Through a Crimson Veil (32 page)

Despite the damage from the kick she’d delivered, the assassin still had the advantage. He outweighed her by a good seventy pounds, and he was close to Conor in height, which made him about half a foot taller. And he had training. The Setonian was a hired killer—he’d know many different fighting methods and be adept at them.

He sent a burst of flame at her. It didn’t last long. His facial expression didn’t change—not really—but something told her he’d figured out that she was sharing McCabe’s powers.

The Setonian moved in. He didn’t grab her—that would allow her some leverage. Instead, he took a swing. Mika ducked, but it was a close call.

His eyes were flat, sober, and held no glow. He was deadly serious, and she doubted he would allow himself to be taunted into precipitous action or distraction. Mika tried to take the offensive, but he countered her every strike. She almost ended up on the ground, and knew she couldn’t risk that. She dodged and weaved to avoid his blows. If he connected, if he knocked her down, she was finished. He wouldn’t hesitate to go for the kill.

But she couldn’t continue to dance around. Conor was locked in his own fight, and she couldn’t count on his help anytime soon. She had to save herself. The question was how. If she tried to wield her powers against the assassin, he could amass the energy and use it against her.

Mika took a punch to her side, not quite able to get out of the way in time, and wheezed as the air was driven from her lungs. Air. That was her area of mastery. She couldn’t direct her powers at him, but what if she worked on the oxygen outside his shield? He had to breathe.

Estimating how far his protective bubble went, Mika started altering the molecules around it. Delving into the pool of power she shared with McCabe, she stripped the air until it held so little oxygen, no living thing could survive. Around those atoms, she created a dense wall to keep the thin air encapsulating the Setonian.

At first, her foe didn’t understand what was happening. She saw his confusion, but he continued trying to reach her. Only, the more effort he put out, the faster he used up his oxygen.

“Mahsei. Air and wind,” he realized.

The words were soft, forced out between gasps, but she heard them. And now that he knew she was responsible, Mika prepared herself, ready for whatever he tried.

His choice was unexpected. Since Conor had been so unconcerned about the auric blast, she’d assumed his shield held against it—yet that was the weapon he chose to level at her. He fell to his knees, but she sensed him continuing to call on his power. Mika glanced over at McCabe, but he and the other demon were busy. Cautiously, she backed away.

Just as he began to keel over, the assassin summoned enough magic. The blast lit up the protection surrounding Mika more brightly than the Vegas Strip, but her shield didn’t waver.

By the time the brightness dimmed, the assassin was dead. It wasn’t any easier for Mika to bear than her first killing—she quickly glanced at the Bak-Faru—or the second, but she didn’t have time to think about it. Squaring her shoulders, Mika ran toward Conor. She winced when she drew near enough to see his face. He’d taken a pounding, but so had the Setonian he fought.

It took a few deep breaths to calm her temper enough to think. How could she help? She couldn’t jump into the middle of the fight, that would be stupid, but with the two males so close together, she’d have to be very precise to use asphyxia. Conor swayed and that hardened Mika’s resolve. She’d be careful, and if it appeared as if she were affecting McCabe, she’d stop.

She started to thin the air molecules—attempted to anyway. Something blocked her; Mika could feel a barrier. Calling on more power, she tried again, and again, but the same thing happened each time.

Conor staggered back a step, and with a smirk, the Setonian met her gaze. It was only for an instant, but it told her what had happened. When she and McCabe had been attacked, and his shield had wavered, Mika had felt Conor adjust it. He’d compensated for the actions of their enemies. This assassin must have done the same thing and neutralized her weapon.

For a few minutes, she stood and watched, desperately trying to come up with some new idea. A breeze gusted strongly enough to blow her hair into her face, and impatiently, she shoved it out of the way.
Wait a second
. Maybe that was it.

Of course, she’d need to get Conor clear, but this might work now that she could call on his power. Drawing deep within herself, Mika began to gather a storm. Clouds rolled in, obscuring the moon, and the wind blew forcefully. When a low rumble of thunder echoed through the night, she smiled. Thunder followed lightning, and that’s what she wanted.

