Blood Law (23 page)

Rafael
inhaled then slowly exhaled. He looked down into her righteous blue eyes and
knew he had no right sacrificing her. But didn’t know how not to. At the very
least, he owed her an explanation. “I took his chosen one from him.”

Falon
blinked. Confused. “So? I pay with my life for sibling rivalry?”

“I
took her life. While he was still inside of her!” he roared, years of anger,
frustration, and yes, guilt poured out from him.

Falon
blanched white before his eyes.

“I killed
her, Falon. I ripped her heart out of her chest. I watched as she bled out in
my brother’s arms. I am responsible for all of our woes.” He pointed a shaking
finger at the warehouse. “In there are a dozen Slayers, one of them directly
responsible for my mother’s death. I’m going to kill them all. While I’m in
there, you will stay out here, because”—he yanked her up to him so that her
feet dangled in the air—“because—” He wanted to say because he did not want any
harm to come to her. That he cared for her and could not bear to see her
destroyed by a Slayer. That if he could challenge the Blood Law for her life,
he would. But he didn’t say any of those things. Instead, he took the cowardly
way out. He let go of her and strode away.

“Rafael!”
Falon called. Rafe stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face her,
suddenly willing to take the brunt of her anger. Guilt did that.

“Why
did you kill her?” she asked softly.

“My
brother was too blinded by lust to see that she was a Slayer.” As he said the
words, Rafael knew he’d do it again. And again. Lucien had given him no choice
then, and Lucien would give Rafael no choice now.

Falon
made her way to him and stopped just shy of an arm’s length away. She leaned
toward him and put her hand on his chest over his heart. She could feel the
wild thump of it against her palm. “Conan said I was a Slayer. What if he was
right?”

He
felt gut punched when he thought of what the law decreed. No Lycan shall lie
with a Slayer; to do so was punishable by death. By rights Lucien should be
dead, and if Falon were Slayer, Rafael as well. But before his death sentence,
could he destroy her? Would he? His heart tightened at the thought of harming
her. The ring flared on his finger. He took Falon’s hand into his and squeezed.
“Then I would take my sword and cut out your heart.”

He
flung her hand from him and strode toward the warehouse. His men stood in
silence as he strode past them.

“Yuri!”
Rafael shouted over his shoulder, “Handcuff her to something. I don’t want her
to play hero or to escape.”

He
saw her eyes widen and knew she’d really hate him for giving that command. He
kept walking, even when he heard Falon’s screams of protest and Yuri’s grunts
of pain. Rafe shut down his emotions and focused solely on getting to the
Slayers, not losing any of his men, and, as a possible bonus, getting the girl.
Afterward, Falon might refuse to speak to him, but—he cursed—it was better that
way. He was beginning to go soft. This way, he’d let her go, telling himself
there’d been no future for them anyway.

By
the time they had taken their positions, the night had stilled to a dead calm,
as if it were going to sit back and watch the action play out. And for the most
part, the action would be perfunctory. They had been killing each other for eight
hundred years.

Telepathically,
Rafe called to Angor, who informed him the Berserkers were in place. He nodded
to Yuri, who looked no worse because of Falon, who he could see was handcuffed
to a stop sign. He gave the signal to crank the bikes. The engines rumbled to
life with a deep, guttural roar, their distinct sound a warning to Edward. They
were here, and they were going to fight to the death.

As
the engines warmed, the rpm’s rose higher and higher. They opened full
throttle. Rafe sat back easily, giving his bike gas. He looked over at the two
men who were riding point and who would send their bikes through the doors.
Staying mounted until the last moment was crucial and difficult, but if anyone
could handle it with precision, it would be a Vulkasin.

