it to keep him in sight as he bent down.

Daimen Cross was a handsome man, very handsome; with his carved features, full lips and that swing of moon pale hair—but evil radiated from him. A deep and freezing darkness that sent ice into her heart. Mags knew what he intended for her. From the second his eyes first fell on her in that forest when she'd shot him years ago, she'd known his type.

The despair that had touched her when she'd screamed at Scott to leave, wrapped her now in its cruel little fist and squeezed.

“They left you. Alone. With me.” He twirled the syringe in his fingers like a baton, faster and faster as he stepped closer. “What wonderful friends you have, Miss Foley.”

“They’ll be back.”

“Yes…I daresay they will. But not in time to save you from what I have in mind. Are you frightened?”

“No. I'm not scared of the likes of you.” Her shudder when he knelt next to her on the bed belied the words. Cross smiled, his teeth white as bone as he wrapped one hand around her throat. She whimpered involuntarily.

Cross chuckled, pressing his thumb to the racing pulse of her jugular. “See? Such a little liar. Come now, there’s no secrets between empaths.”

“You can’t read me, Cross. Don’t pretend that you can.”

He withdrew his hand to uncap the syringe, squeezing just enough to send a small arc of light blue liquid spurting into the air. “Time for another dose then. A rather heftier one this time,
cher
, since you seem to come out of the drug much faster than I anticipated.” His smile widened as she started to chew on her bottom lip. “I’ll be reading your every little thought soon enough. And doing anything else that comes to mind.”

His pale green eyes trailed over her body like cold stones. “I must say a lot comes to mind. You’re an uncommonly beautiful woman, Magdalena Joyce Foley.” Cross jabbed the needle into her upper arm, twisting it deep as he depressed the plunger.

“We’re going to have so much fun together, Mags. That's what they call you, isn't it? And you may call me Daimen.” He sat back, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, opening them one by one as he looked down at her. “After all, considering what I’m going to do to you, we really should be on a first name basis.”

Gorge rose in Mags’ throat, warring with the urge to scream.

Satisfaction lit his eerie eyes. "I've studied up on you." Tossing the shirt behind him, Cross put one knee on the bed. "You'll remember what happens next, right, Mags?"

"You bastard." There was no point to screaming, no help would come. No point in fighting either. He'd only hurt her more and relish the pain. Her resolve to survive was faltering fast.

Perhaps there was still a way to force Cross to end her, before he,
before he…

“Now, now. None of that. There is no need to be so dramatic.” Cross’s tone was gentle. He shook his head, white blond hair brushing his hard jaw as he looked down at her, pressing a forefinger to her temple.

Mags' jaw locked, smothering a scream as she felt him slither inside. Riding the back of the drug, cold and black, his power breached her mind.

Greedy, hungry snakes that devoured her will, but left the terror. She couldn't fight, her power draining away as quickly as she reached for it.

His hand grasped her chin, forcing it up. His eyes grew brighter as her defiance ebbed. “I’ll make sure you enjoy every second of our time together, blue-eyed girl. Well…” he chuckled and her soul cringed at the sound. “Not
every
second. You did shoot me after all. You’re going to have to pay for that…and so much more. I'm going to use your body, Magdalena, and use it hard.”

She couldn't respond, she couldn't even move.

Cross dropped her chin and left the bed. Watching her indolently, he stood next to it and undid his belt.

Her mind screamed for action, but her body wasn’t hers to command anymore.

It was his.

The vampire crooked one long finger. “Come here,
cher.
On your knees.” Mags tried with every fiber of her considerable will to stay on the bed, but it made no difference.

She did exactly as Daimen Cross bid.

Every depraved, despicable act.

Des had woken just before they hit the gas station. Her head lolled against the window now, her long golden brown hair tangled, tears shining in the occasional bursts of moonlight as Scott drove through the night.

She had screamed at him, beat him with her little fists, cursed him to hell and back. The deep, unassailable calm of hers had finally been smashed by someone other than him.

Cross. Mags.

Scott’s stomach rolled every time he thought of what had to be happening to Mags right now. His vision blurred and for a second he thought he would be sick. He’d had no choice. The tactician in him knew that. He had to leave her, but Scott knew damn well he never would've never been able to find the will if she hadn't forced his hand.
Goddamn you, Mags.

Scott glanced over again, reassuring himself for the dozenth time that Des was still here, and not back there, trapped with Cross. When just seeing wasn’t enough, he reached out and put a hand on her thigh. He drew in a ragged breath at the feel of her. Warm, solid.
Real.

He hadn't lost her.

"Where are they meeting us?" That sweet island voice was hollow.

He'd called Gordy from the first gas station, borrowing a cell off a clerk who couldn't decide whether to look terrified or intrigued at Scott's injuries. He'd half expected the kid to ask for a damn picture.

"Next exit."

Gordy was on his way, along with Alcide. Others were coming, even Jules was headed back from DC, having never landed. Bri was at Phoenix, with Dustin, coordinating everyone they had. Cross wouldn't escape this time. They had him at last.

But at what cost?

