Guardians (Chosen Trilogy Book 2) (19 page)

But it didn’t collapse, and the T-Rex caught itself. With a violent push that dislodged even more wreckage
, it thrust off the shattered walls and fell back onto two legs. By the violent shakes of its head, we knew it was searching for us.

“Ready?” I shouted.

Cheyne chanted and Natalie affirmed. I readied the biggest blast I could manage and was about to unleash when a new sound crashed the party, ruining my concentration. It was the craziest sound—the throaty chug of a big V-8 engine, the rumble of wide tires and the cheering of young voices.

“
Hellhound go!”

“Take down the bad boy!”

“Eat it, Rex!”

Across the least destroyed part of the lot came a black Dodge Ram, fully loaded, with red fla
mes painted down its side. Standing in the back were three people: a guy with an eyepatch, a woman with pigtails, and a guy wearing reflector sunglasses. Driving the mechanical beast was a black-haired woman, arms covered in tattoos and with the stereo turned up to the max—Deep Purple’s
Smoke on the Water
pumped so loud it rattled the windshield.

It caught the T-Rex’s attention. Maybe it wasn’t a Purple fan, but it swung its gigantic head around and started to run. Shockingly quick, the T-Rex and the Dodge Ram barreled toward each other at speed, both bellowing, both taking this battle of the titans to the last level.

“What the—?” I readied the power.

“Wait.” Belinda’s hand stopped me. “They must know what they’re doing.”

“The very car they’re driving,” Giles stated. “Would say otherwise.”

Belinda flicked her old mentor’s ear. “Better than your British
Transit,
” she said.

The
two enemies came together. The T-Rex dipped its head as it ran, jaws widening as if to scoop up the black insect that dared challenge it. The occupants of the Ram acted as one. Tattooed girl stomped on the brakes and swerved. Eyepatch guy fired a harpoon from a contraption mounted to the Ram’s roll-bar. Pigtail woman let loose with a salvo of heavy-caliber machine gun fire. Sunglasses guy fired a second harpoon.

I stared in awe. Both harpoons slammed into the creature’s underbelly, delving into the softer skin there and puncturing with a great w
hooshing sound. The ammunition fired straight and true at the thing’s eyes, destroying its vision as it tried to turn its head. The vehicle swerved to the side of its right foot, almost scraping the lumpy skin as both harpoons were quickly disengaged from the truck and left embedded in the creature.

For good measure I unleashed my pent-up power, striking it a good one around the skull. It bellowed, it raged, but it did fall, the collapse shaking the entire lot and the buildings around like a
powerful earthquake. And it fell hard, as all big things do. Its head smashed into the ground with incredible force, teeth broken and flying off like spears. I watched as the Ram came around again, this time pulling up close to its head and firing point blank with the big gun into its eyes and brain. The head twitched, the arms gyrated, but the bulk of the beast did not stir. After a few minutes the new guys started cheering.

Giles was already walking over. “You there!”
he called as if talking to someone who’d just walked across his garden. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The music was dialed down several notches. We all headed over as the new guys jumped out of their vehicle and circumvented the colossal carcass to confront Giles.

“Hey.” Belinda jumped quickly in front of the Englishman as they closed in. “Nice takedown.”

“Damn straight
,” Eyepatch Man said. “So. Who are you guys?”

“No
,” Giles huffed. “Who are
you?”

“Happy to meet ya.” Eyepatch
Man held out hand to Belinda. “I’m Sam.”

“Roy.” Sunglasses
Man nodded. “Shooter is Eva. Driver’s Lizzy.”

“I don’t mean your names. I mean
who?
Don’t you know the danger you were in?”

“Well, we’re not some fancy military outfit. SEAL. RECON. Something like that. Guess
. . . guess if we went by all our names you could call us LESR.”

Belinda gently pulled Giles away. Cheyne took point. “I’m guessing you
’ve had training though.”

