Seal of Surrender (11 page)

“He'll be at the airport tomorrow. Have your men and transport ready. I want this done cleanly. No mistakes.”

“No problems.” Turay's tone dripped with faux solicitude. “Now lets git us a drink and discuss what me wants in return.”

Their voices trailed off and a plan formed in Archon's mind. He needed a way into this fight and the financial backing to stay there. Turay had the struggle but not the means. This Drake was the required person. Now all he needed was an opportunity.

Before the guard closest to him could leave, Archon grabbed ahold of his waistband and hauled him to a remote corner of the hanger. Mind control was arduous business, but his current limited speech left him little choice. He pushed the instructions into the fellow's mind with scant trouble. Fear always provided the best gateways. Arrange a private meeting with Drake tomorrow evening. No witnesses.

Plan in motion, Archon's thoughts moved on to the Scion. Years had passed since his last encounter with Chago. The warrior had lost his mate that day, a tragic result of bad decisions. Archon had offered him a choice. Abandon his duty or the girl died. He'd chosen duty. He wondered if the battle-hardened warrior would make the same mistake twice.

With time to kill and revenge to spare, Archon headed out into the fields surrounding the abandoned hanger. The tall grass provided ample cover as he headed toward the open countryside.

Time for a Scion reintroduction.

Chago checked the time and knocked on Irena's door. Five forty-five sharp.

She stepped out and his breath caught.

Her white sundress glowed like ivory against her tan skin and her hair gleamed beneath the recessed lights. The sapphire blue scarf he'd bought circled her neck. Pride welled in his chest. The hue matched the exact shade of her eyes. Chago forced his vocal cords into strangled speech. “Wow. You're … Wow.”

“Thanks. You're pretty wow yourself.”

He couldn't focus on anything other than the woman before him. Screw the clothes he'd thrown on half an hour ago. As long as they matched and covered the important stuff, who cared? Hell, even matching was optional when compared to the goddess before him.

They made their way downstairs and Chago placed his hand at the small of Irena's back. An odd heat trailed up his arm from the point of contact. He glanced down and remembered her birthmark. The Seal? Perhaps. Still, he'd only felt this connection once before, so long ago he'd begun to doubt its existence. And the bond he'd shared with Yana had nothing to do with ancient curses or weapons of destruction.

He escorted her through the crowded lobby. She bumped back into his chest several times to avoid the crush of people. A toddler screamed across their path and Irena halted. Chago didn't, and came into full body contact when they collided. She turned in his direction, her eyes ablaze and her lips parted.

Wildfire tore through his bloodstream and he stepped away, his nerves thrumming with life. Shit. No illusions now. His previous assessment had been correct. This had nothing to do with the Seal and everything to do with Irena.

They emerged into the late afternoon heat. Near the curb, a man leaned against a dilapidated white Sentra and held a self-made sign with the word “Chago” scrawled in red marker.

After assisting Irena into their rickety ride, Chago slid into the backseat beside her. He settled in as they took off at breakneck speed through the chaotic lanes. Soon, they left the busy downtown behind and moved into a more residential area.

Irena glanced at the passing scenery and frowned. “I thought we were going to the bar.”

Before Chago could answer, the taxi stopped outside a ramshackle ranch-style home with a long porch spanning the front. He helped Irena out of the car and looked around. “This must be Innocent's home.”

The driver refused his attempts to pay, insisting the fare had already been settled. As the vehicle pulled away, the front door of the house opened and Innocent waved them over. Kids piled out behind him. The dusty yard soon filled with a circus of laughing, playing children.

“Thanks so much for inviting us to your home. It's an honor,” Irena said.

“Don't say so yet.” Innocent cracked a smile. “You ain't been inside.”

Chago stepped behind her and assessed the home's weather-beaten exterior. Despite the structure's obvious age, the spotless porch and new roof displayed their owner's care. He extended his hand and offered his host a genuine smile. “Thanks for the invitation. Good to see you again.”

Innocent gave Chago a pointed stare. “You recovered okay?”

