Ascension (15 page)

Chapter Fifteen

F
lanked on either side by Ryker and Geoffrey, Kyana approached the lapping sounds of the ocean and led the way onto the beach. They’d decided to go ahead and look for help dusting for a print before heading to the Moerae’s cave. Better to make that trip once, and have their human with them to do the job immediately. Between the Moerae scratching off names that didn’t belong to either a Witch or a Mystic, and a possible fingerprint, they might finally figure out who would want the Chosen dead so badly that they would open the gates to Hell.

“I’ll take the eastern side of the beach. You and Geoffrey can take the western,” she said to Ryker. It wasn’t that the thought of strolling the moonlit beach—faux moon or not—with Ryker wasn’t appealing. It was.
Too
appealing. She didn’t need the distraction.

“I’m not taking Peter Pan. He stays with you.”

Geoffrey scowled. “Uncalled for, mate.”

Kyana rolled her eyes. “Fine. We’ll meet in thirty minutes.”

When Ryker stalked off in the opposite direction, Kyana stepped to the end of the jetty and drank in the strangeness before her. She’d known the Order had taken in humans, had heard Geoff say there were thousands, but she’d thought he’d been exaggerating. She hadn’t imagined they’d be packed in like sardines. There were tents as far as the eye could see. People huddled together in groups, their weary faces filled with disbelief and fright as they stared into the ocean and the vastness beyond.

Her distaste for them grew exponentially. Spineless. If it had been Kyana’s world that had been overrun with Dark Breeds, none of those who called Below home would have rolled over and played dead. Instead of fighting for their homes, these people were leaving it to others to save them. Maybe the world
would
be better off without the human race. When they weren’t killing each other, they were cowering in the corner. A flipping shame.

But, that they were here, hiding from the chaos that had overrun them, produced a new problem for Kyana. She ran her tongue over her fangs. These people had seen more than their kind was ever meant to see. They’d never believe anyone with fangs was the good guy.

Moving down the beach, she and Geoff studied the people, searching for someone they could approach. Someone with fight left in them who didn’t show fear. It was like trying to find gold in a pile of shit.

Several feet in front of them, the child she’d seen playing earlier shot out from one of the tents. His laughter rang out carefree and joyous as he ran from whoever might be playing with him. When he neared Kyana and Geoffrey, his steps faltered and he fell backward in surprise.

Geoffrey stooped and helped the boy stand. “ ’Ello.”

Even a boy, no more than four, knew danger when he saw it. The laughter died. A scream split the air. “Daaa-ddy!”

Two dozen heads poked out of their tents. The people on the beach seemed to turn in unison to stare at the sudden commotion. Kyana could tell they wanted to assist the little boy, to defend him; however, fear kept their feet rooted to the sand.

Kyana sighed and glared at Geoffrey. “Had to talk to the little shi—”

“What’s going on?” A mousy woman in coveralls stepped out of the nearest tent to lay a protective hand on the screaming boy’s shoulder. Kyana recognized her as the woman the kid had played with before.

No use taking all night to find someone who’d help them. Now that they had everyone’s attention, might as well make the most of it. Kyana raised her hands in the air and let out a shrill whistle.

“Yep! We’re Vampyre!” she shouted. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, let me remind you that, more than likely, it was a Vamp who saved your sorry asses and brought you here. Set your distrust aside for five minutes and gather ’round.”

When the more than two dozen bodies took their sweet time obeying her, it was all she could do not to scream in complete frustration. She understood their hesitation, but, damn it, she was tired of being looked at like she was the bogeyman. Most of the time, she reveled in that. But now, when she had a job to do, their fear was more annoying than ego-boosting.

She faked a yawn and poked Geoff in the ribs. “Wake me when they stop pissing their pants and get within hearing distance.”

Something touched the small of her back and she turned her head to see Ryker standing behind her, his hand playing with the back of her shirt as he stared out at the crowd around them. A wave of delight rippled over her. It disappeared just as quickly when he dropped his hand and stepped forward to address the crowd.

“I’m not Vampyre,” Ryker announced. “We’re all on your side here, so please, come forward. We need your help so we can start righting the wrongs done to all of you.”

Charm oozed out of his voice, out of his pores, hypnotizing the crowd. Kyana rolled her eyes. Mr. Magic Tongue. He could sweet-talk his way into a ninety-year-old man’s pants if he wanted to.

“Funny,” she muttered. “I thought I just said the same thing.”

He looked down at her, his lips curled into a light smile, his blond hair whipping about in the sea breeze. “It’s not in the words. It’s in the tone. It’s called compassion. They can hear it.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

He seemed to have missed her sarcasm because he nodded and said, “Sure thing.”

After what felt like an eternity, they had a nice little circle of meek human stench surrounding them.

“This is Kyana.” Ryker grabbed her shoulders and gave them a light shake that made her ache all the way down to her toes. “She’d like to talk to you for a minute, and if you can ignore her fangs and remind yourselves that she’s as harmless as a spayed kitten, we can be done here and let you all return to your evening.”

Kyana plastered on a fake smile and muttered, “Asshole,” between clenched teeth.

To the crowd, she simply said, “We need a cop. An ex-cop, a new cop, an old cop, a bad cop. Whatever. So, who’s game?”

If beaches housed crickets, the chirping would have been deafening.

“Oh for the love of Zeus. Don’t tell me there’s not a single cop here in the middle of a tiny sea of humans? No one wants to be a hero? Seriously?”

Chirp, chirp.

The screaming boy’s mother nervously bit her lip, her gaze darting between her tiny tent and Kyana.

“What?” Kyana asked, fighting to keep the biting tones from her voice. “There a cop in there?”

She nodded, her eyes wide and full of fear. “My . . . my husband.”