Now that she’d created the storm, she needed control of it. That wasn’t quite so easy. She’d never reached this point before, and it was mostly guesswork. Trying to force the storm didn’t work; neither did using the wind to shape it. With a frown, Mika thought some more.

If you can’t beat them, join them.

As soon as the saying leaped into her head, she knew it was the answer. Mika merged her consciousness with the storm, became part of it. Its primitive fury was exhilarating, but she couldn’t allow herself to get lost in the feelings. Conor needed her.

She waited for an opening, but her vishtau mate never broke far enough away for her to risk a lightning bolt. It became difficult for her to stay blended as she kept hearing the grunts and the sounds of fists meeting flesh. Finally, enough was enough.

“McCabe, get the hell away from him. Now!” she cried.

Oops. Maybe she shouldn’t have done that. It distracted Conor and he was struck hard. He went flying several feet in the other direction.

On the plus side, the assassin headed for Mika. When he was far enough away from her mate, she called a spear of lightning down, striking the Setonian directly in the center of his chest. The noise he made was indescribable. It sent a shudder through her, and Mika knew she’d be hearing it in her nightmares. The Setonian’s body convulsed on the ground, flopping around in a sickening display. She turned her head away and closed her eyes.

A few moments later, Mika disengaged from the tempest and carefully dispersed it. She took a step toward McCabe, but she had vertigo so bad that she had to shut her eyes once more to block out the spinning world, and to get a handle on her nausea.

She felt movement, and she figured it was Conor coming to check on her. The arm that went around her throat told a different story. Before she could react, a second arm went over her body, pinning her arms to her torso.

“You’re going to die for what you did to me,” a voice hissed.

She opened her eyes, but everything continued spinning crazily and Mika couldn’t keep them open. It didn’t matter, she knew it was the blond demon. How had she missed his pulse? “Did you take a look at your friend?” she rasped, and as she asked the question, called on her powers. Only, nothing was there.

What the hell? She tried again, but no dice. The shield was present but felt shaky, as if it wouldn’t take much to destroy. She delved deeper, looking for the pool of extra power she’d been using, but couldn’t access that either.

The Bak-Faru murmured near her ear how he planned to torture her before her death, showing the ugliness of his nature. Pretty or not, the Dark Ones were aptly named.

McCabe, she thought, I could use some help now.

But she couldn’t see him. She didn’t know how badly he was hurt. Mika tried to work herself free, but her dizziness hampered any defensive move she attempted.

“Let go of her,” Conor’s voice called out.

Mika smiled faintly. Her mate’s words were music to her ears. She opened her eyes long enough to see that Conor was in bad shape, swaying unsteadily, with blood running down his face. It sobered her, and she tried to tap into her powers again.

“She’s going to die, and there’s nothing you can do to protect her, Kiverian. Look at yourself. You’re marginally capable of standing, but beyond that?” Mika felt the Dark One shrug, but his hold didn’t loosen.

While she couldn’t swear to it, she thought she sensed McCabe trying to access their well of power, too. She was fairly sure he’d come up empty.

Conor made a noise that was pure demon—there was nothing remotely human about it—and she nearly smiled again. He was accepting all his Kiverian nature. He and her captor made more threats back and forth, and while the Bak-Faru was distracted, Mika fought to get free.

She was no more successful this time than earlier. The Dark One tightened his hold on her neck, slowly cutting off her air. Who would have guessed this frat boy of a monster, the least practiced in fighting of her four enemies, would be the one to bring about her death?

Mika forced her eyes open. She wanted to see McCabe before she died, and puking on herself was the least of her worries.

As their gazes locked, she read determination from Conor—resolve. The demon squeezed harder and Mika choked, trying to take in more oxygen. She became lightheaded and slumped back against the Dark One.

Then she felt it: McCabe was calling on his auric energy. But Conor never used that power. He’d told her he never would—that it was too ugly, too evil. That it would cost him his humanity.

“Hold still.”
She wasn’t sure if he whispered the words or merely thought them, but she heard and obeyed.

Mika closed her eyes, and in her mind’s eye she pictured the energy blast that sailed from Conor’s hand to the head of the Bak-Faru holding her. The dark demon fell backward, and she was dragged along, landing on top of him. As soon as his hold slackened, she rolled, twisted and crawled to put distance between them.

