Gabby wasn’t an empathic. Nor was Valin. And projective thought did not convey that level of emotions. Not that she cared about the how right now; what was important was the thought and emotions themselves. Alarm. Fear. For who? Bennett? Or was that fear possibly for himself?
She sucked in a breath, the cool air chilling the sweat that had beaded out on her exposed skin. Whoever the fear had been for, someone was in danger. Given the power behind the projection, they couldn’t be that far away, which meant she was most likely the closest one to providing aid.
Flat-out ignoring the street bum staring at her from his hidey hole in an alcove across the way, she pushed herself up and broke into a run. The residual throbbing in her head made the pounding pace difficult, but with each stride she found an inner strength that pushed her forward faster.
Not far. Can’t be far. Two, maybe three, streets over?
A scream cut through the air, her gut tightening and twisting at the grating scrape of pure agony. Definitely not far, but more north than east. Ducking between two badly parked hunks of junk, she cut across the street, aiming for the narrow delivery entrance across the way. She knew from patrolling these streets for the last few months that it backed up against the brick wall of the building behind it, but the building itself was only a few stories high, had lots of hand and footholds in it, and conveniently sat across from an even shorter building.
Without thought to who else besides the bum might be around, she gathered her muscles and leapt for the narrow ledge framing a second-story window. It took her longer than she wanted to scale the building, but the wasted time was easily made up when she sprinted across the rubber roofline, grasped onto the brick lip on the far side, and pushed off, drawing on her supernatural strength and the willpower of desperation.
The street flashed beneath her—a streetlamp, a couple scurrying pedestrians in dark hoodies furtively heading in opposite directions, an idling car with its lights off down at the corner—and then she was landing, the impact forcing her down onto all fours as she fought to keep moving forward. This roof wasn’t as well cared for, the cracked rubber pitted and covered with a skin-abrading combo of tar and fine asphalt. Ignoring the sting, she went into a tuck, rolling up into a crouch, then spun around a rotating vent that popped up in her way, only to come up against the short lip of the backside of the building. Unfortunately, this is where her shortcut ended. Grasping onto the edge, she vaulted over, dropping down onto the sidewalk below with a teeth-rattling jar.
“Gabriella!”
She jerked her head around, spinning on the balls of her feet toward the sound of Jacob’s voice. A hundred yards distant came Jacob and Bennett, their pace frantic but stunted as they half-dragged, half-carried Aaron between them. Aaron gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t hold back the grunts and moans of agony as the two men dragged him along.
Gabby sucked in a breath, her gaze dragging over his wounds. His favored gray T-shirt and cargo pants had been singed until they looked like the equivalent of charred Swiss cheese, each gaping hole exposing glistening red flesh. The burns ran up the side of his thigh, stretching across his torso and the entire right side of his face. He looked like something out of a Batman comic—or a war zone.
“Aaron…” She shook her head, choking back the keen of misery that rose. Just as sharply fury followed. No one harmed what was hers. Yeah, she might have wanted to rough up the idiot more times than she could count, but that was her right as his friend and mentor.
“Who did this?” she demanded, rushing over to them.
“Bloody pyros…” Bennett shook his head as he made to shrug out from under Aaron’s armpit. “Here, help get him home. I need to go back.”
Her gut clenched. Bennett wasn’t like her. He was more of a practical sort and didn’t appear to buy into petty things like revenge. So the only reason she could think of for him to be going back was…“Valin?”
He nodded. “He stayed behind to protect our retreat.”
Against a pyrotechnic merker, and Lucifer knew what else. “Oh god, no…”
Ignorant of Bennett’s swearing, she bolted down the street.
Chapter 8
Valin dodged another fireball, feeling the curl of the hair on the back of his calf as he dove behind a jacked-up van missing all four tires. Protected from sight, he immediately shifted into a formless shadow and, taking advantage of a gust of wind and the scattering of leaves it kicked up, made his retreat to a nearby Dumpster. The van, already coated with graffiti, inherited another coat of dark char as the pyrotechnic merker worked to ensure that Valin wouldn’t be coming out of there alive again. Amazingly enough, the van didn’t blow, showing that tires weren’t the only thing to be lifted by the locals, but gasoline too.
“Sorry, buddy, no boom-boom today,” Valin muttered from a safe distance of a couple dozen yards away and settled down to wait.
Damn, that had been close, though not as close as the previous round they’d played. If he wasn’t careful he wasn’t going to make it out of here at all. Not that getting out of here was his goal at the moment, but ultimately it would be nice.
He flexed his elbow, wincing at the pull of pain that came from stretching the burnt skin and muscle. Damn if it might actually scar. Though he should be thankful it wasn’t his face. Poor fucking kid. As much as Valin didn’t like puppy dog’s attitude, he didn’t harbor Aaron any real harm. But because Valin had screwed up and lost his focus, the kid was going to go through life with a messed-up face…assuming he lived that long.
He’ll live, but only if you keep these fuckers off their asses. Speaking of which, where were they? He and the pyro had been playing cat and mouse for the last five minutes, which given the extent of Aaron’s injuries was probably another five short of long enough for Bennett and Jacob to drag the invalid far enough away that these merkers wouldn’t give chase.
Valin’s stalling techniques had consisted of the classic strategy of pissing them off (slitting two of their throats in quick succession would do that). He’d stuck around long enough to finish the job on one with a good carving session with his pretty knife to both head and heart, but had to skip off into the shade before finishing off the merker’s temporarily immobilized buddy for fear of getting fried. After that the game had really started. With one down, one recovering, and the last out for blood—his, to be precise—Valin had made a game of wagging his naked jangles in the universal taunt of the ages…then hiding and ghosting in time to avoid becoming a crispy critter. At least mostly un-crispy. More like the original recipe perhaps. But levels of doneness aside, this time his pyromaniac buddy didn’t appear to be seeking, which was simply not acceptable.
If he thought he could ghost in close enough to sneak up behind the bastard and take him out, this would all be much easier. Unfortunately his options were vastly limited, given that he’d had to ditch his knife the moment he’d first shifted into the shade.
A longing glance at the inert knife on the sidewalk halfway down the street showed the other merker staggering to his knees, one hand clamped tight to his throat, the other pressed hard against the nearby lamppost. Aaaannnnnd so much for almost-even odds. If the merker was up, it wouldn’t be more than a minute or so before he was running too. Too bad it wouldn’t be away.
Taking a deep breath, Valin took stock of his options, which yielded about the same amount of return as his recent investment in the stock market—far less than stellar. If he thought he could ghost over there, grab his knife, and do a little slice and dice before the pyro could join the round, he’d go for the kill. But he didn’t trust the pyro’s scruples enough to not indulge in a little friendly fire if it meant taking out his intended target, which, um, yeah, would be Valin.