Dreams of a Dark Warrior

THIRTY-FIVE

Declan cradled Regin’s limp body in one arm; with his other, he struck with his sword, clearing a path for them.

Still filled with that incredible power, he effortlessly slashed through the melee. With every back and forth swing of his blade, he cleaved off heads, adding to the carnage.

Mangled bodies lay everywhere. Heinous creatures devoured fallen soldiers, raping others. Some beings had weapons, which meant that the storage area had already been raided.

He glanced down, saw a female’s severed arm, still covered in a sleeve from a blood-soaked lab coat. Dixon’s oversize glasses lay crushed beside it in the same copious pool of blood. She couldn’t have survived that.

So Vincente was missing, Fegley likely fallen, and the doctor was done—

The floor shifted beneath his feet. Rocks still rose, flames soaring. The entire area was unstable, could cave at any second. Time was running out.

If he could get to a truck, he could drive to a small airstrip a few klicks away. There was an old twin-prop plane that might start. But the impound lot was too far from here.

With luck, there might be a vehicle in the warehouse loading bay. As he headed there, he spared a glance at Regin’s new injuries. Too much blood to determine the extent of damage, but he could tell the staples had held at least. She would heal. She’d glow again.

I will see to it.

When he’d saved her from those vampires, he’d wanted to yell with the rightness of protecting her. The instinct to make her his woman and defend her to his last was primal, ingrained in him.

God help him—because he’d surrendered to it completely. Declan had nothing else to hold on to, no other reason to fight what he was feeling for her.

Now it grew inside of him, flaring to life like an out-of-control fire. Mine.

I’d die to protect her. The realization didn’t shock him, just confirmed what he’d been grappling with for weeks.

Once he reached the loading bay entrance, he shoved open the double doors. Inside, cracks in the roof allowed rain to pour inside, and the ground buckled. The area was dark, yet he could see clearly. Another mystery explained—berserker senses.

Scanning … scanning … A truck! He sprinted to it, slowing as he neared. A section of rafter had crushed the engine. “Fuck!” Twenty-one minutes left. He turned back to the entrance.

Brandr blocked his path, his sword raised.

The man took one look at Regin, and his face fell. Declan thought he muttered, “I’ve failed him.” Then he charged forward. “Put her down, you sick fuck!”

Declan raised his own sword, pointing the tip at the berserker. “I don’t want to fight you,” he said honestly. Whatever Declan thought of him, the man had protected Regin in the past. “And I’ve no time for this.”

Brandr seemed to grow larger, his eyes wavering, but the torque stopped him from hitting his berserkrage. “Give her to me!”

Standoff. “Not goin’ to happen.”

“Then we fight—” Brandr went still. “Wendigos near. I smell them.”

Red eyes appeared in the shadowed corner of the warehouse, blocking the sole exit. Dozens of the creatures scrabbled closer, their fangs dripping, the claws of their feet skittering over concrete.

Declan clutched Regin tighter. “Fuck me.” She stirred, giving him a fitful shove against his chest, but she didn’t wake.

Brandr mumbled, “Yeah, feck me, too.”

“We put this aside for now,” Declan said. “If your aim is to get Regin out of here safely, then we’re in accord.”

“Take off your glove, Blademan, and free me of this collar. Or we’ve got no shot.”

“I can’t unlock it.”

“And I should trust that?”

Though the words stuck in his mouth, Declan said, “I vow it to … the Lore.”

At that, Brandr hissed a curse. “One scratch, Chase. That’s all it takes. I will put you down if it happens.”

Declan laid Regin against the back wall. “Same here, Brandr,” he said, turning toward the oncoming threat.

The largest Wendigo made a guttural sound, and the pack charged them.

Declan and Brandr fought alongside each other, their swords slashing, drawing arc after arc of the creatures’ brown blood.

“When this is over, she goes with me,” Brandr said, decapitating one in a spray of brown ooze.

“Over my dead body.” Declan took another’s head.

“Not a problem. After what you did to me and to her? You want to give her more of that?”

With each of his sword strikes, Declan felt that same déjà vu overwhelming him. Somehow, he knew when Brandr would swing, could sense when to sidestep the man’s sword. There was an ebb and flow between them, even as they continued to argue.