“Ex-forces, one way or another
,” Sam said, adjusting his eyepatch. “After Miami we saw what was happening. Decided to head for Orlando. Become dino hunters.”

Cheyne nodded as Giles almost choked. “At least you’re not civilians.”

“No ma’am,” Roy said. “That’s the second dino we’ve taken down today.”

Now Giles went quiet. I nodded at Roy. “Some feat.
What’s your count?”

“Four Rex’s. Three Raptors. Twelve o’ them little bastards, look like gremlins. Half a dozen other beasties the network ain’t even categorized yet.”

“Network?” Cheyne asked with interest.

“Dino Hunters
Network, lady. Sprung up a week or so ago. We’re just protecting our territory. Ain’t no way we’re gonna just lie down and die. This here’s our home.”

Cheyne kept talking. I took Belinda and the rest of the Chosen over to the
dino hunter’s side and started a different kind of conversation. These people were our allies now, our support. It felt rude not to get to know them.

Crazy though they were.

But then . . . when you’re protecting your own . . . who wouldn’t be?

As I chatted I also thought about Lucy. She should be back soon.

Ken
Hamilton prepared for battle. A man alone, he stood in the midst of many hundreds. Time did not matter. San Francisco did not matter. Even Miami didn’t matter now. The arena was circular, a sandy dirt floor leading to high barriers of jagged rock that even a demon would have trouble scaling, and beyond that rows and rows of seats, a veritable coliseum yet hewn from the rocky side of a soaring mountain; an arena of spectacle, heroism, terrible death and pain; a place where creatures of every ilk pitted their strength, wits and courage in battles to the death for the pleasure of many and the absolute delight of one—the Devil, Lord Lucifer himself—now cloaked in the more manageable and less fearsome aspect of the business man in the bowler hat, the knobbed black cane at his side resting on the arm of the great throne. The seats were cram-packed; full of cheering, slavering demons looking forward to a messy kill. They leaned forward, expectant, trying to catch the victims’ eyes and fill them with terror.

Ken stood at the
center of it all, spinning slowly, looking up and around, even further up to the roiling crimson skies. This was what it was like to fight for good, in the gladiator arena, against all odds. This was his last stand.

Behind him, against the wall stood his three companions, Felicia, Eliza and Milo, guarded by spear-wielding
wayclearer demons. All things being equal they could probably escape from that little bevy, but where the hell would they go? The crowd would tear them apart.

The Devil rose and the crowd quieted. The black-suited arm rose and pointed at the far wall of the arena.
Immediately, a heavy gate rumbled up and a figure emerged. Ken tore his gaze away from the heights of the arena where, over everything, the grim, horned visage of the Devil, carved out of the rock of the mountain—teeth and snorting nostrils, eyes lit with burning coals and all—glared down over all, and got his first good look at his opponent. The first round pitted the entire Aegis team against underworld opponents. If they reached the second . . . Ken didn’t even want to think about it.

He watched now as this demon
—Abraxus—stalked toward him. Ken felt an odd rush of gladness to see he was human-shaped, which left nothing weird to contend with like tentacles, talons, clawed hoofs or similar. He’d been fearing he might have to go up against something that looked like an extreme donkey, all teeth, mule-kicks and slaver, but at least Abraxus had the usual amount of arms and legs. The thing was covered in chainmail and leather, and carried a mace, a short sword and a shield.

Ken stepped back as they came together, a mistake. A deep sneer crossed Abraxus’ features, revealing teeth sharper than razors.

“Sword’s just for chopping bits off,” it grated. “Teeth are for chewing them up.”

Ken revised his opinion of the creature and gripped his sword tighter, reminding himself that this was the Lionheart blade. Did the Devil know? Had he recognized it? Ken doubted that he had. At that moment the Devil sat down and Abraxus struck
; sword overhand, slicing straight toward Ken’s skull.

