Gideon's Promise (Sons of Judgment Book 2) (12 page)

Daphne sniffled and drew away. She wiped at her tears with the back of her fists.

“It’s my birthday.” She gave him what she probably thought was a bright smile. “And I had hoped to see Riley, or...” She shrugged. “Anyone.”

“Where’s your brothers?” he wondered.

“Working.” She sighed. “They said they’d make it up to me, but I don’t want them to, because what I want...” Her gaze flicked to the empty doorway. “Doesn’t matter. Please don’t tell him.” She raised her face. “I’m just having a bad day, but I’m okay. Thank you for letting me cry on you.”

He wanted to push, but it wasn’t his place. It wasn’t him she wanted comforting her. If this was a normal world, Reggie would be in his place. It would be Reggie wiping her tears and making her sadness go away.

“He doesn’t want this,” he told her quietly. “It’s a complicated situation, but trust me when I tell you that it’s killing him not to be with you.”

Her bottom lip wobbled and her eyes filled with tears again. She looked away from him towards the night spilling through the door.

“Octavian literally had to sell his soul and Riley had to die before they could be together. Reggie doesn’t want that happening to you.”

“I’m already marked for death,” she whispered. “What difference does it make? I just want to be with him.”

Gideon rested a light hand on her shoulder and gave a light squeeze. “You will be,” he promised her. “We’re a determined lot and you’re one of us now.”

T
here was something profoundly calming about hunting. Maybe it was the fraught tension that hovered over every moment, every inhale that fueled him with adrenaline and drove him to find his prey. Whatever it was, Gideon was a natural born hunter. Unlike Reggie who did it out of necessity and Octavian who did it out of duty, Gideon agreed with Magnus that hunting was for those who knew they belonged to the night. It wasn’t pride or arrogance. Gideon knew he was born to be a killer. Granted, that wasn’t something he freely confessed to anyone. He wasn’t deranged and he didn’t kill just anyone.

He killed monsters.

Angelic blade glinting like a promise in the darkness, he crept through the empty streets of downtown Vancouver. The crunch of his boots on pavement was the only sound in the absolute silence. It was a calm night. The wind was staved back by the looming buildings and the world was in a peaceful slumber, ignorant of the danger lurking just on the other side of their doors.

Somewhere, four streets over, he knew Valkyrie was on her own hunt. Unlike him, she preferred higher ground, somewhere with a hawk’s eye view. She was on the rooftops, looking down, while he liked being right in the thick of things. But even with the distance separating them, he felt her. Her anticipation and vigilance thrummed through him like a second heartbeat. He felt it in his chest. In his gut. It was how he knew every time she changed position, every time she leapt from one rooftop to the next. He had no idea how she did it in those boots, but every so often he’d see her soaring over his head like a majestic bird against the moonlit heavens.

Usually they were given a name and a rough location of their bounty, but this case was different. They didn’t know who they were looking for. They were relying solely on luck, hoping to come across something that seemed suspicious. So far it had been four hours and nothing.

Yet despite the dull pinch in his temples, every muscle in his body was rigid, prepared for an attack, which was lucky when a shadow several feet away detached from the wall and lunged.

Gideon deflected, twisting his body away from glint of silver while simultaneously thrusting up his blade to block. The distinct clang of steel on steel ricocheted off the stone walls caging them in. Sparks lanced off his blade. Gideon kicked, landing a solid blow into the figure’s side. It grunted, but retaliated by jabbing with a right hook straight into Gideon’s ribs. Still tender from his run in with the giants, his entire body sang with pain. He lunged back, giving himself that split second to regroup before slashing with his blade. It struck his opponent’s weapon and Gideon got a good look at it.

It wasn’t an angelic blade, but the metal was tarnished as though it had seen too many battles. The blade was curved and the handle was a dull gold. He’d never seen anything like it. But he didn’t dwell.

