Chapter 18 #2
I drew the compact form of my spear from my thigh holster, flicking my wrist to extend it. The spear snapped into its full length with a soft metallic whisper.
Con tore into the first mercenary that reached our aisle.
It was not elegant.
He caught the man’s wrist mid-strike, twisted with brutal efficiency, and slammed his elbow into the soldier’s throat. Bone cracked. The enhanced jerked, eyes wide, black veins pulsing under skin as his altered physiology tried to compensate.
Con did not give him time.
He drove a dagger up under the man’s ribs, angled for the heart. Whatever augmentations they had, they still needed a pump.
The soldier dropped.
Three more took his place.
Cerise was on her feet now, lips shaped around a spell. Silver light flared from her fingers, lancing toward one of the mercenaries charging the stage. It hit a shield instead, exploding in a shower of sparks.
These men had protections layered over flesh and cybernetics.
They were not here to negotiate.
They were here to take.
Valerian’s presence pressed closer, circling my mind like a predator.
“Show me,” it seemed to whisper. “Show me what you can do when you stop pretending you are still safe.”
My magic rose.
Fire first.
Heat crawled up my spine, simmered under my skin, coiled in my chest. It wanted out. Wanted fuel.
I looked at the tide of soldiers sweeping toward the stage. At the buyers cowering behind seats. At the guards trying and failing to halt the assault.
At Con, holding a line alone, blades flashing.
If they escaped with that formula, we would be fighting their results for the rest of our lives.
I pushed to my feet.
The world narrowed.
Sound dimmed.
The edges of my vision blurred, leaving only the shapes that mattered.
Soldiers. Case. Con.
Somewhere in the chaos, Marcus cursed.
I felt him. Off to the left, moving along the edge of the seating area, angling toward the stage. He was not running for an exit. He was trying to intercept.
Good.
If we survived, I would forgive him for being smarter than I had expected.
“Cass,” Con shouted. “Do not use the fire.”
He saw it rising. He always did.
“I have no choice,” I said.
I had one, actually.
Let the monsters take the serum and live, or stop them and risk everything.
The answer had never changed for me.
I stepped into the aisle and opened myself.
Magic flooded my veins.
The bond with Raven flickered, then surged. I felt her, miles away, sitting in her room with Rene, suddenly straightening as fire licked across our shared connection.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
I drew in a breath and pulled.
Heat answered.
It roared up from a place beneath the bones of the earth, from the blood of everything I had ever burned. It ran down my arms, gathered in my palms, wrapped around my fingers like living light.
It hurt.
It always hurt when I pushed too far.
Flame licked across my skin, not as normal fire, but as something leaner and hungrier.
The first mercenary coming down our row did not have time to react.
I thrust my hand forward and released a narrow arc of white-gold fire.
It hit him square in the chest.
No scream. His body simply lit from within for a fraction of a second. Flesh turned to ash, metal warped, bone cracked, and then he was gone. A smear of blackened residue on the marble.
The seats around him remained untouched.
Patrons nearby flinched but were not burned.
I had not aimed at them.
Magic listened to intention when it felt like this. Wild, unstable, dangerous, but still mine.
For now.
Another soldier charged.
I twisted my wrist and sent a sheet of flame rolling along the side wall, hugging the length of the hall. It clung to the stone, devouring mercenaries where they stood, leaving the velvet untouched.
They shrieked this time.
That sound I heard.
Cerise shouted something in a language I did not recognize and threw a barrier up in front of herself and the nearest buyers. My fire hit it and diverted, splitting like water around a rock, then snapping back toward the soldiers clustered near the doors.
They burned.
Con fought like a creature pulled from a nightmare.
He moved between pockets of my fire, never flinching when it brushed close enough to singe. His suit jacket was already torn, shirt darkened from blood and soot. Fangs slipped behind his lips now, eyes bright with gold and something redder at the edges.
He ducked under a wild swing, drove his knife into the back of a soldier’s knee, then spun and used the falling body as cover against another volley.
A bullet grazed his shoulder.
Another slammed into his ribs.
He grunted but did not falter.
On the stage, the tall mercenary still held the case.
He had not run.
He waited.
Until the others had drawn enough fire.
Then he moved.
He leaped from the platform with impossible speed, angling toward a side exit behind the velvet curtain.
Marcus intercepted him halfway.
How he got there so quickly, I was not sure. One moment he had been near the second row. The next he appeared at the foot of the stage, a small pistol in hand, firing at the larger man’s legs.
The bullets hit.