“That's the second time someone mentioned recovery.” Irena glanced between the two men, her expression suspicious. “What happened earlier?”

“He gots caught up in some fighting wit the local insurgents at the market. No worries, though. He takes care he-self, this man do. Took out some of Turay's men and one of they ugly yellow trucks.”

Chago shrugged off the compliment and avoided Irena's astonished stare. “They're not well trained. Hell, most of them are kids with guns. Plus, Innocent was there to help.”

Irena's accusatory stare narrowed, her hands perched atop her hips. “We're here to ease tensions between the two sides, not make them worse. You shouldn't put yourself in danger.”

Their host led them to his home's wide veranda and motioned for them to take a seat. Chago held one of several rocking chairs for Irena then claimed the one beside her. Innocent waited until they were both settled before pulling up a stool across from them.

“He right, Miss Irena. That skirmish wasn't no big deal. I's doing my part's all.”

A female voice announced dinner from inside the house. The tantalizing smells of roasted meat and potatoes wafted through the screen door. Irena's stomach growled loud and Chago glanced in her direction. His own gut rumbled at the delicious aroma of the food. Innocent herded his brood through the door and motioned for his guests to enter. Once inside, they all gathered around a long wooden table flanked by benches. Their host introduced his wife, Celina, and their children as the meal commenced. Irena discussed the state of the clinic with Celina — the head nurse at the facility — and made note of the supplies needed, promising to contact someone in the States to send reinforcements as quickly as possible.

Chago observed Irena interact with Innocent's family as if in a trance.

Irena glanced at him, her expression amused. She cocked her head to the side and squinted as if he were a wayward puppy. Her lips moved, but the words floated past him like a dream.

“Chago?”

He snapped out of his reverie to find everyone staring at him. Perfect. Served him right for allowing his mind to wander. He looked at Irena again. “Sorry. What was the question?”

“Celina asked your profession.” Irena's smile beamed innocence personified, but the flicker of humor in her eyes told a different story.

“Oh. I'm in intelligence.”

“Before you said security.” Irena frowned. “Which is it?”

“The two are not mutually exclusive, querida.”

She blushed and looked away.

“That's how you recognized them weapons earlier?” Innocent asked. Chago nodded and the militia leader seemed to consider the information for a moment before he pushed up from his seat and waved his arms at his brood. “C'mon, kids. You's help clean this up then get yourselves to bed. Big school day tomorrow.”

The family rose en masse and obeyed without argument.

Chago hid his amazement. His opinion of Innocent cranked a few notches higher toward admiration. Despite their less than ideal conditions, the man had carved a decent life out of the wilderness, something he both related to and respected.

Innocent suggested they move to the porch. Irena elected to stay inside and help Celina with the dishes. Chago followed his host outside and Innocent offered him a smoke, but he declined. A lighter flared and the orange tip of a lit cigarette glowed in the darkness. The twilight filled with sounds of creaking wood and locusts.

“We need you.” Innocent's quiet voice carried like a balm across the shadowed porch.

Right. Chago gave a half-smile. If only he had a dime for every time he'd heard those words over the course of his long life. “Irena's right, Innocent. We're here to stop the conflict, not increase it.”

“What if the only way to end the violence is to fight?” Innocent sat back in his chair, propping a foot up on the porch rail. “To die?”

He recognized the man's tone. The resignation of one who'd reached the terminus of hope. “Brutality rarely solves anything. A lesson I learned the hard way, my friend. Don't make the same mistake.”

“Used to agree with you.” Innocent glanced through the nearby window. “Now I believe different. We must fight for what we know is right. What we know is good. Truth.”

Following his host's gaze, Chago spotted the closed bedroom door where Innocent's children slept and the two women standing at the sink. He pictured Irena in the kitchen on his ranch, smiling as he embraced her from behind and pulled her against him. An eagle called from overhead, its keen jarring him back to harsh reality.

“How do you propose to triumph, Innocent? Those men this morning were armed to the eyeballs and more than willing to kill. It's only a matter of time until they receive the training required to organize. You'd need a hell of a militia to defeat the latest Russian military equipment.”