Swooping down, he kicked the legs out from under his opponent. The figure went down and Gideon took about two seconds to decide that was a little too easy when something ambushed him from behind.

Thin arms looped around his throat and heaved him backwards. But the person was considerably shorter than he was and the act only propelled his body to bend. The heel of his boot caught the toe of the boots behind him and they staggered. They would have gone down had the hold not loosened. Gideon took the opening and twisted the blade in his hand around and thrust it backwards straight into his captor’s belly.

The cry was female.

He was given no chance to rationalize what he’d done. The figure in front of him had leapt to his feet.

“No!”

Gideon jumped out of the way as the figure dove past him and captured the second figure as it slumped to the ground.

“Cara?” The unadulterated anguish in that single word tore at Gideon’s heart.

He stumbled away from the pair, bemused.

“Cara?”

Desperate hands pushed back the hood concealing a pale face. The crimson stain trickling from the corner of her mouth contrasted harshly in the dimness. Brown eyes stared up into the first figure’s face.

“Micah...”

“Hold on.” The first figure shoved back his own hood, revealing dark hair. “Please.”

Having no idea what the fuck just happened, Gideon stared at the two, not sure if he should finish the job or apologize. His guilt wore out. He rushed to the pair and dropped down next to the guy. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat for the healing ointment most Casters carried around in cases of an emergency.

“Get that off,” he told the guy—Micah—gesturing to the dark robes tangled around the body. “Quickly.”

Not asking, Micah hurriedly tore apart the fabric, exposing the deep puncture wound and the blood bubbling up from the hole. Gideon dipped his fingers into the white cream and spread it liberally over the gash. Cara hissed. Her body jerked.

“Hold still,” he told her.

Micah smoothed the wisps of blonde hair off Cara’s face, murmuring softly to her in a language Gideon guessed was Greek, or Roman, but couldn’t be certain.

“We need to get her somewhere to rest,” he said. “Where do you live?”

Micah dampened his lips, gaze fixed on Cara who had gone limp. Gideon guessed she’d passed out from the pain.

“We don’t have anywhere. It’s just us.”

Gideon drew in a breath, replaced the lid on the cream and faced the situation with a great deal of frustration.

“Follow me,” he said as he scooped Cara up into his arms.

Micah visibly hesitated. His head twisted around in the opposite direction, his expression torn. Gideon followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anything.

“Okay.” Micah straightened.

Letting the matter slide, Gideon jostled Cara higher in his arms.

“Valkyrie!” he called into the night, already moving towards Final Judgment.

He knew she heard him. No sooner had they reached the mouth of the alley when she dropped down in front of them. Her boots struck the pavement with a resounding crack and she unfurled from the crouch like a dark goddess. A blade glinted in each hand.

“We need to get back,” he said.

Her gaze went from him, to the figure slumped in his arms, to the figure standing next to him. She said nothing as she turned on her heels and headed the party.

“W
ho are you?” Magnus wasted no time shoving Micah into a chair the moment Gideon had relinquished his hold on Cara to Reggie and explained the situation to the rest.

In the light, Gideon was shocked to see just how young Micah was, but that meant nothing. He and his brothers were centuries old, but looked no more than in their early twenties. Age was a funny thing when you were immortal. Nevertheless, sitting in that chair, being glowered at by Magnus, Micah looked about ten.

“Where’s Cara?” he asked instead. “Is she okay?”

“That wasn’t my question!”

“I don’t care!” Fire crackled across hazel brown eyes. “Where’s my wife!”

The bang of Magnus’s fist striking wood echoed through the room. “You will never see her again if you don’t—”

Their father moved forward and rested a gentle hand on Magnus’s shoulder. Magnus relented reluctantly and stepped back.

“She’s fine,” their father said gently. “You can see her once we’ve talked. What’s your name?”

“Micah Crain,” he said.

