The Bastard (18 page)

Still on his ass, Nomad leveled the Glock at Sun Tzu. “Omen, heel.”

Releasing his quarry, the dog trotted back to his owner’s side and sat with a loud pant. The mutt looked like he was smiling, gruesome blood-smeared teeth visible beneath his muzzle.

“Everyone take a fucking chill.” Nomad climbed to his feet, but kept his gun trained on the Master. “You and the robe, go take a God damned nap. You’re bleeding all over the grass.”

Sun Tzu cradled his blood-streaked arm. “We’ve too much to learn to —”

Nomad fired. Dirt kicked up beside Sun Tzu’s leg. “I said, go take a nap.”

“What is that?” The Egyptian panted. “A weapon?”

“This?” The black handgun seemed to suck in the moonlight, devour it and still look deadly. “This is a Glock 19 semiautomatic nine millimeter with a fifteen round capacity. Just a little something I like to play with.”

The Egyptian’s gaze locked tight on the barrel. “Does it kill?”

Nomad shot him. A small bullet hole indented his forehead and blood trickled down his nose before he fell back. “You tell me, does that feel like you’re dying?”

Vike winced as the guy started to moan. Bullets couldn’t kill any Awoken but they hurt like a bitch. Talk about a splitting headache.

“Your point is clear. We are unprepared.” The Master rose with far too much poise for a bleeding man. “I’ll return with my injured to heal. You take the others and teach them these things.”

Nomad’s jaw swung open. “We’re just rolling in the bat-shit crazy today, aren’t we?”

“Sela has forbidden us from engaging any more Leeches.” Vike sent his sword to his arm. “That’s your job now.”

Sun Tzu stared. “There should be no battle until information is gathered. The Righteous called me a fool for seeking to learn from the Forsaken, claimed you would lie and misdirect us. I thought better of you. Even the dogs of war have talents. However, if you are too busy doing Sela’s bidding to fulfill your vows to The Creator…”

Sucking on his tongue, Nomad shoved the gun in his pants and turned, drawing the Forsaken closer. The Righteous moved back, helping the injured to stand and pretending to give them privacy. Omen didn’t budge. His canine sights were trained on Sun Tzu’s back.

“Talk,” Nomad demanded.

“I’d like to shove those vows up his Asian ass.”

“Not a big help, Dray.” Vike spat.

Nomad cocked his head then snarled over his shoulder. “I know you want to bite his ass again but sit. Stay.”

Omen huffed, his leathery lips flapping.

“Yes, I mean it, crotch-noser. Let it go.”

They were all used to Nomad’s silent conversations with the dog so none of them gave it a second thought. They merely tightened their small circle.

Rex dropped his voice to a whisper. “Technically, it skims the edge of Sela’s order to leave the Leeches to the Righteous. But between you and me, those pricks don’t have a snowball’s chance of finding a single Leech without some training.”

“This is not my problem,” Nomad snarled. The phone rang again. “For fuck’s sake, answer the goddamned phone, Vike.”

He tugged it from his pocket. “Lacy’s just worried. Annie’s house was broken into.”

“I don’t give a tinker’s dick. Shut her up.”

Swiping the screen, he brought the phone to his ear. “Hey babe, I’m tied up right now… Yeah, I got it… Is Annie okay?.. So she wasn’t home?... Look, I’m not too far from Timberton, let me finish this up and then I’ll swing by and check on her, okay?... Sure… All right, be home soon as I can.”

He punched End.

“Everything cool?” Rex asked.

The nagging hen-pecked noose tightened Vike’s throat, but he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good, now let’s get back to work,” Nomad grumbled.

“If we show the glee club how to do this, you know there’s going to be a fight. I say we do it.” Dray ran his fingers through his long hair. “I’m tired of sitting on my ass and looking at maps, digging in the dirt and bagging dust. Let’s go kick Leech ass and teach these dicks how it’s done.”

Vike silently agreed. The Forsaken were chomping at the bit for action. They needed battle like an addict needed drugs. His skin itched with the need for sweat, for the burn of muscles, the roar of blood rushing. He punched a few buttons on his phone. The display made his gloves glow with pale green light.

“Warsaw has a higher than normal streak of missing people and the police radios there are hopping. Mysterious blood splatters have been noted in seven different alleyways.”

“Beat down time!” Dray grinned.