“I didn’t do that to Regin—didn’t order it! I didn’t even know about it.” Slash.

“Bullshit!” Sword whistling.

“It’s true.”

“It doesn’t matter, Blademan! It happened under your watch. You captured her. You’re responsible. Gods, man, her skin is dim!”

The berserker was right. All of this is my doing. He had to atone. “I’m tryin’ to get her out of here alive. There’s a plane. But we’re running out of time. …”

“That’s the least of our worries right now.”

For every Wendigo they took down, it seemed another appeared, closing in. He and Brandr began fighting back to back with Regin in the middle. That’s how berserkers fight. Back to back, guarding the prize.

When the pack tightened the circle even more, and Declan barely deflected the swipe of a knifelike claw, Brandr said over his shoulder, “They’re too close. Too many. I’ll do Regin. Then you.”

Declan swung madly. “We’re not bloody there yet!” But in his heart, he knew they were.

Another near miss. No more room to maneuver—

Suddenly glass shards protruded from the fronts of the Wendigos’ throats and legs. The creatures reeled, frantically clawing at the glass.

Declan cleaved through one’s neck. “Ask questions later!”

He and Brandr took advantage of the Wendigos’ injuries, felling one after another. Finally, no more emerged to take their places.

When a host of convulsing, headless bodies fanned out from them, Brandr called, “Who the hell’s in here?”

Out of the shadows, Natalya the fey sauntered, with glass shards between the knuckles of each hand and a charge thrower strapped over her shoulder.

Brandr murmured, “Well, hellooo, trouble.”

She nodded. “With a capital T, if you please.”

That halfling followed her, out of breath, his eyes a touch wild, his sword coated in brown Wendigo blood. He hauled a sizable pack on his back. Containing what?

“Did we hear something about a plane?” Natalya said.

Ignoring her, Declan scraped his sword along the bottom of his boot, cleaning the contagious blood off his own blade. He sheathed the sword, then collected Regin against his chest.

Still unconscious. How injured was she? Has to be internal bleeding from the wall falling. He kept reminding himself that she’d live. How many times had he cursed an immortal’s resilience?

“Have you called for boarding yet?” the fey asked. “I’m a medallion member, and I’d prefer a vegetarian dinner.”

Declan turned toward the exit with Regin, saying over his shoulder, “Bullshite. We’re full up.” He’d let Brandr aboard because he owed the man—but no more of these miscreats.

The fey’s voice grew menacing. “How shall this play out, Blademan?”

He heard the unmistakable buzz of a cocked charge thrower and turned slowly. “You’ve only got so many shots with that thing.”

“Which is why I didn’t utilize it against the Wendigos. In any case, all I need is one to end you.”

One shot would, in fact, electrocute him.

“Think, Chase,” she continued, “if we meet other creatures—perhaps some of the many who want you dead—we can help you fight.”

“She might have a point,” Brandr said. “How many more Wendigos do you have here?”

“Dozens.”

Brandr swore under his breath. “And that being from the outside, that Dorada, brought even more. What about ghouls?”

“Hundreds.”

“Then we need her,” Brandr said. “And the boy.”

“We need the charge thrower and nothing more.” She wasn’t budging. They wasted time. Biting out an oath, he said, “We’ve got minutes to reach the plane before this island disappears. If any of you fall on the way, I’ll step over your corpses.” With that, Declan sprinted out of the warehouse, leading them down a smoke-filled service hall, then out into the blustery night.

Rain pelted them, but Regin remained unconscious as they sped toward the airstrip. The smaller runway there was an older alternate to the current one where transport planes touched down, unloaded, and immediately took off.

Yet something caught his attention far on the other side of the facility grounds. It was Vincente, running hand-in-hand with that succubus. He was shirtless; she was no longer wasting from hunger—

Just feet behind them, a vampire stalked closer, sword raised.

“Vincente!” Declan yelled a warning, but he couldn’t be heard over the storm.

The vampire swung; at the last second, the succubus shoved Vincente out of the way and took the hit in her arm. Vincente whirled around and shot the leech in the face with a combat shotgun then scooped up his bleeding female.

Declan’s mind could hardly wrap around this. The succubus took the hit for a mortal.

