Dreams of a Dark Warrior (34 page)

breath left him. Dozens of prisoners ran free. The bulkhead to ward two had also been breached, and a

… a
mountain
was rising within.

Two Sorceri females stood nearby; Declan recognized Portia and Emberine—the Queen of Stone and

the Queen of Flames. Neither wore a torque, which meant both possessed their ful ungodly powers.

With a wave of her hand, Portia continued to draw up that colossal pediment of rock.

Emberine was beside her, incinerating any soldiers who’d had been caught outside the research ward.

One shot to the chest rendered their bodies to ash.

If that stone rose any higher, the entire facility would be demolished. Declan wouldn’t be able to save

anyone on this island from the self-destruct. He wouldn’t be able to save Regin.

Regin.
Declan final y understood what his victims had felt when he’d tortured their mates.

A madness to protect.

Have to eliminate the Sorceri.
He yel ed once more to the guards, “Hold the line!” then charged

straight into hel .

As he tore through the riot, he dimly realized that the creatures without their torques were uniformly

those from the Pravus al iance.

That “being” had come from the outside to free only one army.

Now the Pravus preyed on their weakened Vertas enemies.

Regin was injured and likely stil wore her torque. If the glass of her cel shattered, she’d be left

unprotected. As a Vertas, she’d be targeted. …

Final y he garnered enough room to raise his rifle and take a bead on Portia. He squeezed the trigger

and held it, but before the spray of bul ets could hit the female, Emberine melted them in midair.

Then the Queen of Flames turned on him, eyes fil ed with malice. A firebal blazed in her raised palm.

He leveled his aim at her, emptying a clip, but she’d already hurled the bal at him with the speed of a

rocket.

A kil shot.

It took him right in the chest, exploding him across the facility.

THIRTY-TWO

D
orada is in the building.
Lothaire mused. Here, just as he’d predicted.

His nemesis Nïx might have her foresight, but Lothaire had
insight
. He could calculate what Loreans would do with exceptional accuracy.

The bitch had come for her ring—able to track whoever had touched it last over the entire earth. But

she was also here for retribution. And she wouldn’t give a damn that he’d been working for her side in the war between good and evil for mil ennia.

“I told you we’d escape soon,” Lothaire grated to the demon male across the corridor. Since Malkom

Slaine’s arrival, Lothaire had tried coaxing him into an al egiance, patiently explaining the value of al ies in the Lore.

He himself had made pacts with al kinds—whatever the Endgame required. In ages past, he’d fought

side by side with a Valkyrie when al he’d wanted to do was torment her. He’d aligned with various

demonarchies that thought he was the devil incarnate.

He’d even quel ed his abundant pride and sworn fealty to a vampire king—one who sat upon Lothaire’s

own throne. …

Yet though Slaine was part vampire, he hated al “leeches.” He just sat there obsessing about his witch,

plotting his revenge, refusing to al y with a red-eyed vampire.

Though I know everything about this world, and Slaine knows so little.

Though he was a slave in Oblivion, and I’m soon to reclaim my kingdom.

The ground quaked beneath him. So Portia was raising a mountain? Then the whispers were true—

Dorada
was
removing the prisoners’ torques.

At least from the evil ones. He knew he’d receive no such boon from her.

Twisting metal clanged, echoing down the hal . The wal s began to warp. The glass of his cel couldn’t

take much more of this pressure.

Perhaps escape could be had before Dorada reached him?

No. She neared even now.

He’d brought her down upon himself recklessly, had known better. But he would have done anything for

that ring—the Endgame demanded it—and he’d never imagined he’d have to contend with her in this

state.

“One way or another, this ends tonight.” Lothaire paced, as ready for battle as he could be, considering

he stil wore a torque—and was starving.

For weeks, he’d been denied blood, and Chase’s torture had left him compromised, his skin stil

missing in places.

But at least that bastard had given him salt. Lothaire fil ed his pockets with it.

Everyone in the Lore knew that a Wendigo’s contagious bite or scratch would transform even an

immortal into one of its kind. But they didn’t know much else because few survived an encounter with

them intact.

Yet centuries ago, one wizard had discovered what salt did to those creatures—a wizard who’d died

under Lothaire’s fangs, unwil ingly yielding his memories and knowledge. …

“I am ready to have done, Dorada!” Lothaire yel ed. “Face me, crone!”

Seconds later, he spotted her just outside Slaine’s cel , a walking corpse, surrounded by a frothing

pack of Wendigos.

She was even more hideous than the last time he’d seen her mere weeks ago. His eyes narrowed.

Though she should be invincible, scorch marks branded her decomposed skin. The mortals had shot—

and wounded—her.

Why hadn’t she regenerated to her ful power before she’d attacked?
Too anxious to get to me?

Wait, Dorada was removing Slaine’s col ar? Lothaire hadn’t thought Slaine was particularly evil. And he

was usual y right about these things.

Who am I kidding? I’m
always
right.

Then Emberine appeared and shattered the demon’s cel wal with her fire. Slaine the slave, freed of

his torque and his jail? The injustice of it al .