“Uh, guys.” Rex rolled his tongue around his cheek. “There’s this chick in Barcelona who has an ass like bubble wrap. You can’t help but pinch it. So I have a date.”

Nomad scoffed. “You always have a date, Wonder Prick.”

“You’re just jealous.” Rex stepped back with a wink. “I’ll go check Annie’s place for Vike, then go do my own
thang
. See ya.”

He Leaped. Vike cracked his neck with a loud pop, loosening the muscles in his back. Nearly salivating at the prospect of action, he blinked in confusion as Nomad shoved soul-bags into his hands.

“What’re you doing?”

The bearded man was not in a good mood. He slapped the last bag from his pocket against Vike’s stomach. “Apparently Dray and I are playing teachers to Huey, Dewey and Nipples back there. You’re taking the soul-bags back to H2Q.”

Vike juggled the leather bags. “What? No.”

“Dude, we got this.” More bags piled in his hands as Dray emptied his pockets.

Vike shoved the pile at Nomad. “I want to fight.”

One leather bag fell to the ground. Scooping it up, Nomad smacked it into the pile. “I cannot begin to describe the immensity of the fuck I do not give right now. You have Lacy on the brain. Get out of here.”

“I’m fine,” he snarled. “Rex’ll check Annie and we’ll teach the Righteous.”

“No,
we’ll
teach the Righteous.
You
are going home and playing the charming pussy whipped boyfriend a little more.”

“You’re a fucking dick, Mad.”

“And I’ve got the balls to prove it. Go home.”

Chilled air blew harsh against Vike’s skin but the cold couldn’t penetrate the impotent anger firing in his gut. Sun Tzu and the other two injured Righteous Leaped out first. Nomad and Dray spent a minute talking to the others. Dray handed the topless woman his sweatshirt. Her jaw dropped seeing his arm tattoos, but she pulled the shirt over her head. The group Leaped, leaving Vike alone, shaking in barely suppressed rage.

Clutching the soul-bags, he Leaped, materializing in H2Q’s quad. Dusk was just falling here and his eyes lifted. The windows of his apartment glowed with welcoming light. He was a warrior, a fighter, delegated to placating a woman while his teammates fought without him. Because of Lacy.

He wanted to be angry at her, to find some way to blame her for castrating his power, but he couldn’t. The only thing he felt toward her was softness. Even now, knowing his friends were fighting without him, his mouth ached for her kiss.

Fear chased up his spine, colder than any wind. Was he pussy whipped? Had he fallen into the same deadly trap that had ended his first life? It hadn’t quite been a month since she’d fallen into his life and now he barely recognized the man he’d become.

He crept into H2Q through the library door, slinking to the elevators like a guilty thief. No one was in the Hall of Infamy, the torches cold and dark. He’d not been summoned so his clothing didn’t change as he crossed the marble floor. The low electric lights let him see well enough to dump the soul-bags on the altar.

Sela would break Samael’s torturous hold and store them peacefully in the Dregs, the Forsaken’s version of the Sacred Wall. It filled five rooms so far, each one stacked high with crystal boxes now containing dead Soul-leeches. Even they deserved more than the erasure of
kareth
.

His gaze fell on Gen’s box in the Sacred Niche.

“I think I fucked up, Gen.”

He could nearly hear the Mongol’s voice.
That shit can’t lead to anywhere but hurt
.

“I’m screwed in the head or something. I know better than to let another woman rule over me. But I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“The worst enemy is never a fighter, it’s a lover.”

“She makes me feel like…like I’m better than I really am.”

“Wish in one hand, shit in the other, blah, blah, blah.”

“I played the charming thing to the hilt, you know? But I’m not playing anymore. I
am
different around her. She just…expects me to be and so I am. At least with her. It’s not real, right? I’m not a hero. I’m the bad guy, the villain, the bastard. Aren’t I?”

There was no answer. Unexpended adrenaline surged through his veins with a burn. He took the elevator up one floor then strode down the hall to the gym, deliberately keeping his mind blank as he stripped down to his boxers. The gym’s steel door drowned out the pulse of heavy metal in rhythmic sets. He set the rowing machine to its highest level and stroked the hell out of it, channeling his frustration into throwing more power into his arms.

Pussy whipped
. The very phrase grated on him. He’d been pussy whipped once, letting his devotion for his wife shape his decisions, his plans, his future. Never again.