“Vincente!” he yelled again.

The guard’s head jerked up this time. They met eyes. Declan waved him over, but Vincente shook his head. When Declan pointed to his watch—place is about to blow, boyo—the man nodded, then hastened toward the forest.

“God speed, Vincente,” Declan said, continuing on. In the distance, he caught sight of the hangar’s tattered wind sock flapping in the storm. He muttered to Regin, “Almost there.” So far, they’d had no encounters with other creatures—at least, none that wanted a fight.

As they closed in, the fey asked, “Where’s the airport?”

“You’re lookin’ at it.”

“Is that a hangar or a barn? I’m confused.”

The wide entrance doors were padlocked. Cradling Regin in one arm, he used his free hand to wrench free the chain, surprising even himself with his strength. Then he and Brandr shoved open the doors. Inside was an old aerial reconnaissance craft, a weathered six-seater prop plane.

Brandr raised his brows. “That is the plane?”

Declan unlatched the Cessna’s door, hurrying up the steps. “It’ll get us to where we’re going.” He laid Regin along the back bench, then climbed into the cockpit.

“Is there no other way off this rock?”

There was one, a ship in a berth on the west side of the island. It was even more of a long shot than this and impossible to reach in time anyway. “You want on the plane or not?”

Brandr followed, taking the copilot’s seat. “Beggars can’t be choosers, huh?”

The fey and the halfling dashed in behind him. The halfling’s pack took up a seat.

Natalya reached for the pull-up door, but hesitated. “Well, well, look who’s come calling.”

Lothaire stood just inside the hangar. He had two MK 17s strapped over his shoulders and a bloody sword in hand. His clothing was riddled with burn holes. Bites and gashes covered his exposed skin.

Natalya asked, “How’d you escape all the vampires out for your head?”

In a monotone voice, Lothaire stated, “I’m that good.”

She aimed her charge thrower. “Maybe, but you’re not getting on this plane, vampire.”

Thad peered out. “Let him on, Nat!”

Brandr and Declan both twisted back in their seats, bellowing:

“No’ a feckin’ chance.”

“No fucking way.”

Lothaire gave her weapon a withering glance, then canted his head sharply. “I do not care to board this plane, as it happens. We’ll talk when you come back down.” With that, he turned and strode outside.

Come back down? “Crazy Horde vampires,” Declan muttered as he fired up the engines on each side of the cockpit. When both started and the propellers began turning, Declan hid his relief.

Another miracle? The fuel gauge read full. But God only knew how long that fuel had been sitting.

“How many miles is it to the mainland?” Natalya asked. She was sitting on Thad’s lap in the sole remaining seat.

“Eight hundred.”

Brandr gave a laugh. “This thing won’t make it that far!”

“There’s an alternate island site nearby.” Basically a dirt runway and a camp. “We’ll figure out what to do there.” He glanced down at his watch. The incendiaries would detonate in two minutes.

“We’ve got more company!” Thad said, face glued to the port-side window. “Wendigos on the runway.”

No time for a systems check. Declan pushed in the throttle, and the plane lumbered forward out of the hangar.

He taxied down the runway, forced to shave off as much length as he dared to avoid the nearing throng of Wendigos.

To take off, he had to reach a minimum of eighty miles per hour. Eighty, with cold engines, a short run-way, and gusting winds. At the far end of the track, a stand of fir trees whipped in unison, like a moving wall. Have to clear them.

Brakes engaged, he shoved the throttle in, RPMs spiking, engines rumbling. Over his shoulder, he snapped, “The shite in your pack better be really important, kid.”

“It totally is!”

With a curse, Declan released the brakes, and they surged forward. Gaining speed, gaining …

At any moment he expected to feel the plane rocked on its arse from a bomb’s blast wave.

Natalya said, “Those trees are coming up awfully fast, Blademan.”

Brandr yelled, “Chase, balls to the wall!”

“I’m throttle down,” he grated.

Fifty miles per hour. Sixty.

At the last possible second, he heaved back on the yoke. The nose shot up, the tail sandbagging. “Come on, come on.” He held his breath. …

The wheels scraped the tops of the trees. They flew clear.