The
back column was set. Rafe gave his bike some gas and moved up to the front and
side of the column. Holding in the clutch with his left hand, he gave the
signal to go with his right. The two point riders, Jackson and Mateo, their
bikes now at a fever pitch, popped their clutches and roared forward. Both the
bikes popped wheelies, dropped, and then hurtled like missiles toward the
doors. Somewhere between twenty and ten yards out, Jackson jumped clear of the
bike, guiding it dead center into the door. An enormous explosion racked the
night, the velocity so great, the ground shook beneath their feet and the back
draft flared with the heat of an oven across their faces. As the bike slammed
the door from its hinges and plunged deep inside the building, flames and
debris poured out through the jagged opening.

It
was more than Rafe had expected. Was that why the Slayers seemed so complacent
inside? Did Edward really think the C-4 would do all the work for them?

Mateo,
the second biker, struggled to keep his bike upright after the initial burnout
and wheelie. When he neared twenty-five yards from impact, Rafe cursed, knowing
Mateo wouldn’t have the time or the distance to guide it to target and jump to
safety. Even as he watched, Mateo eased his body down over the tank and
throttled back as far as possible. The bike lurched and slammed into what was
left of the second door with Herculean force. Another fireball exploded,
mushrooming through the opening and swallowing both rider and bike. Rafael
heard Mateo’s screams and imagined his body hurling through space and slamming
into the concrete floor with a sickening thud. He didn’t have to imagine the
bloodcurdling scream that followed as Mateo was killed by a Slayer’s sword.

Rage
exploded inside Rafael. An eye for an eye. He would avenge Mateo’s death this
night and the deaths of so many before him.

Rafael
kept his focus on getting inside to do it. An explosion at the back of the
building announced the entrance of the second column. The sound of shattering
glass followed by bloodcurdling snarls filled the air as the Berserkers smashed
through the windows and poured into the place. Giving the enemy no time to
gather their wits, Rafe howled a throaty battle cry, signaling his men to open
throttle and charge through the jagged, smoldering openings of the decimated
front doors.

Gunshots
reverberated through the building; the clash of metal on metal fused with the
grunts and screams of men as they fell.

FROM
WHERE SHE stood handcuffed to a damn stop sign, more than one hundred yards
from the warehouse, Falon blanched at each explosion, then watched as flames
shot high into the night. Her anxiety rose as she paced in a circle around the
sign. She didn’t like to be separated like this from Rafe. Her place was beside
him. She yanked and pulled at the handcuffs. The metal cut into her skin; blood
dripped to the asphalt. She jumped when another explosion set the dark to light
and a harsh sense of urgency shook her. Nervously she trembled, not
understanding her sudden and uncharacteristic agitation. She was supposed to be
at Rafael’s side. She was his chosen one. Falon squeezed her eyes shut. What
was she thinking? She should be running the other way!

She
was torn in half. She wanted to run to Rafael. See for herself he was alive. Then
fight beside him. The other part of her, the survive-at-all-costs part,
screamed at her to escape. To run far and run fast.

No
one stood guard over her. She looked down at her bloody, swollen hand. She
could gnaw it off. Or, she gulped, she could break the bones in her wrist and
pull her collapsed hand through that way.

Anguished
screams drifted from the warehouse. Falon’s heart beat faster. The terrified
cries of a little girl called out to her. Rafael’s anger, his bloodlust, his
passion transcended the space between them. Her body jerked as if she were
spasming. Pain speared her belly, as if she had been stabbed. She heard
Rafael’s enraged war cry. He was wounded. He needed her. And unable to stop
herself, she answered his call.

“I’m
coming!” she cried. She did not hesitate. She grabbed her arm just above her
wrist and the metal cuff, then threw her weight into it. She twisted then
pulled. She screamed in pain as bones crunched. Her world went black just
before she saw stars. Her knees shook. She took a deep breath and did it a
second time. She screamed louder and dropped to her knees. But she knew it was
enough. Before her hand swelled more, she carefully maneuvered it out of the
metal cuff. When she was free, she held it gingerly with her right hand. Nausea
rolled through her. She sat down and put her head between her knees. She was
going to faint from the pain.

Long
minutes later, when her vision cleared, Falon ripped part of her shirtsleeve
off and, as best as she could, wrapped it snugly around her wrist to give it a
modicum of support. Slowly, she stood, inhaled, then exhaled.

