WarriorsWoman (13 page)

A flash of blinding pain hit, toppling her to her side and making her clutch her knees to her chest in a vain attempt to ward off the agony.

Batzorg hurt.

The horrific suffering she shared through the link made her wince and pant. She fought to control her panic enough to concentrate.
Where are you?

Stay away!
The force of his command pounded in her head like a sonic boom.

She caught impressions of a stinging, followed by blackness, mind-stealing pain, cold, and being dragged.

Another wave of his aguish washed through her.

And then nothing.

Batzorg.

She scrubbed the tears blurring her vision and mentally called to Vilmos and Lorcan.
The cyborgs have Batzorg. He’s seriously injured and being dragged.

Vilmos responded first.
The bastards disassembled his weapon arm with a saw. How the hell did they get the drop on him? Forget that, how does not matter, if we do not reach him quickly he will bleed out.

Took out one of scrap metal cyborgs, the other is hightailing it east. I’m on it,
Lorcan reported, sending an image of the cyborg racing through the deep drifts of snow.

She heard an annihilator’s distinctive whine.

Was the lethal noise from a cyborg’s weapon or a mech’s
?

Fear skittered down her backbone.

Missed, damn it.
Lorcan’s grumble eased her back from panic.

After turning her coat white side out, Minka hastily shrugged it on. She tucked Nigel into his pouch as she flew across the front yard.
I’m coming with you.

You have to stay safe.
Vilmos’ disapproval slammed into her mind.

Lorcan agreed.
Let us protect you.

If I stay here alone then I’m a blood bank waiting for withdrawals. You don’t get a vote. This is my choice and I’m coming with you. Batzorg needs me and
y
ou need me.
If one of you dies, I don’t want to live.

Damn stubborn woman.
Gruff admiration edged Lorcan’s thoughts.

Vilmos continued to argue.
We are expendable, you are not.

She ignored their objections and raced into a picture postcard winter scene. Except for the red smears on the pristine snow. Her stomach knotted and she set her mouth in a grim line as she followed a much too clear trail of Batzorg’s life force.

Dear God, so much blood.

His unconsciousness and the cold will help slow the loss.
Vilmos tried to reassure her.

She hadn’t kept her fearful wail from their connection.
Why are they dragging him?

My fault. I missed my shot at the second worthless scrap metal reject.
His buddy decided Batzorg made a good shield. Both of them got away, but we’ll catch them.
Lorcan’s fierce determination came through their link in a familiar growl.

Be careful.
She was already cold and aware she couldn’t keep up with their mech speed. Wishing she’d remembered gloves, she jammed her hands into her pockets and concentrated on keeping her stride long and steady and her mind blank.

A gust of northerly wind shoved her sideways. She pushed back, leaning against the icy blast of air. Snow swirled from the sky, drifting through the forest canopy in broadening streaks until she couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead.

The solid white ground crumbled under her heel and she windmilled to keep from tumbling over the side of a cliff. The drifts above her shook, swelled and nudged her closer to the unstable path’s edge.

Vilmos and Lorcan both shouted in her head, but she was too busy trying to stay upright to sort out what they said. In a desperate effort to keep her balance, she overcompensated, falling backward, and flailed frantically through the snow for a branch, root, or rock—anything to grab. Merciless gravity pulled her toward the abyss.

She reached inside her coat, ready to fling Nigel to safety when something settled around her waist. On instinct, she grabbed the soft material and was tugged backward.

A heartbeat later, Lorcan lifted her to her feet and smashed her against him in a crushing hug. She pounded his back and he eased enough for her to breathe. “Don’t scare us like that.”

Still fighting for breath, she nodded.

“You could’ve injured her,” Vilmos huffed, turning his attention to Minka, his scanner out and moving over her body.

She batted the device away. “I’m fine. We need to hurry.”

Lorcan shoved the pants he’d used to pull her to safety toward Vilmos. “You heard her, pal. Move it.”

“This is not the time for humor.”

Lorcan arched an eyebrow. “Who’s kidding? We need to haul ass.” He snagged Minka’s wrist. “This time you stick with us.”

