Assassin's Honor (12 page)

           
The alley.

           
At a full sprint, he bolted toward the rear of the garden and charged through the open gate into the alley. Opening all of his senses to everything around him, he waited for the smallest noise or scent that would lead him to Emma. The rain made it difficult to see as he came to a halt and looked in both directions. From where he stood, he saw headlights from a car as it passed by the alley. Merda, where the hell was she?

           
Lightning lit up the narrow lane, and he drew in a harsh breath. Crumpled in a heap on the ground, Emma had her hand raised in a defensive manner. The tall, cloaked figure towering over her caught him off guard for a moment.

           
Praetorian warriors no longer dressed as their religious order once had. A flash of light from the heavens lit up the silver blade at the man's side.
Mater Dei.
Whether the man was a Praetorian or not, his sword made his intentions clear.

           
Ares launched himself into a dead run. Adrenaline pumped furiously through his veins. Because of it, he ran faster than he ever thought possible. In seconds, he eliminated the distance between him and Emma's attacker. As if expecting him, the man suddenly turned and swung his sword through the air in a familiar move. Then a solid, yet invisible, push knocked him off balance.

           
Sicari.
The bastard was a Sicari.

           
The warrior's blade whipped through the air in a series of small arcs. He ducked as the man's sword whispered across the top of his head.
Probably taking a few hairs with it.
Not that it mattered. He needed a trim anyway. The moment he visualized his foot landing a solid punch to his opponent's stomach, the man grunted.

           
In little more than a heartbeat, he found himself on the defensive again. His opponent's blade flew downward in a stroke filled with deadly purpose. Only years of training kept the sword from splitting his head open and killing him instantly. As he twisted his body sideways, he visualized knocking his opponent's sword out of the way. The man's mental abilities rebuffed his attempt and the blade bit into his upper arm as an unseen foot planted itself squarely in his ribs.

           
Growling loudly in pain, he dodged the fighter's second strike. Blood soaked his shirt, and his arm hurt like hell.
Merda.
This guy seemed invincible. Worse, he could already feel his own mental ability beginning to fade. If he didn't do something fast, he'd be dead.

           
The Sicari fighter's sword whipped effortlessly through the air in yet another skillful sweep. This time the blade headed straight for his jugular. Another move Ares knew well. He could have been fighting himself. Their swords glided off each other in a spray of sparks. An uneasy feeling shot through him.

           
There was something very different about this man. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. The man fought like a Sicari, but not like any fighter in the Order he'd met over the years. The hooded cloak he wore didn't help matters either. An opponent's eyes always revealed something, but he couldn't see this man's face. That increased the difficulty in battling him.

           
"Do not interfere in that which you do not understand, DeLuca." The man's voice rang out flat and without emotion.

           
How in the hell did the bastard know his name? Ignoring the warning, he centered himself and threw his sword up to block the man's swing. Steel scraped along steel until their blades met at the hilt. Even up close, his opponent's expression remained hidden in the dark folds of his hood.

           
He threw a large portion of his mental strength into his effort to push the Sicari away from him, and the man
retreated
a small measure.
Christus.
This guy had abilities that made him look like an untrained Sicari. Suddenly the fighter released one hand from his sword and drove a fist into Ares's injured arm.
Merda.
That was a Praetorian tactic. The pain sent him to his knees. This time a very real and solid foot slammed into his side. Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, he used his ability to roll effortlessly away from the brutal attack then struggled to his feet.

           
His reaction time had slowed almost to a crawl, and he barely blocked the blade about to split his skull. With a loud grunt, he somersaulted past the man on his good side and almost landed on top of Emma. He didn't look to see whether she was conscious or not. It wouldn't matter if he wound up dead. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to clear his head of everything but the sword in his hand.

           
It was time to end this. Determination swept through his body as he sprang to his feet in a battle-ready position. The fighter raised his weapon in a familiar move, and Ares prepared to counter the attack. Then in a flash of movement, the Sicari warrior unexpectedly changed the direction of the sword's arc. Caught off guard, Ares leaped backward just in time. Still, the tip of the other man's blade sliced through his sweater and bit into his chest.

           
Fotte.
Who was this bastard?

           
Leaping to one side, he swung his own sword in retaliation and barely missed the man's shoulder. "Barely" wouldn't keep him alive for much longer. His breaths coming loud and hard, he watched as the man suddenly straightened and then leaped past him.

           
In response to his opponent's surprise move, Ares whirled around expecting the fighter to come at him from a different angle. But like a magician, the unknown assailant had disappeared into the night. Several seconds passed before he realized the Sicari had given up.

           
What the--? Sicari never ran. Not to mention the man had been winning. He looked down at his chest. His sweater hung open, exposing the deep cut the Sicari fighter had made. Hell, in just a few more seconds he would have been dead. Why would the warrior run now?

           
He spun around at a soft sound echoing behind him. As he saw Phae running toward him, he lowered his weapon. Had the bastard heard his sister approaching before him? He grunted.
Later.
He'd sort it out later.