This
was it.

She
had a choice. She turned toward the city lights in the distance and freedom.
Then back at the flaming warehouse and Rafael. Freedom? Or death?

She
turned toward the beckoning city lights but wavered in her step. What life did
she have? Knowing she was different, always running, not knowing who she was,
where she came from. With Rafael, she felt alive. Accepted. She had meaning.
Had she not had the vision of the girl, she would not have a chance at
survival. She turned back to the warehouse. She may not know much about
herself, but she knew she possessed power. Power that if paid attention to and
honed could be her ticket to freedom. She took a step toward the warehouse.

A
lone howl echoed from the building. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

“Rafael.”

She
took another step and then another. Then she was running. To Rafael, the man
who made her come alive, and the man she was determined would not see to her
death!

RAFE
PULLED THE Slayer’s blade from his gut with his left hand before deftly turning
it back on the bastard, relieving him of his head. Rafe howled his battle cry
as he skidded to a sideways stop directly below the gallows. The top shroud had
been lifted. Standing like a hunk of bait on a hook, directly on top of the
trapdoor, was a young girl, knees shaking, hands tied behind her back, her head
in a black cloth bag, a hangman’s noose around her neck.

What
a sick fuck Edward was. Using a child to lure them in.

Rafael
looked for Yuri across the vast space. He had seen the girl as well and was
already riding toward her. Anticipating their approach, a tight ring of Slayers
swelled from beneath the gallows as Rafael’s men pressed upon them.

Yuri
dropped his bike into a sideways slide and let it crash into two of the
Slayers, knocking them down like bowling pins. Springing to his feet, he hacked
off heads on his way to the steps of the platform.

Ignoring
the pain in his side from the Slayer’s sword, Rafe gunned his bike forward,
surging into the melee. When he was half the distance to the gallows, a Slayer
rushed him and took a swing at Rafe with his sword. Ducking, Rafe narrowly
missed the separation of his head from his shoulders. Simultaneously, Rafe drew
his right-hand sword. In one fell swoop, he ended the Slayer’s life but not
before the Slayer grabbed the right handlebar of Rafe’s bike, causing it to
suddenly lurch right and then slam onto the floor and out from under him. Rafe
hit the floor, slid to a quick stop, then immediately stood. The hooded girl
screamed, twisting and turning against the noose and ropes binding her hands
behind her neck. If she kept at it, she would hang herself. Fully focused and
running on adrenaline and vengeance, Rafe drew his second sword and hoped Yuri
could get to her before Edward pulled the trapdoor lever.

Yuri
was closer. He’d made it to the base of the ramp but was stopped by Edward and
two other Slayers. Yuri was an admirable swordsman. His sword flew like a nest
of angry hornets, slashing against the blades of his opponents. Sparks flew as
he pressed his point, forcing them back onto the steps. While this gave the
Slayers a height advantage, it also exposed their legs. Yuri took full
advantage, cutting through the knee joint of the lowest man. The boneshattering
cut sent a bloody arch into the air and dropped the enemy forward, face-first
onto the floor. In another tactical slice, Yuri took off his head. Edward ran
for the girl just as Rafe looked up to witness the partitions around the base
of the platform fly open, revealing a dozen more armed-to-the-teeth Slayers.
They tossed the beaver pelts they’d used to disguise their scents from their
shoulders.

Son
of bitch! He was a fool to have fallen for that trick. And the fool always paid
the piper. Rafe snarled. Not tonight.

“You
are an arrogant fool, Vulkasin!” Edward taunted from the platform. He raised
his sword. “Come now and taste my vengeance!”

Rafael
raised both of his swords over his head. “Vengeance is all mine tonight,
Slayer!” Despite the added Slayers and the loss of a handful of his men,
Rafael’s confidence soared. He was at his pinnacle tonight. Nothing could hurt
him! With the help of his magnificent Berserkers, who were making hash out of
anything that got in their way, and the power of the ring, he would lead his
pack to victory.