“I got me some surprises up my sleeve.”

“Really? And what might those be?”

“You.”

Chago fought to bolster some righteous fury. No use. Innocent's smile should carry a contagion warning. Soon, his lips twitched and he unleashed a full-blown grin. Damn. He did love a challenge and this civil war was shaping up to be one hell of a retirement send-off. “Heaven help us if I'm your secret weapon.”

“Countin' on it.”

The screen door squeaked and both men glanced up. Chago caught Irena's eye as she stepped outside. Celina joined them as well and Innocent's voice broke the quiet. “Anybody up for a game of cards?”

Everyone nodded and Innocent went back in the house to grab the deck.

Irena pulled up a chair beside Chago. Once more, he lost track of his surroundings, immersed in the depths of her eyes. He acknowledged, but didn't heed, the eerie stillness settling over the plain until the lights flickered and died.

Fuck. Reality slammed back into place, all his instincts now on high alert.

Silence thickened the air. Nothing moved.

Screams began, distant at first, but drawing nearer with each passing second. Horrible, high-pitched squeals of death, echoing around the nearby plains.

Chago pushed from his chair and assumed a battle-ready stance.

Innocent flew out the door, shotgun in hand.

“Get in the house, Irena. Now!” Chago ordered. “Take Celina with you.”

For once, she did as instructed and hustled the others inside before securing the door.

With his target safe, he turned his attention to the threat at hand and pulled a concealed dagger from his waistband.

The metallic tang of blood clung heavy in the air and fueled his unease. Chago's throat tightened, turning his voice into a gruff bark of tension. “Got a torch?”

Innocent grabbed one from the wall, lit the end, and together the men squinted into the sudden illumination. Chago was the first to spot the heinous offering. “Madre Dio!”

Strung amongst the branches of the front yard tree were the remains of a rebel insurgent, the man's empty skin dangling like a busted toy-soldier piñata. What was left of the victim's head lolled to one side, his eyes open in a blind, horrifed stare.

“Just like dem Bantu.” Innocent said, turning away from the massacre.

Something rustled in the nearby bushes, commanding Chago's attention. “Show yourself!”

Irena gasped, her eyes wide with horror as she got a glimpse of his injuries. Chago inched closer and leaned into the blackness.

Inhuman snarls shredded the silence. Decay and moist earth reeked from the unwelcome intruder. Torchlight glinted off rows of impossibly long teeth shoved sardine-tight into a gaping, circular mouth reminiscent of a pool drain. Archon.

Chago focused on the abomination before him and struggled to keep his tone calm. “Innocent, get everyone together and leave.”

Innocent hesitated.

Goddammit. He stepped closer and speared his host a furious glare, his patience at an end. He'd not allow Archon anywhere near Irena. “Now!”

Innocent handed over the shotgun and rushed inside to herd the others out the backdoor.

Equipped with a weapon in each hand and an endless supply of vengeance, Chago stepped off the porch. “C'mon, you sack of shit! Fight me!”

Archon swung at him and Chago took a reflexive step back. Fangs were the only sharp feature on his opponent's face. The rest of the bastard's mug resembled a crazy quilt of purplish-gray scars and bulging yellow eyes. Whatever other terrors Lucifer fashioned, his son was a whole mess of ugly. Killing him would be an act of mercy.

He raised the shotgun and fired. The bullet ricocheted off Archon's thick hide, ineffective. Aimed for the head and tried again. This time, Chago clipped what appeared to be an already mangled ear. Smelly, greenish slime oozed forth. Archon grunted but continued advancing.

Shit
.
He tossed the gun aside and sliced ahead with his dagger. Archon parried with razor-sharp claws. Together, they circled in a macabre recital of the death ballet. A mottled hand swung close and Chago ducked then thrust his blade up toward what he hoped was his opponent's chest. Missed. Fuck. He's miscalculated Archon. Again.

Archon's massive arm struck Chago on the side of the head and knocked him to the ground. Pain exploded through his nervous system as a scalpel-sharp claw cleaved across his thigh. Archon roared, his breath a putrid cocktail of human waste.