When they’d reached a minimum safe altitude, Declan’s eyes briefly closed. “We’re away.”

The three conscious passengers exhaled with relief.

“We made it! This has to be the coolest thing ever,” the halfling said. “To outrun those Wendigos?” His expression was animated. “Never been in a plane before!”

Oh, yes, you have, Declan thought, just as Natalya said, “Lad, you must have been.” She spoke to Thad but glared at Declan as she said, “You were flown here when the magister’s men kidnapped you—an eighteen-year-old boy—away from your mother and gram and wholesome Texas life.”

The halfling turned back to the window. “Miss ’em.” Then he absently told Natalya, “I just turned seventeen.”

Natalya’s face screwed up. “Oh.”

“Hey, Nat, take a look at the place.”

Declan gazed back at the facility. Or what was left of it. “Jaysus.”

In the center was a mass of stone, a new mountain towering among the flames. Cement blocks swirled above the ruins. Even in the pouring rain, flames climbed high, like a picture of hell.

My life’s work.

The fey murmured, “You reap what you sow, Blade-man.”

She was right. As of this night, all the work he’d done—all the effort and discipline—had netted him no home, no work, no life. Not a friend in the world after Webb’s betrayal.

And it was a betrayal. Declan saw that clearly now. He knew what Regin is to me. My female. And yet Webb had hurt her in unthinkable ways.

Declan gazed back at Regin, laid out across the bench. What would he do now? Where to go? All he knew was that he wanted to be near her—and she’d never want to be with him.

“I thought the island was going to disappear,” Brandr said.

Declan glanced at his watch. The self-destruct was now nine minutes overdue. “It was supposed to have.” He surveyed the landscape below. Not a single detonation. Something must have jammed them.

For better or ill, he suspected there’d be no blasts tonight.

“What’s that?” Brandr pointed ahead.

Declan faced forward. Squinting, he wiped the windshield with his sleeve. A cloud of dark shapes hovered in their path. He slowed his speed, descending to avoid them, but they dropped down as well.

The answer hit him just as Brandr said, “Winged demons.”

Dozens of them. They attacked in a swarm, their claws shredded down the sides of the fuselage, across the wings.

Declan shoved down the yoke in a sudden dive, trying to shake them free. The stall alarm on engine one blared.

Brandr clamped the dash as the plane plummeted. “What do they want?”

Natalya said, “My guess is the magister’s head on a platter!”

Engine one rumbled, smoked, then died. The starboard wing was trashed, the other barely holding on. Engine two roared, straining to keep the plane at altitude.

The yoke vibrated wildly as Declan fought to maneuver back toward the runway. “We’re goin’ down.” Though trees grew at one end of the runway, a sheer rock face capped the other.

Have to slow our speed. There was nothing else to be done, no steering a plane this disabled.

Brandr gazed at him, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. Because a mortal probably wouldn’t make it.

And no man could die with more regrets than Declan. He would never have the chance to make things right with Regin. Would never kiss her or claim her. Too ashamed of his scars to ever reveal them. Too cowardly to risk her rejection.

Should’ve taken the chance, Dekko. He almost wanted to believe he’d come back in another life.

Over the screaming engine, Brandr yelled, “I’m sorry, Blademan. Looks like you’re about to check out. Again.”

Declan yelled back, “Just get her off this island!” If she survived the crash. He glanced back at her. She was battered, appearing so delicate, not the larger-than-life Valkyrie he was used to. How much more could her body take? “Do it within six days!” Before the Order struck the final blow to this island.

“I almost believe you give a shit about her!”

“Protect her, berserker,” Declan said. “Vow it!”

“I already have.” With that, Brandr climbed out of the cockpit into the very back to sit beside Regin, gathering her body up in his arms, clasping her close. To Natalya, he said, “Come, female, I can buffer you too.”

The fey climbed back, then reached for Thad, pulling him close as well.

“Natalya?” The boy’s voice broke.

“You’ll be fine, my lad,” she assured him, but her face was drawn with fear. “If I had a pound for every plane crash I’ve been in …”

As the ground rushed closer, Declan’s heart began pumping blood, thundering in his ears.

But he still heard Brandr murmur, “Till we meet again, Aidan.”