Bound by Flame (40 page)

He felt a twinge that he’d never see Creed again, and never know what had become of Jake—if his Astaroth brother had found a way to heal himself after all he’d been through.

But the time for regrets was long gone.

“Stay low,” Nick said to the waiting Sibyls, doing his best to push away his thoughts about his blood family. “Don’t get distracted from the plan. Fire Sibyls focus on Asmodai and keep them off our asses. Air Sibyls, you’re on Astaroths. Cynda and I will work with the earth Sibyls to thin the Curson ranks. If you lose your plugs or goggles, retreat. If you’re cornered, kill Cursons first—but don’t forget to close your eyes if you don’t have sunglasses or goggles.”

The small army nodded as one, looking as grim as Nick felt.

Cynda took her turn. “The more Cursons and Astaroths we hit, the more chaos we cause, the more holes we punch, and the better chance we give the Mothers and adepts.”

Once more, the army responded, this time with a murmur of determination.

Nick knew they were ready.

Half-joined with Gideon, glowing and focused, he was ready, too. “Plugs in place, now.”

The Sibyls jammed bits of cotton, cloth, or wax into their ears. Nick and Cynda did the same, gazing at each other.

The world went quiet, except for the steady pound of blood in his ears.

Then, because it didn’t matter anymore who saw, who knew, or who cared, Nick took his woman into his arms and gave her a last, long kiss. Her body seemed to melt into his, shoulder to hip, and her fire flickered along his shoulders.

He let it burn, loving the heat, the press of her leather-clad body against his, and loving her, more than anything.

When he pulled back and let Cynda leave his arms for what might be the last time, he didn’t look at the waiting Sibyls again. Instead he and Cynda walked to their spot in the third line.

Nick turned to Harper and raised three fingers.

Two fingers.

One.

None.

The young fighter threw her weight into the lever and rotated the crank.

Nick turned and grasped Cynda’s fingers with his. He felt the groan and shudder of the heavy drawbridge in his bones. Seconds later, the big door slammed down so hard it made his teeth clamp together.

The fire Sibyls stormed across the wood, shrieking loud enough to be heard through the thick rubber plugs in Nick’s ears. His pulse surged with the incredible sound. Adrenaline pumped into his muscles as their swords crackled out into the night, headed for the rows of Asmodai pounding on the castle’s stone supports. As planned, a contingent of three women didn’t make the left turn around the castle wall. They swept right instead, toward the nearby woods. With any luck, they’d reach the trees to search out Legion members who might be close and replenishing the golemlike demons for the frontline attack.

Air Sibyls pounded across the bridge next. Before they ever reached the turn, they deployed in lines and clusters, aimed into the air, and started firing on targets.

Our turn.

Nick’s energy hit peak. His thoughts sharpened down to the here, the now, this moment. His lips pulled back. He filled his lungs and let out a Gideon-echoing bellow.

Cynda let go of his hand, but he knew she’d stay close.

They had agreed—together, all the way. Together, until they both fell.

With Cynda beside him, her sword burning in the moonlight, Nick charged forward, holding his Glock ready.

His feet pounded into the wood of the drawbridge. He leaped off, hitting the ground at full stride, still sensing Cynda next to him, and the earth Sibyls, too.

They went wide, chewing up ground, giving the air Sibyls room to work.

The corner of the castle loomed.

Nick pushed himself harder. Cool night air flowed into his face, keeping his eyes wide.

They passed the corner at a dead run, and the front ranks of Asmodai, too.

From the corner of his eye, Nick saw the big ugly bastards already crashing to the ground and disintegrating into whatever element made them. Fire raged over the demons’ heads. Swords flashed in the silver light, chopping, hacking, hewing.

Dirt and bits of flame and wind smacked against the top of his head, letting him know the Astaroths were taking a beating, too.

Good,
Nick thought, but he didn’t think anything else.

He just saw, sensed, moved, with Cynda matching him, stride for stride.

The first line of Cursons glowed in front of him. Their roars rattled against his plugs as the demons lumbered to meet their charge, swinging massive fists back and forth.