“Jesus, Cynthia!” a voice bellowed from within the flimsy fabric. “I told you not to let them know I was in here!”

“What kind of cop hides from possible danger while his wife and kid are smack in the middle of it?” Kyana demanded.

“The kind who’s had a shotgun trained on your ass since you stepped onto our beach,” the man said.

Sure enough, the nose of a double-barreled shotgun showed itself from the flap in the tent. It nudged the flap open, then G.I. Joe himself stepped into the night. Brown hair cut military short, bulging biceps, thick neck. He was the portrait of steroid abuse, and his hard eyes found his wife immediately.

“Get inside.”

Distaste for how the man spoke to his wife coated Kyana’s tongue. But as Cynthia passed him, the softening of his gaze and the slight movement of his lips sounding a silent
I love you
kept Kyana quiet. He was afraid for his family.

“You’re a cop?” she asked him when his family disappeared inside, the sound of soft, childish whimpers weaving through the fabric of their shelter.

“Retired, but yeah, I am.”

She stuck out her hand and pushed her fingers into the barrels of his gun. “You can put that away. Even if you had the nerve to use it, it wouldn’t do anything but piss me off.”

The gun remained trained on her chest.

“Fine. Have it your way.” She ripped the gun from his hand, pressed the barrel to her thigh, and fired. The bullet ripped through her pants and tore into her leg. She flinched, more for needlessly ruining another pair of pants than for the prick of pain. Her skin hung open like a slaughtered hunk of meat, and as the crowd let out gasps and cries at the carnage and blood soaking her, they hushed as her skin pulled itself back together and healed in seconds.

“Try silver bullets, big guy. These don’t do shit.”

Still wouldn’t kill her, but it would hurt like a bitch and take a long time to heal. It was why her daggers were made of pure silver without a hint of any other metal on them.

She looked to Ryker. His eyes were silently scolding her. “What?” she asked, dropping the gun onto the sand.

“Could’ve been silver for all you knew,” he said through gritted teeth.

Kyana shrugged. “Wasn’t though.”

The cop picked the gun back up and trained it on her once again. Stupid man. “What’s your name?”

“Detective Walker.”

“There are no detectives anymore, Mr. Walker. A real name.”

His left eye twitched. His jaw was clenched so tightly she could hear his teeth grinding. “Hank.”

“Good then, Hank. It’s your lucky night. You get to be a hero! Fun, right?”

He didn’t look even slightly amused. Disappointing. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“If we provided you with an object, would you be able to dust it for prints?”

Hank’s jaw ticked. He nodded.

“And then run it through the system to see if it’s identifiable?”

“Maybe. If the print is salvageable.”

“Will you try, Hank?” Ryker asked. When Hank hesitated, Ryker motioned toward the tent. “We’re asking a lot of you, and we understand your reluctance to leave your family, but by helping us you’ll be keeping them safe.”

That seemed to gain his interest, but his wary gaze took in Kyana and Geoff. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You’ll have to take us at our word.” Ryker shoved his hands into the pockets of his camos. “If this works, and you can lift a print and find a name to go with it, we might be able to save your world a whole lot faster.”

“I know what’s out there,” Hank said. “I’ll have to use the computers at the police station to run your print. That means going back up
there
. You can’t ask me to leave my family
at night
to go with you.”

“You don’t strike me as a coward, Hank,” Kyana said.

He looked at her as though she was shit on his shoe. She was getting really sick of that look. “I’m not. But I have a son who needs his father. Especially now. I’ll go with you at dawn.”

“Hank, come now, and you’ll be back by dawn. Nothing up there is going to screw with you while you’re with us.”

As though sizing up an opponent, Hank raked his gaze over Kyana, then Geoffrey and Ryker. “You don’t look like much. Just because you can stand up to a gun doesn’t mean you can stand up to what I know is out
there
.”

Ah, nothing hurt quite as badly as an insult from a human. Kyana sneered. “I might not be a feeding Vamp, Hank, but I’m still a Vamp. If I spit hard enough, I could blow a hole through your brain. Understand?”

He didn’t flinch, but the slow rise and fall of his difficult swallow was victory enough.

“Fine. Let’s go.” Hank stuck his head inside the tent and said loud enough for them to hear, “If I’m not back by dawn, I’m giving my son permission to hunt you until the day he dies.”

“Good times,” Kyana said, glad to see the cop they’d nabbed had a bit of grit. Hooray for nonwuss humans. They were a rare breed.

As he rejoined them and the group made their way through the thinning crowd back toward the main streets of Below, Hank shook his head, his face red and blotchy.

“Guess it’s better we go at night,” he said. “If I’m going to die, I don’t want to see it coming.”

K
yana stood on the shores of the River Styx and listened to the discussion between Ryker and Hank. Their big, badass cop didn’t want to get on Charon’s little boat. Hell, it had taken him nearly an hour to enter the cave leading to the river in the first place. Then another half an hour to convince him to finally give up the shotgun he’d brought along. He was like a kid on a big slide, ready to wet his pants at the thought of sliding down, yet unwilling to face his fear to climb back down the ladder either.

Between finding Hank, locating the tools he’d needed, and waiting for him to get a grip on his fear, they’d wasted most of the night.

“Oh, to hell with this.” Kyana pushed by Ryker to stand nose to nose with Hank. “Get your coward ass on that boat or we will
put
you on the boat.”

He folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. “I’m not going down there.”

And you can’t make me.
Hank didn’t say the words, but they were written all over his stance.

Kyana looked at Ryker. “We do this my way.”

She flung Hank over her shoulder in a fireman’s hold and stepped onto Charon’s little boat.

“Don’t tell me what you will or won’t do,” Kyana growled, dumping Hank on his ass.