Diana Rowland - Fury of the Demon

I seized the front of Idris’s shirt. “Come on! ” I snarled, then had to yank him off balance as he resisted, disoriented enough that even Farouche’s mild influence had him fighting me. “Idris. It’s me, Kara. We’re going to Mzatal.”

He took a ragged breath and stopped pulling at my hand. “Kara! I’m . . . okay,” he gasped even though clearly he wasn’t. Wild confusion filled his eyes, and he shook from the arcane and physical damage from the blast.

“Sure you are, big guy,” I said, gritted my teeth, and ran-dragged him back toward Mzatal. Yet my thoughts kept circling back to Pyrenth. I’d killed a sentient creature. All these years of being a cop, and this was my first true kill.

But I had no choice, I realized with sick certainty. Training with the blade wouldn’t have changed my choice in that instant. No way could I have reached my gun quickly enough, and the chances of stopping him with a .32 were slim. If I hadn’t used Vsuhl on Pyrenth, Idris and I would be prisoners of the Mraztur again. Yet knowing it was justified didn’t ease the guilt one bit.

The node whined. “Three lords, Kara! Another just came through!” Paul’s voice, shot through with static and agitation.

“Three!” Shit. “Black hair or blond?” I snapped, too focused on keeping Idris upright and moving to look for myself.

“Black.”

“That’s Amkir,” I replied through gritted teeth as Idris began to balk again. “The King of the Assholes.”

“Gotcha, Kara. Bryce is near the Ops building and moving your way to help you.”

Idris abruptly gave a low cry and yanked back hard against my grasp. Cursing, I swept his leg and dumped him to the ground, then dropped down with a knee on his chest. He gave a whoosh of expelled air as I’d intended, and as he gasped for new breath I seized his arm and rolled him face down then held him in an arm-lock as I looked for Bryce.

To my relief, he was almost to me. He quickly closed the distance, scanning for threats as he pulled zip-ties from his belt and efficiently bound Idris’s wrists and ankles. A potency-burn marked the left side of Bryce’s face—an angry stripe of raw flesh from his temple to his jaw line. Othersight revealed a vicious little coil of potency clinging like napalm to his cheek.

“Hold still,” I ordered, then unwound and dispelled the thing.

“Thanks. Caught the edge of a blast,” he said. “Was wondering why it still burned. I’ll get Idris behind our lines,” he continued, clipped and efficient. “Mzatal needs you now. His attention is divided with you out here.”

I knew it to be true. Leaving Idris to Bryce’s care, I sprinted to a spot about ten feet behind and to the left of Mzatal. His braid swung in a rhythmic pattern as he engaged all three enemy lords, essence blade in hand—shielding, striking, and deflecting in a beautiful and deadly dance. Paul knelt on the ground to his right, fingers dancing over the tablet, eyes unfocused. I didn’t see Ryan or Zack anywhere, and could only hope they were okay.

A strike from Rhyzkahl rocked Mzatal’s shielding, and its residue peppered me like wind-blown sand. Turning to face the enemy, I sought to tap into Mzatal’s pattern. Yet the link that had been as easy as taking his hand evaded me now, with his movement and weaving of flows seeming more like a random jumble of sigils and potency.

I shook my head sharply. Pyrenth’s death had me badly rattled. I’ll angst later, I railed at myself, then pygahed, inhaled deeply, and once more tried to focus. What was I trying to focus on? I looked around, confused.

“Kara!”

I jerked as Paul shouted from nearby, his voice also cutting through the static in the earpiece.

Shit. The virus. “Kara,” I confirmed through gritted teeth. Now I sank into the link, echoing and amplifying Mzatal’s dance with my own. I felt a deep touch from him—reassurance and stability. I returned it with one of my own and used his support and confidence to solidify my center.

The Earth flows seemed to bend toward us, enabling Mzatal to merely extend slightly in order to tap them. Curious, I tried to see why, then nearly fell over in shock as I found the answer: Paul. Somehow, he was nudging and adjusting the flows to give us that slight advantage. Hell, more than slight . I doubted Jesral and Amkir had any experience tapping the relatively weak Earth flows, so for Paul to divert what little was available to them would be like replacing their bullets with paint balls.

A smile curved my mouth as I wove my touches into our offense. No wonder Mzatal liked Paul so much.

Bryce loped behind our lines with the zip-tied Idris over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, then carefully deposited him on the ground. I continued to enhance Mzatal’s patterns, yet even with my support and Paul’s, I felt him weakening.

Mzatal deflected a hard strike, though the edges of it licked within his protections. He shifted, stepped back, and in that instant of movement Rhyzkahl lunged forward and sent a hammering blow into Mzatal’s shields. The shock of it slammed through us both. Mzatal stumbled back another step before recovering, breathing hard while Rhyzkahl smiled in triumph.

“Fuck this,” I muttered, then yanked my gun out of the thigh holster and fired three shots at Rhyzkahl. I knew he was shielded, but maybe it would distract him a little. Plus, it felt good to shoot at him.

As expected, the bullets stopped an arms length from him, then dropped to the grass in molten puddles of lead. His gaze snapped to me, and if anything his expression grew more triumphant. “Rowan.”

I stiffened as the name struck me like a fist, drove through my mind. I felt as though the earth tipped, lost my footing. Rowan?

“Kara!” Paul shouted in my ear as Mzatal spoke the name to my essence.

I sucked in a breath. Kara. Lifting my chin, I shook off the horrible feeling. I’m Kara, and he’s a parasite. I shoved the gun into its holster and continued to work Mzatal’s pattern.

He took another hard strike from Amkir, but riposted with a barrage of arcane spears, so quickly that I knew he’d allowed the strike. I understood Mzatal’s purpose, that he preyed upon the inexperience the others had with the Earth flows. Amkir let out a choked cry and stumbled back to fall sprawled on the grass. Immediately, Mzatal blanketed him in potency, pinning him to the ground and effectively taking him out of the fight, at least for the moment.

Without a pause in his flow, Mzatal deflected two strikes from Rhyzkahl, then blasted Jesral off balance and cast a constricting net of potency around him.

Another small concussion rippled across the lawn, joined by a rumble of thunder. I jerked my attention to the node.

“Ah shit,” I breathed.

The last of the Mraztur to make an appearance, Kadir swayed heavily as he stepped through the node, his expression an odd mix of anger and panic before he smoothed it. Though not completely smoothed away, I noted, even as I fought down my own panic at the idea of four lords against one. Anger still tightened his mouth and the skin around his beautiful eyes. I’d never seen Lord Creepshow display any sort of strong emotion. He must be seriously pissed, I thought . But at who? Or what? Not that it made a fucking bit of difference at this point. We were totally screwed.

Rhyzkahl’s expression grew even more triumphant with Kadir’s arrival, though I hadn’t thought it possible. Baring teeth, he flung another hard strike at Mzatal and followed it with two lesser bursts in quick succession. Mzatal deflected all, but I felt him reach deep into his reserves, and knew he didn’t have much more in him. Right now he had Amkir pinned and Jesral struggling with the net, but it took effort to hold them, and he had nothing left for any sort of offense against Rhyzkahl. Hell, he barely had enough to maintain his defenses.