Nick sighted the nearest Curson and shot the fucker right between its golden eyes.

He got his lids closed before the demon exploded, kicking up a big chunk of dirt and rocks.

Satisfaction and rage powered Nick at the same time. His gut churned with his legs. Now they’d mow down as many as possible before the flashbang shock wore off the other demons—

But the Cursons were still coming.

The demons hadn’t been affected by the explosions and immobilized the way they had been back on City Island.

Shit!

Some spell or protection? Maybe they’re wearing plugs and squeezing their eyes shut, too.

Didn’t matter.

He pulled up hard. Cynda stopped beside him, eyes wide, mouth open. She only hesitated a second before she took her stance, sword raised.

Earth energy bathed Nick, and he knew it had wrapped Cynda, too. Half the earth Sibyls were on protection duty, while the other half would use daggers like Cynda used her sword.

Hearts or heads.

The demons would die, only not as many as they’d hoped.

This was it.

For a split second, Nick let himself glance at Cynda.

Fire ringed her whole body. She absolutely blazed in the darkness.

Beautiful.

And mine.

He gave her a quick salute, then faced the onslaught.

“Make it count,” he told himself, even though he knew nobody heard those last words.

A big, fast-swirling cloud drifted across the moon.

Nick aimed his Glock and squeezed the trigger, dropping demons in every direction. One. Two. Another. And four. Muted by the earth energy, the Curson explosions didn’t faze him. He didn’t even hear the concussions.

He hoped Cynda had hacked a few of the bastards to bits, but he didn’t look. Couldn’t stand what he might see.

Five shots left, if he hadn’t miscounted.

With every nerve and muscle burning, Nick fired his weapon and killed Cursons until the slide locked back, the gun’s chamber empty—no bullets left in the magazine.

The demons kept coming. Started to close in on him. He threw his Glock in the first one’s face. Then he shifted completely, letting Gideon sweep across his awareness.

We’ll get a few more this way, by God.

As Nick’s consciousness started to fade to the background, he thought he heard something strange.

Wolves.

Lots of them.

Howling?

Confused, squinting in a golden flare that half blinded him as his earth protections fell away, Nick shifted back to his human form.

He whirled to his right and spotted Cynda.

She was down on her knees, shaking off that last flashbang.

Another cloud covered the moon.

Cursons surged around him, fists raised, blocking his vision—but the demons all stopped moving at the same time as if somebody had pushed a big red
stop
button. Their bellowing and snarling choked off at the same moment.

For a second, everything and everyone at Motherhouse Ireland seemed to be listening.

Then the wolves howled again. Nick felt the sound along his neck and arms. Gideon snarled—but not at the wolves.
With
them.

And Nick knew.

The huge, snarling Russian wolves his brother Creed had described to him so many times. Supernaturally huge and strong, allied with the Russian Mothers. As deadly as any Sibyl.

Nick heard them easily despite his plugs.

The Cursons around him started moving again.

They
ran
.

Away from Nick. Back the way they came.

Nick forced his exhausted muscles into action and staggered to Cynda.

Her sword lay in the trampled dirt beside her. She had her arms wrapped around herself, holding her ribs. Blood covered the right side of her face. And she was laughing.

But damnit, she was alive.

She was alive.

Nick grabbed her, yanked her to her feet, and pulled her against him as fur brushed past them on both sides.

A pack of the biggest, meanest-looking gray wolves Nick had ever seen blasted through the field, snarling, a fur-covered wave of pure feral hunt-lust, carrying with them a powerful thrust of earth energy.

The shaggy beasts launched themselves at the fleeing Cursons, ripping off demon heads.

Nick barely got his eyes closed and Cynda’s face pressed against his shoulder before the night lit up with death flashes.

He blinked away the glare in time to see wolves hit the ground. They leaped to their feet and hurtled straight back after the demons.

Nick swept Cynda into his arms and got the hell out of the way. Back to the castle. To the corner of the east wall, where exhausted fire, air, and earth Sibyls who had charged out with them collapsed to the ground, laughing and sobbing and pounding their fists into the moonlit dirt.

