Chapter Fifteen #2
With a nasty curse, L.W. moved so fast, he was quicker than the lightning.
Jumping forward out of their cover, he attacked the undead, grabbing it by the throat and shoving the slayer backward with such force that the skull hit the pavement on a cracking strike.
Grabbing the white hair, he jerked the head up again, and with a frighteningly practiced surge, pushed the muzzle of his gun into the open mouth.
He immediately pulled the trigger, vaporizing the brain, blowing it right out the back.
But before Beth could react to all that, she jerked her head around so she could see deeper into the alley.
There was another shape coming toward them, moving with stealth in the shadows. And humans didn’t run to this kind of trouble.
An inhale confirmed what it was, and she moved before she could think about it.
Up again with her gun, and this time, she knew exactly what to do. Her forefinger squeezed over and over, the nine kicking in her hand, the jerking steadied by her outstretched forearms.
Then without thinking, she started running at the damn thing.
She had no clue what she was doing, no plan, she just kept pulling that trigger as she closed the distance—and even though she’d never engaged with the enemy before, she had no fear.
No conscious awareness of anything. She only had the ringing clarity that what was in front of her was going to try to kill her son.
And fuck that for a laugh.
In retaliation, bullets came back at her, whistling by her head once more, grazing her body, catching her somewhere, she wasn’t sure where. Except it didn’t matter. If she died out here? But saved him?
The slayer’s shoulder blew back as she finally managed to hit the thing.
And that success locked her in even more, making it so she drilled the lesser again.
With the second impact, the enemy moved slower and shot worse, and then she was so close she could see the pitch black pupils in the center of its all-white eyes.
Except the pale bastard just wouldn’t go down. Even as it weaved on its feet and couldn’t seem to lift its gun, the slayer refused to give up—
A body blow sent her airborne, and it was just before she hit the asphalt that she realized it was L.W.
And his left arm was swinging in a wide arc.
The silver dagger he wielded winked back at the storm that raged across the night sky, and then the weapon sliced the lesser’s neck so deeply the head lolled back on the spine.
At that, the slayer finally collapsed.
And L.W. was a positive demon as he took a second one out.
He jumped forward, landed on his prey, and lifted another dagger directly above his shoulder.
And then he just stayed where he was, poised to strike.
His head cranked in Beth’s direction. His eyes were the exact color of his father’s, and in them, the same stone-cold hate and aggression.
While holding her stare, he drove the steel blade right into the empty cavity where the heart had been.
“Are you insane!” he spat at her as the pop! rang out and a burst of light reflected up into his harsh face. “What the fuck was that!”
She slowly let go of her gun, not caring where she left it. And then she rolled over onto her back, went for her phone and sent out a call for help. It was as the SOS went through that the shaking started.
“A-a-are you okay?” she said as she sloppily got to her feet.
When she weaved like she was in a stiff breeze, she wondered why her body was not listening to her. And since when had she put on seventeen thousand pounds—
“Who the fuck cares? What are you thinking?”
One by one, the Brotherhood began materializing around them, and even for war-hardened males, they seemed shocked at what they found.
No kidding. She didn’t want L.W. out here, either.
“Get me the surgical RV, right now,” V barked.
Suddenly, people were all over her, which made no sense. As she pushed them away, she stammered, “Check him—what are you doing? I’m fin…”
The word petered out, and she had the odd thought that she was having trouble breathing. Weird—
Without warning, her legs went loose, and as she started to fall, somebody caught her. After that, a strange suffocation took over, and she began gasping for air. None of that mattered, though. She had to get to L.W., and so she clawed at whatever was keeping her from moving around on her own.
L.W.
It was her son who was holding her, and as she sank her nails into the sleeve of the black leather jacket he was wearing, she realized…
“This is your father’s. You’re wearing your father’s…jacket.”
Her eyesight narrowed into a pinhole, and even though she struggled to control her body, she managed to wrench around and focus on L.W.
’s face. Given the way he flushed, she knew it was true.
He had taken some of his sire’s clothes from the closet back at the mansion.
But his daggers had been silver. Where had he gotten them—
Why the hell was she even bothering with that right now.
“No,” she croaked as she began to tear up. “Fighting is not the part of the legacy you’re going to assume. The throne…you will be on the throne…”
“ETA three minutes,” someone said. “L.W., you got her, true?”
“Yeah.”
The world spun, and then she was being carried by her son, her tall, powerful son, his long strides taking her even farther into the alley, away from what little traffic there was out on Market.
“You went into the closet,” she mumbled, even though she was running out of air. “Up in our old rooms. This is your father’s jacket…”
What the hell was she saying?
“I’ll put it back,” he said gruffly as more lightning flashed above them.
As a series of hiccups replaced her ability to get any air down into her lungs, a terrible realization hit her. And yet for some reason, she couldn’t seem to muster up much emotion.
“L.W.” She looked down at the way her hand was fisting that jacket sleeve and felt like it was someone else’s grip. “I think I’m dying.”
He stopped, and for a split second, the little boy he’d once been returned. Gone was the hardened fighter, the loner, the dark, brooding stranger who had always been so resolutely tangential to her life while defining every moment of her very existence.
“I want you to promise me…you won’t come out here anymore,” she begged him. “Promise me…you’ll be safe—”
“We gotta get moving,” somebody said urgently. “Manny’s pulling up on Jefferson, but he can’t come down here. Alley’s too small for the RV.”
She dug her nails in even harder, the softened flesh of the leather giving way under her desperate grip. “Promise me. Or I die in vain.”
L.W.’s eyes searched hers, and she could have sworn that there was a sheen of tears gleaming in his. But maybe that was just her own vision failing and creating an optical illusion.
“L.W. Please.”
“Fuck,” he breathed as he started walking again. “Fine, I promise.”
As she lost consciousness, she caught one last final impression of his unyielding expression. Then she let herself go into the abyss.
Even though she was shattered that she was leaving her son behind, there was a hint of sad anticipation.
The door to the Fade was going to come for her, and Wrath would be on the other side. She was more than ready to see her hellren again. Finally.
It had been far too long…but what a loss to get to that reunion. She was leaving their son, alone, in the middle of the war…
Happy Anniversary.