The mercenary stumbled, one knee buckling for a second. The case nearly slipped.
He snarled and swung a backhand at Marcus.
The blow sent Marcus flying into the nearest row of seats. He hit the floor hard, breath leaving him in a harsh curse.
The case wobbled.
I had an opening.
I stepped forward, magic coiling in my chest again, and reached for another wave of fire.
This one felt different.
Deeper. Wilder. Like it spoke the same language as the strange aura clinging to the serum case.
Valerian’s presence surged.
“Show me what you are made of,” the whisper slid along my spine.
I almost dropped the power.
Not from fear.
From rage.
I would burn this entire hall to ash, before I let him think he could bait me.
I shaped the fire.
This time, it did not flow as a sheet or a narrow arc. It erupted from the center of the hall in a sweeping spiral, a rising column that expanded outward along the ceiling.
White-gold flame raced above the crowd, hugging the chandeliers. Crystal shattered under the heat. Molten drops fell and evaporated before they could touch the buyers below.
The fire rolled down along the walls on one side of the hall, consuming every enhanced soldier in its path. Flesh blistered and vanished. Cybernetic implants warped and cracked. Weapons dropped, then melted.
Half the hall disappeared in a roaring inferno.
The other half crouched behind invisible lines my magic drew.
The buyers were untouched.
Some looked at me with dawning horror.
Some with awe.
Con looked at me with something far more complex.
My vision blurred for a moment. The edges went white. My knees wobbled.
The pillar of flame flickered once, then sank back into ember threads, curling along the charred walls like smoke.
The tall mercenary fleeing had not escaped completely.
The fire had caught his arm as he tried to shield the case. The limb was gone now, burned away from elbow to fingertip. The stump smoked, black and unsalvageable.
He failed to save the case, my fire too powerful.
He grappled with the case with his remaining hand, trying to extinguish the flames, before it turned to ash.
He roared and ran.
Con saw it.
He broke from the cluster of bodies near our row and sprinted for the exit, ignoring the blood that soaked his shirt.
“Con,” I shouted.
Too late.
He threw himself at the mercenary as the man reached the door.
They collided. The force of the impact knocked them both sideways.
The mercenary recovered quickly.
He had lost an arm. He still had teeth, knees, a fist.
He slammed Con into the marble floor, driving him down hard enough that I heard something crack. Then he drove his knee into Con’s ribs again and again, each strike meant to shatter.
Con grunted, breath leaving him in abrupt bursts.
I moved.
The world swayed.
Fire still licked under my skin, searching for more fuel. I staggered once, then forced my body forward, my spear clutched so tightly my knuckles burned.
A single enhanced soldier remained between me and the exit. He had somehow avoided the main sweep of my fire, shielded by a fallen column and the timing of his charge.
He raised his weapon toward my head.
Con saw it.
He twisted under the mercenary’s weight. Pain carved lines into his face as broken ribs protested. He still managed to kick out, unbalancing his opponent enough to roll sideways.
The bullet meant for my head grazed his shoulder instead.
Blood sprayed across the floor. He faltered.
I forgot restraint.
I drove my spear forward, cutting through the smaller soldier’s throat. I ripped it free in a smooth arc and kept moving, too close now to risk another wave of fire.
The tall mercenary straddled Con.
Not to crush.
To hold.
His remaining fist drew back, knuckles lined with metal.
If he landed one more full strike, Con’s skull would crack like glass.
I threw myself the last few steps and drove my spear down.
The spear punched through the back of the mercenary’s neck and burst out through his collarbone. He jerked, body spasming.
I braced my foot against his shoulder and yanked the spear free.
Blood sprayed.
He dropped.
Con sucked in a ragged breath and rolled to his side, coughing.
His eyes were open.
Barely.
“You took your time,” he rasped.
My heart lurched. “You’re heavy.”
He tried to laugh and winced instead. “You set half the hall on fire.”
“I didn’t touch the buyers.”
“Small comfort.”
He pushed himself up on one elbow. His suit was shredded, his shirt torn and soaked with blood. The scent of it filled my nose. Old, powerful, tempting.
I pushed the hunger down with effort.
“Can you stand?” I asked.
“Debatable,” he said. “I can move.”
Close enough.
“Cass,” Marcus called.
I turned.
He crouched behind the podium, a case clutched in both hands. His hair was mussed, his lip split, but his eyes were alert.
“I have the fragment,” he said.
Relief hit so quickly it made me dizzy.
“Time to go,” he added.
He was right.
More boots pounded in the hall beyond the main doors. Reinforcements. Not ours.