Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1) (11 page)

“Yes.” She smoothed Mikelos’ lank hair and felt a patch sticky with blood. Of course he would be. He was her daywalker; he could survive anything. They would get him to the hospital, the doctors would do what they could, and she would get some of her own blood into him to strengthen their bond and speed his healing. Things would work out. But right now, she was numb. She stared at Daliana’s hands, wishing she could will her own strength into them.

The other councilmembers gathered on the steps. Victory wanted to demand information from Fabbri, but she couldn’t jump to conclusions yet. Maybe Mikelos had just been mugged. Right, that was likely.

A groan of pain caught her attention when Lorus and Tristan hauled the stranger to his feet. “Let go of me, freaks!” He struggled in their grasp. “Did I kill the bastard?”

No, not a random act of violence. Victory almost jumped at him again, but Max snatched her wrist and held her firm. His low voice spoke into her ear. “He’s not worth your time or effort.”

She sank back to her knees. Attacking this man would invalidate everything she said in council.

The man laughed when she backed down. “Yeah, that’s right. Too afraid to take me on without your little bitch?” He tried to shake off his captors, but the werewolf and weresnake kept their hands wrapped around his upper arms.

“Shut up or I’ll hit you myself.” The feral growl accompanying Tristan’s threat made the man’s struggles cease.

Lena pushed her way through the crowd of councilmembers. “The ambulance is on its way, Victory. They’ll be here soon.” She spared a nasty look for Mikelos’ assailant. “I gave the police a ring, too, and they should be right behind. How is he?”

“He’s banged up pretty bad,” Max said, “but he’ll live. Daliana’s doing what she can, but we’ll need the hospital.”

Lena’s furious eyes flashed in the light from the council building. “This can’t be a coincidence. Has he said anything incriminating?”

Almost on cue, the attacker started pulling against his captors’ grips again. “He threatened to bite me! The freak can’t do that! Help!”

Max smirked. “Oh, yeah.”

“Um, Victory?”

Genevieve stood near them at the bottom of the steps. In the werepanther’s hands lay splintered pieces of wood, strings curling out like cat whiskers. “I couldn’t find the bow.” She looked stricken.

“It’s here,” Sethri said from farther within the crowd. He picked up the unharmed bow from the steps and brought it to Victory. She gathered the fractured pieces under one arm and collected the bow. The weight in her arms tugged at her heart. This needless destruction would hurt Mikelos more than his own injuries.

“Ow! Stop that!” Lorus smacked his prisoner on the back of the head. “Tristan, put your claws away and stop being a jerk. Maybe he’ll stand still. What should we do with him, Alex?”

Victory wondered the same thing. Under her breath, she said, “I know what my vote is.” Max shot her a grin.

Sethri studied the man in silence, then said, “Fabbri!”

The crowd of human councilmembers shifted to reveal the woman in question. Fabbri remained where she was, arms crossed and hip tilted. She exuded overeager innocence. “What? You think I had something to do with this?”

Victory perked up. She heard sirens in the distance.

“Do you know this man?” Sethri’s tone was level.

Impressive. Victory would not have been so polite.

“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” Fabbri said.

“You told me not to let that freak or his daughter into the club!” the man said from the street. “I got rid of some wolves and an elf slut, too.”

The glow from Daliana’s hands stuttered as she let out a hiss.

“I didn’t tell you to beat him bloody, you idiot.” So Fabbri damned herself. Victory would have laughed had she not been so furious.

“This doesn’t look good, Emily,” Sethri said. Victory could tell he was beginning to lose the calm that had amazed her. “I should—”

The loud siren from the ambulance turning the corner drowned out his words. Max jumped up and waved the vehicle in. Like Lena promised, a police town-car followed close behind. The paramedics hopped out of the ambulance right after it screeched to a halt. Two women shooed Victory, Max, and Lena out of the way, but didn’t interfere with Daliana’s flow of healing power. Victory let go of Mikelos’ hand with reluctance and stood, but continued to hover over the medics. They checked his vital signs and splinted his hand and leg, preparing to move him onto a gurney. The medics knew their job and would take care of Mikelos well. She knew Limani Central hired the best. She was the hospital’s best benefactor, because they kept her in fresh bottled blood. Her reassuring thoughts rang hollow when Mikelos groaned, even in unconsciousness, at the movement of his injured leg.