It wasn’t a skilful attack. Ken sidestepped, then saw why. The shield, used as a weapon, was already coming around. Ken turned sideways on to negate the impact but the round metal still clanged into his shoulder, knocking him to his knees and sending a shockwave the size of a Cadillac through his head.
He sensed the sword descending again and threw his own weapon up, catching the blade on the meat of his own.

The clash of steel echoed around the stadium, sending the crowd into a bloodlust of fury.

Ken scrambled and struggled to his feet. Abraxus eyed him, and now Ken saw pupils blinking and crossing over other pupils within the creature’s eyes. Talk about unnerving. He swung the sword, then juddered as it was caught on the shield, the impact jarring every bone in his body. Abraxus struck again.

Ken skipped back, his bare feet slipping through sand and sending up whorls of dust in his wake. When Abraxus overstretched, Ken stepped back in, with no room to
maneuver the sword, but managed to deliver a good kick to the kidneys.

Or whatever organ existed in that part of the demon’s body.

If any.

Ken
danced away again, trying desperately not to become overconfident. He knew from experience what that kind of swagger got you. Abraxus attacked once more, then threw his shield straight at Ken’s head.

Stunned, Ken didn’t even move. The flying metal impacted with his forehead, staggering him. He saw blackness and stars, went down in a heap, tried to arrest his collapse
, but somehow couldn’t manage to send the signal between brain and muscles. Sand, dirt, blood and bits of old bone hit him in the face, coated his lips. Face down, he tried to roll.

A sword smashed into the floor where his head had been.
Lucky, so goddamn lucky.
Ken managed to force his eyes open, to see Abraxus stood over him, sword poised point down as he stared up at the Devil.

The Devil showed the thumbs down.

Ken couldn’t believe his luck at the brief moment of pause. It was all he needed. Whilst Abraxus checked with his master, the Californian twisted and dug his own weapon out of the sand. Then he heaved upward, impaling Abraxus through the abdomen, watching as utter surprise registered across his features, feeling nothing but pure relief as the demon slumped before falling away.

Ken clambered to his knees. Catcalls and boos
hissed from the stands. The Devil stared down over all, a grim smile upon his lips.

“Next contestants
,” he called.

Ken staggered away, leaving the broken body behind. His eyes met Felicia’s and saw the mix of happiness and fear there.

The lycan was up next.

*

Felicia stood against Dagon, some kind of warrior demon. Ken thought he might have heard of him, but then realized it was probably from watching too many horror movies. Demonology had existed in art and literature for centuries. Unrefined vanity almost guaranteed that these demons vied with each other to increase their prominence in human consciousness, thus bettering their names with Lucifer and being granted more lands, more leeway. More subjects.

Ken rested and tried not to die of heart failure when Dagon marched out to face Felicia.
A mountainous brow overshadowed a pale face, made even more indistinct by the masses of squid-like protrusions that swayed and dangled from the thing’s forehead. Ken squirmed when he realized each appendage ended in a small, blinking eye. Dagon sported a tail too, a whip-like thing covered in spikes. His legs were thick and well-planted when he stopped and Ken tried to hide a smile.

He had seen Felicia in action. Dagon was slow and strong. Didn’t stand a chance in
hell. So to speak.

The two enemies engaged, Felicia slipping instantly into wolf form and darting back and forth, ripping flesh and drawing blood from Dagon with lightning-quick moves that were two
or three beats faster than the beast could even think. In minutes the blood loss had the demon on its knees. Not long after that it was down.

And out.

Felicia ambled back, the transformation taking place as she walked and making Ken gawp. He would never get used to it.

Felicia stuck a finger into her mouth. “Got one of its eyes stuck between my teeth
,” she breathed. “Urrggh.”

Ken pulled a face. He watched Eliza walk out toward the middle of the arena, and for the first time allowed himself a little hope. Eliza was their best, a true warrior. The Devil surely couldn’t make all four of them fight each other. No way.

Eliza stopped and the crowd hushed. The Devil pointed to the gate once more. As it rumbled up, Ken blinked and squinted. He knew that figure.

