Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
brEXLEY
Alarms blared, and people ran in every direction amid the gunfire and screams. Everything had turned into chaos. My mind was moving a million miles a minute. I had no recollection of getting dressed or running to the foyer, my hand on my gun, ready to proceed.
Mykel was already in action, pointing and shouting out orders to the army here.
“Brexley?” Ember jogged up to me, her different colored eyes sharp and focused, like she had flipped a switch to fight mode. Eli stood right next to her with the same level of intensity. No wonder they made good bounty hunters; they were intimidating and badass together.
“It’s Markos,” I said with conviction. “He’s coming for the nectar . . . for me.”
“And taking out a fae lord probably wouldn’t hurt,” Warwick muttered.
“Contact Lorcan and Cole.” Ember turned to Eli. “Get them here as soon as possible. We need everyone they can get.”
“Already on it.” He nodded, tapping at his head.
“Brexley!” My name was shouted again, and I whipped my head to see Killian and Rosie darting toward me.
“Where’s the nectar?”
Before Killian could answer, a shrill screech from a speaker rent the air, Istvan’s voice barking over it with arrogance and disdain.
“There is no point in fighting. I have this place surrounded. You are outgunned and outmanned, Killian. Unless you want pointless bloodshed for your people, come out.” There was a pause.
Silence took the house as if we were all holding our breaths.
“And Brexley, I know what you are hiding. Bring it to me, or every person here dies. If you try your powers, the children will die first. The hostages I have right now . . . their brains will be on the ground because of your actions.”
Rot took root in my stomach, swishing acid up into my throat. I wouldn’t put it past him. He would do it.
Killian’s muscles tightened, both of us looking at each other, the weight falling on us.
The connection between Killian and me would always be there.
An understanding, magic which came from ruling.
Even if I had never personally had the experience, it was in my DNA to step up like a queen.
To lead. And in that moment, I made peace with that part of myself.
To accept Aneira’s magic was part of me. To stop fearing it and use it.
Out of all of us, it was really Ember who was the rightful heir to the throne. I never asked her why she didn’t become queen, why her friend did instead. Though, seeing her and Eli, I could see being a bounty hunter was the perfect role for her.
Killian and I glanced at each other, then together, we stepped outside, a spotlight shining from a tank, forcing me to hold up my hand to block my eyes.
Blinking, I adjusted to the opposing darkness and light, seeing two tanks, armored cars, and hundreds of guards curving around the property, the front gate under the tank’s wheels.
At least a dozen of our guards, who had been monitoring the gate, were dead. The others were being held at gunpoint.
Killian and I walked down the porch, our own people moving out of our way as we made our way to the demolished gate. Istvan stood between the two tanks, soldiers surrounding him. Air fluttered in my lungs, but I locked down my jaw, pushing my shoulders back, giving nothing away.
“I got your back, princess.” Warwick’s shade brushed down my spine, giving me more strength with each step. “Need me, just take.” His strength, his magic, his energy—it was all mine if I required it.
I wanted so badly to use my magic. My body thrummed with desire, but I swallowed the impulse back, not wanting to escalate things.
A smug smile curved Istvan’s mouth. “Let’s not drag this out. This doesn’t have to get messy as long as you give me what I came for.”
Snorting, I stared at Markos, realizing I would have been standing behind him at one time. No questions asked. Rationalizing whatever he was doing was for the better. I was on the right side.
Now I was standing in direct opposition.
“I don’t know what you think we have,” Mykel spoke up behind me.
“Oh, yes, Mykel Kovacs.” Istvan’s glare rolled over him like he was a bug.
“Do you know, Benet hardly spoke of you? When he did, it was always in embarrassment and shame.” Istvan used words like a knife, twisting and spearing them in your chest. “I can see why. It’s sad you think you have the right to be standing here.
That you are a player . . . or have any power.
You are nothing now. Your little rebel group has been wiped off the field.
Soon you will be joining them.” He turned back to me with his icy glare, his arm rising, his fingers tapping at the trigger of the gun he pointed at Mykel.
“You want to watch another uncle die in front of you? I suggest you bring me the nectar now.”
A whip of wind curved through the trees, snapping branches. A zap of electricity crackled in the air, my fear and anger calling the spirits from the thousands of graves peppering this area. In cemeteries or unknown tombs, ghosts were plentiful in war-torn countries.