“I’m Liam. Can you tell us what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Micah answered and ignored Magnus’ growl. “Our caravan was attacked two weeks ago. We’re the only survivors.”

“Two weeks ago?” Gideon frowned. “The attacks only started a few days ago.”

Micah shrugged. “We were headed east. The rest of our crew had gone ahead. Cara and I were supposed to catch up, but when we got there, everyone was dead.”

“Dead how?” Octavian asked.

“Don’t know. They were all burned and put in a neat row.”

Everyone in the room exchanged glances, all thinking the same thing.

“Why didn’t you seek help?” their father asked.

“From who?” Micah spread his fingers, palms up. “We magi are solitary creatures. We don’t play well with others.”

“Is that why you attacked a Caster?” Magnus narrowed his eyes.

“We thought he was part of the group that attacked our family,” Micah replied. “He had the same blade.”

“This blade?” Magnus shook out his angelic blade from the pocket of his jacket and held it up for Micah to see.

Micah nodded.

“If you didn’t see who attacked your family then how do you know about what kind of blade they had?” Octavian asked as Magnus straightened and stowed his blade away.

Micah didn’t speak.

“We can’t help you if you don’t talk to us,” Octavian pressed.

Micah looked down. “I want to see my wife.”

It was evident in the firm slash of his mouth that he would be of no more help. Gideon’s father took him up, despite Magnus’s sputter of protest. The doors clicked shut behind them and all eyes turned to Gideon, as though waiting for him to say something, to explain the new thread of mystery. But he had nothing.

“What happened?” Octavian asked him.

Gideon shrugged. “I told you. He jumped me. I fought back. She came at me from behind. I stabbed her.”

“Did either of them say anything?” Valkyrie asked.

He shook his head. “Not until after she went down.”

“It doesn’t add up,” Magnus muttered.

“What doesn’t?” Riley asked.

“Why did they attack Gideon? He says it’s because he recognized the blade, but then he also said that he never saw who attacked his people.” Magnus shook his head. “It doesn’t add up.”

“Magi aren’t allowed to lie,” Valkyrie chimed. “They consider themselves holy men. They believe in the great divinity. Lying is a sin.”

“Technically, he didn’t lie,” Riley murmured. “It seemed more like he was telling half-truths.”

“Whatever he was doing—” Valkyrie began.

“We’ll find the answer back in that alley,” Magnus finished. He shoved around the table to Valkyrie’s side. “I’m coming with you.”

Without waiting for Gideon, or for anyone to utter another word in argument, the pair set off towards the door. Gideon watched them with a slight tickle of irritation. He hated when they finished each other’s sentences like that. It only ever happened during battle strategy, and only because the both of them were hard asses, but even then.

“What?” he snapped when he caught Octavian and Riley watching him.

The two shrugged a little too quickly.

“Nothing.”

Glowering at them, he turned on his heels and followed Magnus and Valkyrie out the door, back into the night.

The alleyway was empty. It continued to be empty no matter how many times Valkyrie and Magnus prowled up and down it. Had there been something there earlier, it was no longer there now, but neither of them seemed inclined to hear Gideon when he said so.

Leaving the two to their hunting, Gideon set off, continuing on the path he’d started on before being ambushed by Micah. His movement was quick, but his gaze was steady, methodical. He scanned the dark streets and the shimmering light spilling across wet pavement. A cat scurried out from behind a dumpster a block to his left and disappeared into an open apartment window. Several streets over, a car alarm blared. It was just as quickly silenced. Gideon moved away from the soft rush of late night traffic down ninety-second street, nearly six blocks away and picked his way carefully in the direction of the abandoned train depot.

The train station always reminded him of a metal cemetery. The deformed frames sat hunched in the darkness, rusted and forgotten. Nature had begun to take claim of what had once been a thriving transpo line. Gideon had a faint memory of sitting high on the station roof, watching as everything from oil to people was transported from province to province. It hadn’t in years, but he still enjoyed the solitude.