She felt hands take her arms and she writhed frantically, ignoring her stomach’s protests. “It’s okay, honey, he’s dead.”

At Conor’s voice, she froze and opened her eyes, then clamped them shut again. “Everything’s whirling so violently,” she gasped.

“Then come here and let me hang on to you until it stops.” He pulled her onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around her.

Snuggling into his chest, Mika tucked her face against his throat. His blood felt sticky against her cheek, but she didn’t move. “How badly are you hurt?” she asked.

“I’ll be fine tomorrow. How about you? How bad off are you?” His hug firmed, then loosened.

“My throat’s been better, and this vertigo is making me sick, but I’ll be fine tomorrow too. That storm did something to me,” she confessed. “I don’t know what, but it screwed me up.”

She wanted to ask questions, but Mika didn’t have the energy for a serious conversation—and she doubted Mc-Cabe did either. There would be plenty of time to discuss everything later; their enemies were finally dead.

It took about ten, maybe fifteen minutes for the nausea to recede, and carefully, Mika opened her eyes. The street stayed steady, and she smiled against Conor’s skin.

“Better?” he asked.

Mika nodded. Looking him over, she asked, “Can you walk? We should get out of here before someone finds us.”

“Yeah, I can walk, but you’re going to have to get up by yourself. I won’t be able to help you.”

Mika nodded, and stood. There were definitely more graceful ways of doing so, but she didn’t care; she and Conor were both alive, that’s what counted. Besides, Mc-Cabe didn’t look too slick either as he got to his feet. When he swayed, she hurried and wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Are you sure you’re okay? We could try to call a healer.” She meant Sebastian, but she wasn’t telling him that.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Get my comm out of my pocket, though, would you, honey?”

“Who are you going to call?” she asked, handing over the unit.

“Hayes. I lied to cover his ass, so he can lie to cover ours.”

The subsequent comm conversation was terse, with Conor giving just enough info for Marc to know what the situation was and what they needed him to do; then McCabe ended the call and handed Mika the unit. She tucked it in her pocket as he said, “Let’s get out of here. Hayes is only a few minutes away and he can handle this without us.”

They walked along the sidewalk, McCabe leaning into her side for support. Mika said, “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m going to have to ask for a rain check on the wild sex. I just want to sleep.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Conor said, and Mika caught his smile.

That sounded promising, didn’t it? Tomorrow? It meant he was keeping her around, right? She thought about that for a few blocks before she said, “You should make me your partner. After all, I did take down three demons to your one.” She winked at him and held her breath.

He laughed. “You don’t have to brag, honey. I know you did a good job. I also know that you’ve never killed before and that you’re dealing with a lot of emotion because of it.”

Mika swallowed hard as those feelings rushed back. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’re going to, though. But later. Not now.”

She wanted to argue with him, but didn’t. He was right;
she was going to need to discuss it with someone who understood what she’d done, and what she was going through emotionally. Conor had killed vampires, werewolves, demons—he’d get it.

“You used your power,” she said, changing subjects. “The one you said you’d never use.” Well, that came out smooth as hell, Mika thought with a frown. She risked a glance at her mate, but he didn’t seem angered by her comment.

“Yeah, I know.” She thought he was going to leave it at that, but without prodding, he added, “I’d use it again to rescue you, too. I had nothing else left. There was little choice.”

“I know,” she agreed.

Conor’s truck came into view, and Mika breathed a sigh of relief. They were both quiet until they reached it.

“Your dizziness is gone? Completely?” Conor asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“You get to drive.” He pulled the keys out of his front pocket. “My eyes are swelling shut.”

Mika helped Conor into the pickup, then went around to the driver side and climbed up and in. Turning to Conor, she said, “Thanks. For saving me. I know what it cost you to use that power.”

“I’m half Kiverian, and I’m an auric. You were right: Denying it doesn’t change what I am. Or who I am. ‘The bamboo that bends is stronger than the oak that resists.’ I get that now—
really
get it. I could have stayed stubborn and refused to use that power, and you would have died.” His hands fisted tightly enough to turn his bruised knuckles white. “And that would have broken me.” His gaze, even with his face so swollen, was intense.