“Brexley . . .” Something tickled at the back of my neck, my name so wispy, I was sure I imagined it, but I knew it wasn’t Warwick.
Istvan’s gaze went up to where the lightning struck, his tongue clicking. “What did I tell you, Brexley? My finger is faster than whatever you can conjure.”
“Want to bet?” I growled, feeling the wind snap at my hair. The spirits swirled in, bowing to my power, waiting for an order.
Pop!
A cry screamed out, whipping my head in the direction of my uncle, my stomach plunging to the ground. Mykel stood there, his eyes wide, his hand going to his ear, blood leaking down his neck.
The man right behind him dropped to the ground, a bullet between his eyes.
“Next time, I shoot your last living relative,” Istvan declared. Like with Caden, this was no mistake. Istvan was a true marksman. He would go down to the shooting range in the basement of HDF for hours to “unwind.” He would not miss unless it was on purpose.
It was a threat.
“Give me the nectar, Brexley, or my next bullet is for your lover.” He sneered at Warwick behind me.
My powers hummed in my veins, the ghosts stirring restlessly, some pushing my line and brushing over the soldiers in back, unsettling the horses and men, pulling focus for just a moment.
It was enough.
Warwick moved with me like he knew each step before I took it.
We pounced on Istvan’s first line as I let the ghosts attack the ones from behind, creating chaos and diversion.
Spinning, punching, and kicking, our guns fired.
Caden and a healed Birdie were near Warwick.
The tie between Warwick and Caden was extraordinary to watch.
Their movements were perfectly synced, each knowing what the other would do, taking down men from every direction.
Yin and yang. Shooting directly into their heads, making sure the super soldiers were dead.
I felt my energy being divided. I had yet to fully learn to control the ghosts while continuing to fight. It took a lot of me to keep the two going, and with one false move, one moment my focus was not sharp, I could be killed.
A shrill horn blared through the megaphone on Istvan’s armored car, jolting the sound through my bones as he did it again.
“Stop!” Istvan’s voice demanded. “Or you watch her die.”
A woman’s whimper gripped at my heart, swinging me toward Istvan. He stood behind a female who was on her knees, his hand cruelly ripping her head back to display the knife at her throat, blood already trickling down.
“Nooooo!” Killian bellowed, the cry guttural and terrified.
Acid burned up my throat and into my eyes.
Rosie.
Everything stopped. No one moved or breathed, watching Rosie swallow, her eyes leaking, but she made no other sound, her expression defiant.
How the hell did he get to her? Did he know who she was? Pick her out on purpose?
I knew he did.
“I’m done asking nicely.” Istvan glanced over at Killian. I don’t know how Istvan seemed to always know, but he learned of Rosie’s importance. A weakness that would bend the lord to his knees. “Give me the nectar, or you will watch her choke on her own blood before I cut through her spinal cord.”
“Please, don’t hurt her.” Killian held up his hands, his eyes pleading. I watched panic and terror take over Killian. The cool, collected fae lord, who never let emotion control him, was gone, his sole focus on his mate.
“Then you know what you need to do.”
“Killian, don’t.” Rosie shook her head, flinching as Istvan’s blade cut deeper.
Killian stared at her for a few beats. His gaze swung to me; it was full of agony, but not conflict. This wasn’t a choice for him. I understood. If it was Warwick there, I would hand over the world.
Istvan took his pause as hesitation. The blade sliced deeper through Rosie’s soft skin, a cry pushing through her teeth while blood cascaded down her neck.
“Stop!” Killian jolted for her, his hand yanking something from his pocket, pulling out a small, wrapped object.
My attention went to the item, my gut twisting, realizing what was about to happen.
What we were about to lose. Everything in me wanted to fight, to keep it from Istvan.
The world went into slow motion. Killian’s shaky hands held out the nectar to Markos.
Istvan reached out, tongue sliding over his lip, his eyes glowing with greed. Hunger. Desire. Power.
My mouth opened, but it wasn’t my scream which screeched with terror and pain. The sound of metal slicing through human flesh resonated loudly in the air, bodies hitting the frozen ground. Confusion scrambled my head, but my body hummed with recognition, knowing before I did.
One after another, cries of fear and death rose from Istvan’s officers from behind him, the darkness concealing the assailants.
“Daughter . . .” The voice nipped at the back of my neck, sending chills down my skin. It was the same voice that called me earlier.