Nick got Cynda to the relative safety of a jutting stone overhang, then turned to see what was happening behind him.

Out of the woods, sweeping behind the wolves like a silent tide of raw elemental power, came the brown-robed earth Sibyls from Motherhouse Russia.

Daggers flashed.

The ground shook.

Nick raised his hand to shield his eyes and Cynda’s from the glare of dying Cursons. Cynda slid her arms around him, pushed her face into his neck, and cried, her whole body shaking from what he knew had to be joy, relief, fatigue—all of it, probably.

A change in the moonlight jerked his attention upward.

Nick’s jaw dropped.

Those clouds over the moon…they weren’t clouds at all.

It’s a new type of cavalry.

Visible and way more human-looking. Wearing goddamned jeans and T-shirts, with holes cut out for the wings.

In the sky above the battlefield, Astaroths with talismans engaged the Astaroths with no talismans, all of whom had become visible. No doubt the controlled Astaroths were pouring all their energy into the fight—which they were losing.

Rows of human-looking winged demons swept high, then plummeted down, spears outstretched. Their foes tried to fight, but most of the Astaroths who had been devastating the castle’s defenses exploded into air, dirt, and fire, and littered the battlefield below. Some put up their hands and landed. Nick presumed they were surrendering, and as if to confirm his thoughts, a few talisman-wearing demons landed and held them at spear-point.

With a fierce blast of shock, Nick recognized Jake flying past, about a hundred yards away. His brother was leading a flying contingent west, toward the castle’s turrets.

For a moment, Nick didn’t have a clue what to feel beyond complete amazement. Jake and his line of demons immediately started kicking ass, beating back some of the assholes who had been dive-bombing the battlements above Nick’s head.

When he left that house in South Ozone Park, my brother wasn’t running.

Jake knew what was happening here. He and his friends had gone to get help.

Nick hugged Cynda closer, and kissed the top of her head for all the times she had defended that damned Astaroth. He supposed he’d learn to listen to her instincts even more closely over the years, wouldn’t he?

And he had a lot to talk about with Jake when this was over. More than a lot.

He shifted Cynda’s weight, pulled out his earplugs, and let them fall to the ground.

New roaring sounds tore into the night, this time from the north side of the castle, back toward Kylemore Abbey. Nick recognized the rumble of funnels like the one Merilee created in the tunnel at the Bronx house, to lift him and Cynda to safety.

So the air Sibyls had arrived, too.

They must be coming over the mountain behind Motherhouse Ireland, airlifting themselves onto the turrets and battlements.

A soft rain started to fall, putting out blazes and tamping down the sulfur stench roiling off the battlefield.

He was about to let himself feel actual relief, maybe even sit down and kiss Cynda and rest, when yet another wave of motion and sound drew his gaze south, out over the river.

Only…the river was gone. Sucked completely away from its banks, leaving nothing but mud and weeds lying in its wake.

“Oh, shit.” Cynda dug her nails into his neck and chest.

All around them, Sibyls cursed and clambered to their feet, edging back toward the battlefield, confused, not knowing where to run.

Nick couldn’t move.

He couldn’t stop Cynda when she twisted out of his grip, or go with her when she tugged at his arm and tried to get him to run.

His entire body had gone cold.

My nightmare.

The tidal wave.

Here it fucking comes to kill us all.

A wall of water with a big dark shape on top came sucking across the empty riverbed, bearing down on Nick and Cynda and the castle—and every last one of the Sibyls who had made it to Motherhouse Ireland.

27

Every cut, bruise, and fracture in Cynda’s body jabbed at her consciousness as all the healing energy she had managed to muster drained straight out of her toes. She dug out her earplugs and threw them at the castle wall.

Rain splattered against her face. The ground beneath her rumbled from the approach of the water.

Blood hammering, she yanked at Nick’s bare arm again.

“Come on, come on, move! We’re not dead yet.”

No response.

Shit!