Chapter 18 #3
Smoke crawled along the ceiling, mixing with the lingering scent of burned metal and flesh. Buyers began to regain their courage, some standing, some arguing with the host, others already reaching for phones and private channels.
Cerise stood near her seat, perfectly composed, eyes on me.
We would not get another clean window.
“Side exit,” Marcus shouted. “Loading bay. This way.”
He darted behind the stage curtain, with the case tucked against his side.
I slid an arm under Con’s shoulders, slinging his weight against me. He tried to stand on his own and nearly collapsed.
Pain hardened his face for a moment. His legs trembled.
His ribs were bad.
Something inside him felt wrong too. I could sense it in the way his energy stuttered.
“Do not argue,” I said.
“Not arguing,” he gritted out. “Just regretting your dress choice. You are slippery.”
Despite everything, a weak laugh escaped me. “Focus, Constantine.”
Together, we half stumbled, half ran behind the curtain.
The backstage area was stark compared to the hall. Exposed metal, scuffed concrete, stacks of empty crates. Marcus led the way toward a side door marked for deliveries, glancing back to make sure we followed.
“The organizers will lock this down in two minutes,” he said. “Security in three.”
“We need sixty seconds,” I replied.
Gunfire cracked behind us. A bullet punched through the curtain, tearing fabric inches from my shoulder.
Con tensed. “They are following.”
“No surprise,” Marcus said. “They will want their property back.”
I tightened my grip on Con and pushed us faster.
Each step jarred him. His breath came in shorter bursts now. Sweat stood out along his hairline.
“We should stop,” I said.
“If we stop, they catch us,” he replied. “I am not in the mood to be dissected.”
The loading bay door loomed ahead. Marcus reached it first and yanked it open.
Cold night air rushed in.
Outside, the rear of the warehouse opened onto a narrow alley lined with dumpsters and a single service road.
No limo.
Of course.
The driver had likely been killed before the attack inside.
“We go on foot,” Marcus said.
“You are joking,” Con muttered.
“Do you see another option?” Marcus snapped.
I glanced back down the corridor.
Shadows moved behind the curtain, voices shouting.
No time.
“Move,” I said.
Marcus slipped through the door first, case still tight at his side. I followed, half hauling Con with me.
We hit the alley.
The door slammed shut behind us.
For one breath, there was only the sound of our feet on asphalt and Con’s rough breathing.
Then the door behind us exploded inward.
The enhanced soldier who stepped through was not like the others.
Bigger. Heavier armor. Face partially masked by a reinforced plate that covered his lower jaw. His eyes locked onto the case at Marcus’ side. Then onto me.
Then onto Con.
He raised a weapon.
Not a gun.
Something uglier. Barrel thicker, glowing at the core.
“Down,” Con gasped.
I dropped, dragging him with me.
The weapon fired.
The blast streaked over our heads and hit the wall opposite with a sickening crack. Stone shattered. Heat rolled over us in a wave that smelled like burning chemistry and scorched stone.
The alley filled with dust.
Marcus swore. “They brought a rail launcher? For an auction?”
“They were never planning to leave witnesses,” I said.
The soldier stepped forward.
Con pushed against me, trying to stand between the blast and my body again. His legs almost gave.
“Stay down,” I snapped.
He ignored me and reached for a knife hidden at his ankle. His hand shook.
Rage snapped through me.
At the soldier. At Valerian. At the idiots who thought they could turn humans into weapons and call it progress.
Fire answered.
I had nothing left for a grand gesture. The inferno in the hall had drained most of my reserves. What rose now was fierce and compact. A knife, not a tide.
I flung it.
A concentrated bolt of white heat shot from my hand and struck the launcher. The weapon’s casing scorched, then warped. The core flashed bright, then sputtered.
The soldier jerked, shocked, as his weapon died in his grip.
Con seized the opening.
He launched forward with a burst of speed I would have thought impossible given the state of his body. He closed the distance in three strides, drove his knife up under the soldier’s arm plating, and twisted.
The enhanced staggered.
Not dead yet.
He swung his free fist and caught Con across the chest.
The impact lifted him off his feet and threw him back.
He hit the asphalt hard enough that the sound hurt my bones.
“Con,” I shouted.
He did not answer.
Marcus fired twice. The bullets hit the soldier’s helmet at the temple. The reinforced plate held the first round. The second punched through.
The soldier dropped.
Silence crashed over the alley.
Marcus lowered the gun with shaking hands. “I really hate my job sometimes.”
I scrambled to Con.
He lay on his side, eyes half open, chest rising shallowly. Blood soaked his shirt in too many places. One leg bent at an angle that spoke of a fracture. His skin had gone pale even for a vampire.
“Constantine,” I said.
His gaze found me, unfocused at first, then brightening just a little. “You are safe.”
The words were slurred.
“You are not,” I snapped.
“We have the piece,” he murmured.
His eyes rolled back.
He went limp.
Panic clawed up my throat.
“Do not do this,” I whispered. “Not here. Not now.”
I pressed my hand to his chest, feeling for the steady push of his heart. It beat, slower than it should, but there.
Marcus shuffled closer, the case still cradled almost protectively against his ribs.
“He needs blood,” Marcus said.
“No,” I answered too quickly.
“You cannot carry him far like this,” Marcus said. “If you do not feed him, the injuries will take longer to heal. You know that.”
“I am not binding him here in an alley behind a warehouse,” I said. “Not with this in my hand. Not with Valerian watching.”
Marcus blinked. “Valerian is here?”
“He is,” I muttered.
I shifted my grip and hauled Con up, slinging his arm over my shoulders, taking as much of his weight as I could.
Pain cut through my back as my body protested, but I ignored it.
“We leave,” I said. “Now. Before more of them find us.”
Marcus nodded, adjusting the case.
“Car two streets over,” he said. “I always plan an exit that does not involve the front door.”
“Good,” I said. “Lead.”
We limped down the alley, the night swallowing us one step at a time.
Behind us, the warehouse burned quietly in the corner of my mind. Not in reality, not yet, but in the memory of the flame I had unleashed within its walls.
We had the fragment.
But not the serum, though, thanks to my fire, no one else got it either.
We had nearly lost Con.
Valerian had seen everything.
The next move would not be at an auction or a clandestine sale.
It would be war.