The shouts of the attacker distracted her. Tristan and Lorus handed him over to the two police officers, who exchanged the werecreatures’ vice grips for steel handcuffs.

“You can’t let them do this, Fabbri!” His head hit the edge of the town-car roof with a muffled thump. The cops weren’t being too careful with this one. Good. He shouldn’t get consideration. “Those freaks deserve—!” The door slammed shut on his further complaints.

“Quite the imagination for insults, that one,” Max said. “Practically a sailor. He almost made me blush.”

His sarcasm did little to cheer her, but she appreciated the effort. The medics now loaded the gurney into the back of the ambulance, Daliana climbing in beside one of the medics while the second headed for the driver’s door.

Victory was torn. The council was still there, and the meeting would continue, now that they knew Fabbri had more influence than just the sign on her restaurant’s door. “Lena?”

She smiled at Victory. “Go. Take care of Mikelos.”

“We can deal with Fabbri,” Max said. “I’ll let you know what happens as soon as the meeting’s over.”

“Thank you.” These were true friends. Lena hugged her, and she clasped Max’s hand. The ambulance’s lights began to flash, and she dashed to the passenger side. Right now her place was with Mikelos.

A heavy object bludgeoned Toria’s skull. Again. Again. And again. It didn’t stop when she brought her hands over her head, and she realized the pain came from within, the fiercest headache she’d ever had. Her eyeballs were on fire, and her brain throbbed.

She risked cracking open her eyes. Darkness met them, and she fought down momentary panic. It’s nighttime, girl. Chill out. There was dirt under her cheek, and a rock dug into her side.

Kane!
She had to help Kane. Toria scrambled to her feet when memory rushed back. Her head screeched in pain at the hasty action, and she listed to one side, struggling for balance. If the Romans were still nearby, they were done for. She fell to a knee, then pushed herself up again, trying not to retch from the roiling in her stomach. She peered across the river, but couldn’t see through the haze of pain. Her hand sought the rapier at her side, but met empty air.

She fell to her knees again, clutching her stomach in her arms and shutting her eyes. That was it. She made a prime target and couldn’t do a thing about it.

But no attack came. Her stomach calmed, now that she wasn’t thrashing about, but the headache did not ease.

“Ugh.” The inside of her mouth felt like cotton, and there was grit plastered to her cheek. But she didn’t feel on the verge of passing out, so she raised her head and opened her eyes again.

The river spread before her, the woods to her back. There was the road. If not for the landmarks, and the strange footprints in the mud on her side of the river, she wouldn’t have been able to tell that a battle had raged here.

No Romans. No horses. Nothing.

Of course, any Romans still around would have shot her when she began flailing around like a maniac.

“Kane!” Her voice echoed across the water. “Asaron!”

A testy owl hooted from the trees behind her, and the river continued to flow. Other than that, no response.

She pushed herself to her feet and turned in a slow circle, squinting into the darkness. The moon had set, so she had been unconscious for at least a few hours. Now, faint starlight lit the night. She dug a small glass bauble from one of her belt pouches and held it in her palm.

Focusing her intentions on the bauble, she nudged it with her mind. Pain lanced between her temples. Toria doubled over, but managed to remain on her feet.

The spell infused in the glass activated. Amethyst light sputtered out, dimmed almost to nonexistence, and then steadied to its set brightness. A cool amethyst glow bathed the area around her.

Concentrating on the comforting familiar light persuaded the pain behind her eyes to fade to a manageable pulse. Now Toria took more rational stock of her situation. Her light revealed no bodies across the river—Kane and Asaron must have been taken. Reaching deep within herself, she still felt the bond in her soul connecting her to her partner. She would be able to tell if he died. The bond was faint with distance, but still had Kane’s unmistakable trace. And if Kane lived, that boded well for Asaron’s survival, too.

Unless her partner had done something stupid. No. She wouldn’t go there.

Now for supplies. There was no sign of her horse, even after she walked the edge of the woods and whistled for a few minutes. Either the Romans had taken the mare, or she’d given up on her crazy mistress and headed home. Guess that meant a walk back to Limani.

Weapons? The horse hadn’t disarmed her before wandering off, so the Romans must have searched her. Her knives were gone, along with the small amount of money tucked in one of her pouches. They hadn’t made a thorough search—the rest of her money was still tucked in the hidden pocket on the inside of her duster.