           
Reassured that Phae had his back, he handed his sword to her and crouched at Emma's side to examine her for injuries. He lifted her arm and grimaced at the gash at the base of her palm. Now he knew who'd broken the office window. She stirred beneath his touch. Gently, he pushed wet strands of hair off her face.

           
"Emma. Can you tell me where you're hurt?" Carefully, so as not to cause her further injury, he shifted her onto her back and examined her other arm.

           
A soft moan echoed out of her as he ran his hands over her right leg and brushed his fingertips over her ankle. Christus, with the swelling in her ankle, he'd be surprised if it wasn't broken. Returning his attention back to her face, he lightly patted his hand against her cheek.

           
"Emma. Answer me," he commanded.

           
Her forehead wrinkled in a frown of pain as her eyes fluttered open. Panic lingered in her expression as she glanced around with several frantic jerks of her head. As she slowly realized she was safe for the moment, her gaze returned to his face. The recognition dawning in her eyes hardened into a cold stare.

           
"You."

           
"I said I'd be back for you, Emma. I'm going to take you someplace where you'll be safe," he said quietly.

           
"Safe from whom?
You or the Obi Wan character who just tried to kill me."

           
"We would have been here sooner, but we were delayed."

           
"We?"
Her elbow pressed into the gravel as she looked over her shoulder at Phae. Panic flashed across her face.
"Oh God, more swords.
Who are you people?"

           
She struggled up into a sitting position and shook off his attempt to help her. With her good hand, she wiped rain out of her eyes and pushed her wet hair off her face. A streak of mud marked her cheek and she looked in need of a strong shoulder to cry on. The muscles in his body that didn't ache grew hard with tension. When in the hell had he become the guild's poster boy for knights in shining armor?

           
"At least you're still capable of asking questions." He baited her as he remembered her earlier sarcasm about his ability to walk out of her office.

           
"Don't you dare mock me, you thief."

           
"You'll get it back." He clenched his teeth with irritation. He didn't like the way her acid accusation made him feel. "That damn coin is the least of your worries."

           
"Worries?
Anybody ever tell you, you've got a knack for understatements?" She arched her eyebrows.

           
"Which is why we need to get you to safety," he snapped.

           
"There is no 'we' in this conversation." She blinked as rain ran down her face in rivulets. Lifting her injured hand, she peered at it in the dim light and blanched. "What I need is a hospital because I'm going to need stitches."

           
"I have every intention of seeing that your injuries are treated."

           
"I think you need to take care of yourself first before you worry about me." She nodded her head toward his chest. "I'm not the only one in need of sutures."

           
"Then stop arguing with me, and let's get on with it."

           
"Look, whatever your name is, I'm grateful you saved my life, or at least I think you did, but
I
--"

           
"Ares DeLuca."

           
"What?" She stared at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted a new head.

           
"My name.
It's Ares DeLuca."

           
"The god of War?"
She snickered with sarcastic disbelief. "You've got to be joking."

           
"Hardly, although my friends find it a constant source of amusement."

           
"I'm not laughing," she said sharply as she tried to stand.

           
She failed miserably and tumbled backward into a muddy puddle. Frustration mixed with pain swept across her face as she burst into tears. He crept forward on his haunches and caught her chin in his hand.

           
With a tug, she tried to free herself from his grasp, but failed. If possible, her tears fell harder now.
Dulce matris.
He never had been able to handle a woman crying. It always reminded him of Phae and how she'd cried for months after their parents' murders. He winced.

           
"It'll be all right, Emma," he murmured. "I promise you. It will be all right."

           
"Just leave me alone," she yelled at him over the thunder rumbling above their heads. "I don't need your sympathy, okay. Just leave me alone."

           
Her sobs tugged at him in a way he didn't like at all. Damn it to hell. They didn't have time for this. She could protest all she wanted, but she was damn well going with him. They had more than the Praetorians to worry about now. The rogue warrior he'd just fought had changed the rules of the game, and he didn't have a clue as to what might come next.

           
Scooping her up into his arms, he stood upright. The action made his arm and chest protest viciously. Emma's gasp of outrage didn't surprise him, but he ignored it. Instead, he gritted his teeth against the pain streaking through his body. Merda, he couldn't remember the last time he hurt this bad. He was used to walking away with just a few scrapes and bruises. It had been a long time since he'd fought anyone with skills equaling his own.

           
"
Il
mio signore, you're injured," his sister exclaimed in a loud protest. Springing forward, she touched his hand. A familiar tingle raced up his arm and eased the pain in his upper arm. "Let me help her walk to the car."

           
"My lord?
Fancy title for a thief."
Another hiccup followed Emma's softly muttered sarcasm. He grimaced. He'd forgotten her resume listed one of her foreign languages as Italian. He sent her a dark scowl before he looked at his sister.

           
"I'm fine." He met the concern in Phae's eyes and shook his head. "Bring the car around to the end of the alley, Phae. And let Doc know he needs to meet us at the apartment. You're not going to be up to healing us both."

           
"But if the warrior--"

           
"Do you still sense him?" His sharp rebuke made Phae shake her head. "Then go."