So many men had lost wives, good wives, to childbirth that he’d counted himself lucky. Hildy had been strong. She ran his households with an iron fist, raised his children properly, managed his affairs when he was
a’viking
.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and he blinked the sting away. She was a beauty, all long golden hair and dancing brown eyes. Her laugh had tickled him, enchanted him, enthralled him. But the echo of her tears replayed in his mind in an endless loop.

One thing. I ask one tiny thing and you refuse me. Every thought, every action, every breath I have is for you. So many times I’ve been to the birthing bed for you and still you treat me as a biting flea, something to be crushed and shoved aside. Why do I love you, Eiríkr? Why don’t you love me?

He had loved her. Hildy’s tears had always cut him deeper than any blade.

Arms quivering with exertion, he switched to the incline bench and grunted through sit-ups, clinging to the burn that radiated through his torso. It helped to mask the shame. Clarity of time and his death had shown him how weak he’d been. Her love was a poison, slowly leeching into every fiber of his body.

Cold winter nights had brought bitter winds and made the hearth fire a welcome place. She’d hand him a steaming cup of honeyed mead and rub his sore shoulders, her lyrical voice whispering all the glories that awaited him, awaited them, awaited their children if only he could do this one little thing. It had never stopped at one little thing. He’d made her a queen and she asked for more. He’d given her everything he was and still she cried. It wasn’t enough.

Looking back, he saw himself fall victim to her schemes and goals, her plots for social advancement, for gold and recognition. His love had blinded him and bound him to her like unbreakable chains. She made him a puppet, a puppet that succeeded, that flourished, that killed.

He wasn’t without guilt. His nature had always been violent, laudable in his time, but with her urging, he’d crossed boundaries no decent man should ever cross. He’d paid for those atrocities. The cost was cheap enough, only his blood, his life and his soul.

He wiped down the machine before he moved to the stair climber. He’d climbed the Empire State building three times before the motor ground to a halt.

A frown tugged at Myth’s mouth as he dropped the plug. “Whatever demon you’re chasing isn’t going to get caught that way.”

“Whatever. Spot me.”

Myth took his place as Vike slid more round discs onto the bar and lay on the flat bench. He did only four reps before Myth leaned down, putting his entire weight on the bar and forcing it down. Vike struggled to keep it from crushing his neck.

Myth was six-six and solid as a rock, but Vike still out-weighed him by at least twenty pounds of muscle. Gravity however, didn’t give a damn. The sweaty bar pushed lower until it brushed his windpipe. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making sure I have your attention. You and I need a little chit-chat.” The weight bar suddenly snapped back to the rest guards. Vike shot upright, but Myth halted him with a hand on his shoulder. “What the hell is eating you?”

“Nothing.”

“Wrong answer.” Careful blankness stretched across Myth’s face. “Lacy?”

“Back off.”

The snake-wielding hand smacked him in the back of the head. “Don’t blow smoke up my ass. Better men than you have tried and gotten their throats slit for it.”

Vike sprung to his feet. “Lick my ballsack. I’m not one of your slaves that you can shove around. I was every bit as royal as you were so back the fuck down.”

Inch by inch, Myth’s spine straightened until he stood proud and tall. “They called me two-thirds a god as well as a king. I ruled for over sixty years while you were tossed out on your whiny ass, with your thumb tucked in your mouth to muffle the whimpers. Do
not
shove your weak-assed crown in my face or I’ll make you eat it.”

Vike went nose to nose with him, hot breath speeding between his clenched teeth. It had been too long since he battled, since he felt the rush of aggression. He needed a fight, needed to purge the gnawing ache of futility from his marrow. “They called you a god because your mother was a temple slut.”

They clashed at the same instant. Myth went low, aiming for Vike’s gut, landing a solid punch that forced the air from his lungs. Vike went high, sending a chopping slice straight into the vulnerable muscles of the neck. A foot shot out at his left knee, buckling Vike’s leg then Myth struck hard at his face. Copper filled his mouth as his teeth knocked together. An elbow to the throat sent Myth over the weight bench.

Myth rolled and charged. A fist spiraled stars into Vike’s sight. Two jabs and a ramming punch to the belly doubled Myth over and Vike drew back his leg for a face kick. Myth caught the swinging knee and twisted, sprawling Vike face first into the concrete floor. His lip split. He thrust to his feet a half-second before Myth took him back to the floor, his knees biting into Vike’s spine. He powered up, rolled and pinned the black man to the ground.