An hour later, Scott was back at the boathouse. They loaded up from Gordy's supplies; Scott able to replace Kabar with one of Gordy's and add a second. He'd never lost the Sig, but his powers were still out of commission. It shouldn't matter with these two beside him. Gordy and Alcide stood on the dock, the werewolf looking especially grim. He'd been waiting for Mags when he'd gotten their call.

Apparently, Alcide had finally gotten the telepath to agree to a date.

Scott forced himself to look away from that stricken young face, focusing instead on Gordy, who'd shoved his hat back and crouched down. He reached a hand into the murky, ice-flecked water. Seconds later, he withdrew it, flicking the droplets off his fingers.

"I got them, let's go." He tipped back his hat and jerked his head at a small motorboat tied to the back of the dock. The thing looked as if it could barely float, but Scott had confidence in his friend's powers. They wouldn't drown with Gordy along for the ride.

Scott gave a short nod, then strode to where Desdemona waited, looking white. Her chin lifted as he approached. "Don't leave me here. I need to help, Scott. She's my friend."

Looking into those determined grey eyes, it hit him, right between the shoulders blades, as brutal as a knife in the lungs.

He fucking loved her.

After fighting so hard to keep her out of his heart—believing he didn't even have one anymore—he’d failed.

Now that fucking monster knew it. Scott had seen the look in Cross's eyes. As if someone had dropped a shiny present right in his lap. The vampire had lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. He'd never stop coming after her.

Scott's vision filled his head again. Blood covering Des in scarlet waves, her throat ragged, Cross's laughter in his ears.

He shuddered and reached for her. Pulling her close to smell her hair, to feel her sweet softness press into him. “I can’t lose you, too, angel. Listen. To. Me.
I fucking can’t
.”

Her swallow was audible. “That isn’t playing fair, Johnny.”

“I don’t give a fuck about fair. Jules and Rissa and the rest will be here soon, just stay put and wait for them. I had Bri call Guido, too." Her look of surprise almost made him smile. "Please, Des.”

Des leaned forward until their foreheads touched, her breath soft against his lips. She sighed once, then her body went lax. "Okay. I'll stay."

He was so relieved, he barely registered her lips moving across his cheek until she spoke four little words into his ear.

“I love you, Scott.”

He didn't even have to think about it. "I love you, too, angel."

She jerked back, eyes going wide with shock, but he kissed her hard, silencing the questions they didn't have time for.

His arms tightened until she squeaked in protest. Scott had to force himself to let her go, his muscles didn't want to unlock. She would be fine. The Dullahan was gone. Once dissipated wraiths couldn't reform again until the next moonlit night.

Whether the man was a true wraith was debatable, but he'd given Des the name, too, just in case. But with Calimente and Jules en route, one by car, one by helicopter, Des wouldn't be alone for long.

His job was to get Cross. Make an end so that fucker could never hurt another person he loved. Then they could move forward. Desdemona would be there when he got back.

She would.

With a nod at Gordy and the werewolf, Scott stepped onto the boat, his eyes never leaving Des' face. He watched until the icy fog of Lake Michigan swirled about the woman he loved, erasing her from his sight.

Des stood on the shore for long, silent minutes, staring after them, her fists clenched and her eyes hot. This was going to be hard. She
loathed
waiting in the best of times, and nothing about this qualified as the best of anything. Except…Scott had said he loved her. He had really—

"I can't believe he left you. I thought that one was smart—for an
omno
-cursed bestia
."

Des whirled, her hand going to her throat. When she saw Guido's familiar bulk emerge from the trees, the sheer relief made her angry. "Damnit, you scared me! You got here fast."

"Well, yes. I was close by. Come to me,
polteriitae saed.
We must go now."

Very glad not to be alone in this forbidding place, Des moved forward, straight into his warm arms. Her mind was with Scott and slow to focus. "Close? Why in the world would you be way out here?" Something teased her mind. Cross saying
our friend, Calimente.
"Guido, why—"

"Because we already knew you'd be here, of course. You really are a dull, stupid thing, aren't you? Augustine must be so proud. In whatever hell he found to burn in."

That voice had her catching her breath.
He
couldn't be here. It wasn't possible. Yet, when she turned, there he was.

Frowning up at the trees as he brushed snow off one shoulder of his handmade suit, Valencio Calimente stepped into the clearing. A slimmer, more refined version of his son, albeit with a far crueler face. He smiled and rubbed his hands together with satisfaction.

"I made a mistake trusting this to the Dullahan. This chore should have fell to you long ago. It pays to take care of personal matters, personally. You were right, my son."

"Quite so." Guido's rumble of agreement had Des swallowing, unable to process what she'd heard. She didn't turn to the man whose heart beat steadily at her back, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on Valencio.

"Are you out of your mind? Guido would never hurt me." Her hand tightened on the solid arm wrapped around her middle. Guido said nothing, but the muscles under her fingers had gone hard as steel. "He's protected me my whole life."

"Dull.
Like I've so often said. Did you never consider he would tire of that?" Valencio's sneer was bored as his eyes ran over her from heels to head. "Especially if you soiled yourself further by associating with a bestia? However did you survive so long in our world?"