As if I didn’t beg both of you to wait for me.
“Yes sir.”

The mechs’ laughter sounded in her mind.

Damn, telepathic communication gives a girl no privacy.

Their mood quickly turned serious as fresh snowfall made walking more treacherous than usual. Worse, the wind picked up again and drifting mounds of loose powder quickly obscured Batzorg’s trail.

Getting closer, hot stuff.

The path grew steeper and Minka slipped.

Vilmos grabbed a handful of her coat, constricting Nigel, who hissed in protest.
Sorry, dear. I would gladly carry you, but I need my hands free.

To deal with cyborgs.
She finished his thought with a shiver.

Yes.

She blinked to clear the snow from her lashes, leaned to peer past Lorcan’s broad shoulders and saw the trail narrowed to a three-foot gap ahead. It didn’t take a strategic genius to recognize a great ambush opportunity. But with Batzorg’s critical blood loss, there was no time to search for another route into the ravine.

At least the ground leveled. The mechs increased their speed. Minka loped to keep up as they raced into the gap.

Within a few strides the trail expanded to twice the width. She caught a glimpse of Batzorg lying much too still near a transporter. She angled, trying for a better view. Once again, the mechs kicked up the pace.

To avoid slowing them, she lengthened her strides in an all-out sprint.

In the space of a breath, both mechs went down in a tangle of powerful arms and legs. She danced to avoid tripping over the thrashing limbs.

Her heart rose to her throat, beating frantically. She was trapped between her mechs as they battled cyborgs.

Both Lorcan and Vilmos were locked in death matches.

Fuck!
Lorcan finally broke the cyborg’s chokehold and sucked back great gulps of the oxygen he’d been missing.

Getting killed wasn’t part of the plan. The bigger problem was his total lack of a plan beyond to keep breathing. He was willing to bet his crotch defender that Vilmos had even less battle strategy going on than he did. Skirmish tactics were Batzorg’s department and he was unavailable for the indefinite future—longer unless they won.

The cyborgs were too close a match with their mech strength and speed. If he didn’t think of something fast, the fight would be decided by metal fatigue, component failure, or plain stupidity. In short, nothing he could count on or control. Absolutely unacceptable.

In the close quarters of the canyon’s entrance the cyborg’s annihilator was useless—a lucky break for the mechs. The weapon needed at least two meters’ distance to focus its power. Any nearer and the blast range was too diffused to be lethal, though it did serious damage to everything within a three-meter radius, including the shooter.

The piece of scrap metal currently grappling with Lorcan, and his evil twin, who was busy choking the living shit out of Vilmos, both had one goal—Minka.

Failure wasn’t an option. He couldn’t let these oversized tin cans get their metal paws on his Minka. He would die first. Hell, they would all die.

Already panting for breath, he hip-checked his attacker and caught him in a headlock. That slick move lasted maybe two seconds before the bastard knocked him to the freezing ground. He darted a glance behind him. Vilmos still struggled with the other cyborg.

Where the hell is Minka?

Lorcan’s pulse stuttered then hit the fast lane as panic added extra strength to his next body slam. As he and the enemy feinted and circled, from the edge of his vision he glimpsed her pressed up against the side of the canyon. Smart woman.

The winter sun gleamed off something metallic in her hand—her antique weapon.

Flip up his face shield
,
Minka shouted inside his mind.

He slammed the cyborg into the rocky wall opposite Minka and almost caught the latch for the enemy’s shield.
Working on it, hot stuff.

It’s up…ugh.
Vilmos hit the snow again.

The sound of her gun firing bounced off the rocky walls and the scrap metal heap trying to kill Lorcan turned his head as if seeking the source for the strange noise.

This time, Lorcan went right for the enemy’s shield release and the face protector snapped open. Before he had a chance to tell Minka to fire, another boom echoed and something stung his knuckles on its way past.

The cyborg’s face exploded, revealing metal substructure. Lorcan’s jaw sagged at the hiss of power leaking from the enemy and the total lack of blood.

What the fuck have we been fighting?

Shocked by the strange components revealed, Lorcan dropped his defenses and the impossible still-functioning cyborg swung a fatal chop at his vulnerable neck.