That left her sword. She had ignored the absence of its comforting weight, but could pretend no longer.

“Bastards!” She scooped up a rock from the edge of the river and sent it hurtling through the air. It landed with an ineffectual splash, but still made her feel better. Asaron would never forgive her for losing the sword after everything he went through to get it fixed. Why hadn’t they taken her with them? Maybe she’d managed to disable a few of them and they hadn’t had room. The thought consoled her, but not by much.

Toria stared across the river, trying to ignore the tap dancers in her skull. Everything in her urged her to go south, track the damn Romans, and rescue Kane. Yes, he still lived, but for how long?

She was at the edge of the water, waves lapping at her boots, before she realized what she was doing. “No, Toria.” She didn’t even have a water bottle, much less weaponry. Her magic was strong, but a rescue attempt would be a lot easier with a blade in her hand.

With great reluctance, she pulled herself away from the water’s edge. No, she would have to return to Limani for aid. And painkillers. At least she’d accomplished their mission. The Romans were close to the city, and she had to bring the warning.

Toria distracted herself from her head by gripping the glowing glass even tighter in her hand. The power in the bauble strained, and the light guttered like a candle, then went out. When she attempted to reactivate the spell, sharp pain lanced her between the eyes and she doubled over again.

She hoped dawn came soon. It would be a long, agonizing walk, but daylight at least meant she wouldn’t trip over everything.

The second Mikelos’ eyelids began to twitch, Victory shot out of her seat by the window and across the hospital room to his side.

“Victory?” His voice grated.

“Hush, love, you’re safe.” She squeezed his uninjured hand in reassurance and pushed the call button by the side of his hospital bed. “We’re at Limani Central, you’re okay now.” As okay as he could be with a leg brace, a splinted hand, bandages around his ribs, and a nasty bump on the back of his head. Victory still seethed inside, but she shoved the feelings down. Right now she needed to stay calm for Mikelos, not have a temper tantrum and start throwing furniture around.

A nurse poked her head into the room. Victory gestured toward the awaking Mikelos, and the nurse disappeared again. The doctor would come soon—her continuous flow of money to the hospital played to her advantage tonight.

Mikelos’ eyes centered, and she returned his smile, brushing his hair off his forehead. He managed to raise his head a few inches and look down his body. A sheet hid him from the waist down, but there was no mistaking his bandages. “My hand—?”

“Ah, awake?” The doctor handling Mikelos’ case bustled into the room and nudged Victory out of the way to check on his patient. “Hello, Mr. Connor, my name is Dr. Preston. May I call you Mikelos?”

Mikelos nodded once, and squeezed his pale lips together in pain. He let his head fall back against the pillows.

Victory tensed, but the doctor had things well in hand.

“Easy, Mikelos,” he said. “You’ve had quite a night.”

She stared in fascination while he did mysterious medical things involving shining a light at Mikelos’ pupils. Visions of doctors from centuries past haunted her, wielding saws to “fix” knee injuries like the one Mikelos had suffered. Mikelos would receive special treatment due to his connection with the hospital’s best patron, but battlefield experiences of spilled blood and severed limbs still lived in her vivid memories. She’d confessed these to Daliana earlier when Mikelos was being patched up, but the elven woman had just patted her hand and told her that memories were potent things before heading downstairs to her office. Truer words were never spoken, especially when spoken by the hospital’s chief psychiatrist.

She ran her hands through her hair, pulling it into a messy bun. Dawn was approaching, and between the council meeting and Mikelos’ attack, it had been a long day.

Dr. Preston finished probing at Mikelos’ side. “The good news is that your ribs are bruised, but none of them are broken. Three bones in your hand are broken, but those are splinted and will heal with time. We’ve also ruled out a concussion.” Victory had heard his summary of her daywalker’s injuries, but the doctor stepped back to include her when he spoke to Mikelos. “However, you also tore the anterior cruciate ligament in your knee, so we’re going to have you pretty happy on pain medication until we can schedule surgery today. Ms., erm, Victory has assured me that you will heal faster than a normal human, but we’re still going to take every precaution against further aggravation of your wounds.” He picked up the chart hanging at the end of Mikelos’ bed and flipped through it, making a few notations.