Shit.
Dementia prowled through the sand and dirt, fists flexing, necklace bones dangling, teeth grinding. The demon-bitch was going to be a handful, but Ken was still confident in Eliza. This was their chance to get rid of one of their greatest nemeses.

The Devil took his seat, form flickering again. Ken was a little fascinated but tore his gaze away as Eliza and Dementia came together. The demon struck with fury and brute force. The vampire countered with precision and skill. Black leather danced around animal hides. The crowd quieted as it became clear the opponents, world
s apart in their styles, were evenly matched. Ken found his hands curled into fists. If they won this . . . if Eliza could just take out Dementia . . .

It all came to a bloody end with some spectacular moves.
Dementia sprang at Eliza like a wolf, her entire body leaving the ground. Eliza’s reflexes enabled her to catch the demon on upraised palms and hurl her further into space. Dementia landed with a squeal and a tumble, and Eliza was on her in a split-second, fangs bared, moving faster than Ken could blink.

Eliza rip
ped flesh from the demon-bitch’s bones, spitting the ragged chunks out and ducking instinctively toward the source of flowing blood. Dementia struggled, but intense pain had almost incapacitated her. She flung her head from side to side, a crazy patient, a loon without a single clear thought, whipping and marking her own flesh with the rough bone necklace. She kicked and bucked but Eliza’s strength held her in place.

Eliza
bit and spat out more flesh. A dark mix of red and green blood coated her lips, her chin, most of her face, and dripped down the front of her jacket. Ken cheered, though quietly and a little disgustedly.

“What a win
,” he breathed. “Now, we have a chance.”

Felicia stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You think so, pretty boy? Have you forgotten where we are? Who the ringmaster is? Have you lost your mind?”

He huffed, a little speech about optimism on the verge of slipping off the tip of his tongue, when there was a pained shriek from the arena. Almost smiling, he looked toward the prone Dementia, expecting death throes, but it was the oddest of sights that greeted him.

Eliza lay on her back, body twisting unnaturally, literally wracked in spasms of agony.

And Dementia rolled over, still leaking from several wounds. “Poissson,” she said. “My blood isss poissson. It eatsss from the insiiide. Do you like?”

Eliza
bucked and kicked, then reared up so that her back almost bent in two. Green blood leaked from the corners of her mouth. Her teeth were bared in a rictus of shock. Milo cried out and tried to run to her aid, but a crowd of guards pointed weapons at him, keeping him in place. Ken watched in utter disbelief as Dementia painfully rose to her knees, head down.

“It isss overrr
. . .”

Eliza shuddered once more, a contraction that broke bones, and then lay still. For a second all was quiet, an air of shock having settled over the arena like a heavy shroud, then the place erupted with cheering. Demons bayed and hooted. Dementia shambled away.

Milo sank to his knees. “No. No. Not Eliza.”

Ken shared his pain, but this was no time for the mountain-like vampire to fall apart. The
Devil was already calling for him, the crowd already quieting.

It was his turn to fight.

*

Ken
could barely watch for the next six minutes or so. Milo went up against Kat, an odd naked twelve-foot-tall mixed-species growler that reminded him of some bars back in ‘Frisco. Kat fired darts the size of small daggers from her appendages, most attached to thin sinew that enabled her to rewind them back in after contact.

And Milo took plenty of contact. At first unresponsive, shambolic, uncaring, Kat stuck him like a porcupine, knives flashing in and out of the flesh of his thighs
, arms and great stomach. He didn’t even flinch, just skirted the unmoving body of his mistress. After a while though, the pain started to register and, when Kat moved in, becoming a tad overconfident, Milo reached for her, the trunks of his arms enfolding her into a lethal embrace, and squeezed with all his might, all his fury and grief. He squeezed until Kat snapped, until she slumped lifelessly, and then he squeezed harder.

At last he flung the broken thing to the floor and walked away.

Ken didn’t want to think about what was going to happen next.