Time slowed to almost old-school freeze-frame video technology as the tin man’s fist blasted toward his Adam’s apple. With only a couple of centimeters between him and certain death, a third shot rang out and the heap of scrap metal crumpled.

Hell of a shot, hot stuff. Glad you’re on our side.
Too shaken to stand, Lorcan leaned over, rested his hands above his knees, and dragged in gulps of air.

She hugged him and whispered against his intact throat, “Glad you’re still here.”

On Vilmos’ way toward Batzorg, he flipped up his shield.
They had to have come from a future beyond ours.

Lorcan waved off Minka’s help and straightened with a grunt at the twinge in his back. “How’s Batzorg doing?”

“I don’t know.” Her pretty eyes grew shiny with tears. She blinked hard, turned, and hurried after the med-tech.

Winning the fight might not be enough, but Batzorg was tough and Vilmos was an expert at putting mechs back together. The combination of both factors gave Lorcan hope.

No matter how rosy his lens, a new class of enemy was bad news.

Vilmos called back, “Collect the head from one of the cyborgs, I want to analyze it.”

“I’m on it.” Lorcan frowned and reversed direction to scan for a weakness or three in the broken cyborgs, androids—whatever the piles of junk metal were.

The enemies had vanished.

He whirled. Their transporter was gone too.

Had the cyborgs and their craft been recalled by technology he’d never heard about or had the mechs winning changed the future so drastically that the enemies had been wiped out of existence? Way more Vilmos’ area than his. “Did you see that?”

“Those cyborgs just disappeared.” Minka’s voice wobbled.

Strangely, her fear made him braver. “They’ll stay gone if they know what’s good for them.”

Vilmos was too busy working on Batzorg to respond.

For now Batzorg lived. Lorcan sighed with relief and jogged through the beaten snow to join his team.

The triad leader’s weapon arm had been cut off at the elbow. The white ground closest to him was stained a dark red that faded to pink farther from his body as snow thinned his blood, making a blurred flower from his life force.

Batzorg was way too white.

Damn, what if we’re too late to save him?

Next to their fallen leader, Minka sat back on her heels, her legs gracefully folded underneath her. “Will it hurt for him to rest his head on my legs?”

“He would like that, dear,” Vilmos answered, continuing to work.

Lorcan stepped in and helped ease Batzorg’s hard head onto Minka’s soft thighs. Then he asked Vilmos, “How’s he doing?”

Vilmos wielded the cellular repair unit without looking up. “His nanobots kept him from bleeding out. However he has already lost too much blood.” Vilmos’ voice cracked, he swallowed and continued. “His systems are overwhelmed, he’s barely stable, and I do not have the equipment or supplies to save him.”

“Would a blood transfusion help?” Minka asked.

“Maybe, however neither Lorcan nor I are a type match.”

“I’m O-negative, that works, right?”

Vilmos finished using the cell stimulator on Batzorg’s severed arm and leaned back to cup Minka’s face. “Your blood type is a universal match, however you are small and he needs a massive transfusion. I will not risk losing both of you.”

“Could she accept plasma from me?” Lorcan asked.

After a second’s hesitation, Vilmos nodded.

Minka nudged Vilmos back toward Batzorg. “Good, it’s settled.”

“No, the procedure is too risky.”

“Please, without blood Batzorg will die.” She turned her face away from them. A silent tear splashed on the big mech’s forehead and slowly slid down his temple into his helmet.

Vilmos’ mouth was a tight line of manly hopelessness. “If he lives and you do not he would kill me.” He added in dark grumble, “If I did not take my own life first.”

“You don’t get it. If he doesn’t live—if you or Lorcan died, then I don’t want to live. I love all three of you.”

This was the second time she had said pretty much the same thing. Lorcan didn’t know about Vilmos, but damn, she got to him. His heart swelled with tender love for her.

Vilmos cleared his throat. “Oh my dear, I love you too, however I am unwilling to risk losing both of you.”

“Me too, hot stuff.” He turned and growled needlessly at Vilmos, “Better not let either of them die.”