Dorada swished to a stop in front of Lothaire’s cel and shrieked,
“RIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!”

“You know I don’t
have
your ring,
suka
.”

La Dorada raised her withered arm. In a wave, the Wendigos rushed the glass of his cel . As they

repeatedly barreled against it, blood and contagious saliva smeared the fractured glass, their claws

clattering down it. …

The barrier shattered. The stench of them—of her—nearly fel ed him.

But as the creatures charged, Lothaire dug into his pockets, tossing salt. The granules burned their

gaunt skin, shriveling it like a leech’s.

He aimed for their faces to blind them. Putrid flesh gave up smoke, yet they kept advancing through

that haze.

He dodged their knifelike claws, swinging his fists to send them flying. But they recouped in turns,

continuing their attack.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Slaine climbing from the wreckage of his cel . As Lothaire

clashed with the Wendigos, he bit out, “Slaine? A hand here.”

Dorada swung her head at the demon to shriek,
“RIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG?”

Slaine strode away, cal ing over his shoulder, “Where’s your al egiance now, vampire?”

If you’re not with me, you’re against me,
Lothaire thought as he repel ed another charge.
You’ve erred
for ill. …

Again and again, he cast the rabid creatures out. But the quaking beneath his feet intensified, keeping

him off balance. The roof began to sag above him as the facility threatened to col apse. He waged a

him off balance. The roof began to sag above him as the facility threatened to col apse. He waged a

losing battle.

Suddenly, the cement beneath the Wendigos fractured, the jagged line widening—

In a deafening rush, the ground opened up, creating a yawning ravine; five Wendigos plunged into that

blackness. The others hung on to the edge, scrabbling for the steel rebar that jutted from broken

concrete.

Under the immense pressure, the two rock faces of that new crevasse jerked forward and back as if

the earth breathed.

Lothaire rammed the heel of his boot atop the Wendigos’ elongated fingers, dropping them one by one.

Across the divide, La Dorada shrieked at him, her expression promising pain.

“Come and finish me, then!” he bel owed, but his muscles were shuddering, his body too weakened

from the Wendigos. … So this was how it would end?

Dorada would keep him from what he desired so violently? The centuries of toil, the sacrifice.

At the thought, fury spiked within him, coursing through his ancient royal blood.
Think of
her.
So young,
beautiful. Think of those innocent eyes gazing up at me with delightful fear.

A red haze covered his vision. The ground quaked once more. The crone teetered at the precipice.

With the last of his strength, he sprinted to the edge and vaulted to a ledge of rock just beneath her. His hand snaked out to seize her ankle. He gave a vicious yel and yanked.

La Dorada screamed as she crashed to her back.

Holding on by the fingertips of one hand, he pul ed against her mighty strength … dragging her …

She dropped over the edge. But as she fel , she caught his right leg with her claws, dangling below him.

“Join your dogs, bitch!” He slammed his left boot into her hideous face, crushing one side. Another kick

took her sole eye. A last kick—

Dorada plummeted, her fading scream carried up for long moments. … Then silence from below, what

had to be hundreds of feet down.

His relief was short-lived. The rock face began to grind forward, closing the distance between the

sides. A stone mouth with rebar teeth.

Sweat broke out on his body, dripping into his eyes. He reached for the steel rods above him …

stretching … higher stil …

Missed.

Again, he tried to climb. His muscles were too deadened, starved for blood. The urge to release his

grip grew undeniable.

One finger slipped. Then another. …

THIRTY-THREE

B
attles. Everywhere. Directly in front of Regin and Natalya. But just out of reach.

As the mountain continued to rise, the entire building wobbled. The glass of other cel s succumbed to

the pressure, but theirs held strong.

Al she and the fey could do was watch the havoc outside their cel . Though al the creatures in the

Vertas had their torques, none of the Pravus did.

Regin laid her palms against the glass. “Put me in, Coach …”

“I’m bloody ready to play,” Natalya finished.

Packs of shifters wrangled, the Vertas mammal shifters versus the Pravus amphibious ones.

Winged demons skulked through the ward, dragging humans into dark corners to share for sex. Horde

vampires fed from the mortals at the same time.Volós thundered up and down the corridor, his long mane

of hair tied back in a queue, his hooves matted with gristle.

Mere feet away, five starving succubae waylaid Uil eam MacRieve. The females were torqueless,

which meant they were probably a hundred times stronger than the Lykae would be right now. They

attacked as one, launching him directly into the glass wal of Regin’s cel .

She cried, “Break the glass, MacRieve!”

His fists were flying, but the females were dusting off his blows. “Wee bit busy, Valkyrie!” He fought as

if his life depended on it, roaring and flailing.

Regin murmured to Natalya, “Most guys aren’t usual y too keen on getting away.” The succubae had

ways to make males crazed with lust. “If he fal s under their spel , I’m gonna look away. Real y. I am.”

“I bet he’s fighting it because he’s found his mate.”

Regin frowned. Then it would destroy him to be with another female, even under these circumstances.

Eventual y the ravenous succubae took MacRieve—a Lykae male in his prime—down, pinning him to